It is a warm summer afternoon in 2005 and I am strolling down “sun” street.



I see an advertisement posted on a street lamp, there is a house for sale in the neighborhood and a contact number underneath.

My curiosity induces me to call.




A woman called Mabel opens the door; we arrange to meet at the house right next door in a street called “wind” with the church of Santiago on the corner, there is a lovely breeze blowing. Carlos, Mabel’s husband welcomes me at the door. I enter an irregular shaped courtyard and walk into a cooling space. A green awning from the rooftop shades the courtyard and I feel immediately at home.


I like the place..


Carlos is a luthier and Mabel a concert cellist. They have a young son who is running around… they show me the house and despite the mishap of materials superposed on the original house there is something remaining which charms the soul, the smell of wood coming from carlos’ workshop impregnates the whole house. Despite not having any intention of buying and not having any money I arrange to meet them another day to continue chatting.


Unknown to me an old desire, an ancient yearning is struggling to come to the surface and is the hidden reason behind my second visit. A desire which has slowly found expression in each trip Gema and I have taken.


But which is older still, from when I was a child, my love of building houses with my own hands, with stones, that instinctive hospitality which flows through my veins from my grandmother maria lopez alarcon’s ancestors.


And thus I surrender to destiny. But the fact remains, I am broke…




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