There are not many things for which I will willingly travel thousands of miles just to stand outside and stare at the sky.
A total solar eclipse is one of them.
On Wednesday I was in Spain to see the Moon completely cover the Sun, briefly turning evening into night. Back home in Britain, people were watching the same eclipse, but only partially. In Slough, 93 per cent of the Sun was covered.
Strangely, judging by the messages, photographs and social media posts from home, there seemed to be more excitement in Slough about the partial eclipse than there was around us in Spain.
Perhaps we British simply enjoy making a fuss about the weather and anything involving the sky.
In Spain, the attitude seemed more relaxed.
One young girl we met was frightened by the whole thing. She had heard all the warnings and was convinced the safest course was for everyone to stay indoors.
Why, she wanted to know, were we deliberately going outside when the authorities were warning people about the dangers?
We tried to explain that the eclipse itself was not dangerous. You simply must not look directly at the exposed Sun without proper protection. But she was having none of it and was determined to stay indoors.
I had also travelled to Texas to see the total eclipse in April 2024, and the difference between Texas and Spain fascinated me almost as much as the eclipse itself.
In America, people had clearly decided that if the Sun was going to disappear, there was money to be made before it did.
There were eclipse T-shirts, caps, souvenirs, glasses, food and drinks everywhere. Restaurants and businesses turned it into an event. Everybody seemed to have worked out how to sell you something connected with a celestial event nobody had created.
It was capitalism operating at astronomical scale.
The Americans were quite literally making hay while the Sun did not shine.
Spain was different.
We arrived expecting the same carnival atmosphere and instead discovered that even getting a drink required joining a long queue.
The commercial frenzy I remembered from Texas simply was not there.
Part of me admired it.
Here was one of the rarest natural spectacles most people will ever witness. Perhaps it did not need a commemorative mug, six varieties of eclipse T-shirt or someone selling a solar-eclipse-shaped hamburger.
The most heartwarming part was the collective applause every time the Sun appeared from behind the clouds. Somehow, that felt more rewarding than coming home with a souvenir.
One reason I love travelling to see eclipses is that while you go to watch the sky, you end up watching people.
Some are frightened by it.
Some barely seem bothered.
Some travel halfway across the world to experience it.
Some arrive armed with telescopes, tripods and giant zoom lenses and turn the whole thing into a glorious nerd-fest.
For a few seconds, however, none of those matters.
When the final piece of the Sun disappears and you can safely look up at the black disc surrounded by the brilliant solar corona, everybody becomes quiet.
You understand why eclipses terrified ancient civilisations and why, even when we know exactly what is happening, they still have the power to stop us in our tracks.
Then daylight returns.
People start talking again.
A 93 per cent eclipse sounds almost the same as a total one. It is not.
Once you have experienced totality, you understand why people travel for it.
Next stop, Luxor in Egypt on 2 August 2027. This time, totality will last a full six minutes.
