Five classic geysers (León, Spain).
Somewhere in León, I stop before a small shop window. Behind the glass hang five classic geysers, displayed like relics from another age — white, rounded, solid, and strangely human. They look as if they still belong to a world where things were built to last and gas was simply there.
I think of home — of how in The Netherlands we talk of little else but transition. No more gas, no more burning, no more delay. Every boiler, every flame, every old system has become a symbol of guilt.
Here, though, no one seems in a hurry to erase the past. These quiet machines just wait for someone who still buys them, still needs them, is still dependent on them.
I catch my reflection in the glass: the street behind me, cars passing, the faint trace of my own doubt. Maybe progress isn’t only about moving forward. Maybe it’s also about remembering the warmth we’re trying so hard to replace.
