Noches En Blanco

It was something the PTA would have pushed for. It's something every Mom in Malaga must have been behind. It was every nerds dream.

It was Las Noches en Blanco.

On Saturday, from 8pm until 3am on Sunday, ALL, yes, ALL of the museums in Malaga opened their doors for FREE, put on their own respective performances, and let the world wander through at their leisure. I stared at the multicolored spots of events on the map, in shock, like a person who'd just had their picture taken.

Start.

Plaza de la Constitucion. Live concert. Terrible Celtic rock.

Next.

Centro de Arte Contemporaneao, Alice in Wonderland like art.

Upstairs for Flamenco/Reggae Concert

Outside to

Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares. Live Flamenco/Verdiales dance.

Down the street to

An open air BBQ, with white lawn chairs and cheap plastic tables. And 1 euro vino de verano.

Still at the BBQ.

Wandered an alley to a carving of soap...it turned out to be a bull.

Off to a hostel to pick up a new friend.

Back to the BBQ. More 1 euro vino de verano.

Meet friends and wander back to Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares, but the dances are done.

So we wander back down the main street, miss out on the end of a jazz concert, head to local cafe, stare down the crappy DJ and munch on free gummy bears.

And sluggishly crawl home. So satisfied with Malaga. So full of creativity. So full of inspiration. So rejuvenated.

As I was walking home I saw a marvelous thing. My apartment is up a slight hill. A couple was zooming up the hill....in wheelchairs, only the girl had an electric chair and the boy had an oldfashioned, hand powered chair...and he was holding on for dear life to her arm rail, and she pulled him up the hill.

And I thought, why can't I do that? I can't seem to get where I want to go, so why don't I just grab on for the ride and let others help me on my way?

Each song, each painting, each dance, each photograph, each sculpture, was like another tug up the hill home, witnessing others making meaning out of life, in such beautiful ways, I couldn't help but feel that I'd be okay even though I wasn't done searching for my own life. There can be beauty in brokeness...maybe it's in the disparate pieces, in the unique cut of each experience, not in lamenting the broken whole.