Living and playing alongside Basque teammates like Labaka, Aranburu, and Prieto felt great, but that alone couldn’t fully define my journey. South America gave me a passion for football that burns eternal. I could shout at referees over a single call or face down a defender’s rough challenge without flinching. I’ve even spoken out against our own supporters when opinions clashed. At Atlético Madrid, there were moments when I saw new young players training without energy, and I honestly thought they had no business being there.

Their values just didn’t match mine. Carlos Bueno made me sharper and more adaptable. His mentorship helped me refine my movement in the box, better time my goal-scoring chances, and manage my stamina more efficiently. I’m not the tallest striker, but thanks to him, I learned how to position myself against defenders and win aerial duels. Bueno was a real threat inside the box. We even competed in footvolley, where he could regularly score using only his head. I studied his every move and eventually saw the results on the field. I first heard of him from other players.

One concert we attended was held at a middle school, with barely a hundred people in the audience—most of them South Americans. My wife and I went with the Godíns. That night, the music, full of warmth and songs about love, moved us deeply. For a moment, we felt transported across the Atlantic, embraced by the rhythms of authentic Latin music. Its infectious tempo has a way of crossing borders. I still listen to it at home or before matches. There’s something about Latin beats—the optimism they carry—that hooks me every time.

In Europe, I saw how easily people let the pressures of life make them anxious and complicate everything. Many lived wrapped in complaints. Carlos would often invite me to dinner. We’d watch old Penarol games and drink yerba mate together. He became more than a friend—he was like a brother. Back then, I was only seventeen or eighteen, and he was nearly thirty. He made me feel at home, and sometimes I even stayed at his place. His influence on me was subtle yet deep. He taught me Penarol fan chants, which I still remember today. Now, even at Atlético, we carry those memories forward. On New Year’s Eve, we gathered at Godín’s house in Madrid, and together we sang those songs to honor Penarol.

I often go on YouTube to watch Penarol fans singing in stadiums—it gives me chills. It all started in 2009 when I joined Real Sociedad to begin my professional career. My youth team coach was a Uruguayan named Lasarte. When I was promoted to the first team, Carlos Bueno arrived at the same time, and we bonded immediately.

We both played in attack. Back then, I didn’t even have a car, so he’d pick me up every morning for training. There was also a Colombian player, Estrada, whose ever-present smile left a lasting impression. He’s retired now, but I still remember his humor vividly. That was the seed of my connection with South America. Through football, through music, they found joy. They didn’t dwell on complaints—they lived with heart, with rhythm, with soul.