…We hiked the dirt path back to the blaze. Around it sat fellow travelers from England, Scotland, Australia, the Czech Republic. There were guitars and bongo drums, violins and a didgeridoo, Alhambra beers and hash (which Spaniards call chocolate). An English woman, Emily, dipped two poi balls into the fire then twirled them into flaming scribbles that hung over the terracotta rooftops of the historic Albaicín district below.
Behind us was the crumbling entryway to a cave. A Scottish musician named John had been living here for the past several months. It was his last night in town, and this was his going away party. In a way, it was also my own farewell.
(Published in December 2013. Read the full essay at Wanderlust by GeoEx.)