Following our October 18th wedding, my now-wife Katie and I took a ten-day holiday in Spain. Flying into Alicante by way of Barcelona, we rented a Volvo and drove a few hours into the rural Andalusian mountains to stay at a casa rural. What began as a means to document the quality meals and random goings-on of our stay — our day one nap resulting in a flooded living room from the torrential Spanish rainstorm, our day one dinner resulting in ecstatic murmurings unexpected and unparalleled — eventually, organically, became a 49-page hand-written monster of arbitrary, unmethodical delineation of questionable quality and purpose (outside of the usual nostalgic narcissism we’ve come to expect from these internets).

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