Are There Any Spanish Men in Spain?!
Barcelona is a rich feast for the senses; there is incredible art everywhere I turn; the whimsical architecture of Antoni Gaudi, his stunning Palau de la Musica, Parc Guell, and the reigning gem of Sagrada Familia Cathedral, each one has blown my mind! For anyone who has been fortunate to visit Sagrada Familia, you will know that it’s indescribably beautiful.
The famous and well-loved architect, Antoni Gaudi, always inspired by nature, created a living forest within the cathedral. The pillars curve up to the ceiling like towering trees. The enormous and fantastically coloured stained-glass windows surround me on all sides, and the sunlight streaming through them shifts and changes the colours magically throughout the day. I am so grateful that I started the day here with a small tour group. Our guide is lovely, obviously passionate about the cathedral, and she reminds me of a Spanish Mary Poppins, with her A-line skirt, walking elegantly around the rooms and guiding us by holding up her brightly coloured umbrella. I learn some fascinating history of the construction and the tragic story of how Gaudi died. He was living in the cathedral, madly working all hours and his white hair and beard had grown long and disheveled. When he was out one day and struck by a streetcar and taken to the hospital, he wasn’t recognized for some time as the beloved artist and architect. He died in the hospital, and when it was all clear who had been lost, there was a massive outpouring of love and admiration at his funeral by the people of Barcelona.
I have taken the train on three occasions to explore the white sand and rocky beaches of the coastline near to Barcelona. Each day has been a glorious adventure and a gift of being in nature, quiet with myself, often lying on my back, riding the ocean blue waves, and thanking the heavens for this summer to really let my hair down and remember who I am. Rebecca, before marriage, before raising children, before the never-ending to-do lists of working, and looking after a home and people who rely on me daily. I’m starting to remember, and I giggle to myself, sometimes wondering if I’m trying to rewind all the way back to my teens…ahh that silly and wonderful feeling of being swept into heart trembling, knee-shaking, all-consuming romantic love. Is this the feeling I desire, I wonder? Of course, it is!
My wonderful hosts return from their San Francisco vacation, happy to find Louie the cat alive and well loved, and their garden well-watered and abundant with lettuce and squash, zucchini, and eggplant. I may just get my first positive recommendation as an International House sitter, fingers crossed. I’m on to my next adventure, Madrid!!
Finding my way from the Renfe train station to my Madrid hotel by metro is challenging. A dark haired, handsome man, on his way home from work, helps me with directions and even lifts my luggage off and on the metros for me. There is a little sparkle between us, and he tells me I am ‘muy bonita’. He’s kind and gentlemanly and I don’t feel threatened in any way. He looks typically Spanish to me, and I ask him if he is from Spain. Ecuador, he tells me. Eduardo from Ecuador. I am grateful for the help, and his directions and I wish him farewell. “Mucho gusto”. Nice to meet you. Mucho gusto. We smile and shake hands.
After dropping off luggage at my hotel, it’s time to meet some of the volunteers who are signed up for my Pueblo Ingles Program. The other Rebecca has arranged a tapas tour of Madrid for those who can join. Our fearless leader for the tapas tour is Ben who is originally from Uganda and grew up in Germany. He speaks Swahili, German, English and Spanish. He is cute and funny and quite outrageous. He has his own company, running these tapas tours, as well as pub crawls, and I realize that he must be a little bit crazy to lead foreigners around Madrid with the sole purpose of drinking. He tells us a few funny stories and that the Irish, Scottish, and British lads are the rowdiest bunch and that they often end up fist fighting at the end of his pub crawl.
We visit three popular tapas bars all close to the main square of Madrid. Another new and exciting city to me, I will never get bored of the beautiful old buildings, the cobblestone, and the narrow winding streets. And now I’m enjoying food and drinks with new friends and fellow travellers. At our last tapas bar of the night, our waiter fixes his gaze on me. It’s not very subtle at all. When he brings me my drink, his hand brushes my arm. I’m suddenly sitting up straighter in my chair and wondering if I imagined that.
The next time he stops by our table, he finds a way to squeeze my shoulder. Nope. I may be tipsy, but there is no way I am imagining his intentional flirting. He is handsome and younger than me (big surprise), and we exchange a glance and a smile from time to time. Good gawd, am I ridiculous to enjoy this attention? I felt starved for it for so long, and I am giving myself permission to just soak it up like a little sponge for the moment.
On my way back from the washroom, he says hi to me and I notice how close we are in the narrow hallway. We have a short conversation, in my broken Spanish, and a little bit of English that he knows. He asks me if I would like to come back later for another drink. Interesting…..I’m not completely ruling this possibility out, especially since I may be talking to a real, live Spaniard. “De donde eres?’ I ask him. Where are you from? Dominican Republic he tells me. Ha!! I’m beginning to wonder if there are any Spanish men in Spain!!
I glance at my handsome waiter’s nametag. German. What?! As if he senses my confusion, he smiles and says, “Herman,” with the Spanish pronunciation. Later, as our group is leaving, I take a moment to let German know that I will not be able to return later that night. It’s been a busy travel day and it’s late. However, I tell him that I will plan to stop by when I am back in Madrid. I notice my two new British girlfriends watching me, rather alarmed.
We walk out into the night, and they share their concern and ask me why I would plan to meet a complete stranger. As we walk through the twisty streets of Madrid to find our metro station, I share a little of my recent separation, my single status, and the title of the blog that I am starting to imagine, “Romancing A Broad.” This gives them a giggle and perhaps a little more understanding. Either way, I don’t mind being known as the crazy Canadian girl. It’s still warm even at nighttime. I smile and breathe deeply. I’m in freaking Madrid!!