This post is part of a longer project, Distant Diary — Spain. All entries are gathered on this page, along with an explanation and some background.
DAY 2
Hit a few bookstores and am impressed with the Spanish editions. Wonderful paper, slick covers, great design. Once again wonder why British editions are so dreadful compared to other countries'.
Taifa Llibres is particularly wonderful, as is Libreria LA Central. Toronto just doesn't have stores like these. Killed by greedy landlords, Heather Reisman, etc. I consider picking up something I know cover-to-cover thinking it'll help learn the language. Jesus' Son? Silly idea. Brain is absolutely useless for learning new things right now.
Walk the streets towards Park Güell, see some great graffiti.
Spend most of the day in the Park and Gaudi's house. Am rather fond of his bedroom.
Head to Elephanta. Meet Anabel Caravaca and am charmed. Write a bad poem, which she takes. Stay way too long, but not long enough, unfortunately. Have to catch a train to Valencia in the morning. Will catch up with her online.
Head home to get some sleep. 11.3KM covered. Lightweight.
I'd tell you I paid good money for the boy, but that's not entirely true because the child wasn't expensive and the money wasn't earned by honest work. I killed a man for it and the cost didn't even eat up what remained after seven months of party and drink.
My wife had always wanted a child and I had always wanted a son so the purchase quelled both our longings. But things change when you swap money for blood. Your life gets harder. Your luck turns. Things fall apart.
For my wife, punishment came as a cancer. For my daughter, it came as a curse, though she wouldn't call it that. "Clarity of identity," she'd say. Something I can never claim for myself. As for me, punishment's still coming, a vision on the horizon I fear is not a mirage.
Unlike my kid, I've never felt I had an identity. I don't know who "I" am or what "me" means. So unaware of what I did not know, I didn't even know I didn't know it. She made me aware of what I lacked, Siobhan. It's an Irish name. Chose it herself. We'd named her Steven, April and I.
1130PM — Head down to the street.
Youth chill in the evening air:
Youth in Barcelona
Midnight — arrive back at Mariano's. Total distance walked, 17.8KM.
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.
Youth in Barcelona
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.
Antoni Gaudí's Bedroom
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.
The Font Del Túria, erected in 1979.
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.
The house where I'm to live for 3 months. The sea is on the other side of those bushes.
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.
