For making you rekindle your passion.

Traditionally, an unforgettable Holy Week

If there is tradition, a lot of tradition, I take the blame. Because you can feel it on my streets. Because during Holy Week you can breathe it in from every corner of the city. I am guilty of every step you may take. Of you being hypnotised by each procession. Of each church being a destination in itself. Of you being thrilled with all this ancestral energy, by night and by day. Thrones, brotherhoods, the cathedral, altar candles, virgins, crucifixes, orchestras, punishments, and traditional Andalusian saetas: I am guilty of this cocktail of sensations invading your body like an unstoppable deluge. I am guilty of it, yes. Traditionally, the blame falls on me every Holy Week.

Confessions of a city

I am Malaga and I feel guilty. I confess.
It is me, the one who called you without calling you.
The one who tempted you without tempting you. The one who, without you realising it, trapped you between its landscapes, among its people, within its way of life.
I feel guilty for…