SEPTEMBER, MIRROR AND FRONTIER

September has always felt like a peculiar month to me. A mirror. A month that reflects back where you are in life.

On one hand, there are those who feel their holidays were too short and return with post-vacation syndrome. On the other, there's the group I identify with: those who spend August half-paused, watching half of Spain disconnected, waiting for September as the start of a new cycle. A kind of alternative January, where projects are launched, life changes happen, or trips that break the routine take place.

I suppose being born in September makes me belong to that second group. For years, I lived it as a month of escape. Since 2019 I've been leaving; sometimes to Asia, other times to Latin America, sometimes for 6 months, even a couple of years. I felt that the farther I flew, the more I could reinvent myself. As if changing continents were the recipe for shedding my skin.

Until in 2021, after returning from the Philippines, I ended up in my father's village in Almería.

From Flight to Roots

At first, I resisted.

The pandemic didn't help: I arrived in a village where I knew almost no one, with bars closed and masks that turned neighbors into strangers. Me, who had crossed half the world to find myself, now trapped in a place where "nothing" happened.

But over time, my body started asking for the village every summer. It's inevitable: there's something in our roots that eventually connects us with who we are.

At first, I would flee in September. Then I wasn't in such a hurry and would leave in October. Then November. Last year in November. And this year... in December.

Something has been shifting.

An Unexpected Click

Last March I was very clear that I wanted to spend a few months in Italy. But then Nesh appeared, a Filipino influencer who teaches Spanish and English, showing on social media her stay at something called Rooral.

And my mind exploded.

Rooral is a coliving in a village in Málaga. Digital nomads living with little old ladies. Longtime residents and outsiders sharing a table. It wasn't a catalog photo: it was real life. It created a need in me I didn't know I had.

So instead of buying a ticket to Southeast Asia, I bought one from Madrid to Cortes de la Frontera. And from there, by road to Benarrabá.

In Cortes de la Frontera we already had our driver waiting to take us to the village.

Actually, in Bali I had to stand my ground, because after agreeing on a price with the driver before getting in the car, he then told me another price that was roughly double and locked the door to intimidate me.

It didn't take long to fall in love with Benarrabá, that little village embedded in the Genal Valley. The views on the road were spectacular, I hadn't felt anything like it since I made the bus journey from the airport to Medellín.

Many myths and beliefs were dismantled for me.

The Pleasant Surprises

One of the things I was most afraid of was leaving my cave to work.

I've been working remotely since 2019 and the truth is I've always avoided coworking spaces, shared spaces, and other places where there was more than one person because I'm the kind of person who gets distracted by a fly.

And now I've realized that thanks to the positive energy I get from smiling at each and every one of my colivers and coworking companions, I find myself with motivation levels I hadn't experienced in a long time.

In my cave life I'm with my father and grandmother, and I can't ask either of them for their perspective when I get stuck with something professionally - because it would be like speaking Chinese to them.

So here I find myself all day listening to and exchanging stories about entrepreneurship and other projects that help me a lot to see different perspectives.

Plus, the coworking space the Benarrabá town hall set up is amazing: 1gb symmetric and good coverage in all spaces (which allows me to take calls under a lemon tree).

While in some countries it's cost me blood, sweat, and tears to find a good internet connection or not get overcharged for rent for being a foreigner, here I've felt grounded from day one.

Welcome Mr. Marshall, 2025 Version

When I arrived, a legendary film came to mind: Welcome Mr. Marshall. That papier-mâché Spain that dressed up to receive Americans who never came.

Benarrabá reminded me of that, but in reverse. Here there's no set design or posturing.

The closeness is real.

Even the mayor greets you as if you were just another neighbor. Modernity here doesn't arrive in disguise, it coexists with the roots. And suddenly, a coliving becomes something much bigger: an entire village that opens its doors to you.

Look, I'm from a village myself and nothing like this has happened to me in any of them, I suppose no one is a prophet in their own land.

Plus, I've run into the mayor at bars a few times and he's dropped: "Kid, you like the same bars I do."

He's good at reading people. He's figured me out quickly.

There's a lot to learn from him.

The Learnings

San Cucufato

A girl from the coliving taught me the San Cucufato saying: "San Cucufato, I tie your balls; if you don't find [what's lost] for me, I won't untie them." A folk spell for finding keys, rings, lost objects.

It made me laugh, of course. But then I understood it wasn't about finding things, but people. I didn't find a lost charger, I found people I didn't know I needed in my life. Dinner companions, neighbors who made an effort to understand my accent, friends with whom to share silences. San Cucufato, Rooral version.

What You Give, You Receive

I suppose if we ever made Rooral merchandise, the first t-shirt would have a very simple phrase printed on it: "What you give, you receive." (The second would be "Check the Notion," that's for sure).

One of the reasons that pushed me to leave behind the pattern of going to another country every September, building a group of friends there and starting from scratch, was precisely this: I felt the time had come to give back to life what it had been giving me. And to do it here, in my own country. To help other people feel integrated, like family, in a village that could also be theirs. None of this happens by chance.

