Breathing is Nice
I am in Altea, Spain. In fact, this is my second full day in Altea. And guess what? No stress, thanks to the mere presence of my friend Becki and my wonderful parents! Even though the transportation systems seemed hell-bent on keeping us from getting here, we persevered.
Becki and I flew to Barcelona through Rome, where we spent five hours for our connecting flight, since our original flight was delayed three hours and it caused a huge ripple effect. My parents had no way of contacting me, and in their efforts to figure out why I had not arrived, they were thwarted by evil airport minions.
We then lugged our stuff on the bus to our little hostel, a pleasant enough place with painted walls and a shared bathroom. Except miscommunication landed us with two beds the first night, and we slept family-style (Becki had her own hostel, thank goodness). I felt a bit out of place, the place being geared toward gay travelers, but I got a giggle out of the hulking men in their brochure collection.
Barcelona is a clean city, with beautiful architecture and wide sidewalks, narrow pedestrian alley-ways that wend past unexpected cathedrals. On La Rambla you can find hordes of tourists, cages of birds and reptiles and small furry mammals, the scents of a hundred different flowers, and every sort of living statue imaginable. Including a devilish gargoyle who grabbed you if you got too close, flashing the whites of his eyes and the red of his tongue.
The city was ultimately just a city, however. I missed the green pouring out of the Athenian balconies, and coexistence with dogs and cats, that diversity of dominant species. I missed the ability to find vegan food in any taverna. But Athens is also just a city, and I am not a city person.
We left Becki to do further sight-seeing beyond the tour buses, and fled by train to Alicante. Well, almost. We were delayed for five hours — on the train — a mere half an hour from our destination. Too much rain! The electricity was out, and we were as stuck as the train. I am astounded at our patience: my feathers, at least, were hardly ruffled, and when we finally made it to Altea, I conked out in my own room.
Altea is touristy, it’s true. But there are little stair-studded streets everywhere, and our town-house is big and bright, and our neighbor is a gregarious older British man with a cat named Cassandra. We went jogging on the beach this morning, and in the early afternoon we were overwhelmed by the smells and colors and potential tastes of the outdoor market. There is fast and reliable internet, delicious tap water, chirping birds, passing clouds, and no traffic. I use the church bells to keep track of time.
Breathing is nice.