Madrugar: A word that embraces the joy of getting up very early in the morning,
before dawn and savouring the sunrise
Image kindly provided by by https://unsplash.com/@nobleshots
I was reminded of the word, Madrugar today after a kind invite to the home of some Mexican friends last night. It is a Mexican untranslatable that captures the simple joy of waking up to the sunrise enjoying the magical hour.
The writer Nikos Kazantzakis once reflected on the simplicity of happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. His words encapsulate a truth that echoes through time—contentment lies not in grand possessions but in the humblest of pleasures.
Last summer, my wife and I pitched our tent on the edge of Loch Lomond at the Camping Club’s site in Milarrochy Bay, a picturesque location. “We have a lovely spot for you,” the staff member assured us. And indeed, it was.
Our spot touched the beach, where the rhythm of lapping waves carried us to sleep. Each morning, we rose early, greeted by a sunrise that painted the water in hues of gold and amber.
Birdsong filled the air—a symphony of creation performed for an audience of two while the rest of the world slept. Over freshly brewed coffee and warm Greek flatbreads topped with smoked bacon, we savoured the stillness, absorbing the sheer joy of being alive.
It struck me then, as it does now: how simple happiness can be.
The solace in the those mornings at Loch
Lomond, sipping coffee with my wife by my side, I felt the quiet perfection of Madrugar. Happiness, I realized, isn’t something you chase; it’s
something you wake up to. It’s there in the rustle of the leaves, the warmth of
a flatbread on a griddle, and the stillness of a dawn that asks nothing of you
but your presence.