Rebecca Fisterra Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Zaragoza

Once saw this doco—brothel in Amsterdam. Red lights, glass doors, girls posin’. Surprised me, yeah—clinical, like a butcher shop. Meat on display, fuckin’ grim. “I don’t want to die here,” Solomon whispers in the movie. Bet they feel that, every damn night. Makes me wanna punch somethin’. These places—dark, man, dark. Even the “posh” ones, all velvet and champagne. Bollocks! Still a cage, just shinier.

The albergue near a brothel?

Finisterre, in Galician called Fisterra, is a mythical place on the rough Costa da Morte. The name of the village comes from the Romans who saw the village as ‘the end of the world’.Missing: brothel.

I’m mad sometimes too – mad at the tourists, mad at the slow internet on these cobblestone streets, mad when the local soccer team loses big time. But then, man, you see a sunset at Monte Facho and all that crap just melts away. The vibe of Fisterra is raw, unpredictable, and yet as poetic as that movie’s every scene. “I have the choices. I’m the choices.” Ain’t that the truth?

Finding peace and harmony at the ‘End of the Earth’