Traditionally Sundays in Barcelona are for getting up early, fixing a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, hash browns, wheat toast, OJ and mugs of hot, hot coffee. Then it's off for an early bike ride and then on to a museum or two and finally a movie. IRONY! In general Spaniards stay up until 5 am 7 days a week. A typical Sunday consists of rolling out of the sack at 2 in the afternoon followed by hunk of dry bread and shot of espresso and depending on what you had the night before a shot of something else. Then it's off to lunch with some friends and then a movie and then a drink and then dinner and then a drink and then a club and then somehow it's 5 am again.
We came close to this today. Zoe woke me up at 8:30! I got her some juice and went back to bed. Everybody was officially up by 10:30. Good fer nuttin' lay-a-bout sinners were we.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Thursday, January 19, 2006
A Sick Kid
Poor Zoe came back from school sick last night. The classic. The standard. The stomach flu. Yep lots of evacuation. We did the good parents thing and got her to bed. What felt good when I was kid when I was sick? My mom being with me. Soda crackers with margarine, Seven Up and Campbell's chicken noodle soup. An of course watching reruns of Perry Mason on TV.
Zoe's day was sort of similar but you can't find soda crackers or Seven Up here. Chicken Soup yes but no Perry Mason.
So you subsitute Catalan cooking shows and DVDs of Scooby Doo run off the laptop and you are almost there. But still those Perry Mason episodes were something; Della and Paul, Burger the DA and Perry sweating out a last minute on the stand confession from the dead guys nephew or business partner or wife. I'm sorry but bad Spanish Muppet clones cannot hold a candle to that.
Zoe's day was sort of similar but you can't find soda crackers or Seven Up here. Chicken Soup yes but no Perry Mason.
So you subsitute Catalan cooking shows and DVDs of Scooby Doo run off the laptop and you are almost there. But still those Perry Mason episodes were something; Della and Paul, Burger the DA and Perry sweating out a last minute on the stand confession from the dead guys nephew or business partner or wife. I'm sorry but bad Spanish Muppet clones cannot hold a candle to that.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Shadow of the Wind Time in BCN
It's definitely winter here. The trees are bare and it's damp and cold. Less people are on the streets. Barcelona is a very romantic city, a romantic city with a dark side. Black clouds gathering over the old amusement park on Tibidabo. Brooding modernista buildings with their organic shapes looking like grimacing mouths and bones. The old gothic part of town with it's labyrinth of dark and narrow streets. It's all in Carlos Ruiz Zafon's book, "The Shadow of the Wind." Get past the first chapter and you'll be hooked.
But for me considering my mood I think I need to re-read "The Great American Novel" by Philip Roth. One of the funniest books of all time. I kid you not. Hey! Anybody wanna make a movie of this! I know this director...
But for me considering my mood I think I need to re-read "The Great American Novel" by Philip Roth. One of the funniest books of all time. I kid you not. Hey! Anybody wanna make a movie of this! I know this director...
Monday, January 16, 2006
Dark Taxi Ride
I had to go way up on the hill to have an appointment with the Rhumatologist. It was scheduled for 6, well into the Spanish winter evening. My downstairs neighbor Alfredo came along as a translator. When it comes to money and health I need the information to be pretty concrete.
It was a weird dark ride. It was raining and the taxi driver was playing sitar music on the stereo and he had a plastic Jesus and a plastic Buddha stuck to the dash board. Alfredo kept visiting these extremely dark topics, topics that seemingly affect both of us. But it just wasn't the right time. We wound up through the Eixample and into Sarria. For much of the trip it was bumper to bumper traffic. Lots of time to hear just about how bad things could be. I couldn't get my leg comfortable. I appreciated the company and the help but I eventually asked him to please change the subject.
Finally we arrived at the office. We waited a for a while and I kept pretending to read Hola, sort of a Spanish "People" magazine but Alfredo kept getting back to bleakness. Eventually the Rhumatologist saw us. He just kept banging away in Spanish. OK, OK I know it's my fault I live in Spain, but he he wouldn't slow down and he wouldn't back up. It was 90% techno jargon that seemed to have a lot to do with my future.
