There’s nowhere else in the world quite like Puycelsi. The rolling hills, the glimpses of the Pyrenees, the low-hanging fog, the cobbled streets: all of it seeped into my imagination and for extended periods, I existed somewhere unbound by the rigors of time. There is no better place to write, to think, to read, and gape at the stunning landscape just beyond the terrace. I took long walks, went to market, explored the village, and filled pages with some of the best writing I’ve done in a while. This is a place you come to when you want to concentrate on the task at hand, when you want no distractions but those that your mind stumbles upon on its way towards an idea. It is magical, to put it simply, yet thoroughly centered on all that a writer needs: time and space and nature’s beauty. And in between, there are the people, the residents of Puycelsi – some of the best you’ll ever meet.