Old men and me

What is it about me that makes me a magnet for old bachelors? The other day I was quietly reading in the park when an old man came up to tell me I was "guapa". Many times. He was 74, and I know this because he told me. He plonked himself down next to me and we talked for ages. Correction. He talked for ages. I told him I was just learning Spanish, but it didn't stop him nor did it slow him down.

He just happened to have some photos of himself from when he was young - 15 and 23. He told me about how he'd lived in many parts of Spain and how he was a real ladies' man, he was guapo! And then, don't miss this, while he'd never married, he'd had six women in his bed! Interesting. That's when I said: "Tengo que ir ahora." (I have to go now.)

Oh well, at least he didn't go in for the kiss like my old mate in Turkey! Thank goodness for small blessings, huh?

Friday night in Calle Petrarca

Barcelona-drunk

I am drunk on Barcelona, on the richness of life, on the siesta, late rises, Gaudi, good weather, buildings, bike lanes and cava. Cava, cava, cava. It's cheap, it's yummy, it's splendid!

And to top it all off, last night I found the original Champaneria! It exists. There are two! In what other city could you find two champanerias quite like these? I defy you to tell me. But first, let me take you to these ones first. Please.

People spill out onto the pavements and drink cava out of old-fashioned champagne glasses - not flutes, but real glasses - you know the ones with the wide brim and short body? Of course you do, the ones with which you can tell how drunk you are by how much of each glass goes into your mouth compared to onto your dress? (Or more unpopularly, onto your mate's new shoes?)

You must buy food with your bottle of cava (you may buy cava by the glass, but this is a rare event and should be avoided if possible) and there is such a delicious selection - bocadillos galore and a selection of cooked Spanish sausage is highly recommended. What is not recommended is for vegetarians to visit. It's all meat and cava. Nothing else. But for what more could a girl ask?

Human Rights

Today I read the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I mean, I actually sat down and read it from top to bottom. It made me feel proud and angry and sad. And outraged. In fact, it was the phrase using that word in the preamble that got me so emotional.

"Whereas disregard and contempt for human rights have resulted in barbarous acts which have outraged the conscience of mankind..."

What happened to that outrage? Where is our outrage for what is happening in Iraq or Lebanon? Do we have any left? Or is that outrage reserved for people we can relate to - for rich people who live in Western countries, who don't go to church and like to have a beer with their curry? Is that why 32 American university kids inspire more sympathy than civilians dying in Iraq in a war they didn't ask for? Or maybe it's just because they're not as pretty as Maddy McCann.

I think we need to be outraged more.

Read it.

I rode on the road

Progress! I rode on the road and cut my journey in half! It was so much better than dodging errant pedestrians on the boulevard bike lanes. It was exhilarating! I was riding so fast and feeling so good giving knowing nods to other passing bike riders. You can go so far without stopping I even worked up a sweat. I am loving being a biker! Anyone have a bike they want to sell me in London? I honestly don't know why everyone doesn't have a bike!

The do's and don'ts of biking attire

I can honestly say this is a fashion topic that has never crossed my mind. Until today, that is. And it happened all of a sudden. Since it became clear that I wasn´t going to be able to buy a bike here, I registered for the City´s bicing scheme - they have bikes at metro stations and you pick them up from one station and drop them off at one near where you´re going. It´s great!

So today I was riding along, happy as can be; the sun shining down, wind in my face, humming along to Belle and Sebastian while admiring the gorgeous architecture of Barcelona, when suddenly my skirt blew up right into my face and the oncoming crowd got the shock of their lives! I nearly fell off my bike. Literally. So did they. Not literally.

I wasn´t in a quiet street. I was right by la Sagrada Familia. It´s 24 degress today. It´s May. It´s Barcelona. There were people everywhere! I started to look around. All the other bike riders were wearing trousers. There´s a girl! Yep, shorts. Another one, cargoes. Another - three-quarter length pants. Is this a rule that everyone knew except me? Why didn´t it occur to me that it wouldn't be a good idea to ride a bike in a skirt? I eventually spottted another girl in a skirt. She was also wearing boots and tights, which is not appropriate for this weather. I figured this may be her version of "leathers" and that she'd take them off when she got to her destination. Her skirt wasn´t blowing up in her face. It provided little consolation.

