Wonderland in Barcelona

Wonderland in Barcelona

I found myself sitting in Vascubello, the Belgian chain cafe in Barcelona. Three girls were talking in Dutch or Flemish. I was not quite sure, but all the scenes reminded me of Leuven, and I felt safe and protected. Rachel, my flatmate, had asked me earlier if I’d like to walk around with her after work, ‘That’s lovely of you, but I’d like a tranquil moment with myself.’

Yesterday I went back to Vilanova to visit Marta and her English classmates, as I said this might be the last time I saw them. I was honest with Marta that I didn’t quite enjoy the company of Diego, her good friend and my current flatmate. Or I didn’t understand his behavior that I might consider as impolite. Marta gasped and asked, ‘Among the flatmates Diego and the French guy, who is worse?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps Diego. He’s drawing boundaries very clearly.’ Hearing this, Marta buried her face in her hands, ‘Stasy, I am so sorry. I didn’t know that it would end up like this.’

‘But that was fine, Marta. It’s not even your responsibility. Diego has his own issues that he’s not able to articulate, and that’s okay. Barcelona gave me a lot of space to just turn my back and face life with a pleasant vibe. The city itself offers a tremendous buffer zone, whenever I am not comfortable at home, I’d just go out and I’m good again. ‘

‘Wow, Stasy. I am so happy for you. You are so smart, and you go around the world and see what you like, and you go for it, and you get what you want. You are very strong. Persistent is the word for you.‘

Marta was lost in memory for a while, ‘I was just thinking, everything was just like being arranged perfectly. If I didn’t go to the supermarket that day, if you didn’t ask me about the difference of the cheese, we wouldn’t have met. And you wouldn’t have moved to Barcelona. Life is interesting, isn’t it? ‘

‘What you say reflects mostly who you are as a person, so you’re just talking about yourself, Marta. You are so smart and strong, and you provide help to those in need, so is your boyfriend.’

Begona then proposed that I come to class with them to introduce myself. So I did. I sat in the class for 10 minutes and said I had to leave to have some fresh air. Begona blinked at me, said she needed to practice her English more, so she’d call me. And then Marta ran out of the classroom and hugged me.

‘Stasy, we keep in touch.’ She then slipped into the classroom again.

I felt blessed and beloved every time I saw Marta.

And then I went to the cafe Nolstagic and waited for Donald there.

We met on a house-hunting website, he was a potential landlord, and I a potential tenant. I visited his place, and decided to leave Vilanova for Barcelona, but we always talked. Perhaps because he reminded me of Kit, a wise and humorous figure. He carried, if I may, a slight scent of an arrogant intelligentsia, a self-defensive mechanism for his unhappy life in Spain. But I did learn a lot from him, he used to study Economics and International Relations in UC Berkeley, did his postdoctoral in Harvard, and taught at University of Columbia. Having lived in Central America and then in Spain for decades, he still carries an obvious Boston style — very professional, very austere, very sharp, those kind of people that would restrain from expressing their emotions and calling for help unless desperate. Going through several marriages and a violent case in Spanish court, he had a hard time in Spain.

So we talked about how we are doing. Mainly me talking. I just turned 28, and I just found out that I might not be able to return from my interview in Munich to Barcelona because I didn’t have the European Vaccination Certificate. And Spain just declined entries for those not having vaccination certificates. I was vaccinated, but because I was not registered in Spanish health care system, I couldn’t get an official document.

‘Then how did you get vaccinated in Spain?’

‘Marta got the appointment for me. I don’t know how.’

‘Then go to the health care center again, tell them you need the certificate. If not, I’ll write you a letter and you will bring it to the customs office in the airport tomorrow and — — -I am not judging, but your English expression is sometimes not very clear — — on it states just the necessary information, and ask if there would be a problem when you return from Munich. You don’t want to get stuck in Munich airport, do you?’

So we thought of the worst case scenarios and the plans in the restaurants. Everything was so surreal for me, I didn’t know an on-site job interview could cause me such big problems in pandemic times.

If I am rejected entry from Munich to Barcelona, then I will just change my flight and fly back to Taiwan from Munich.

‘Don’t be so upset. It’s life. Let’s turn to the sublime topics. What were you saying that you are moving to Boston?’

‘I just thought it would make my life easier if I moved to the center of the intellectuals. I might find a sense of belonging there, I guess.’

‘Yeah, I definitely miss Boston. Place of ideas.’

So I left the restaurant and felt heavy, because Donald did point out the risks that I never thought of. And that I was again back to the situation where I’d always have to prepare for the worst. But I just didn’t like to be warned kindly by strangers. Just leave me alone, for a while.

The next day I went to the health care center with my passport and the random paper that said I was vaccinated two doses, using all the Spanish I could, to express that I really need the Vaccination Certificate, otherwise I’d be treated as a non-vaccinated person. Back in Taiwan the government would inject me with the two doses again.

The nurses shrugged and said, OK. She registered me in the system without paying much attention to what I was saying, and printed out the document for me.

I held the official document at hand and felt great relief. A great rescue again. And this is just a small episode of my adventure in Spain.