On the way back Alfredo continued with his devil's advocacy. I occasionally closed my eyes and just wished I was in another place. A place where people spoke English, were nicely taciturn and didn't make everything an emotional upheaval out of cultural necessity. A place where my leg didn't hurt. I wanted a pine log on the fire, a dog on my lap and a slightly warm beer. OK put Zoe at my feet drawing pictures of raccoons and you have version of heaven.
It was a weird dark ride. It was raining and the taxi driver was playing sitar music on the stereo and he had a plastic Jesus and a plastic Buddha stuck to the dash board. Alfredo kept visiting these extremely dark topics, topics that seemingly affect both of us. But it just wasn't the right time. We wound up through the Eixample and into Sarria. For much of the trip it was bumper to bumper traffic. Lots of time to hear just about how bad things could be. I couldn't get my leg comfortable. I appreciated the company and the help but I eventually asked him to please change the subject.
Finally we arrived at the office. We waited a for a while and I kept pretending to read Hola, sort of a Spanish "People" magazine but Alfredo kept getting back to bleakness. Eventually the Rhumatologist saw us. He just kept banging away in Spanish. OK, OK I know it's my fault I live in Spain, but he he wouldn't slow down and he wouldn't back up. It was 90% techno jargon that seemed to have a lot to do with my future.
On the way back Alfredo continued with his devil's advocacy. I occasionally closed my eyes and just wished I was in another place. A place where people spoke English, were nicely taciturn and didn't make everything an emotional upheaval out of cultural necessity. A place where my leg didn't hurt. I wanted a pine log on the fire, a dog on my lap and a slightly warm beer. OK put Zoe at my feet drawing pictures of raccoons and you have version of heaven.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Saturday morning at the biblioteca
Zoe and I go to the library either Friday night after school or on Saturday mornings. I like Saturday mornings because we can hang out for hours. She automatically goes to the kids section and I go grab a stack of magazines, the more trivial the better. Currently I seem to be attracted by mountain bike rags featuring 5,000 euro uberbicis made out of endangered bald eagle feathers and compressed hydrogen. Anyway I take my pile and join Zoo Zoo at one of the kiddy tables. Zoe has thing for this series called, "El Cuerpo Humano." She's always been interested in cartilage, why I dunno, but it just won't go away, but this Saturday she was fascinated by the immune system. Oh boy... Dads going to be a science project. For some reason white corpuscles are her favorites. I guess it's because they are cute, doughy and kind of cuddly.
She usually picks out a couple of books and a DVD or 2. Me I go for the DVDs and the CDs. I got Marc Ribot for the 4th time and "In the Name of the Father" or more accurately "En el Nombre Del Padre." OK I'm a real bookworm but let's face it the chances of me reading Catalan are slim to non-existent.
On the way home we stopped in a farmacia for some of the many things I am taking. The nice pharmacist was at the mercy of his brother's reorganization of the goods and couldn't at first find what I needed. I find that Catalans can get strangely fastidious over minutia but can live with a telephone cable hanging in front of their window for years. Maybe it's a subconcious reaction to the cable hanging in front the guy's brother's window that caused him to move all the boxes around. But he eventually found the right cubby hole.
The big news is what was on the counter. There was a display in happy kiddie colors from a major manufacturer of rubbers. The gadget, all wrapped up like it was a novelty candy like pop rocks or warheads, is a disposable vibrator kind of thingy. Apparently it's designed to be inserted where the sun don't shine and is guaranteed to last for 20 minutes. Jeez, twenty minutes! Comes with happy candy colored lube in a festive applicator. Imagine the research that went into this product. Can you imagine the focus group? Zoe was very interested. I told her it was a new kind of yo yo. She didn't buy it.
She usually picks out a couple of books and a DVD or 2. Me I go for the DVDs and the CDs. I got Marc Ribot for the 4th time and "In the Name of the Father" or more accurately "En el Nombre Del Padre." OK I'm a real bookworm but let's face it the chances of me reading Catalan are slim to non-existent.
On the way home we stopped in a farmacia for some of the many things I am taking. The nice pharmacist was at the mercy of his brother's reorganization of the goods and couldn't at first find what I needed. I find that Catalans can get strangely fastidious over minutia but can live with a telephone cable hanging in front of their window for years. Maybe it's a subconcious reaction to the cable hanging in front the guy's brother's window that caused him to move all the boxes around. But he eventually found the right cubby hole.
