I wouldn't call it
writers block. After all, don't you need to be a writer to get that? No,
it's more like trying to find something interesting in what I'm doing. Why
would people bother reading about my everyday life, when it compares to their
own?
As of late my days and weeks would simply read like diary inserts. Dear Diary, today I got up at noon. You Slug! Go brush your teeth and do something! In fact, the thought had crossed my mind that I would start a daily diary as a New Year's Resolution. However, that would require a level of discipline that I simply do not possess. My current level of discipline is getting out of bed before noon. So, no diary, no discipline and no exciting tales to tell. Not even some exaggerations or lies. The best I can do now is to write in some form of streaming consciousness. Take this paragraph as fair warning. From here on, this story may go completely arseways. An enchanting term I learned in Ireland.
Speaking of Ireland, which I wasn't until 7 words ago, I'm thinking of going back there in May. My reasons are 2.3 fold. My friends Bruce and Mary, who live there have repeatedly invited me back. That may be due to the fact that when I was there last year, I busted out my Sponge Bob Custom Dish Sponge and cleaned the dishes, after the meals that Mary so wonderfully prepared. I'm sure they have done the dishes since then, but you haven't seen clean, until you've seen Sponge Bob clean.
From my side, it's because you can see Ireland, but you can only live it with the Irish. Bruce and Mary may be American transplants but they have always known there was a Leprechaun in them trying to get back home. That's where they hide. In the Irish at Heart. The next time you meet someone who is Irish at Heart, just squeeze their leprechaun and you'll hear it yelp, just before they knock you unconscious.
The .3 is that I can't be here, but I want to be here, but they won't let me be here, so I have to be here some other way, but that can't happen, yet, so I have to be here yet another way that requires scheming and deception. That can't be a good way, but it seems to be the only way, for now since trying to be here the right way was not possible this year. A flight to Ireland and back will allow me to visit my friends, do a little Sponge Bobbing and maybe, just maybe, get me three more months of allowed time in Spain. Or I could end up being the Head Dish Washer at the Spanish immigration prison. When you've got a Sponge Bob Custom Dish Sponge in your pocket you move to the head of the wash line.
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| Barcelona Dryer |
My segue from wash line to wash line would appear to be seamless, but they are two different types of wash line. This one is where I dry my clothes. It is perfectly acceptable to hang your wash out to dry here. In fact, it's the way most of Europe dries their clothes. My apartment, which I will from now on call a flat because I have a lazy finger and flat saves me typing 5 letters, which I can now save for a very long word. My flat has a balcony but no contraption. I have a drying stand for drying clothes indoors. A device that most Americans have never seen. Think of a miniature clothes line with legs that fold up, so it can fit in your miniature closet.
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| My Drying Stand |
The problem with a drying stand is that it may take days for your clothes to dry. If you wait until you are out of underwear before doing your laundry, you may have days of going commando ahead of you. Now you have to plan not just what to wear, but when you can wear it. Put a sheet on the drying stand and the entire laundry enterprise is shut down for days.
So far I have lived in three different flats in Barcelona, which has brought about three different solutions to drying the laundry. Flat number one was the bug infested tomb that Bonnie and I first rented in Barcelona. It had a bunk bed, but the bottom bed was independent of the top bed. If I pulled the bottom bed out I had what the college kids call a dorm bed. An elevated bed with a work area under it. Sounds like a good idea until you find yourself rolling out of bed in a drunken stupor. Suddenly and painfully, having a bed 6 feet (2 meters) off the floor just made as much sense as another drunken stupor.
Not to worry though, I was on the bottom bed and Bonnie had no time to party, much. So as I was saying before I interrupted myself; with the bottom bed pulled out I could use the frame of the upper bed for hanging clothes. We had two portable electric heaters, with fans, as our heat source for the flat, so I would put them under the the bed and then use a sheet or towels, depending on what was wet, to enclose this little drying room under the top bed. This arrangement took on the look of children building a fort in their bedroom out of sheets and towels. Of course a child wouldn't do that today without watching the 10 (first page, I checked) Youtube videos on how to build a blanket fort. After all, why use your imagination when someone else already has. For this flat, the look was perfect.
