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. "To Anna Maria's blue house?" Si, I nod. "Are you good friends?" he asks.
"I've never met her."
A look of concern on his face. Something's amuck. Inside, I panic. 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?"
5
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. He 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?" We'd agreed she'd leave the day after my arrival.
"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.
