1) I don't know if it's aging or just having done so many special events in my career, but excitement doesn't manifest the way it used to. The start of the first day of this long-contemplated journey of six weeks began with, really, "Gosh, I'm tired. Oh, that's today."
2) Already 90% packed, I spent the morning cleaning the house, which led to the unexpected and comic destruction of a mop and my pretending to finish the kitchen floor on my knees withe the mophead sponge.
3) One way excitement does manifest is heightened body surface temperature, resulting in flop sweat. So when Craig -- God bless him and heap upon him many blessings -- showed up a bit early to drive me to the airport, I was half dressed and had just finished unloading the dishwasher. Then all I needed to do was turn off the router and all the lights and adjust the thermostat, and say goodbye to my house.
3a) August 13 is the 19th anniversary of my closing. I love my little home.
4) Driving through unknown parts of Roxbury listening to "Viva Espana," I observed to Craig that part of Britain looks on Spain as part of the USA looks on Mexico: a beach with alcohol and an accent.
5) Despite my anxiety, all my flying fears did not come to pass. I made my connection in PHL with 20 minutes to spare, and both my bags (I checked my larger carryon) arrived in BCN. I was disappointed not to see more masks, but the flight attendant between BOS-PHL summarizied it succintly (I'm paraphrasing at this point): "Masks on flights are optional, but many people continue to wear masks. Please respect the choices made by fellow passengers and crew [emphasis mine] and do not comment on them."
6) Unusually, on each flight I had wonderful conversations with a seatmate; I am so used to keeping to myself. The lady on the first flight suggested exploring the caves of Mallorca, and the lady on the second flight (who lives near me in JP!) a wine called something like Albarines.
7) I slept (or didn't) much of the trip over the Atlantic, reading the latest issue of The Economist or chatting with my seatmate otherwise. On arrival, we disembarked into large shuttle buses to go to the terminal. The rest of the morning was a lot of Hurry Up and Wait. Somehow there were giant shoals of passengers just standing around, and none of the escalators or moving sidewalks working. Hmm. It took well over 45 minutes to get through Immigration, but then at least the COVID line took zero time at all and my bags were waiting for me.
8) After all that, I splurged on a cab -- the jet lag was setting in, and I had two wheeled suitcases and a laptop -- so my first view of Barcelona driving out of the airport made me think immediately of Palm Springs and southern California: the high mountain ranges sloping to who knows what. The cabby eventually pulled up to the wrong hotel, and after a moment of panic, we got settled on the correct on.
9) The neighborhood I'm in, L'Hospital de Llobregat, is an everyday urban neighborhood, but vital. Exploring briefly I found the nearest subway stop, the bank (thank goodness I recognize Santander from Boston), and the little food and sundries markets across from the hotel.
10) For a late lunch I went to an outdoor restaurant a block from the hotel. If I'd spoken Spanish (I am really feeling the lack of it) I'd call it Doyle's Olé. Cold white wine, a green salad that included tuna and a white asparagus stalk, and ham and boiled potatoes intemperately showered with paprika. I must say, the last was wonderful comfort food.
11) After more jet lag, for dinner I went to the place next door, Petit Paris, and that was far more satisfying: croquettes from the tapas menu, a nice bistecca with fries, and a luscious sangria with hints of cinnamon. The joint has more character, but no one there speaks hardly a whisper of English, so for me it was tough going. But the results were admirable.
12) I may not know much Spanish, but I know when Americano is being used as an epithet behind my back.
13) Tomorrow, Wednesday (!), I am really too befogged by jet lag and that one unforgettable glass of sangria to lay concrete plans. But I must go to the train station and find an electrical adapter for my laptop (I'm already freaking out about losing power). I think I will also hike about Montjuic, which is not far from here, perhaps including the cemetery. Thursday is Sagrada Familia!
14) Finally, two delightful observations. First, when out earlier, I heard the shrilling of unseen birds in the palm trees (and other trees). Later I saw two swooping about — green parrots! Could there be anything more charming? And then bump feathers with pigeons here. Second, Spanish ladies really do fan themselves with big fans.