Cantabrian Mountains and Madrid Rooftops

"The world is but a canvas to our imagination."

There are always things in life that you feel like you don’t deserve.  You look at the world and wonder why God made your place in it so fortunate. The Cantabrian Mountains were one of those undeserving moments that I’m still searching for the right words to explain.

Since words were at a loss that weekend, my vocabulary merely consisted of “wow” or “o my gosh”, as diction was replaced by awe, and sentences replaced by wonder. The thing is, these mountains didn’t need words to explain them, they explained themselves. Without saying a word, you felt like you were shouting from the rooftops, because in every literal term of the expression, you were on top of the world.

We set out to explore the edges of the Picos de Europa and its off beaten paths, and with every step, a new view was unlocked that left us consistently breathless. Nothing else mattered on that mountain except for the people I was beside and the panorama that laid before me.  As the mountains engulfed me from every angle, I realized just how small I was.  The magnitude of their size was intimidating, but an intimidating that intrigued me further rather than one that steered me away.

I would take a picture, look at it, and then take another, changing the angle and focus of the lens each time to see if the adjustment made the picture come out clearer.  I soon realized by the 20th take, no shot was going to produce what I was witnessing justice. That’s what made the moment feel unworthy.  I could come down from that mountain and verbalize how tall the mountains were, or show pictures so others could visualize its chromatic silver tint, but I knew physically being there was the only way to understand how stunning the landscape truly was.  For some reason, the mountain picked me. It unveiled itself to me, holding a completely different caliber from anything I’ve ever seen before. I think that’s where its true beauty lied; unlike mountains in the Shenandoah that could cover themselves with acres of trees and vegetation, these picos were unable to hide behind layers, instead baring their white and silver skin to the world, standing tall with confidence, and in their truest vulnerability, they were perfect.

The heights didn’t end there, as we simply switched from the altitude of the mountains of Cantabria one weekend to the rooftops of Madrid the next.

All in all, Madrid was the New York City of Spain, filled with buildings ten stories high, Broadway billboards, and brand stores brimming over the main avenue. Art museums filled up most of our day, as artwork of Picasso and Velazquez were compiled down long hallways and large rooms.  But the highlight of the weekend came within the one night we had in the city, finding ourselves on the hotel rooftop, sipping Tinto de Verano and taking in the view that laid before our feet.  It was one of those nights that carried on into the morning, but where the time had no bearing on when we would call it quits.  The night was ours to own, and with the whole JMU crew, we held our glasses to the air and took Madrid by storm.