Walking Down the Street... Only to Go Up

People smile while walking the streets of Logrono. I've never seen so many elderly couples holding hands and looking happy. It was the first thing I noticed upon arriving here. It did not impress me, though; it must be part of the "secret" treatment I'm applying to myself.
Logrono is a small city, whose main street reminds me of Unirii in Buzau or of Magheru, the famous boulevard from Bucharest. There are also small, narrow streets in the center of the city, downtown, as they say, although it's difficult to think of downtown Montreal or Manhattan as bearing the same name with the small loins of Logrono; there'd be no better moment to think of Sighisoara, since in a few days the Logrono Carnival will start, blessing the city with the joyful attitude you can only find on the historical pavement of the above mentioned Romanian city. The two big avenues, Avda. de la Paz and Avda. Jorge Vigon/ Gran Via Rey Don Juan Carlos I, invite you to take a look inside their clustered stores, although their exterior does not seem too inviting; or maybe it is exactly their familiar look that makes you stop and search for the "golocinas" (sweets) or the electrical device that you forgot or couldn't bring from home. The small downtown streets, on the other hand, wink their eyes at the youth, the parents and their children and allure them inside the various tapas, so that they can taste the specialties of each one; you buy a txchangurito (a small pie with fish paste and spices) and a glass of La Rioja wine here, enjoy it with your group, then go across the street and savor some grilled shrimps and a glass of Argentinian beer (thank God I actually found a kind of beer that I like! As for the wine... it is the best in Spain, so... it should keep me busy for the next 5 months). The tapas close at midnight, so the customers move to the regular bars, where they continue the wine tasting until about 3.00 in the morning, when disco bars are ready to host and let them express themselves through something Spanish people are so good at: dancing. I have yet to enjoy this experience, as soon as the session is over, there's no going back! And I have to learn how to salsa before leaving here!
The air... the air is Europe, is freedom, is youth, is carelessness. While being across the ocean I would sometimes feel the scent of Constanta, Buzau, Tulcea... the smell of the sea, of the mountains, but all for a very short instance. Here I can feel them all at once, and they stick with me throughout the day and night. It smells like home. This is where I belong. I look out the window and I see the mountains... until March, at least. Their snowy peaks trick me into forgetting that there were 20 degrees today.
Despite all these dreamy sceneries... I remain cold, and I could not feel more relieved because of that. I'm turning into what I've tried so hard to avoid, pretending it was just a childish, utopian cover for not being vulnerable anymore. I used to believe that being... the way I used to be was a gift, or maybe a duty. I thought that I could never reach that blank, selfish point, and yet feel happy. I can't say that I'm happy, but I believe I've discovered what I need to be, and I'm learning pretty fast. That will lead me to happiness; I should've known earlier, since it hasn't worked out for me in 26 years. No more "soul" tags. I knew Spain would have an amazing surprise for me... and there are so many that follow! This time I'm here to take, not to wait for anything.
Orientation starts on Wednesday. Here I come...