Kika Téllez

Karachi

The first time I arrived in Karachi, I could feel the smell, the sounds and the air of the city on my skin all those fast colourful figures that were making me dizzy.

 

Now whenever I arrive to the city, I try to recall that sensation, but the sensations once they get familiar are less noticeable. The car is my main relation with the city, I never walk in the streets. I go from A to B and then walk barely some steps.

 

The markets are walkable areas where you can find people without having to risk your life crossing a busy street. There I go, I melt into the market crowd and look at those friendly strangers selling, buying, talking, walking. There is a snake seller trying to convince the audience of the aphrodisiac property of his product, some people eating on the floor and offering me to join them, a beggar without arms, a flower seller, two nuns buying their veggies...I arrive to the meat section, the smell and the flies make me run away but as it is so different, I have to go in and look and take photographs to be able to remember later how it was when it was new.

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Tanger

We cross the strait safely and in comfort in a ferry. We go through the passport control and as we step out we are in Africa. The light is bright and we can hear the call for prayer from the harbour. We climb up the street with our luggage until we reach La Tangerine. We walk following Paul Bowles and the beats' footsteps, drinking in the same bars, having tea at the same cafes. We pick up an old Mercedes Benz taxi, he takes us to Chez Abdou to eat fish. Everything there is pastel pink and pastel green. We will go back to the city later.

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Route 66

Whoever lives in the province of Almería knows that the road leading to Tabernas still preserves an atmosphere from the past. On both sides of the empty road you can find old inns where they serve you traditional homemade food and local wine, old abandoned inns with their beautiful proud facades still standing, a road house run by bikers living the American dream and eating and selling hamburgers, unfortunately some decadent brothels and at the end of the road the desert with its film studios.

 

Tabernas is the only true desert in mainland Europe and due to its resemblance to the North American deserts has been the set for many western movies. 

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Ritos y costumbres

I can see from afar a group of people gathered together in silence. I get closer and observe, there is a religious ceremony. Women are wearing their flamenco dresses, some kids are dressed up, there are several horses and a small donkey. There is a chapel on a hill with the sculpture of a saint at the door where a priest and a church boy are standing. The preacher is giving communion. Everyone is listening, some will even participate. Once the sermon has finished the guitars come out, the music starts, some sing, some dance, they drink wine out of a wineskin, there is joy.

 

The sculpture of the saint has been taken out of the chapel and is carried down the hill. Everyone follows in procession, the horses, the little donkey, the women in flamenco dresses and at the top of the hill remains silence. 

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A toda Costa

When the first summer heat arrives, it brings a massive migration of tourists to the quiet coastal towns, all willing to conquer each and every corner of the most remote cove. Carrying with them all and sundry, including the kitchen sink, they arrive in numerous groups and go down to the shore and occupy it for hours and hours to come. As the sun goes down, they collect all their tools and leave, just to come back the next day to repeat the same ritual all over again.

 

All along the coast, chiringuitos and services grow to satisfy this insatiable seasonal demand. In the same way they had arrived, they leave abruptly and altogether. Leaving behind empty beaches and closed chiringuitos with the promise to come back next year and do it all over again.

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La Vega de Granada

Strolling through the paths in silence, but accompanied with the sound of the clear water from the irrigation ditches, you can feel the proximity of the most illustrious poet of Granada, Federico Garcia Lorca. He was born there and he was infamously murdered there. He strolled through these melancholic paths where centenary trees talk about the history of the land that has been cultivated since remote times, where Roman and Arab irrigation systems are still in use. Great mansions were built by rich landowners that grew their crops in this fertile earth, silk, tobacco, sugar, cotton amongst others.

 

Summer light and the smell of wet earth, flies surrounding you while trying to hide under the shade of a fig tree.