The initial days in Shanghai were a blur of sensory overload. The city was a pulsating organism, a vibrant tapestry of ancient traditions and futuristic ambition.
Towering skyscrapers pierced the hazy sky, their glass facades reflecting the relentless sun. The streets teemed with a ceaseless flow of humanity, a symphony of honking horns, chattering voices, and the rhythmic clang of construction.
For a boy who had grown up in the quiet confines of Casa de los Niños and the familiar streets of Barcelona, it was an overwhelming, yet exhilarating, experience.
Mateo found himself constantly observing, absorbing every detail. The intricate patterns on traditional Chinese architecture, the pungent aroma of street food wafting from bustling markets, the graceful movements of tai chi practitioners in the parks at dawn.