The next flat was Virginia's apartment. I can't call this one a flat. It was just too big and in the end, too nice to be simply a flat. Here we had two drying stands and a big terrace. This was production drying. If the terrace was cluttered, as it often was in the first phase of construction, there was still room indoors for at least one stand. A drying stand is not just a utility appliance, it becomes furniture.
The flat I'm currently living in has brought about yet another solution. There are clothes dryers, but hanging your wash out to dry is the most common way. In my case that would require some type of drying contraption on my balcony. Of course you can always string up some clothes lines in your flat and go for the Chinese Laundry look, or if you prefer, the Hobo Village look, but I have a nice flat and neither of those looks really works with the decor. The flat came with not only a drying stand tucked nicely into the closet, but it also has a nice portable fan. Just right for putting under the drying stand. This was my arrangement until Bonnie stayed here a couple of days while I was gone over the New Year. More on that adventure, somewhere in this stream or one yet to come.
She had taken the portable electric heater that serves as my heat source, should I need one, and put it next to the stand thereby turbocharging the drying process. And to think she did that without watching a single Youtube video ! No commando, no damp socks, just dry and ready to wear clothes in less than a day. Genius!
I don't have a segue now, so we'll just go free form until I find something to ramble on about. Oh!, I could tell you about the time I witnessed a crime. Yes, that is where we'll go next.
So there I was walking down the street when I stopped to look in a store window. I was on the hunt for a French swimming pool tea cup and this shop had cups in the window. I turned back around after concluding for the umpteenth time that I wasn't in France and was about to start walking again when I saw this guy come running up behind this women and snatch her necklace. She started screaming, the guy took off running with another guy and a man lit out after both of them. I have seen enough cowboy movies in my day to know that the bandits now had a posse on their trail, so I took off around the bend to head them off at the pass. If they took the fork in the road to the left, we should meet at the pass. They did and we met up at a little plaza. I yelled at them to let them know I was stupid enough to confront them. It was then that they threw, what I took to be the necklace at me. They turned and ran, but unfortunately, the posse hadn't gotten there yet, so they made a clean getaway, while I looked around for the necklace.
They had thrown the worthless pendant at me and made off with the gold chain. About the time I had sorted that out, the posse came puffing up. He was an older man, about someone else's age. He was either British, or he had been taking English lessons there. The bandits had picked their quarry well. An older woman and gentleman would pose no threat to them. And so it was. The Brit and I scoured around for the rest of the necklace before concluding that the good bit was officially stolen.
My takeaway from this was that when I confronted the bandits, I should have
started yelling THIEF!, in as many languages as I knew. At least then the
bystanders would know that the men they were looking at were thieves and
perhaps call them out, should they return to that neighborhood. With my attempt at being the Lone Ranger of Barcelona, foiled, I went on with my tea cup search. You will be happy or completely indifferent, to know that my search ended with my obtaining a pair of French hot tub size tea cups. Apparently if you really want swimming pool size tea cups, you need to go to France.
Not to long ago I was invited to join Marta at a get to know me dinner at her friend Teresa's home. The party would consist of Marta, Teresa, Patricia, her husband Jose-Maria and me. Teresa's home is located in El Masnou, on the coast, direction France, about 30km (18 miles) from Barcelona. Teresa and Patricia are old school chums of Marta's since 1st grade. A friendship that had seen them through school and now serves them well as a diversion from everyday life by way of good company, food, wine and laughs.
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| The Community of Catalunya |
Did you know that Europeans lace their shoes differently than Americans? Did you know that there are no less than 6 different ways to tie your shoes? I didn't. Just when you were sure of the world around you, you notice someone do something as simple as tying their shoes in such a different way that your sense of normal is forever changed. I would describe how after fifty plus years of tying my shoes the way Mommy showed me, I now tie my shoes, but I'm still trying to get my fingers to play along. I'm not sure my fingers will be willing to try typing it. Why bother you ask? Because it really does work better than my old way.
Did you know that men's underwear has now joined the seemingly endless array of ever changing fashion? It use to be that there was only a choice between whitie-tighties (briefs) and boxers. Old School boxers where the kind of boxer that constituted enough cloth to make an arm sling out of, should you break your arm while putting them on. Stuffing the wad of cotton, that made up old boxers, into your pants, left you looking like you inner Leprechaun was living below your belt. Best not squeeze that Leprechaun though. Boxers worked much better when trousers use to be baggy.