It took me a long time to get to school today. I tried everything. First I simply tried to sit on the skirt. Didn´t work - you do actually move around on that seat. Next I took my pony tail out and used the elastic to tie the front and back on my skirt together. The bundle was too big to sit on and before long I realised that to onlookers it looked like I had a "package" (at best; at worst it looked like I was riding along with a ... I don´t think I can write it in a public place). So I put my hair back up and rode slowly.

What should have been a 20-minute ride took me an hour. This was compounded by the fact I had no idea where I was going. I was sure I knew exactly where I was going. This is a bad combination. I rode for 20 minutes in the wrong direction before I smelled a rat. I didn´t understand - the route from class is so easy! My slow journey was further compounded by the fact that I made huge diversions in order not to veer off the bike paths and onto the road with the scary traffic. Luckily I anticipated there may be some directional problems and left myself quite a bit of time. I still got to class in time!

I've lost it

My ability to get drunk and recover, that is. Hoy tengo resaca. I went out last night and couldn't get up to go to school today. I did get home at 4am, but classes don't start until 2.30. This may have had something to do with drinking rose cava from a bowl with strawberries in at my Swedish classmates' flat. I can't say how much I actually drank of that scrumptious concoction, but I didn't think I was drunk! On the other hand, when I was going through my photos today and discovered that I'd taken one of Simon, I thought I may actually have been a little tipsy. Simon was a guy I met at the bar at 13 after the party. He whispered in my ear, "I'll have a pint of lager please," and I yelled back: "I'm not English!". To which he said in his most exquisitely camp English voice - oh how I miss that - "You are so - you've got it written all over you darling." I guess it's closer than Russian. Anyway Sie and I got talking for more than half an hour until we realised that we were very thirsty and weren't being served because we were so deep in conversation. I vaguely remember agreeing to meet him there again. Maybe on Saturday? Apparently 13 is my new favourite bar in Barcelona!

Anyway friends, meet Sie.

I went to the Gold Coast

But in Spain, on the Mediterranean, not on the Pacific.

And not being one to learn from my mistakes, I packed two dresses, two skirts, a bikini, a hat, sunscreen and no practical trousers for the four-day weekend. We awoke on the first day to a massive thunderstorm, and it was cold. The BBC weather website had predicted as much but I didn’t believe it. Sometimes my overwhelming optimism isn’t such a good thing.

Luckily, we were staying at Meri’s parents holiday house so I could borrow some of her brother-in-law’s trousers (the rest of the family being too small/short for me to fit into anything of theirs). Luckily, I say, until you saw me in them paired with my socks and sandals (well, thongs anyway). To improve the look I changed into my Spanish loafers. I looked German.

We’d been partying in Sitges the evening before we got to Cunit so I did have my gorgeous new black three-quarter capri pants. These are supposed to be for “good” but when the rain finally stopped and we were braving the cold I had no choice but to wear them. I just couldn’t be mistaken for a German: being asked if I’m Russian once a week is just about as much as I can handle!

On the one day it was hot enough to wear my skirts and dresses I went out in my capris and trainers. I then had to strip down to my singlet and wear a scarf to protect my head from the sun. There were no prizes for best dressed given out that day. I had guiri written all over me!

But we still had loads of fun. We hired bikes and rode around the delta Eibre. This is supposed to be a magnificent place, with a diverse and exotic wildlife. The bike route takes you past viewing houses from which you can watch the birds without disturbing them. The pictures looked wonderful. Unfortunately, all the unseasonal rain had messed things up a bit at the delta. It was mainly dirty, ugly and lacking in the flamencos we were promised.
Still, we had quite a laugh about it and did see some nice birds. And, the bike ride was good! We also went to Tarragona (one of the most important Roman cities), which was interesting. We went with two friends of Meri’s who were such a good laugh and it was good practice for my Spanish, although I doubt they would say the same about me because I was mute for hours at a time. You probably won’t believe me, but when I was lost for words, I just fell asleep. Is that rude?

I have to say though, the highlight of the trip had to be Meri’s parents’ cooking! Buenisimo! I am salivating thinking about her dad’s bocadillos and her mum’s stuffed peppers, paella and tortilla de patates.

Excuse me now, I have to eat.

(I chose a pretty picture of Meri on the pretty part of the bike ride at the Delta)

Leisure by W.H. Davies

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.