muy simpatico

this is something I wrote a while back but wanted to add!

From the first day of arrival, I have been on a mad search for a room to rent. Since my initial room was not in a preferable location, the hotel has accomodated me for two days. However, the weekend was completely booked and I needed something quick! There is some wireless connections that I have been able to mooch off, but they are unreliable. So, the hotel internet (1 computer), has been very helpful. One hour costs 1 euro...pretty cheap, I think. What I begin to realize is my concept of time. Researching the many different sites for finding roommates takes time. I have my barrings (I think), of where I wish to live. Jotting down email addresses and phone numbers is the major race of time, because there is no printer for me to do my usual ‘cut and paste’ information sheet.

Then, remembering who I emailed, where the flat is, what the cost is…yada yada…all in a foreign country. Many people contact me back. 1st one is Txema. He is a native Catalan guy, 23 years of age (so he says), very friendly, responsive. We agree to meet Thursday. Txema speaks English, gives me a meeting point for 9pm. I must have called him 5 times trying to figure out exactly where it is he wanted to connect. Because this is all so new, I decide to take a taxi to the location – the Government building. Well, Mr. Taxi is not understanding, so I am at a loss and have him just drop me at The Ramblas. I phone Txema to tell him where I am, feeling like the dumbest, blonde, Californian ever…he gives me a little direction and I head off.
This is all fun for me, I enjoy the tasks at hand, the puzzles presented – but I sense Txema just wanted to show me the room and get on with his night. He ends up having to meet me (in the rain) at a much further away location than was initially planned.

Standing in the courtyard-plaza type area in back of the Cathedral, it’s dark and I am meeting a stranger. Txema shows up with his dog (TuPac), and a male friend. No way he is 23…maybe 33…seems nice, I’m not worried. Trying to strike a conversation, I ask if his dog is named after the rapper. Just call me Ms. Pop Culture with no substance, he has no idea who I am talking about and proceeds to tell me about some ancient saint or something…all I understood was that the dog was not TuPac Shakur. TuPac is a hush puppy, cute…but definitely no gangsta skills.




We walk for what seems forever through all the narrow alleys that make this city so charming. Finally arrive at the building, and low & behold-there is the government building…I totally know that building, have been there before, and know that across the street is the Borne. Duh.

Climbing to the ‘4th floor’, in Spain that means the 8th floor-no lift, we reach the unit.
Door opens and I see many young people. All so friendly, and each one of them kisses me on both cheeks, says their names, then stands back and looks at me. Weird. If I have the language, it would not have been awkward. There is a tall, hulky Italian guy-early 30’s, Sergio- (I size him up, because if I do take the room-he will be carrying my bags up). Two young girls about 23-24 who speak Basque, then one other guy who is on his laptop. With the exception of the Italian, I would practically be living with a Haight-Ashbury crowd. The flat itself is very spacious, high ceilings, and fairly neat & tidy. There are two rooms offered. Both exceptional in size, each with two balconies and bright Spanish paint. But, the price is a little high for me. The search goes on!