The Whitie-tighties have given way to style, type of cut, colors, fly or fly-less. I went shopping for skivvies (anyone remember that word?) before I left this time for Europe. That process turned into a quest to sort out just what had become of boxers and briefs. I bought representatives from different companies and styles.
I now own what can only be called training boxers. Too big to be briefs, but too small to be big boy boxers. The boxer for the man who wants to swing free in tight pants. The briefs are a mixture of full cut and what I can only describe as "manties". My future as an underwear model will be limited to the blind, but as a product tester, I'm well on my way.
Although the trip to Garos/Baqueira technically started on the 30th and falls within the timeline of this story, I've decided to give it, its own story. Now it's time to see if I have any more stream in my conscious. Ah, here's just a little stream to finish this update from Barcelona.
In my story, A Yellow Brick Road, I went into detail about my trials and tribulations over trying to get an extended visa for my stay in Spain. I said in that story I would try to apply for that visa while here in Spain. To that end, I went looking for a lawyer who could help me through the process. When in Rome, get a lawyer. I joined the American Society of Barcelona for a number of reasons, but one of them was to find an English speaking lawyer. I went to the society's meet up with that as part of my agenda. I was also looking for work and to see about their monthly hikes.
The hikes haven't panned out, there weren't any contractor types in the crowd, but there was a lawyer. I did the card swap with her and emailed her the following day. That lead to a meeting with her and her associate. At that meeting she assured me that I could apply for the visa now that I was technically living in Spain. This ran contrary to what Bonnie's lawyer had told her when she had looked into getting a visa. While Bonnie was double checking with her lawyer about my situation, I was scouring the Internet for immigration lawyers in Barcelona who had English as an option on their website.
My search led me to three lawyers who returned my email inquiry. They all told me that it was not possible for me to apply from Spain. Bonnie's lawyer joined the chorus, making it four nays to one yes. The Yes was saying I could get it and it would only cost me 900 euros ($1,100.00).
When I asked for a money back guarantee, that she was right, I got a bunch of mumble jumble about honesty and professionalism. I didn't need mumble jumble. I needed confidence in her stated position that I could apply for the visa while living in Spain. In the end, or so I thought, I sent here a short three sentence note thanking her for her time and that I would not be moving forward with applying for my visa from Spain. I thought that would be that. I was wrong. I should have expected the need of a female lawyer to get in the last word. I tried to gently close the door on our relationship with a short and sweet goodbye email. Since she wanted to open the door, I felt compelled to see if she wanted to go for one more last word. Here is that final exchange.
RE: Hiring an expert
lawyer in Spain
RE: I do understand your doubts
RE: Answering to your questions
RV: Re: On behalf of Ms. Celsa Núñez, Lawyer
RE: Answering to your questions
RV: Re: On behalf of Ms. Celsa Núñez, Lawyer
Dear Darryl,
Thanks for your message and I am sorry that you got cold feet and
are not pursuing your visa. I wish you the best with your endeavors and if you
are ever in need of legal services in Spain, I hope you will contact us again.
Best regards,
Celsa
Dear Celsa,
My cold feet could have been easily warmed by one simple
statement. It would have looked like this.
Mr. Kimmel,
I understand your dilemma. I can assure you that I am correct in
my opinion that you can apply for your visa while you are in Spain. I recognize
that a number of my colleges have told you otherwise, but that is not the case.
I am so sure of my opinion, that if your visa application is denied based on
your application being submitted in Spain, rather than from the United States,
I will gladly refund your fee for our services.
This statement would be fair and reasonable, yet you could not nor
would not make it. I was not doubting. I was asking for confidence in your
position. If you have no confidence in your position, then how can I?
Sincerely,
Darryl Kimmel
There you have it. I will now be applying for my extended visa
from the United States again. Since I have tried to do it once, I should be
able to sort it out this time and be successful. It will require me to live in
Los Angeles for a short time, but, it will be winter and it's warm in LA during
the winter, so the nuisance factor is greatly reduced.
My stay here in Barcelona might just echo everyday life, but not
any life I have lived before. Being here continues to be as interesting as life
can be. There will be more to come.
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