The Place I Call Home (For Now)

This post is part of the RBJ November Collab.

I haven’t been on any major travels since my Japan trip last spring, but I am living in this picture perfect little beach town at the moment. And since I’ll be leaving it in a little over a month’s time, I’m really making an effort to ‘notice’ it. I mean, it’s mid November and I wake up to ultra blue skies and sunshine bouncing off the Mediterranean…it’s what I’ve always wanted, really. I can still leave my windows open (though, granted, it’s a little nippy) and the plants on my balcony haven’t stopped blooming since spring.

There’s the fresh fruits and veg –or at least there would be, if the covered market building hadn’t been under construction for the past year. But then that’s part of the charm of Spain: construction is their national hobby, and they’ll do it as loudly as they can and make it go on forever. Right now the main town square is broken up as well, and on the sign informing the residents of the duration of the works, someone wrote ‘until 2030′ in big black letters. Hah, that may not even be far off the mark. But people adapt and, interestingly enough, hardly ever complain.

It’s something a friend noticed who was over last weekend: waiting is a part of life over here, and it’s nothing to get upset about. A trip to the post office will easily take half an hour, the trains are routinely late, and if you’re queuing in the supermarket and the old lady in front of you decides to tell the cashier –at length!– about her grandchildren, then you make yourself comfortable and listen in, because you’re going to be there for a while. Once you get used to it though, it’s actually a very relaxing way of life. People live loudly (as you know by now, if you’re a regular) and happily, and it would be silly not to join in.

I did make a small journey last weekend, about twenty minutes into the mountains by car (with minimal motion sickness, by the way. Those wristbands do help!) to a village called Olivella, for the annual festival there. This is another thing: the Spanish love to party, and there’s a steady flow of festivals to keep you occupied all year round. It’s a tiny town with no shops of any kind –the locals either produce their own or drive out to buy what they need– full of cobbled streets and old stone houses. There was a mass of people, the diablos with their firecrackers, and all the gigantes of the region: every town has some giant dolls for their own festivals, but they all come together in Olivella on this day. Quite a sight. There was also a table all along the main street where local women were braiding metres-long colourful ropes. All very typical and traditional, with lots of food and music and laughter.

I don’t know if I’ll miss this place when I go. I tend not to miss previous homes when I move on. But it definitely made an impression, and some fond memories…