Today was sunny and glittery; I slept in, after a late-night work binge, and Doriot went to explore the seaside and Barceloneta. I wrote a blog post for Love Letters on our Adventures With Andre (click to read it) and took off myself, in the opposite direction, up to the sculpture park next to the Miro museum, and then down into Poble Sec for a mango juice, then briefly into La Rambla for flowers for Doriot, who likes them on the table.
Later in the afternoon, we crossed Via Laitana into a pretty little neighborhood housing the Picasso museum, a couple of flamenco bars, and a tapas place that I’ve been told not to miss. We were a bit ahead of the tapas (and flamenco) but we vowed to come back. The Picasso museum is as surely on our list as a flamenco performance.
I’m feeling comfortable here; I can find my way around.
I’m focusing on keeping a low profile, gently encouraging my little capers to grow and become real… gestating magic. I’m also trying to stay current on my work, which I find more challenging than anything else, no matter where I am. So far, so good. I’m very happy here, if a bit too far from my house full of boys, and unkissed in a city of love.
I have a Top Sekret visitor coming for a few days after Doriot leaves, and while this will also not result in any kissing, it will be… amazing. Details as allowed.
Glasses and photo courtesy of Doriot
I miss my garland of felted flowers; Bryan Ferry was the last person to fondle it, and then, somewhere in the few blocks of bliss between the theater and the hotel, it disappeared into the rainy night.
Romantic, yet tragic.