Carmen had set out early on her hiking route, following the course of the Guadajoz River and walking along a stretch of the Mozarabic Way. She walked alone, with only the constant murmur of the river, the whisper of the wind through the leaves of the trees, and the subtle sounds of wildlife among the branches and reeds as her companions.

At midday, she reached the Stone Bridge on the outskirts of Baena. The river flowed gently between the reinforced banks, and the eucalyptus trees offered a cool, fresh shade.

There she stopped. She spread her blanket on the ground and carefully took out the food her mother had lovingly prepared: an eggplant and zucchini salad scented with cilantro and citrus, and honey rolls filled with nuts. “Eat slowly and savor it,—her mother had told her—. These are Andalusi recipes, like the ones people ate centuries ago by this very river.”

So she ate unhurriedly, letting each bite bring her a little closer to that distant era.

The eggplants, lightly browned, tender and smooth, blended with the freshness of the citrus; the zucchini, with its fresh and almost crisp texture, added lightness, and everything was wrapped in the green fragrance of cilantro. Then came the honey rolls: the crunch of the pastry and the sweetness of the orange blossom honey combined perfectly with the earthy undertone of the nuts.

With her stomach full, Carmen let herself be enveloped by the coolness of the shade as a gentle breeze caressed her face. She lay back. She breathed deeply. The murmur of the water, the faint creak of the branches, the subtle hint of cinnamon still lingering on her palate…

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and within minutes, she had fallen asleep.