¡Toca, Gitano!

I'm tired. Tired of waiting for Spring, tired of waiting for the ice to go, tired to get moving again. I want to dance like Sara Baras. I want to stamp my heels in the surf and push my kayak out into the water and never come back. Sara dances with passion, with fire and ice. I want to live like she dances. Come on Spring!

And once I'm on the water, I want to sing like Montse Cortés, like she sings on Jesse Cook's album 'Nomad' and her own albums. As she sings, my paddle goes into the water, I feel her rhythm, my paddle settles into it and the kayak moves over the water, into the mist of adventure. Montse's earthy voice mingles with the wilderness, dark and brooding, mysterious.
Do you ever drink cava? If you live in Barcelona you do, in the little tavernas on the back streets. And listen to the gitanos as they play and sing and dance. I'm sure there is a link somewhere to paddling in the wilderness and listening to gypsy music, drinking cava. There has to be. Come Spring. I want to leave. Un otra cava, por favor...