There's a man sitting across the café in a snake skinned belt and white Keds. Where am I? He is casual and stylish. Sophisticated and bad ass beyond words. I love Spain.
Here, the parties don't end until 6am so the sleepy visitors who fail to bring earplugs don't get to sleep. That being said, I'm dead dog tired - running on pure excitement and the delicious vitamins from my fresh squeezed Valencia orange juice. I wish you could see the giant juicers they have here. You throw in 20 oranges and let the machine do its job. Pure juicy goodness complete with pulp and bits of chewy rind. I am all about it.
There's an apartment for sale across the road above the Gran Via Centro de something or other. Looks like my kind of place. I'll be looking into fellowships for the next few months. I'd very much like a funded extended stay in the city of my dreams. I'll step onto the balcony at dawn wrapped in a silk robe, a tiny steaming cup of tea in my hand. I'll look down onto the street - the parked vespas, the metro station, the stumbling drunks just finishing their fiestas. A writer's paradise. This writer, anyway. I've already got tons of story ideas. The most prominent involving a small girl I met yesterday. Adorable and blonde, she tip-toed into my room with her hands behind her back and a sneaky little smile on her face. "Hola. Eso es tu habitacion? Tienes hijos? Como te llamas?" Then her father called for her and she ran out pretending to not have been pestering the guests as I'm sure he's warned her about countless times.
Off I go.
Ready for adventures.
Amanda.
Moving beyond the terrible loneliness that may be visited upon me should you stay for longer, everything sounds wonderful. The thought of WHOLE oranges being crushed together and the pieces of rind swirling in the glass was surprisingly visceral and I wish I could taste it. Just reading your post puts my mind into a sunshiny place that invites wordyness. This trip could be good for everyone. :)
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