The big news is what was on the counter. There was a display in happy kiddie colors from a major manufacturer of rubbers. The gadget, all wrapped up like it was a novelty candy like pop rocks or warheads, is a disposable vibrator kind of thingy. Apparently it's designed to be inserted where the sun don't shine and is guaranteed to last for 20 minutes. Jeez, twenty minutes! Comes with happy candy colored lube in a festive applicator. Imagine the research that went into this product. Can you imagine the focus group? Zoe was very interested. I told her it was a new kind of yo yo. She didn't buy it.
Friday, January 13, 2006
A short errand
I've been trying to get out more. My pal Lucy has me drinking homemade kefir. It's another cultured lactose thang sort of like yogurt. Anyway it has these chunky bits called grains that you are supposed to filter out and reuse to make more kefir. You need a medium fine strainer. So off I go to the tienda para everything you need including magnets and dog leashes. It's 2 blocks down the street so it will be a challenge. I shuffle along as all the fit and handsome people point and make comments about the poor guy struck down way too young by a vicious case of an overly aggressive immune system. I have now added a cane to my ensemble.
I make it to the shop and enter the closet like space. There is really a huge amount of stuff tucked inside. Pots, pans, knives, pasta machines, hedge clippers, toilet paper roll holders, decorative figurines and motor oil. Mr. Tienda is reading the newspaper. Mrs. Tienda greets me and ask me what I need. Wisely I had looked up the name for strainer in the dictionary before my departure. "Nesecito uno colado pequino y fino, por favor." "Si", she points to the wall behind her which has at least 50 different types of strainers. "Es para kefir, metalico es una problema, tiene plasticos?" Like she is going to know about kefir... Jamon si, kefir or kambucha forgetaboutit. Mr. Tienda looks up from his paper. "Abajo" there under a pile of swim fins are a few dusty lime green numbers. I acknowledge a successful search and say I'll take it. She wraps the strainer in beautifully printed paper and hands it to me. "Quando questa?" Back behind his paper Mr. Tienda says, "Uno euro" to his wife. Following protocol she tells me, "uno euro." I give a euro and take my new lime green strainer and hobble home slighter better for the experience.
I make it to the shop and enter the closet like space. There is really a huge amount of stuff tucked inside. Pots, pans, knives, pasta machines, hedge clippers, toilet paper roll holders, decorative figurines and motor oil. Mr. Tienda is reading the newspaper. Mrs. Tienda greets me and ask me what I need. Wisely I had looked up the name for strainer in the dictionary before my departure. "Nesecito uno colado pequino y fino, por favor." "Si", she points to the wall behind her which has at least 50 different types of strainers. "Es para kefir, metalico es una problema, tiene plasticos?" Like she is going to know about kefir... Jamon si, kefir or kambucha forgetaboutit. Mr. Tienda looks up from his paper. "Abajo" there under a pile of swim fins are a few dusty lime green numbers. I acknowledge a successful search and say I'll take it. She wraps the strainer in beautifully printed paper and hands it to me. "Quando questa?" Back behind his paper Mr. Tienda says, "Uno euro" to his wife. Following protocol she tells me, "uno euro." I give a euro and take my new lime green strainer and hobble home slighter better for the experience.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Edu in the restaurant
In addition to yesterday's morning meeting I again descended the stairs of pain to go lunch with my buddy Alan. We went to the restaurant on the other side my front door. It's called Ca' Nuri, which pretty much means Nuri's joint. Over the August break they completely gutted the place and gave it the full BCN modo makeover. It's a nice place.
So Alan and I discussed relationships, how to be an artist and how to get into more trouble going to even more weird places with a camera. It was lovely.
Now here's the real story. Sitting next to us was Edu. Edu is probably 60 and owns a nice cafeteria (coffee shop) on the other side of street. He's an interesting guy, he has a grey pony tail and makes a good cup of coffee. Edu says he makes the best cup in all of Barcelona. OK, why not.
Alan wanders off to the servicios and although we really don't each other I strike up a conversation with Edu. So he tells me about his house in Horta (another neighborhood) and how it's on a quiet street and how the birds sing in the morning and how he can see the mountains and the sea if goes up on the roof and looks between the heating vent and crack in the wall... and then he says that this week I should come with him to his house and he'll fix me lunch because he's a great cook.
