Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: barcelona, beach, bus, death, drive, friends, gaudi, homemade, hummus, illness, mosaic, plague, pueblo. ingles, sick, sitges, sleep, soria, Spain, tile, travel
Half way through my second week at P.I. my friend Leti (awesome Leti!), who I’d met when she was working at Valdelavilla last year, called to tell me she was headed to Barcelona and asked if I’d like to join her. Dimitri had left at the end of the previous week to walk the El Camino or learn Swahili or go spear fishing on the moon or something, but I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to do next. There’s something about not having plans that gives you the feeling that anything is possible and makes you feel that you really control you’re own destiny. It meant that I was free to except her offer, but it also meant that I had unknowing sent the Universe a challenge and the Universe responded ‘Whose in control?’ and gave me The Plague.
Now, I know you’re first instinct when you hear someone who is currently alive describe an illness in such grand terms is to assume that they are a whiny bitch who has an exaggerated case of the sniffles (and go off on a tangent in your head about how you’d believe them if they were dead and told you that…but that would mean they were a zombie and you’d have to separate their head from their body etc.) but let me assure you; the sniffles aren’t capable of producing the pure evil coming out of my various orifices. By the time Leti (awesome, understanding Leti) showed up I was in a pretty bad way. Fortunately, she’d worked at Valdelavilla through enough P.I. programs to know that most people are wrecked by the end of the week and had arranged for me to sleep in the guest room at her parents house while she finished getting her stuff together for the trip. When we arrived I crawled under the covers, my whole body shaking, my breath wheezing through liquid lungs and prayed for sleep…or, at the very least, death.
She let me sleep during the hour long drive to her apartment in Soria as well and by the time we arrived I had pretty much stopped shaking. Well, not really, but I didn’t want to ruin Leti’s (awesome, understanding, compassionate Leti) time so I was trying. The bus to Barcelona left from the station at midnight and the original plan had been to get everything ready to go at her place then head down too the pub to meet some friends for farewell beers. Not wanting Leti (awesome, understanding, compassionate, energetic Leti) to miss out I insisted she go with out me and, ever the optimist, told her to have a few beers since I was sure after a little more sleep I’d be well enough to drive us to the station and then run a marathon using the bus to cut down on wind resistance by the time she got back. Obviously, this was a sound plan that could in no way go wrong. Unfortunately, we had both failed to realize that I can’t drive a stick shift.
The bus stop in Barcelona
When she returned I had just stopped trying to figure out if I could throw up in a trash can across the room without moving and she was ready to pass out on a six hour bus ride so neither one of us was prepared for my surprise at the discovery of a mysterious third pedal. Using Logic we determined that we had to be at the bus station, that Leti (awesome, understanding, compassionate, energetic, mildly panicked Leti) couldn’t drive and that there were no cabs around. Clearly, I would have to get a crash (hahaha…ha) course in how to drive a stick. Hilarity ensued and a few dents later we woke up Leti’s (awesome, understanding, compassionate, energetic, mildly panicked, resigned to the situation Leti) roommate to take us. Six hours later we arrived in Barcelona relatively unmolested.
Leti’s full name is Leticia, pronounced Le-tea-the-a, but after a few years of us Anglo’s calling her Let-e-sha (as in ‘Hey girl! What you doin’?') she has adopted something of a sassy alter ego that comes out when she gets excited. So, while we waited for her friend Paco to pick us up Leticia *snap*snap* was slowly getting into the mood. I was likewise preparing for all the fun to come by examining my snot like a diamond inspector; judging color and quality for any indication of The Plagues current and future state. Paco, called Paco Fiesta or Party Paco for you English speakers, is a sweet, funny guy who claims he doesn’t speak any English despite Leti’s assertions that he can…he just won’t. This put me in the delightful position of being allowed to provoke him in the name of his English language education. Fortunately for Party Paco I had been somewhat subdued by The Plague so my spunky and sometimes feisty side (or, as the broken young men in my wake might call my aggressive and sometimes scary side) is much less spunky and feisty then usual. Even so, we strike up a playful acquaintance and I manage to get the occasional English phrase or word out of him…especially if he is pointing out that he can see my boogers or that I snored all the way to Sitges.
Gaudi inspired kitchen
Sitges (rhymes with bitches, as in ‘We’re in Sitges, bitches!’) is a small beach town just outside Barcelona where rich, gay men go to wear teeny, tiny bathing suits and look fabulous while drinking expensive cocktails. It’s also where Leti’s cousin lives, who is not a rich guy man, but just happens to like gorgeous beach towns just outside Barcelona and doesn’t seem to be bothered by teeny, tiny bathing suits. When asked to describe him Leti leans back and, with Fonzie like thumb gestures, calls him a ‘Good Time Guy’. After meeting him I finally get what this means. He’s an incredibly laid back graphic designer with a ponytail and, I’m guessing, he smokes weed…hence the thumb gestures. His wife, who has prepared us a table full of fantastic homemade snacks when we arrive is mellow and welcoming and absolutely lovely. Their house is amazing as well. They’ve been custom building it for years using mosaic tiles inspired by Gaudi to cover curved surfaces and create beautiful designs.
Homemade hummus!
I could have spent the whole week just hanging around the little paradise they’d created and filling it with tissues, but there was a beach to bath on, hunky (if unavailable) men to gawk at, drinks to sample and adventures to have so off we went! As quickly as we could we gathered our belongings and in no time at all we were standing in line at the pharmacy. This was by far the most exciting thing I’d done in Spain for two reasons. 1. It gave me hope that I might actually, one day, feel better and 2. This was the freakin’ Willy Wonka version of any pharmacy I’ve ever seen. I was unaware that it was possible to skip the doctors visit and get diagnosed directly by the pharmacist, but after a conversation that consisted primarily of Leticia translating questions involving my bodily fluids fantastic things started happening. He typed a few things in to the computer and suddenly little boxes were popping up from nowhere on the counter or dropping from overhead into waiting baskets and within moments I had an answer to The Plague.
We spent the rest of the week relaxing on the beach and I began to feel a lot better.
Medicate me
On Leti’s final day we stayed in Barcelona and after I walked her to the bus station the following morning I headed out to find a hostel and quickly realized how impossible this task would have been just a week earlier without Leti’s (awesome, understanding, compassionate, energetic, patient, wonderful, fantastic, generous Leti) hospitality. Unexpected things were ahead, but because of her I was no longer a disease-ridden piriah. I was just a regular ole’ backpacker with a ridiculous abundance of medication…so, a regular ole’ backpacker.
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Ah, patience rewarded! Thank you!
Comment by Michael Dau January 25, 2010 @ 5:26 pm