In the middle of August, I was on my way to Sesga. But where exactly was this village?
A hamlet would be a better description: a place with a charm all its own, for so many reasons.
I am so glad I accepted the invitation to give a belly dance workshop there. Sesga is not somewhere you happen to pass through: you take that road because Sesga is where you want to go.
I was heading there to teach a workshop open to all levels, and the surprises just kept coming.
To begin with, someone picked me up in Ademuz. The road from there is winding and incredibly narrow, with a ravine alongside it—but the views are beautiful.
On the way, Sergio, the son of a local resident, told me about the hamlet's history. Around eleven people live there permanently, all year round.
I imagined I would be teaching a small group: a workshop unlike any other, at an altitude of 1,200 metres.
When we arrived, I was given a tour of the hamlet's different “districts”: the outskirts, the centre and the ring road. Sergio had a wonderful sense of humour. I did not count every winding street, but I doubt there were more than twelve!
Sesga has a lovely chapel, beautifully preserved, and a municipal building housing a school, a barber's shop, a bread oven and a jail cell.
I also saw a pretty fountain, with the communal washhouse opposite.
We made our way to the square, decorated with colourful paper streamers. One plaque caught my eye: it thanked the provincial council for bringing water and electricity to the village in 2001.
There was nobody there when I arrived, and I was not expecting a large crowd. But little by little, children and teenagers appeared, followed by parents, the mayor, Antonio, and many more people. In the end, around fifty people of all ages were milling about, watching with a mixture of curiosity and shyness.
I began the workshop with women, men—some of them the women's husbands—and their children. Half an hour later, the children had slipped away and the men had admitted defeat. The women, meanwhile, were moving their whole bodies to the music, smiling and clearly having a wonderful time.
It was a different kind of workshop, made special by the setting, the journey to get there, the simple pleasure of being there and the kindness of the people.
On the way home, I found myself thinking about the couples and free-spirited artists who had bought little houses there. I could see why: it was the perfect place to step away from the bustle and daily rush that most of us get caught up in, whether we mean to or not.
I kept thinking how good it would be for all of us to pause, slow down and be patient. To let messages arrive in their own time and give our conversations room to breathe, rather than living by what Walter Riso calls “yaísmo”: the urge to do and have everything right now. I'll reply now, I want it now, I'll send it now, I'll buy it now—everything, now.
Incidentally, I had no phone signal during that whole delightful afternoon, and I did not need it. I felt deeply at peace. I came away full of joy and renewed energy, with a fresh sense of the countless ways there are to live a life.