It was a warm, amber evening in Madrid. The kind where time slows, and conversation drifts as easily as the scent of orange blossoms along Calle de las Huertas.
We were sharing a quiet moment at a shaded café in the Literary Quarter. A stately Spanish gentleman, linen-clad and deliberate in his words, turned to me after learning I was visiting from Australia.
He paused, raised an eyebrow, and with a wry smile said:
“Ah… Nueva Zelanda. El antípoda de España.”
The antipode of Spain.
There was something more than geography in his remark – something elegant in its simplicity. He wasn’t speaking with cartographic precision. Rather, it was a poetic truth: that Australia and New Zealand sit on the far edge of his mental map, as distant and enigmatic as the stars at sea.
In that moment, I felt the beauty of being from the other side of the world.
Not just far in distance, but far in rhythm, history, and light.
For him, antipode meant more than a point on the globe – it was a kind of mirror. One where Europe sees not its reflection, but its counterbalance. A slower place, perhaps. A younger one. But no less rich for it.
It reminded me that travel isn’t just about crossing space. It’s about noticing how others place you in theirs.
And sometimes, that one quiet comment over coffee can stay with you far longer than any guidebook quote.
