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Story: There’s a romantic charm to the Spanish towns dotted along the Mediterranean coast. Orange trees line long roads, their fragrant zest clinging to the breeze. Narrow, shaded backstreets flanked by ancient stone houses provide respite from the midday sun. Come evening sepia sunsets pattern the streets.

Life is taken at a steady pace. Long meals are spent around tables abundant with tapas. In the middle, plates of paella are piled high with fresh shellfish. Everything is shared, enjoyed together, before a siesta.

Journeys between towns are backdropped by sandy mountains and lakes that glisten. Along winding roads fringed with fruit trees, the car dips in and out of the shade and sunlight.

We fuel up at near-deserted petrol stations stocked with nothing but anchovy-stuffed olives and packets of salted sunflower seeds. We stretch our legs and take in the humid, dry air.

Clocks tick away differently here. They almost don’t tick at all. Time almost seems to have no meaning; there’s just day and night. Perhaps we all need to slow down and take a siesta.

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