On the morning of our wedding a crescent moon swung over a soft and sparkling sea, anticipating the riotous sun to come.

We didn’t choose a quiet wedding to whisper love and gratitude in sacred secrecy because we do that every day. This was our chance to give a mad old time to everyone we love, to shout joy to the world, and wonderfully, magically, they and the world shouted back, spinning us into a kaleidoscopic whirl that powered us on and beyond across the shimmering sea so that when we arrived in Spain we were unprepared for how Spanish it was – the cathedral hush, the road dust grit, the red wine, the honey warm streets.

Moon HoneyWe walked the pilgrim route across Cantabria and Asturias towards Santiago, through the green pastures rich in primroses, stitchwort, speedwell, wild daffodils, violets. Cow bells and goat bells and sheep bells, chaffinches, goldfinches, bullfinches, a firecrest, a kingfisher, apple trees, chestnut trees, lemon trees and always cherry blossom framing the beautiful Picos de Europa in their terrifying snowy splendour and blue distances. We barely reached the snowline and the bears, but we walked through cider country, greeted by villagers in wooden clogs, by men inspecting their orchards, us admiring their rickety ancient grain stores like Japanese temples hung in maize.

We met monks and whores and angels on the road to Santiago, we didn’t have time to get there, it didn’t matter.