Home Again
How does time spin so rapidly from 3 weeks to 7 days to none? I suppose with the sun and moon and Earth’s axis and now here I am, back at home (still instinctively greeting people with “Hola”), remembering.
Here are some more bits of randomness, just because:
There is nothing — absolutely nothing — like drum troupes and impromptu dancing in the street at 1am.
Why is that guy naked? Along the port? At night?
Kissed a random Irishman — Glenn? — who knows; hey, go with the flow!
You can’t really pretend to be from Paris with a French-speaking Arab who knows the city inside out. Also, when he starts talking about the varying prices of prostitutes, it’s probably time to bring the conversation to a halt.
Melon con jamon – why would you put those two things together?
The Argentinian jewelry-maker at Parc Guell, the recognition on a subterranean level and he greeted me with a smile, as if we were old friends, as if he had been waiting for me.
What else is there? Too much to contain within these walls – like the late morning light on the terrace, the Nigerian who threatened to shoot his family and has no place to call home, a parade of fire and bandanas and hoodies and delightful madness, fathers with babies, tap dancers and jugglers at Parc Ciutadella, the concert at Arc de Triomph with the gyrating/tattooed/hip hop/reggae singer whose animated hip thrusts made me laugh.
It seemed to pass in a flash – the sunlit rainy days, the electric evenings, the last day of favorites, the last night of little sleep and now, the dreamlike memories.
“Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I can remember, and remember more than I have seen.” Benjamin D’Israeli
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crystaln