This blog is part of a two-part series about my spiritual, cultural and emotional journey to Andalucía.
Find out more about my Andalucian journey in the next segment: Returning to Andalucía (part 2): why convivencia matters [coming soon].
“Andalucía is not a place you visit. It is a place that stays with you forever.”
Federico García Lorca
Last August I travelled to Andalucía – a region rich in cultural and religious history.
With 800 years of Islamic rule (under the name Al-Andalus) and the Catholic-led Reconquista and Spanish Inquisition, its history is one of mixed narratives – coexistence and persecution – and mixed faiths within the Abrahamic traditions.
As a history, it’s one that we can learn a lot from and which also mirrors my own journey in many ways.
Returning to Andalucía last summer, as a former resident at a particularly different stage of my life, I had quite an emotional trip – with some very valuable reminders.
These, I’d like to share.
From my teens to my 30s: my Andalucian timeline
The first time I visited Andalucía was in 2006. I was 18 years old and fresh out of school – having just finished my A levels.
I was enjoying a summer of travels before starting university. Nothing out of the ordinary!
Eight years later, I returned. But this time, things were very different.
Aged 26, I was a married practicing Muslim and a conservative hijabi (covering my hair and body, minus my face, hands and feet). Having moved to Algeria, I was now living in Malaga with my then husband and teaching English.
This was therefore quite a different reality indeed. And that’s the thing about life: you never know where it’ll take you.
Fast forward to 28th August 2025. I was sat waiting nervously at the train station on my way to Birmingham International airport.
I was flying to Seville the next morning, marking my return to Andalucía.
Almost a decade later, I’d decided to return. I was expecting an emotionally challenging trip to say the least – a sort of spiritual/emotional pilgrimage.
Things this time were even more different. Not only was I visiting as a former resident, but I was also single (divorced).
I was no longer wearing a headscarf. And I’d said goodbye to conservative religion. But there was more.
I also wasn’t Muslim either. And, I was on a Jewish conversion programme.
Things had changed, shifted, moved on. And I’d realised that I had to go back.
Whilst I’d long wanted to revisit Andalucía to explore its beautiful landscapes, rich history and vibrant culture, I felt I was being called to return for bigger reasons.
Many a night in recent years, I’d found myself dreaming of Andalucía – and what looked like Malaga – with such a yearning sense of nostalgia.
This was a place where I’d spent quite a particular period of my life. And the message was clear: I needed to go back and face my past.
It was time. Time to return to process the past, rediscover Andalucía and make new memories of my own. And I’d decided that Seville – a city I’d always wanted to visit – would be the key.
With the Andalucian capital as my base, I’d spend a few days enjoying some tourist time settling in exploring the city and taking a few day trips, before heading back to Malaga and facing my fears.
I’d catch up with friends, process my time in Malaga and ensure time before and after in Seville to decompress, before flying home.
Fully packed and ready for my adventure, the next day, I stepped of the plane and, a few hours later, onto Spanish soil.
I’d made it. I was happy but also a little anxious, frustrated and apprehensive as different memories, thoughts and histories began whirling around my head.
Of course, I soon settled into Seville though; basking in the beauty of Andalucía and exploring its history and culture – and many an interest of mine: Spanish, Jewish and Maghrebi (Amazigh-Arabic-Muslim) food, architecture, ceramics and music (flamenco) to name a few!
But, still: Malaga was waiting. And arriving in the city itself a few days later was quite an emotional, nerve-wracking experience.
I’d planned catch up with friends but I also I knew that I had to go back to the house where we’d lived and spend some time alone. I just wasn’t sure when.
Deciding to check in at my hostel first, I typed in the address into Google Maps and started walking. I soon found myself in an area called Gamarra.
Things felt familiar – but I couldn’t remember why. Until I saw a roundabout.
It hit me. It was Las Chapas. I was in my old neighbourhood.
I obviously had a mission to complete first: to go back to the house and face my past before moving forward with my trip.
I carried on, my breathing deepening with my increasing anxiety.
A few minutes later, I made it to the little plaza where our street sat on the right. This was it. It was time.
I began walking up and as I did, I saw woman in conservative hijab heading towards me.
I couldn’t believe it. There we were: hijab-less Liz walking up and a hijabi sister walking down – on that very same street at the very same moment.
It was fate. Beshert. Maktoub: a clear message, recap, review of my past and present. It was intense – but beautiful.
Reaching the house, I paused to reflect before heading back down to the square to take it all in. Sat on a bench, tear after tear, I let it out. All out.
A grand purge of emotion later, and it was over. I’d stopped crying. I was calm. And it was time to leave for the hostel.
Later that night, I headed to the beach for my final task: to say goodbye to Liz – the Liz of Malaga.
Sitting on the sand in the evening darkness, I read out loud the letter I’d written to her. I folded it together and sealed it with a kiss.
Undressing to the carefully planned bikini underneath, I headed to the water and let her go. Those words belong to the sea now.
After dowsing myself quickly with sea water (the sea was too cold for a proper dive in), I headed back to the sand, put on my dress and left. It was complete.
The past had been put to rest. And it belonged in Malaga – a city from another time and place, from the past.
And that was exactly it. For since my arrival in Malaga, I’d seen how much the city had changed.
I’d realised that the Malaga that we’d lived in no longer existed. And with increasing gratitude, I reminisced on how it had been our home. I was grateful.
The next morning, following a beautiful and quite tearful emotional catch up with a friend and her son, I headed back to Seville, my Seville.
Happy and content, I was ready to enjoy the rest of my holiday.
The following morning, I flew home.
This blog is part of a two-part series about my spiritual, cultural and emotional journey to Andalucía.
Find out more about my Andalucian journey in the next segment: Returning to Andalucía (part 2): why convivencia matters [coming soon].
Featured image:
At the Alhambra gardens in Granada (September 2025).
Photos:
Photos from my trip can be viewed in my Flickr album (Elizabeth Arif-Fear ©).
This post was originally published on Voice of Salam.