Fellow Torontonians and Elsewherers,
Sorry, but I am flushing my passport and staying in Spain.
It’s nothing personal, so please don’t take it too hard. It’s just that there are beautiful flowers and even more beautiful women in Spain:
Have you seen the fancy Moorish castles?
And the churches aren’t bad either:
The streets of Spain make walking without one’s mouth hanging open extremely challenging:
Three very important words: vinos y tapas.
But seriously, dear readers: this is a magical land where naptime has been officially integrated into the national routine. People kiss each other hello on the buses. The waiters speak seven languages. A meal without a glass of beer is not a meal. Exchange students spend hours in bars arguing over the pronunciation of certain naughty words. There is flamenco — oh, is there ever flamenco. And, something only a Canadian girl can truly appreciate, there iswarmth.
I’ve been doing a whole lot of well-needed relaxing here — to blend in with the locals, since it’s the national passtime. In Cadiz I fell in love with the sunshine and I learned how to make a killer paella. In Sevilla it rained orange blossoms and the city was taken over for five days with girls in their Feria costumes. In Cordoba I went out with a Spaniard, a German, and a Frenchman and we all partook in the local sherry. In Granada it rained (real water this time, not flowers) for four days, and the stone streets were sluiced and slicked, and the only way to stave off the blues was with a plate of tapas and a flamenco show in a basement.
Are you all well? I hope so. I miss you all loads, and if I keep my passport high and dry, it’s because I can’t wait to see you all again.
From Barcelona with love,