Working as a nomad for HSP's

First Night  As I settled into my room and sleeping hub yesterday, I met the girl in the bunk below mine in the 8–10 person dorm. She’s about twenty, from Finland, and traveling for two weeks to escape the minus 20°C winter back home. She told me she does this every year. Last year she was in Málaga too, and today she’s moving to a beach-front hostel because it’s quieter there. We exchanged stories about Finland, and somewhere in the conversation I discovered she’s a Pisces—just like me—with a birthday only a week earlier. Of course, she’s also a true HSP. Some things you just  feel  instantly. As we were chatting, another person arrived and settled into the room: a guy from Italy, here in Málaga on a four-day break. Brief introductions, easy energy. These small, transient meetings are one of the quiet joys of hostel life. After unpacking my bag and organizing my corner of the room, I headed for a shower and discovered how well set up this hostel actually is. The night it...

  Discovering Málaga Arriving in Málaga by bus on a calm Saturday afternoon, I take in the city’s gentle rhythm .  Unlike other cities, Málaga doesn’t press; it simply exists, welcoming without intrusion.  Andalusia, they say, has a softer touch than the north—and I feel it. Settling into café Iberia at the bus station, I enjoy a vegetarian tarte and a Heineken 0.  It makes me slightly tipsy, so I sip some water before paying €9.20 and heading to my bus.  Bus number 20 arrives almost immediately, and thirty minutes later, I check into my hostel—a clean, well-reviewed space that promises a comfortable stay. Eager to explore, I step back into the city, which was buzing with people, cafes and pizza places galore. After a quick stop at the restroom and a peek at the tidy kitchen-dining area, I wander out again. The café downstairs hums with the quiet buzz of laptops and conversation—young people working, coffee in hand, croissants on plates. How will I spend the nex...

24 december 2025  A warm house has arrived here in Granada—not just the four walls, though that was the start—but the community of like-minded souls, the warmth of the electrical heater, the birds singing outside, and the music filling the air. Most of all, the warm gratitude I feel in my heart for every person who contributed their energy and attention to this place since just 2 monhts to create it from an empty shell. This is exactly what I wished for about a month ago, when I was in Barcelona. Having come out of the cold, I have a room to sleep in, an unbelievable view of the sea and mountains, and a kitcehn to make my food in.. now as I sit here and write my blog, the smell of melting butter in the pancake pan creates a warmth, and the memory and feeling of the cheesy pancake i made, a leftover from last Sunday. The lights twinkle on the window sill, waiting to be arranged properly. A warm house has arrived… and I was part of the circle that created it. Grateful for the owners,...

As I was walking back from lunch today—from Casa Gil to the volunteers’ house—my colleague and I spotted a small chair by the roadside. It was made of wood and leather, simple and sturdy. I was happily surprised, almost amused, by how perfectly my need was met in that moment. I’ve been sitting and working on a cold floor here, on the top floor, third piso, in the Granada area.  Without hesitation, we carried the chair home with us, one side each. At first, I used it in my room.  Later, as the sun began to set, I took it outside onto the terrace.  That’s when I was caught off guard by the beauty of the view—the sea stretching out under a glowing sky. It brought back memories of Curaçao, watching sunsets with a drink by the beach. But this time was different. I didn’t romanticize the sea. I saw it clearly, with its depth and its dangers. “It’s a tough world out there on the ocean,” echoed through my mind. Capricorn season, perhaps.No muckign around just straightforward hone...

It’s sábado—Saturday—in Granada, Spain, and it was one of those very typical days:  going out to do the shopping and getting stuck in traffic along the way. The town closest to my home and co-living place, Motril, is practical and straightforward. It has the usual Lidl and the Chinese superstore. We came back with two Christmas trees, decorations, and all the groceries needed for the weekend. Christmas is approaching quickly—just four more days. It looks like we’ll be busy with cooking and a party, and I’m quietly hoping that both the old and the new will meet in a calmer way this year. What am I feeling? Happy. Content. Surprised. It’s been a very long time since I last had a Christmas tree. The last one that truly mattered in my life was probably when I was married. After that, there was one in a spiritual place, but it carried no real emotional value for me. Last year, I wasn’t even in a house with a tree at all—December and January passed so quickly, almost unnoticed. Only Febr...

Last Quarter Moon — December 17, 2025 Standing on the terrace of my new place in Andalusia, I watch the last wisps of morning dew drift over the mountain hills, blending with the smoke of burning leaves. In the far distance, the sea reveals itself. It could be that I’m mistaking the flat horizon for water, seeing a ship where there is only a mountain peak — but I doubt it. Andalusia… I need to research it. After spending a year moving between Spain, Finland, and France, I still feel curious about where this next station has brought me. This stop feels special, I know that — and yet it is also just another knot in my rope of service. This place needs me most of all as a stabilizer. Between people who are awake but scattered, others lost or depressed, and the calm, grounded South American energies — I find myself becoming the calm, wise sister this time. 2025 has been a year of growth and letting go. Just two more weeks remain — then we hit the pavement running in January 2026. Amid thre...