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Sitting in Matavenero, Galicia, northern Spain, 1000m high above sea level, and it is about 10 o’clock in the morning, on a sunny day in may. I could forget about all these facts and figures enjoying that great view over the mountains, the small individual-style, colourful houses, the horses, the huge dome which was built for community events and the childrens toys lying around in the green grass.

I can hear birds singing, all kinds of insects whiring and buzzing, chicken gaggeling, and some reggae music from somewhere near the center of he village. I can smell flowers, and I feel a bit like a tourist.