It´s 3:00 pm in Barcelona, and we are just now leaving the hotel. We’ve learned that his city doesn’t like to go to bed, and after being invited to stay after hours at the little bar across the street, we finally called it a day at 4:45 am.
Now, I´m waiting for the tribe to get ready, and I’m hiding in the sexy basement of our sexy hotel stealing some moments to leave a little imprint here. There’s so much more to come, but I don’t want to miss a minute of this city, so I will write more later from the mental notes I’ve been collecting.
I will tell you this, however…
I think I love this city even more than I loved Paris. Perhaps it is because here, on this trip, I’m surrounded by so much love. Or because the pace is so easy and casual, and people are literally strolling through the streets. Perhaps it’s because I am happier than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, or because I feel so strong and assured. Perhaps it’s the food, the RIDICULOUS generosity with which every bartender pours, the swarthy he and she pirates that inhabit this place, everywhere you turn. Perhaps it’s the undulating curves of the architecture, the fine, delicate iron work of the Julietta balconies, the graceful tumble of flowers from wrought iron framework, spreading across old stone like tentative fingers across a lover’s chest…
There is poetry everywhere here, and I am instantly comfortable and at home.
Spanish sounds like music, music sounds like magic, and the three of us want to return and set up shop with our little ones some day. We are in love with each other, we are in love with Barcelona, and Barcelona seems to love us in return.
While Paris was the perfect boyfriend, Barcelona is the crone-like, witchy Grandmaman who still wears red lipstick and has a mischievous twinkle in her eye because she’s seen and done it all. She hugs us close to her Sandalwood perfumed breasts and our history is mirrored in the musky, familiar scent, and the warmth of her unconditional understanding and approval. She knows that all we have in this life is love and every breath we take means one more chance to celebrate our love, and make vivid our own stories.
Yesterday, after lunch and shopping, we strolled through the streets on the way back to the hotel, and ahead of us was a family, not much older than we are. On the outside – a little boy of about four, then a lovely woman who held his hand, on her other hand a girl of perhaps two, attached to her a handsome man who looked just like her, and on his other arm another beautiful woman ripe with child. I saw them and my breath caught. I realized with intuitive certainty that I’m not the last unicorn. There are others like us, who live like us and love like us, and raise beautiful families like us. With one quiet glance and a slow-spreading smile exchanged between the lot of us, we shared recognition and understanding, and the power and beauty of that brief meeting was more beautiful than I can effectively describe. It was perfect, and we all felt its power.
Yesterday I held a tiny pair of baby shoes in my hand, placed there adoringly by the man who will some day father my children. On my arm was the woman who will help me raise these children, and who will be my guide through the experience of pregnancy and childbirth. A warm, delicious knot took hold of my throat and made it impossible for me to speak.
There aren’t many who can look upon their lives and realize they have everything they could ever wish for, and then some extra for dipping. Each morning (or afternoon) when I wake, I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude that I am one of them.
Gracias, gracias, gracias…