OK there it is again. That Spanish thing. "Hey how you doing?" turns into a invitation for a home cooked meal from some guy that you have bought a few cups of coffee from. Damn. What a country.
So Alan and I discussed relationships, how to be an artist and how to get into more trouble going to even more weird places with a camera. It was lovely.
Now here's the real story. Sitting next to us was Edu. Edu is probably 60 and owns a nice cafeteria (coffee shop) on the other side of street. He's an interesting guy, he has a grey pony tail and makes a good cup of coffee. Edu says he makes the best cup in all of Barcelona. OK, why not.
Alan wanders off to the servicios and although we really don't each other I strike up a conversation with Edu. So he tells me about his house in Horta (another neighborhood) and how it's on a quiet street and how the birds sing in the morning and how he can see the mountains and the sea if goes up on the roof and looks between the heating vent and crack in the wall... and then he says that this week I should come with him to his house and he'll fix me lunch because he's a great cook.
OK there it is again. That Spanish thing. "Hey how you doing?" turns into a invitation for a home cooked meal from some guy that you have bought a few cups of coffee from. Damn. What a country.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
One Word... Joselito
So today I had my first meeting away from the casa since I got home. OK it was just at the corner of the street at the resturante called "Tapasbar" which of course does not serve tapas. Considering my pathetic Tim Conway old man walk I thought I'd get there early, find a chair and do the FDR thing. You know be regally seated as the other meetings participants arrive. But as it turned out my new friends arrived even earlier and were seated right in the window I would have to pass directly by. I didn't know what they looked like but I could tell from their wild gesticulating hands and smiles that they knew who I was. Damn... what a cartoon. I kept right on going around the corner to the health food shop, picked up my pal Lucy's recommended vitaminas and garlic capsules, 2 jugs of zumo de manzana and headed back to the resturante. Yep it was them. I sat down and regaled them with tales of the Saharawi, dysentery and camel humps.
Before we got down to business for some reason we started talking about Ham. Well in Spain just about before you do anything you usually eat ham and if have none to eat you talk about it. Word. Joselito. The Jamon of Jamon. Remember it.
Before we got down to business for some reason we started talking about Ham. Well in Spain just about before you do anything you usually eat ham and if have none to eat you talk about it. Word. Joselito. The Jamon of Jamon. Remember it.
Visits
Yesterday 2 friends stopped by. Well 3 friends were going to but one had a cold and wisely thought that with the immune system suppression rat poison I'm taking it might be such a good idea if he dropped in. Probably so.
Visitor 1 was the Dutch Flamenco Maestro Evert. Evert and I are in the midst of a budding friendship. He's wandered a long way off his musical path and wants to return. Me, I'll honk on my harmonica at the slightest sign of protest. Over a cup of coffee we finally hatched a plan. The goal: busking on Saturday mornings with our kids. Note: busking is performing on the street. We will learn 3 songs. One will be "Way Down Yonder in the Minor Key" by Woody Guthrie. Another will be "Niama" John Coltrane. Kind of a diverse rep, no? Another might be this song I wrote this summer. The kids pass the hat. Evert and I keep the cash.
Simple. Doable. Done.
Visitor 2 was the indomitable new Lucy. What ever she is taking I'll take 2. Over botifarras, peppers and potatoes we engineered a possible future for the Saharawi project.
Good friends. God bless them.
Visitor 1 was the Dutch Flamenco Maestro Evert. Evert and I are in the midst of a budding friendship. He's wandered a long way off his musical path and wants to return. Me, I'll honk on my harmonica at the slightest sign of protest. Over a cup of coffee we finally hatched a plan. The goal: busking on Saturday mornings with our kids. Note: busking is performing on the street. We will learn 3 songs. One will be "Way Down Yonder in the Minor Key" by Woody Guthrie. Another will be "Niama" John Coltrane. Kind of a diverse rep, no? Another might be this song I wrote this summer. The kids pass the hat. Evert and I keep the cash.
Simple. Doable. Done.
Visitor 2 was the indomitable new Lucy. What ever she is taking I'll take 2. Over botifarras, peppers and potatoes we engineered a possible future for the Saharawi project.
