A Hippie’s Tale
or
There and Back Again
by
Frederic Thurlow Paddock
Old Soria felt like a paradise In 1973. Abandoned stone lodgings, hand cobbled under the giant boulders among the whispering pine trees below the great mountain, made a welcome retreat from the roads I’d been on. After hitchhiking around Europe for a year or so the old hand built cluster of and dusty paths meandering through pines alongside streams and waterfalls on this tropical island was peace. Old Soria had probably existed since before the Spaniards settled there in the 16th century. It may even have been the home of Guanches, the Neolithic natives of the islands. It was, and is still,a place of peace and beauty. New Soria was on the other side of the ravine where a dam, finished in 1972, had made a large lake. Before the government decided to put the dam there Soria was an isolated village in the mountains far from the bustling coast, a throwback to ancient times accessible only by foot of man and mule. A road came with the dam, bringing machines, concrete and a new life for the village. In a matter of months the entire village moved to the other side of the ravine. Many abandoned their farming and flocks to work on the dam. As well, they also hand hewed new homes and shops of stone along the fresh, wide asphalt to the coast.
Sometime in February, '73, on the cold, northern European highways, we heard the warm African winds beckoning to the lonely stone cottages of Old Soria, yearning to be lived in again.
Sometime in February, '73, on the cold, northern European highways, we heard the warm African winds beckoning to the lonely stone cottages of Old Soria, yearning to be lived in again.
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