The pictures I didn't take

There was a big misunderstanding that night about the accommodation  about the transport, about anything that was mentioned. It seemed to me that the city didn't want to let me go. It wanted me to stay, it wanted me to see the burning again.

I was trying to say no, but it wouldn't listen. Sometimes you just can't find the way out.

It was all clear to me later. After all the friends have gone, after I have missed the last connection to go back home. I thought I have seen the burning plenty of times. But there is always something good on the way when you are where you have to be.

I have managed to see the burning of four fallas (out of 300), the big monuments made to be burnt in Valencia. I have enjoyed it so much and I was quite pleased with the photos I have taken, so much that it wasn't a problem to stay awake for the rest of the night and wait for the first morning train. I walked the rainy wet streets with the holes in my shoes, talked to complete strangers, listened to other complete strangers talking to complete strangers, slept in the underground for an hour. Then the train station opened its doors around 4:45 am and big bunch of people walked in. There was a snack bar at the end of the long corridor. Already full of young backpackers queuing up for the first coffee of the day, there was a feeling of unity, smell of freshness of a new day and the aroma of bread and coffee, witty waiters flying around cracking jokes with customers who were too sleepy to answer back, and a young Japanese girl paying her coffee with the 100 euro bill. Another waiter was using the megaphone, repeating some client's orders just for the hell of it. Everybody laughed and the waitress handed me the plate: the croissant tasted so soft, warm and buttery that I just had to ask for another one.

Those were the pictures I didn't take.