Good friends. God bless them.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Conflict
I guess we have preconceived notions about what it might be like if we get sick. How people will react. How we will react. Will we be John Wayne toughing it out, step by step, on his way back in a navy hospital so he can return to fight evil? Emotionally and spiritually supported by his wife looking on with a slightly worried, affirmative, beatific smile.
Will tawdry problems go away? Will troubled relationships heal themselves in the face of a larger, more profound issue? Will we be better people because of this? Will connections deepen?
Well as in everything else it's not a black and white answer. Friends and family have come out of the wood work to offer so much. Twice daily calls from my parents. Bi-weekly calls from my brother. Visits from friends. Soup from neighbors. Cards. Presents. Flowers. Amazing acts of kindness. People acting out of love and compassion. Humanity at it's best.
An what about effects on the patient? Well I have been amazingly optimistic and positive. It's not something I have had to rise to, it's just there. I guess John Wayne is not a bad model.
But do the big, big unresolved problems go away. I don't think so. I know that there are other, new pressures that are added to mix. More work. More demands. More pain. More insecurity. More fear.
Domestic conflicts have unfortunately not gone away and intersection of the emotional and physical is magnified by the situation. A angry remark can completely negate the John Wayne effect, turning a stand up model patient into, well something else. It seems that in being ill everything becomes clearer. Angels appear. But unfortunately the other guy too.
The truth is: the truth is the truth.
Will tawdry problems go away? Will troubled relationships heal themselves in the face of a larger, more profound issue? Will we be better people because of this? Will connections deepen?
Well as in everything else it's not a black and white answer. Friends and family have come out of the wood work to offer so much. Twice daily calls from my parents. Bi-weekly calls from my brother. Visits from friends. Soup from neighbors. Cards. Presents. Flowers. Amazing acts of kindness. People acting out of love and compassion. Humanity at it's best.
An what about effects on the patient? Well I have been amazingly optimistic and positive. It's not something I have had to rise to, it's just there. I guess John Wayne is not a bad model.
But do the big, big unresolved problems go away. I don't think so. I know that there are other, new pressures that are added to mix. More work. More demands. More pain. More insecurity. More fear.
Domestic conflicts have unfortunately not gone away and intersection of the emotional and physical is magnified by the situation. A angry remark can completely negate the John Wayne effect, turning a stand up model patient into, well something else. It seems that in being ill everything becomes clearer. Angels appear. But unfortunately the other guy too.
The truth is: the truth is the truth.
Monday, January 09, 2006
A touch...
So this morning I had to go get a blood test. The process of getting there was pretty horrific. We live in an old apartment building without an elevator so I had to descend 3 flights of stairs. Thank God for hand rails. We got in a cab. Another world of pain. We then made it to the outpatient facility but unfortunately you have to descend another flight of stairs to get to the entrance. And no handrails. But there was this gadget to get wheelchairs up and down the anti-handicapped barrier. I used it and felt really sad for doing so. Inside they took me right away. I went with a nice middle aged nurse and she must of seen that I was in pretty bad shape. Here's the magic. She took my hand and stroked her fingers lightly against it for quite awhile. It felt so good. Another angel I'm sure.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Haitian Birthday Party
Zoe's friend Gamy and her older sister stopped by earlier this week to invite her to Gamy's birthday party. Gamy lives up stairs, is about to be 10 and and she and her family are from Haiti.
Zoe heads upstairs at the appointed hour. We hear an army of kids all having a great time. "Who let the dog out! Woof, woof, woof, woof!" seemed to be a favorite tune.
Anne Rose, Gamy's mom, showed up later to see why we weren't there. We thought it was a kids only party which apparently it wasn't so Benedicte accompanied Anne Rose back to the party. Me, I guarded the couch. Which what I've been doing mostly since I got back from the sterile slammer.
An hour or so passed and Benedicte and Zoe returned with platters of Haitian goodies. Dirty Rice, roast Pork, plantain fritters, macaroni and cheese, guava cake, spicey meat turnovers... in short, Caribbean heaven.
I love Caribbean cooking. I love black cooking. It's like it's made by angels. Black angels who kiss you on both cheeks, hug you and laugh like there is no tomorrow.
Zoe heads upstairs at the appointed hour. We hear an army of kids all having a great time. "Who let the dog out! Woof, woof, woof, woof!" seemed to be a favorite tune.
