A Journey to Spain: Fulfilling Cabilla’s Mother's Dream with Thrillophilia

A Journey to Spain: Fulfilling Cabilla’s Mother's Dream with Thrillophilia

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room as I packed my suitcase one last time, ensuring everything was in order. My hands trembled slightly as I zipped it up. This wasn’t just any trip. This was a journey to fulfill my late mother’s dream- a dream she had nurtured for years but never got to live.

I glanced at my father, who sat in his armchair, staring out the window, lost in thought. The weight of my mother’s absence had carved deep lines on his face. Even though he tried to be strong for me, I could see through the cracks.

“Appa, everything is packed,” I said softly, interrupting his reverie.

He turned to me, his eyes moist. “Cabilla, are you sure about this trip? It’s been so many years since I left Spain… It feels surreal to go back.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “It’s what Mom wanted, Appa. She always said I should see Spain one day. And it’s time you revisit those memories with her.”

The corners of his lips lifted slightly, but I could see the bittersweet emotions in his expression.

Tracing the Past

Stepping off the plane in Madrid felt like stepping into a different world. The vibrant energy of the city was palpable, but I could sense the heaviness in my father’s heart as he took in his surroundings.

Our first stop was the Plaza Mayor, a grand square bustling with life. I watched my father’s eyes scan the space, his gaze lingering on the cobblestones.

“This was where your mother and I had churros for the first time together,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “She laughed so much when I spilled chocolate sauce on my shirt.”

I could almost see the scene play out in my mind. His stories painted vivid pictures of their love story, one that defied the odds and bridged two vastly different cultures.

As the day went on, we visited the Royal Palace of Madrid and the Prado Museum. My father’s eyes lit up as he admired the masterpieces. “Your mother loved art,” he said, his voice soft. “She would’ve spent hours here, explaining each painting to you.”

Flamenco and Memories

The next day, we took a train to Seville, a city known for its vibrant culture and breathtaking architecture. As we wandered through the narrow streets of the Santa Cruz district, I noticed how the sunlight danced off the whitewashed walls.

We reached the Alcázar of Seville, a palace straight out of a fairy tale. My father gazed at the intricate Moorish designs and sighed. “This was where I realized how much I loved your mother,” he said. “We were here for an interview, but all I could focus on was her.”

Later that evening, we attended a flamenco performance. The passion and intensity of the dancers seemed to echo the fiery love my parents shared. I glanced at my father and saw a single tear escape down his cheek. I reached out and held his hand. He squeezed it gently, a silent acknowledgment of our shared grief.

The City of Their Love

If there was one city that defined my parents’ love story, it was Barcelona. My father’s face lit up as we arrived at Camp Nou, the iconic stadium of FC Barcelona.

“This is where it all started,” he said, his voice steady but emotional. “I was covering a match between Barcelona and Real Madrid when I met your mother. She was there to interview the players. She asked me a question about the game, and I ended up asking her out instead.”

We walked through the stadium, his voice narrating every detail of their first meeting. “Your mother was fierce and brilliant, Cabilla. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was passionate about everything she did.”

The day continued with a visit to the Sagrada Familia. As we stood in awe of the towering spires, I felt an overwhelming sense of connection to my mother. This was the city where she had lived, loved, and dreamed.

A Mother’s Wish

My mother often spoke about the beauty of the Dutch countryside. “Cabilla, one day you must see the windmills and tulip fields,” she would say.

While in Spain, I decided to fulfill that wish. We drove to a small village in the countryside, its rolling hills dotted with olive trees and vineyards. The tranquility of the place was a stark contrast to the bustling cities.

As we sat under an ancient olive tree, my father pulled out a photo of my mother. “She would’ve loved this,” he said, his voice trembling. “She always wanted us to have a peaceful moment like this, away from the chaos of life.”

The Sundowner Surprise

On our final evening, I arranged a surprise for my father. Thrillophilia had helped me plan a private sundowner on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean.

As the sun began to set, I handed my father a letter. It was one my mother had written before she passed away.

He opened it with trembling hands, and as he read, tears streamed down his face. “She wrote about this,” he said, his voice breaking. “She wanted us to find peace here, together.”

We sat in silence, watching the sun disappear into the sea. It was a moment of closure, a moment of healing.

Saying Goodbye

As our trip came to an end, I felt a mixture of emotions- gratitude, sorrow, and fulfillment. My father and I had retraced my mother’s footsteps, lived her dreams, and found pieces of her in every corner of Spain.

On the flight back, my father turned to me. “Thank you, Cabilla,” he said. “You’ve given me something I thought I’d lost- hope.”

I smiled through my tears. “She’s with us, Appa. In every memory, every story, every place.”

Spain wasn’t just a destination; it was a bridge to my mother’s soul. And as I held my father’s hand, I knew we had found her, not just in the places we visited, but in the love we shared.

Read more: Thrillophilia Spain Reviews