Mr. Blue Eues

Poor Eiko! She asked me to remember this blue-eyed man... Eiko, querida, you never told me how old he was.

Eiko's vision: That this summer I would meet a tall, blue-eyed man (Spanish I guess??). Small mustache. Not thin, but not fat. Hands of someone who works, and very fine shoes.

This man, a certain Jon, John Axbuche (Azbuiches, Azubuchi???) something to that end, very gentlemanly, older, ... late eighties...

Well... I was still listening intently to grandpa when he began to describe to me that as a doctor, he was (of course) an expert in making love and in orgasms and of kisses climbing or descending the body... and then he kissed me on the mouth.

Grandpa Jon, was then kind enough to ask me if I wanted a ride to whatever part of Barcelona I wished to go. And he, as he didn´t have a car in Barcelona, would be right back--he would either buy one, or rent one.When that plan was interrupted by a much needed exit to the phone booth (to call my parents), he asked if he could take me out to coffee later in the week.

Now, let me explain something. Now that I am not drinking, the thing that makes me the most stupid is lack of sleep. When I´m tired, I get blond. Not just Valley Blond, but Newport, bleach, pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow, sunburned blond. The kind of blond that doesn´t know why a camera isn´t turning on--when all she had to do was change the batteries.

So, as Jon was talking to this (me) blond, he still wanted to get coffee. Tired or not, I´m not genetically stupid, and I just gave him my card (email, outdated telephone, etc.), and extracted myself as kindly as possible from the eighty year-old octopus of a man. Thirty minutes later, after three trips around the train station Sants (trying to loose Pulpo-Abuelo), getting a map of Barcelona, almost having my luggage stolen, and situated myself in a café and began to read (very intently) Giana Vattimo "Not Being God".

Tip, tic, tic, tic.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tac, Tac, Tac.

And then, a hand on my shoulder.

"Hola chica! A ver si te escribo por Navidad?" (As if I'm still going to be around for Christmas...much less him).

"Anda, dime de verdad. Esto va en serio o no?" ("Come one, is this serious or not?")

Is what serious?

After such a vague response, the kind gentleman walked outside the café and looked at me through the window. He took out my card, and gently, with the grace of a Viking lord, tore it up and threw it on the ground.

Mr. Blue Eyes (version 8.0) turned around, and vanished into the crowded

Well, I´m here and safe. The photos above are of my room! I´m living with the daughter of Teodora, a

lovely catalana who works as a nurse--in the old Hospital de Barcelona. Her daughter, Beatriz, is a doll.

And the other room is taken by Rupayán an Indian doctoral who is studying voice cognition theory

in UB. Beatriz is doing doctoral work in Biology--Metabolism and its effects on insulin! En total, a wonderful environment, wonderful people, and I´m in Barcelona!