The confirmation came in one of the first talks. They told us this principle is part of Rooral's DNA. That if someone gives you lemons, you make lemonade and bring them a pitcher. That if someone invites you for coffee, you return it at the next hangout.

That's how the village works: a constant emotional barter.

And I love it, because for me this is a basic principle for living in abundance: learning to give without expecting anything in return, and opening yourself to receive when you least expect it.

Could it have been a coincidence that I ended up in this village? I don't think so.

The Right Place

I suppose I didn't get here by chance. I'm not sure of anything—because I rarely am—but what I do know is that I'm enjoying and flowing. And that's quite enough.

What's surprising is how easily I've adapted to this new home. Mind you, this time I didn't have to cross half the world, or change time zones, or learn to say "thank you" in another language, or discover which local dish would save my life during my existential crises. Everything was new, yes, but from minute one I felt I was exactly where I needed to be. And that feeling doesn't come around that often. (I assure you an existential crisis in Benarrabá is not the same as one in a room in Cambodia being alone).

And here I have to mention Juan, the one "responsible" for me writing these words from Rooral. After our first contact we felt a clear affinity, although he warned me: he needed time to find where to place me. I wasn't surprised: I'm a peculiar guy, and I know it. I don't always fit in easily.

But Juan had a special sensitivity to make it work. He proposed a volunteer position created just for me, mixing my quirks with my superpowers:

• Supporting the digital marketing team creating content, using that ability I have to tell stories with a slightly twisted point of view, but one that hooks you (you've already noticed: you're over 2,000 words in with me).

  
  

• Replacing Anna, the community lead, on her days off. A serious responsibility, because Anna is a coliving world rockstar. I've already had my baptism: on Sunday I welcomed my Dutch housemate to the village. And I experienced it like a child, with that joy of giving what you've previously received.
  

• Supporting the artists who will come this season to develop their projects. The most unexpected challenge? Finding the man who takes care of the village goats to coordinate with him. Wish me luck.
  

With that custom-designed volunteer position, in a village in my beloved Málaga, the idea reinforces itself again and again: I'm in the right place. And no, it's not a coincidence.

The First Dinner

But you see something's missing, right? Exactly: I haven't told you about the connection with people yet.

And like a good nudist, I save the best for last.

Although this time, the best happened at the beginning. Specifically at the first dinner.

We were playing a simple game: tell what we wanted to be when we grew up as kids and what we do now. An innocent game, until I started hearing the answers: a group of dreamers who not only dreamed, but had turned their lives into projects to make the world a better place.

Suddenly, I felt at home. That I had found my tribe. When it was my turn to speak, nudist David took the helm:

"Hi, I'm David. As a kid I dreamed of being a doctor to cure cancer, but I abandoned that idea when I understood that health was also a business. Since 2019 I've been working helping NGOs with their digital marketing strategies and last year I published a book that changed my life: 'My Mother Doesn't Love Me.'"

So my biggest secret, the one I had kept for so many years, didn't last even 24 hours at Rooral.

And you know what? It was liberating. Now I need to tell them more about my book (and you too).

Seeing Foreigners Make an Effort with the Language

One of the things that makes me happiest here is something as simple as it is everyday: seeing foreigners make an effort to speak Spanish.

Small scenes, almost invisible, but that say a lot. A French woman and a Dutch woman trying to string sentences together, laughing at their mistakes, but doing their best to understand each other in Spanish.

That's when you realize something that seems obvious, but isn't: there's a genuine love for Spain and its culture. It's not showcase tourism. It's people who want to be part of the village's life, even if temporarily.

And that, as a Spaniard, makes me feel pride and gratitude in equal parts.

The Superpowers

One of the things that has most surprised me, and also that I've liked the most, has been discovering a human group with a very particular superpower: the ability to see the soul of people, places, and even sounds.

I'm not exaggerating. I say it because I've been seeing it every day for a week:

• A companion who dedicates her time to capturing the essence of the village's little old ladies and turning it into portraits that are pure living memory.

  
  

• Another who walks the streets of Benarrabá searching for its soul, to capture it on a map that not only serves those who arrive, but makes the neighbors themselves feel proud.

  
  

• And a companion who is composing an acoustic portrait, tuning into the sounds that are part of this place's invisible soundtrack.

  
  

And it doesn't end there. Because the magic isn't only in the individual projects, but in the small collective gestures. One of the toughest days for several in the group, we ended up improvising a game: tell something good that had happened to us that day. And the energy completely shifted. As if we had read each other from the inside, as if we had connected on another plane.

That's the kind of superpower I'm talking about. It's not laser beams or superhuman strength. It's shared sensitivity. It's community. It's the certainty that when you bring together people eager to see beyond the obvious, things happen that transform you.

Benarrabá changed something

I came looking for air. What I found was community.

For the first time, September stopped being a month of escape. And it's become a place to stay.

P.S. This is just the beginning. Because this weekend... we have the village festival!

Looking for the ideal coliving in Spain? Get a curated list of the best villages for digital nomads and remote professionals for free.

Who am I? I’m David, village-born and story-driven. After writing a book about my own path, I now help freelancers and NGOs share their honest, human stories that keep the rural spirit alive.