Anna Matsushita

 One winter, my family and I embarked on a journey to the Canary Islands, situated off the coast of North Africa, to celebrate the year-end holidays. These islands, a bit farther south than the Mediterranean, are renowned for their numerous volcanoes. My destination was one of the islands in the archipelago, Lanzarote. It's a Spanish territory where the predominant language is, unsurprisingly, Spanish. Upon landing at the airport and traversing the island by bus, I beheld many curious sights. I noticed peculiar circular enclosures made of stone, with greenery growing in sunken centers. Our guide explained that these were vineyards. The island, formed from volcanic ash, experiences strong winds, making it challenging to cultivate taller crops. Thus, they construct enclosures with rocks to shield against the wind, creating depressions in the center where grapevines thrive. That day, our group of nearly thirty individuals was meticulously led around by our guide, showcasing variou

  A tale from the distant past unfolds when a colleague from the travel agency bid us farewell, prompting the team to gather for a celebratory meal. Opting for the favorite Spanish cuisine of the departing comrade, our second-year colleagues discovered a delightful eatery nearby in Tokyo.   Run by a Spaniard, the restaurant was conveniently close to the office, and on that day, they had arranged a private room for our group. As we indulged in classic paella and fine wines, the jovial atmosphere escalated, and the affable owner inquired if we desired anything more. It was then that someone exclaimed, "We'd love some sangria!"   The proprietor's momentary hesitation upon hearing this request left me a lasting impression. Returning from the kitchen, the owner presented us with three large pitchers of sangria. Brimming with oranges and other fruits, this chilled concoction was a refreshing delight for our somewhat inebriated selves.   However, the lingering ex