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While washing a bit of egg out a large measuring cup in a sink strapped to a palm tree I found myself smiling at the incredibly beautiful unpredictability that life can have when you follow your heart. Just the morning before I had woken up to a bright orange sunrise on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, ate half the almonds I had found the day before, and headed off down the road into a new day full of unsuspected twists and turns.

Walking back I dodge and weave between the small children running through the streets. Their shrieks and shouts mingling with the sounds of traditional spanish minstrels walking to and fro blowing and strumming. Behind me towered the wall that once surrounded the ancient Moorish town but now lay right in the center of a bustling carnival on the coast of the Med. My orange apron had a light dusting of flour and a few smeared hand prints here and there. I had already made about 30 pizzas today and the carnival was just kicking off.

I walked back to my new friends who were working busily at our stand selling organic spelt bread and fresh pizzas. The rustic earth oven we were using was attracting the old timers who stood in front of it and stared off into the flames. A faint smile could be detected on their time worn faces temporarily erasing a wrinkle here and there. Their wistful gazes hinted at days in the not so distant past before consumerism had wiped out local traditions. I watched the focus return to their eyes as they came back to the present, slowly turn, and walk away into the mass of merchants and stalls. More than one stand was entire comprised of cheap toys and artificial food with plastic wrappers, all of which were designed to find their way into a trash heap or dropped in the streets by the next day.

“I really like making bread”, I decided as I was folding a huge lump of spelt dough in on itself over and over. My friend Talmied, who I had met almost a month ago at the market in Orgiva, came up to put a caring hand on my shoulder and asked if he could get me anything. “Soy bien, gracias”, I beamed in reply. He stood there for a moment with his brown eyes and magnificent beard smiling deeply at me as I stopped to drink a bit of fresh hibiscus juice.

The next day I’m on the road again peddling off into the unknown with the blue green sea to my left and mountains to the right. Talmied had sent me off with a giant chirimoya, the last I was to enjoy for some time I suspect.

Since the time on my visa for Spain was running short I decided to hop a bus in Malaga to Algeciras. I found the bus ride to be a bit of an odd experience. I passed through several towns on the coast that were full signs in english. “Best chinese restaurant in town”, “Fried chicken and burgers” and other such nonsense were giving me disgusting and eerie feelings that I was back in America. These towns on the coast were winter retreats for wealthy northern europeans, and as such they were built to cater to them.

I arrived in Algeciras at night. It was raining and windy, and unfortunately for me I had no coat. Thankfully the rain was brief and by the time I was finished venturing about it had ceased. I found a place to sleep on the beach just outside of the city. I stuffed my bike beneath a children’s play area made to look like a giant ship and slept there beside it.

In the morning I caught the ferry to Tangier and left behind Europe and everything I had ever known.