The best laid plans......Part Two

Another lesson in adaptation. This one a little more difficult to absorb than the change of plans in Hawaii. (Wait-what? I was in Hawaii?!)

Two days before my scheduled arrival in Barcelona, Mark, my agent, sent an email saying the flat I spent literally months searching for that had the particular and peculiar elements of amenities and location I wanted, and had reserved and paid for in JANUARY had suffered a major water pipe break, and the living room and kitchen were flooded. Uninhabitable. Didn't know when it will be fixed. So Mark had found me another flat on Aribau, a few blocks away in the middle in the Eixample Esquerra.

I lost it.

I was angry, in complete disbelief, and not a little scared that I'd been duped and taken, and would arrive in Barcelona to find my money gone, with no place to stay. That's when Virginie and I went to the beach, took that quiet, long walk, and I thought about what her parents and others in France had been through in WWII, what the Spanish and Catalans had suffered through in the city I love, and what Iranians were braving right at this moment, and I calmed down. A lot. I wrote an email to Mark, deleted it, rewrote it so it wasn't quite so angry, but expressed my extreme displeasure and discomfort, and hit Send.

The next day, Mark responded with effusive apologies, and I felt a little better. Being in Port Lligat didn't hurt. I returned my car at the airport, hopped the train to town, and wheeled my red bag down Aribau to see what the fates had in store for me.

What awaited me was the wonderful Eduardo, a 72 year old Argentinian transplant that manages the flat I'm now in for the Ferrars, who live downstairs. While waiting for Mark to arrive, we had a spirited conversation about politics, fleeing Argentina, tango, George Bush and Barack Obama, and what it's like to live in Barcelona. The flat is really quite wonderful: it's a penthouse with a nice deck. It was built in the 20s, but looks like it has never been inhabited -- the woodwork and floors are gleaming, and the place is immaculate. Eduardo took me downstairs to meet the Ferrars, an elderly Catalan couple who immediately invited me to lunch, and whose warmth completely and wonderfully enveloped me. The perfect salve.

When Mark arrived, he offered to refund his fee AND give me a week at a beach-front apartment in Sitges. I declined his refund offer, but was happy to accept the week in Sitges. I think I'll have it during the week Liz and Steve are here, so we'll have both our town house and our beach house to play with.

My Arribau attico is only a block and a half from my mosaic class studio, a perfect commute. It is a minimum of an 8 minute walk to the nearest metro station, but there are 6 buses that go to practically every point in the city that stop on Aribau. It takes 20 minutes to walk to Plaza Catalunya and the old town. There are bars and restaurants on every corner and lining every block. It is a "locals" residential area, so I'm feeling more a part of the place than in any of the places I've stayed here in the past few years. It is also known as the "Gayxample,", and while Barcelona is a truly tolerant and welcoming town to all the freaky people of the world, it's nice to be in the center of a pretty exciting barrio.

In my four days here, I've put in about 25 miles of walking the neighborhoods (thanks, Google Walking Maps!), been to the beach, walked up Mont Juich, and wandered the Gothic Quarter. But more about those adventures later.

Now, I'm watching the sun set on the longest day of my sabbatical year. A seagull of chattering away on the roof next to me, and I'm feeling really good.