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Perhaps it was the sight of poppies filling Spanish fields. Perhaps it was the night of music as we stamped our heels twirling skirts flamenca style down small, deserted streets to rhythms from mysterious sources. And when we tried to sleep it was the jasmine and the orange sweet and bittersweet. Perhaps it was the open carriage, the lamplit ride made us decide we had not landed in Seville but in paradise.

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