Uruguay holds the color palette of my dreams.
Thanks to serendipity I met with an American writer in Montevideo. We met in a bookstore with tiled floors and stain glass ceilings. We sat on the back patio that was enveloped in ivy and foliage and drank cappuccinos and ate dulce de leche cake.
The sugar rush fueled us through the streets across town, under the brown bark of Jacaranda trees and across their fallen purple petals. Thick like a velvet blanket, the petals were crushed under our footsteps on the sidewalks.
We ended up spending the whole day walking and talking and eating. At dusk we explored La Rambla and photographed European buildings that seemed more post-apocalyptic than pristine. We ate Medialunas, glazed croissants, some filled with ham and some with cream.
My fingers were sticky with sugar crystals and my face with salty river spray.