Some trips change you quietly.

Not with a dramatic moment or a single revelation, but slowly, the way afternoon light shifts across whitewashed walls. The way a sunset turns terracotta rooftops into something warm and alive. The way a place gives you permission to stop moving and simply be.

That is what Andalusia did for us.

The Trip We Never Got to Take

Twenty-five years ago, Brian and I got married and moved to Vermont. We were young, freshly married, and had our toddler daughter, Kalea, by our side. There was no honeymoon. No time. No money. Just love, a little apartment, and the kind of forward motion that comes with building a life from scratch.

Fast forward to early 2026. Kalea is grown. We have space now.

So we booked the flights. Our first real trip without her. A belated honeymoon and an early celebration of 25 years, all rolled into one.

We flew to Malaga, Spain, where Brian's cousin runs a bed and breakfast in Alora, a small town we had only ever seen in photos. The place looked like something out of a painting. And honestly, we were ready to slow down.

We stayed at Finca Gran Cerros, a peaceful rural retreat nestled in the hills above Alora, surrounded by olive groves, rolling countryside, and wide open views across the Andalusian landscape. If you have ever dreamed of slowing down in the Spanish countryside, this is the place. Brian's cousin has created something genuinely special there. Quiet, unhurried, and full of the kind of warmth that makes a place feel like home before you have even unpacked. The sparrows were the first thing I noticed. Dozens of them lived in the palm trees on the property. At sunrise, they chirped softly. But at sunset, they went wild, flying back and forth between the trees in a chorus so loud it made us laugh. If you are ever planning a trip to Andalusia, we cannot recommend it enough.

What Andalusia Taught Me About Time

Andalusia moves differently.

Sundays are sacred. Shops close. Siestas stretch long through the afternoon. The culture does not rush you. It invites you to linger, to let time unfold at its own pace.

We slept late with the shutters closed. We wandered white villages perched on mountainsides, their houses clustered together like they were holding each other up. We stood at overlooks near El Chorro and watched the sun catch the terracotta rooftops, turning them warm and alive.

In Mijas Pueblo, blue flower pots clung to white walls, and the whole town felt like a garden. Flowers scattered on steps, tucked into walkways, blooming against bright white stone.

We walked through the port in Malaga and discovered rows of small vendor shacks, permanent little shops designed to reflect each maker’s style. I stood there watching people browse handmade goods and thought: I could see myself here. Selling candles and jewelry. Living this slower, more intentional rhythm.

Where the Collection Was Born

I was always thinking about designing something that reminded me of the trip. But it really settled in as I walked around the bed and breakfast, noticing the carved details on the doors, the architectural accents, the way color and texture told a story everywhere I looked.

I knew I wanted to work with Moonstone and Black Opal.