Back late last night from Barcelona - a foreign city that challenged my rusty Spanish particularly because they apparently speak a slightly different version of it there. I went on my own, out of choice, because I just wanted to be alone. I like to walk about in the quiet of my own thoughts, just watching the faces of others, their gestures, their togetherness within my singularity, brushing the edges of other people's lives with my fingertips. The smile of a little black girl who was seeing the sea for the first time, the burst of laughter from a Chinese tourist which he wanted me to share for some reason, and one day I went along to the zoo where I could sit and watch the animals - those underrated beings who we annexe into such small corners of the planet.

 

In the chimp enclosure a baby was hurling water at the watching humans and turning head over heels, and in the corner, out of sight where I found her,was a big chimp - the most depressed looking animal I have ever seen. I know we share about 98% of our dna with them, but it was here I recognised just how much. She sat hunched up, hugging herself, one hand over her head, and as I crouched down behing the glass, lulled by her stillness, she looked round. We met eye to eye and something passed between us. I put my hand up and twirled it and for a moment her attention was rivetted by the movement. Then her eyes dropped and her gaze returned to a tree where a mother chimp was nursing a baby. Maybe it was that. Maybe she wanted something that was out of her reach - something invisible, like glass, or ignorance or just plain shit luck that put her where she was. 

 

Barcelona was many things - dirty in parts but the next moment you turn a corner and find yourself in a shady square with an ancient church and trees. There was such a one round the corner from my hotel where I liked to eat. It had such a mixed crowd - mostly Spanish, young, old, a bit avant guard. One guy with a shaved head, dreads, five earrings, a skirt and a girls top came each evening and made everyone laugh. One woman liked to finish her meal by clapping and singing flamenco. After the first night, they were all very nice to me - struggling as I was with the language, and the food for a tiny place was bloody amazing.

 

I did the Gaudi visit - to Parc Guell (see here for pics. because its here that I dropped my beloved camera on the steps and smashed it open, ruining the film.) and I also went to Sitges - photo tour here if you wish - which was a great place with fantastic architecture and the cleanest streets. Along the sea front they have signs saying things like: If you keep your rubbish to yourself and enjoy keeping it beautiful, you belong in Sitges. Very civic minded.

 

Otherwise I kept my own hours - bed around 3 or 4, up for brekky by about 9 (ok, 10) then I'd wander out into the sunshine to the beach or the park or Las Ramblas - the Portobello Road of the place with everything in it - performance artists, con artists, markets, bird stalls, music, you name it - along with the most impressive policemen you could wish to see, with big boots and mile long riot sticks swinging from their belts. Not sure anyone would want to mess with them.

 

So yeah. I wandered, and I sat. I read three books, I admired the scenery. I took a bike tour run by a friendly Ausralian guy who was half way through a mission to live in five major cities of the world. He was full of ideas of where to go, and I met some people who were good company. In the end though, I did a lot of nothing. Letting my own self filter through a sieve of silence and sunshine. Lonely as I often feel in some ineluctable way but used to that, it not having anything to do with being alone. I wanted to stay. To not come back. To keep on walking. But the world doesn't go away does it? Until the day it takes itself away from you inexorably, its wonder and sorrow and plain bloody insanity keep tugging at your toes like some mutant beggar. I caught my flight home - arms clenched as it took off, missing and recalling.

 

I realised that the last minute trip meant that I am away again on monday on my Writing week booked so long ago I'd almost forgotten, so now I'm washing my smalls and packing for that. One day, maybe I'll stand still. One day I want to know what peace feels like too.