Stores were open again today in Barcelona and traffic cruising the streets. Aside from the 10 PM clanging of pots and pans for 15 minutes, no overt displays of pro-separatist sentiments were noted by me as I resumed my basic duties as a tourist, visiting the Picasso museum, paying a fortune for a bowl of soup in the Gothic Quarter, riding a double decker bus around town. A full moon peaks between the clouds over the Ramblas, and I suspect the citizens are holding their collective breath as they wait to discover on Monday if Independence will be declared. I must admit that based on what I've seen of the reactions of the central government here, I am glad I will be back in Tennessee at that time.
But oh, how I hate to leave! Isn't there some way I can find a life here? Any room for an old American massage therapist? A private lymphedema therapist to the English speaking population? Any ideas are welcome; I love my life in Tennessee, but have yearned for a time of living in another culture. An experience my husband had in his teens; I have only ever been a visitor.
At this time in world history however, it does not seem an auspicious time to dive into ex-pat living. But if not now, then when?
Tonight we ate dinner at a sweet little restaurant and strolled back along the rambla. One of the best ever meals.