Anne Rose, Gamy's mom, showed up later to see why we weren't there. We thought it was a kids only party which apparently it wasn't so Benedicte accompanied Anne Rose back to the party. Me, I guarded the couch. Which what I've been doing mostly since I got back from the sterile slammer.
An hour or so passed and Benedicte and Zoe returned with platters of Haitian goodies. Dirty Rice, roast Pork, plantain fritters, macaroni and cheese, guava cake, spicey meat turnovers... in short, Caribbean heaven.
I love Caribbean cooking. I love black cooking. It's like it's made by angels. Black angels who kiss you on both cheeks, hug you and laugh like there is no tomorrow.
Friday, January 06, 2006
El Reyes
Traditionally in Spain it is not Santa Claus that brings kids presents it is the 3 Kings. Catalunya has Tio Caga but that is an entirely different matter having to do with happy children beating a log until he poops candy... I am not kidding. Anyway I digress... of course now kids in Spain get the full magilla of gift opportunities; Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, but the big one is the 6th of January, the day after Epiphany.
Here's the deal, all over Spain, from the tiniest hamlet to the biggest cities the three kings arrive and are then paraded through town. In addition to looking noble and in general "king like" they also machine gun tons of rock hard candies into the surrounding throngs. Eyes are put out, fights ensue and in general a good time is had by all. After the participants return from various emergency rooms and first aid stations the children open a window and then put out a bowl of water and a plate of bread for the thirsty and hungry camels who are carrying the three kings. The next morning of course the water and the bread has dissappeared and gifts from the kings have appeared under the tree (or log if you live in Catalunya).
So of course Zoe did her bit for tradition and was rewarded with a fairly slutty "Baby Bratz" doll (I'm gonna have a word with the kings next year); some dance slippers, tights and tutu and a personal electron microscope from geeky old Baltazar.
OK when I was a kid I was up at 6 nagging my parents to get up so the festivities could ensue. Now it's me that is up at 6 nagging my wife and kid to get up. Funny how things never really change.
Here's the deal, all over Spain, from the tiniest hamlet to the biggest cities the three kings arrive and are then paraded through town. In addition to looking noble and in general "king like" they also machine gun tons of rock hard candies into the surrounding throngs. Eyes are put out, fights ensue and in general a good time is had by all. After the participants return from various emergency rooms and first aid stations the children open a window and then put out a bowl of water and a plate of bread for the thirsty and hungry camels who are carrying the three kings. The next morning of course the water and the bread has dissappeared and gifts from the kings have appeared under the tree (or log if you live in Catalunya).
So of course Zoe did her bit for tradition and was rewarded with a fairly slutty "Baby Bratz" doll (I'm gonna have a word with the kings next year); some dance slippers, tights and tutu and a personal electron microscope from geeky old Baltazar.
OK when I was a kid I was up at 6 nagging my parents to get up so the festivities could ensue. Now it's me that is up at 6 nagging my wife and kid to get up. Funny how things never really change.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Another round of viva Espanya...
Tonight I got a house call from Dr. Jordi. Dr. Jordi is a doctor for Spain's amazing national health system. Thanks to Benedicte's hard work in addition to our health insurance I have been assigned a doctor from the national health system. He's a lovely guy with a family, completely unassuming an very proud of the health care in Spain. I mean he made a house call!!! He entertained my daughter with stories of the arrival of the three kings answered my and Benedicte's questions and then left to visit a little boy with a high fever.
Obviously spending taxes on education, transportation and health care just works out better than invading countries, short changing old people and letting black people drown.
I fell in love with Spain 15 years ago. The love affair is still going strong.
Obviously spending taxes on education, transportation and health care just works out better than invading countries, short changing old people and letting black people drown.
I fell in love with Spain 15 years ago. The love affair is still going strong.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Back Home
I am back home. I was released yesterday afternoon. First another round of kudos to the hospital, the staff and the doctors. it would not be possible to have been more compassionate and thorough.
So while I was having my stitches out Benedicte went to meet with the rhumatologist. Shudder, hack, oooh boy. We're talking years of ingesting rat poison, bi-weekly blood tests and horror of horrors no booze for FOUR YEARS!!! Man, all because I ate camel?!
