DAY 1

Direct from YYZ to BCN. Easy flight — aren't they all? SIM card. Sandwich. Metro to AirBnB. Marble stairs, 3 flights. The door is huge + heavy. Piotr shakes my hand, shows me the room, explains the fussy shower. Walk to a cafe. Juice and a frittata. So good! The busiest streets I've ever seen. Scooters everywhere. Youth chill in the evening air.

2

Morning Frittata. Clean air and spacious side streets. Bookstores. Beautiful editions of Chandler and James M. Cain. Walk to the park. I give coins to a singer of Delta blues. Gaudi's bedroom is uncannily calming. Cocktails at Elephanta with Anabel Caravaca and Jean Rhys. Good Morning, Midnight.

3

Train to Valencia. Another AirBnB, this one more "factory." Museums. Basilicas. Much porcelain. Grotesques and gargoyles abound. Delicious Charcuterie and the worst Martini I've ever had. I am older than the Font Del Túria, but it has me beat in beauty, poise, and bird shit.

4

Bus to Oliva. Call Joe the British cabbie. "Five minutes," he says, but is there in three. "Can you take me to Anna Maria's blue house."

"Are you good friends?"

"I've never met her."

He nods, a look of concern on his face. Something's amuck. I should have asked more questions before boarding that plane.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I don't understand."

"She's hired me to look after her cat while she travels."

"Didn't you say you were from Canada?!"

"Yes."

"And you're here for 3 months?"

"Yes."

Another look. Something is definitely amuck.

Locked gate. I consider climbing it, but wait. Ten minutes and out she comes, saying she didn't hear me calling. Is she what I expected? What did I expect? "It's hot, let's go inside." An accent, but not a Spanish one.

She introduces Blanche, the cat. My charge. Instantly, I know she's going to be a nightmare.

Anna Maria offers lunch and I accept. Fish and rice. The two bedroom house is charming. "How long have you lived here?"

"A few months."

"And you're off on vacation so soon?"

"I'm already on vacation. This isn't my house."

"I'm sorry?"

05

She rented the house for a year. Paid in advance. After seven months, she wants to leave. "They've found me."

"Who?"

She doesn't answer. The look on her face is either, "You know who," or "I'm not sure I can trust you with that information."

She paces the kitchen holding a butter knife. "Tomorrow, Miguel will join us for lunch."

"Who's Miguel?"

"This is his house. He wants to meet you. Says he never agreed to another 'tenant'. He's not happy I've hired you. He's police."

Great. "Tomorrow? For lunch?" She nods. "But what time's your flight?"

"I haven't bought my ticket yet. I was hoping you'd help me with that. No point using my phone. Lets talk about it tomorrow. You should take a walk. Get to know the area."

I walk the beach. Wonder what I've got myself into.

06

Anna Maria stares out the window. "He's the one that's doing it," she says. I look over her shoulder. In the distance, maybe 400 feet, I see another house. No people.

I change the subject, ask how often she gets to the beach. Does she like the area? She confesses she rarely leaves the house. "I can't spend another minute in this town."

Miguel joins us for lunch. We bond talking about music. I help him with his phone. He's delighted I'll be looking after his house for the next 3 months.

Another walk. Fishing cabins on quiet streams.

Someone in the bushes ahead. Miguel, waiting for me. His English is good, but not good enough to find the right word. "Is she..." he points in the direction of the house, then at his own head, twirling his finger, the international symbol for scrambled brains.

"Paranoid," I say. He snaps his fingers. That's the word!

07

Up the beach: swordfish on toast, salad. Five Euro. Love the colors of buildings here.

08

Help Anna Maria purchase plane tickets. Maddening stipulations: Spain to the Maldives, stopping in Abu Dhabi for four days. Only wants to fly in one direction, no flight longer than five hours. No layovers. Takes me two hours to figure it out. She leaves in two days.

09

2am. Awakened by sounds: a pacing, babbling Anna Maria. Fumbling in the silverware drawer. Did I lock the bedroom door?

Stray dogs barking and fighting through the night.

10

Joe picks up Anna Maria.

I discover Ca Fran. Civilized portions of local foods. Solid Vermouth. I teach the young barkeep to make a martini.

11

Sardines from the Super Mercado. A pregnant stray I've named Nina. How does she avoid the packs of wild dogs?

12

Miguel introduces me to Jaime. Funny guy. Asks, "Do you need a girl? I have plenty." Miguel confirms women love Jaime. I tell him thanks, but I'm good. Jamie asks, "You play Dominoes?"

I tell him, "No. I walk."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Jaime looks puzzled.

Miguel asks, "Have you heard from Anna Maria?"

"No."

Later, she texts me this picture:

Says she's in the Maldives.

I've never been, so take her word for it, but isn't she supposed to be in Abu Dhabi?

13

Walking, I get approached by a woman standing in front of a house. She speaks little English. "Sack? Sack?" I ask if she means my backpack. "No. Sack?"

I ask if I can take her picture. She says no, and heads into her house, nodding for me to follow. Instead, I continue down the road.

14

I follow a costumed woman to a Parade.

15

I climb a large hill to Castillo de Santa Ana. The smell of wild flowers and herbs is overwhelming. The entire city stretches below, the Playa in the distance, my house a blurred speck before the dark water.

16

Wander randomly into Bar Amigos. Am told I'm their first-ever customer so I can drink for free. I tell them they best reconsider or nothing will be left for the paying customers. They invite me to the grand opening. "Friday. The Mayor will be here." I say, Sure, and order a martini. They don't have the ingredients and wouldn't know how to make it if they did.

17

I've been sending daily poems to Burning the Days, my mailing list. It's a struggle and I blame my stroke rather than my fortitude. I notice Jessamyn West unsubscribes, and I question what I'm doing.

I walk the streets listening again to Will Patton reading Denis Johnson's Jesus' Son & Train Dreams. A day will come when I've committed them to memory. "And suddenly it all went black, and that time was gone forever."

18