The reporter stands by the window, noting that the word “paradise” has been overworked. It started long before brochures learned to promise it, back when Milton imagined angels arguing about it. These days, it comes with glossy flyers, influencers, and hashtags. Take Dubai, he says, a city that constructed its own version of heaven out of glass, light, and imported air-conditioning. The streets shine, the towers glitter, and everyone looks like they’ve just stepped out of an ad. For years, it worked. Then, when the missiles came, the illusion cracked. Suddenly, paradise felt very close to its postal address: the Middle East.
He turns to Cuenca, a quieter claim to comfort. No skyline to marvel at, no brunch towers, no PR department working overtime. Just markets, buses, rain on the cobblestones, and people who do their own work. It does not sell perfection. It offers daily life with all its noise and kindness and occasional delays. The reporter says that’s worth more than glitter, sometimes. Paradise, if it means anything now, might just be a place where you can see how things function and still decide to stay. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real, and that’s enough news for today.
My Take…
Then there’s Cuenca, no glitter, no brochure breathlessness. Just rain, markets, buses running on vibes. Paradise here is messy, functional, human. Not “wow,” but “ah.” Real beats perfect. Always has, always will.
No argument from me, one of my favorite towns on the planet. My Cuenca Overview
Click on the link below for the full article:
https://cuencahighlife.com/retirement-with-missiles/