Zoe and Benedicte and I hopped in a cab. The driver was a nice middle aged woman. She was playing this chat show on the radio very loudly. Then she changed the station. This James Blunt song came on. I think it's called "You're Beautiful." The sun had just set. We descended down Balmes, past the tony charcuteries and bakeries. From upscale Sarria to middle class Eixample. People getting back from the 3 hour Spanish lunch. It seemed like a movie. I felt humble and lucky and apprehensive of the future. I felt alive. My girls were with me and we were heading home.
So while I was having my stitches out Benedicte went to meet with the rhumatologist. Shudder, hack, oooh boy. We're talking years of ingesting rat poison, bi-weekly blood tests and horror of horrors no booze for FOUR YEARS!!! Man, all because I ate camel?!
Zoe and Benedicte and I hopped in a cab. The driver was a nice middle aged woman. She was playing this chat show on the radio very loudly. Then she changed the station. This James Blunt song came on. I think it's called "You're Beautiful." The sun had just set. We descended down Balmes, past the tony charcuteries and bakeries. From upscale Sarria to middle class Eixample. People getting back from the 3 hour Spanish lunch. It seemed like a movie. I felt humble and lucky and apprehensive of the future. I felt alive. My girls were with me and we were heading home.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
New Years Eve at Dexeus
OK so I'm still here in Room 219. It's been 12 days. I know every doctor, nurse, cleaning lady and orderly on every shift. There is my main man Antonio... great guy, always calls me caballero and I return the complment by calling him meastro. He keeps wanting to give me a bath and I keep resisting. Maybe I shouldn't and add it to the list of new experiencias. There is Jaunita and Juan the night nurses, very sweet. If any body can give you your 6am injection and make you almost look forward to it is those 2. There is Ester and Neus (which means snow in Catalan) the afternoon ladies. Doctor wise we have Dr. Robert the day to day internist who really has called every shot perfectly; Dr. Gaspar my man's man lecherous GP; nice Dr. Heuget the rhumatologist who I feel will be seeing until he retires; Dr. Vidaller the high powered immunologist and the weekend guys.
OK Telefonica sucks but I'm here to tell you that Spain gets the important things right. The care I've been given here has been amazing. If I was in the US it would have been a few pills and then out the door. Here I can't get them to release me! And it's all done with such a human, informal but professional touch. Yep Spaniards are amazing. Viva Espanya! Viva Catalunya! Viva Pais Vasco! Heck even Viva Extremadura! And like 8 people live there but I bet they are swell.
So last night Benedicte and Zoe and my downstairs neighbor Alfredo and his 5 year old Sergi showed up with Cava, really great ham, olives, a yule log from Paul the fancy french bakery and most importantly chips and salsa!!! It was kind of a tough day for me and my gamy leg but having a New Years Eve party sure helped.
Everybody has been so nice and supportive. My parents call twice a day. People stop by at all hours and hang out and bring books and videos and contraband goodies. Not to get all weepy but I feel really fortunate to have such nice people in my life. Wow, am I lucky.
OK Telefonica sucks but I'm here to tell you that Spain gets the important things right. The care I've been given here has been amazing. If I was in the US it would have been a few pills and then out the door. Here I can't get them to release me! And it's all done with such a human, informal but professional touch. Yep Spaniards are amazing. Viva Espanya! Viva Catalunya! Viva Pais Vasco! Heck even Viva Extremadura! And like 8 people live there but I bet they are swell.
So last night Benedicte and Zoe and my downstairs neighbor Alfredo and his 5 year old Sergi showed up with Cava, really great ham, olives, a yule log from Paul the fancy french bakery and most importantly chips and salsa!!! It was kind of a tough day for me and my gamy leg but having a New Years Eve party sure helped.
Everybody has been so nice and supportive. My parents call twice a day. People stop by at all hours and hang out and bring books and videos and contraband goodies. Not to get all weepy but I feel really fortunate to have such nice people in my life. Wow, am I lucky.
Fiesta in the Hospital Room
So as I sit here in my room in the Hospital Dexeus waiting to see if my leg will need to be removed 4 adultos and 2 ninos are hanging out eating Panetone and listening to Cuban music. If one has to have an amputation this is the best way to do it. I am not serious about the amputation but this sucker does occasionally hurt like the blazes. Damn gamy leg! What, what!
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