Hey Cádiz. I know that when I first saw you, things seemed promising. I was enamored with your status as the oldest standing city in Western Europe.

I suppose your sunny skies and friendly breeze were too good to be true. Ditto your turquoise and blue waters that danced with the wind.

That first day was magical: I wandered along the perimeter of your historical center, soaking in the sunlight and tasting the sea on my lips.

Even things mundane and quotidian appeared beautiful to me.

This old man didn’t seem to be having much success at catching fish that day, but he was valiant and cast his line undaunted back to the sea.

I made my way up a causeway jutting out into the water. There was an old fortification, a castle floating in the waves.

In the center of the fortress was a lighthouse, a slightly corroded skeleton amidst crumbling brick and stone.

The causeway formed a natural barrier against the waves, and a small inlet nearby was filled with boats–some of them re-purposed for hanging laundry.

Just as I was beginning to fall in love with Cádiz, my stomach began to hurt. So I walked back to my apartment, lay down to sleep, and woke up the next day in enough pain that I required a hospital visit. And after that, I pretty much didn’t do anything besides lie in bed. So I’m sorry Cádiz. I’m sorry that our potential was unrealized. I’m sorry I had to spend my time lying in bed instead of exploring you from head to toe. I’m sorry I was asleep before midnight instead of getting to know you until the wee hours of the morning. Don’t hold it against me.

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