📍Granada, Andalusia — Early February 2020

The Mirador de San Nicolás hums with life. Street musicians play as a flamenco dancer moves with effortless grace. I stop to take it all in—music, rhythm, energy.

Sunlight slices through drifting clouds in golden bursts. A breeze carries the scent of churros—sweet, warm, familiar.

Around me: English, German, French, Dutch. We’ve all come for the same reason—to see that perfect view of the Alhambra glowing in the soft winter light.

Once a Moorish palace, later a Christian fortress, the Alhambra now stands as a symbol of Spain’s layered past. From here, it feels eternal, though history insists otherwise.

Locals weave through the crowd, selling sketches, bracelets, fridge magnets—anything to catch a tourist’s eye. One artist draws the Alhambra in ink, finishing it before me. It’s tempting to buy—not just the art, but the memory.

Nearby, a group of tourists chat in a language I don’t understand. Their voices rise and fall with a rhythm all their own. For a moment, I imagine they’re talking about the strange illness making headlines in Wuhan. The Alhambra gleams against the sky, timeless as ever, while something new and uncertain begins to stir at the edges of the world.