The wind never stops, it will be because comes from the ocean. Yet still smells are the smells that will impress you more in mind. Of fried food, mainly because they fry everything here and then we put on the creams strange, spicy, the garlic. But we got used to this, I've been several times in Spain. Even the smell of urine was that of many streets in Madrid, as well as the smell of the experience of some cafes had already hit my nostrils in many pubs in Valencia. The difference is that here, at some point, the city stops. There comes a time when the "casco historico" Cadiz back to a time when Africa was much closer, and then begin to feel the smell of couscous in the wind and sand, the endless nights of many English cities are gone and down the silence, a silence full of melancholy and attachment to the land.
A
Girare Siviglia è come scartare un bacio di Perugia, non sai mai cosa ti può capitare davanti agli occhi. Mentre ti ritrovi con la testa che gira in una splendida piazza sconfinata all’improvviso capiti in un chiostro di
E non ho parlato delle ragazze indigene perché non sarebbe stato in linea con il tono del post…
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