I’ve been away. In the closing of a hard year, the ending of my first half century on the planet, I skated away to Europe for a much needed change of scene and perspective. I am wildly fortunate to have been able to go, and go alone, to a place as magical and medieval and rich with culture and foodways as Spain. I went to Spain and Portugal, so I am sharing my travel journals here so that you, dear reader, can enjoy some of it too. I tried to trace the emotional landscape of my journey away from my children and the life I’ve made here. I tried to reconcile the difficulties of daily life in Baltimore with the ease and joy I found in Spain.
I’m separated from my husband now, is part of it. I can only share that things are okay, things are amicable, the kids are doing well. But yeah, that’s the headline for now.
Writing it here feels like a relief. It’s why I’ve had such a long break from writing, because when you’re in the midst of the whirlwind, there’s no way to get enough distance from it to write about it—and if you do write about it, you endanger the progress you are making by living in the moment of change.
But travel is different! On a trip, you’re making observations in real time and reporting on your experiences as you’re having them — not documenting some seismic inner shift. Writing can become a way to metabolize the experience. I’ll post excerpts so you can experience a bit of it with me.
Day 1 Barcelona
Arrived BCN airport an hour late. Flight circled over the city for a while. Couldn’t sleep much. Took photo from the plane.
Airport crowded at noon, got a coffee easily. The Spanish came awkwardly but finally came. I was still worried and unsure how to get a taxi, until I calmed down and saw there are taxis available for everyone. it’s clearly a thriving part fo the tourist industry. I changed out of my hoodie in the bathroom and tried to clean up a little bit, and got euros at the currency exchange which charged me fucking TWELVE PERCENT. At that moment I realized what a rookie mistake I was making — but there were no ATMs!
I stood in a long but fast moving line for a taxi, got one easily, and it cost what it was supposed to cost. I’m used to Baltimore’s Wild West of cars for hire, where rides cost whatever the drivers say they cost. Barcelona, I’m learning, doesn’t assume scarcity.
I arrived to the flat where my airbnb host Rosi was waiting. She walked up the many flights of stairs while I brought my things up in the tiny, claustrophobic one-person elevator. She spent a solid hour orienting me with the map, keys, walking me through all of the systems in the flat. She and I have the same birthday! What are the chances. She’s much younger, of course. She loved the idea that I’m giving myself this trip for my 50th birthday. She sent me a long list of restaurants so I’ll enjoy myself.
I showered after she left. Water pressure is miraculous. Top tier shower of all time — tiles and marble. After the shower, I dressed and went out. The siesta time was in effect. I stopped into the small grocery market on the corner. The sweet butcher became alarmed and zoomed over to help me after I opened the fancy case with the manchego cheeses. I wasn’t supposed to do that, evidently. But I do want some fancy cheese. I’ll have to get it at a restaurant, I suppose. I bought a few eggs, chorizo, yogurt and honey for breakfast. Juice. I forgot coffee! A pastry shop was open across the road and I bought a chocolate croissant and decided to walk down to the nearest Metro station, Joanic. I think it is named for St. Joan of Arc. It’s downhill a couple of blocks. Shop owners were coming outside for the siesta, smoking cigarettes and sweeping sidewalks. Children were being brought home from school by parents and grandparents. Everyone I saw seemed to belong here — no tourists.
Then I started to really crash from the sleep deprivation. I headed back to the flat and made a snack plate of the roll and a pear that Rosi left for me.
Dinner will be tapas at La Panxa del Bisbe. Tapas.
This was lovely. I’d go here several times if nothing else stands out. Lot of locals enjoying food & wine, plus one table of either Americans or Canadians enjoying a night out in BCN. I didn’t have the courage to order squid on my first restaurant visit but I will. A man and woman clearly in mutual seduction mode, at the end of the meal he embraced her while she was still seated, which was both awkward and intimate. I may have stared at them. As if I’ve forgotten what that immediacy of desire feels like— I can’t wait for us to get out of here, I must experience you now.
Day 2
The rooftops-to-sea view from this flat is magnificent and stuns me into forgetting to catalog its particulars. I’m afraid I’ll forget what it is like to look at it, or forget things like the quirky art deco chimneys or terracotta ridged roofs or laundry hung out on long lines crisscrossing the diagonals of each square rooftop. I should sketch it. Cloudy this morning. It may have rained. An elderly man in a navy blue bathrobe is hanging out more laundry now, so maybe he knows it’s stopped raining for the day. I hope so. I’m headed to La Sagrada Familia after my shopping.
Mariya I can't read your posts anymore — what can I do? Eleanor