Dang, I love it here. It’s funny now, thinking about the first few weeks here, how we were confused by the stern sound of the Catalan voices, unfamiliar with the food, lost so much of the time, wondering whether we’d made a teensy little mistake coming here for a year.
But now, we can’t stand the thought of leaving. We just discovered sobressada on bread with quail eggs! We can’t leave now. It’s summer. There are granizados and gazpacho everywhere, and you can get a bit of beer in your lemon granizado. Oh my, that’s good. Kids are throwing water balloons in the plazas, and there are fireworks all the time. And the apartment. A little too hot for just an hour or so in the middle of the day, and then after lunch, a wonderful breeze blowing through that just puts…you…to…sleep, and then the endless afternoon, until it finally starts to get dark around nine thirty, ten.
I won’t go, you know. Some folks say I’m not very good at change. I think I’m just not good at leaving Barcelona.