It’s getting more and more difficult to leave Spanish cities behind. Leon’s atmosphere is thick and sickly sweet. The cathedral resounds with Gregorian chants and the slow breeze is warm with the scent of handmade cakes.
There is a certain delightful physicality here, something visceral dwelling just beneath the surface. In Burgos, one is uncertain whether or not all is merely a product of the imagination; but in Leon, one is convinced of the existence of intrinsic matter.