Many people dream about big houses, great cars, awesome dressing rooms… But not me. Ever since I watched Disney’s “Belle and the Beast” my dream has been having a library of my own, a room just for the pleasure of the mind, with a comfy wing chair (upholstered in tweed, of course), maybe an old table and of course endless shelves with so many books I’d need several lives to read them all.
But for now, until my dream can come true (it will), I love to visit libraries, especially old ones just as this one: the Library of Trinity College Dublin.
Sometimes, you just need to change your point of view.
I came to Dublin a few years ago but it sure feels like decades. Here I’ve experienced love, hate, love again, disgust, happiness, drunkenness, disappointment… I’ve seen and grown and lived in many ways. I’ve not always felt good or in peace with the city, with the crowds, the traffic or the capricious weather, but in the end Dublin and I always came to terms. Every time I felt the urge to leave, I feel the weight of the world over my shoulders, every time I feel I can’t go on, I just walk through Dublin’s streets, sometimes solitary, sometimes full of people, with that magical light that makes me feel finally at ease.
Two different views from the same building in Valencia.
What’s better than a museum? Two! Here a double with the Reina Sofía Museum at its best.
I’ve always been afraid of the sound of the telephone. It means bad news. And no-one, especially me, wants bad news.
My phone, as it happens in many houses, is at the end of the corridor, like a totem, all alone on a table made just for it, as a king, the king who looks at his servants with disdain. The telephone controls us all, with its silence and its continuous black cloud of news, of bad news. From the moment you enter the house, you can feel its presence, the power it holds. If it was a person you could even see it scoffing at you, oh powerless mortal waiting forever for a call with the bad news you fear so much.
Near the way to the mountain, not so far from the village, there’s a path that leads to a stream hidden under the grass and ferns. Only the eldest of the village remember the story of the Witches who lived beyond the boundaries of the forest, following up the stream and under the old oak tree. There, just there, lay the entrance to an unknown world of mystery.