Home, sweet home

Finally, we are ensconced in our pied a terre high above the flats of Barcelona. It's 1700 Euros a month, OK, but worth every penny. Last Wednesday, after signing on to a three-page rental contract in Spanish, some of which I actually understood, it officially became our home for the next nine and a half months. Our landlady, Barbara, 30-something, pretty, stylish, forthright, Catalan, does something in TV news - producer? Anchorwoman? I didn't really get that part, but she suspiciously resembles the super-dynamic anchor of a major news program here in Barcelona.

We have the choicest of six apartments in this 70s-era building, seemingly populated by professionals (plus one reportedly cranky and needy little old lady above us). Completely remodeled, our flat is surrounded on four sides by teakwood decks and a gravel terraza, with vines and flowers overflowing the planter boxes. Inside, we have a relatively spacious living area complete with a huge built-in desk, leading to a very well-equipped kitchen outfitted with top-of-the-line electrodomesticos. Floors are dark engineered wood planking or cool, neutral ceramic tiles; lots of windows and French doors, meaning it's very bright inside. Three TVs - one each in the dining room and master bedroom - plus a huge flat-screen in the living room, which has two very comfy sofas strewn with cushions. Besides the master bedroom, there are two very small ones. I've elected to give Hannah the big room, owing to her teenage privacy needs. My small room, with its single bed, is more than adequate for me. Our bathroom has two sinks and lots of counter space and storage, plus a luxurious, roomy shower. There is a combination washer-dryer just outside the third room, and clotheslines to take advantage of the cooling breezes. All in all, we are enchanted.

(To see photos of our flat, click on the link to your right. Also, check out the link above for the website of our rental agent, Loco Locations. Maybe you'd like to rent in Barcelona, too. They're fabulous to work with.)

I am the proud owner of a carra de compras, one of those rolling shopping carts I mentioned earlier. The day after we settled in, I made the 15-minute walk into the commercial center, which is across a wide viaduct, bought the cart, and loaded it to capacity with all kinds of food and drink. Hannah is thrilled that we now have "real food." The shops are excellent: a Bon Preu supermercado, numerous small tiendas offering cheeses, sausages, and exotic groceries; a pescaderia (seafood market), carnicerias (butcher shops), numerous bakeries, bars and cafes, a hardware store, shoe and lingerie shops, a bookstore, a florist. On Saturday afternoon, it was humming with activity, people spilling out of the bars and sitting on door stoops, balancing their plates on their laps.

Our neighborhood is far from the center, but really only a 10-15 Metro ride from just about anywhere, and we are about two blocks from the Penitents station. It's quiet (relatively) up here: much less traffic, and dark and peaceful at night. Plus - and this is the really amazing thing - it comes with a moto (small motorcycle)! Barbara handed me the keys and said we could use it and, possibly, buy it when she gets around to it.

Since there was no bed for the small room (I spent a few nights on the sofa), I took public transport to Ikea on Friday and picked out a bed frame and mattress. They were delivered the very next morning, and I set to work assembling the frame. Ooops: no screwdriver in the house, so I walked to the hardware store to ask for a destorneador Phillips. (Odd thing about Spanish shops in general: a lot of the wares are in the back room and you have to ask for them by name. Good thing I'd done my dictionary research beforehand.)

Putting the thing together was, to be honest, a bitch. I've assembled Ikea before, but this was the worst. I'd nearly finished, though, when a tiny Allen wrench I needed to assemble the mattress substructure flew out of my hands and landed on the deck, where it immediately disappeared between two of the planks. Fortunately, the decking is installed over a concrete walk about 2 1/2 inches below, but I spent the better part of the afternoon flat on my stomach on the deck, armed with table knives, tweezers, scissors, reading glasses, and every other improvised tool I could think of, trying to extract the little devil. Finally, yesterday morning, I fished it out using a piece of twist-tie: a delicate and nerve-wracking operation.

It was a big weekend for Hannah. Her senior class volunteered to help stage the big 50th anniversary celebration at Camp Nou, the stadium that is home to FC Barcelona. In case you don't know, FCB is one of the top futbol (soccer) teams in Europe, with star players including Ronaldinho. The kids' job was to climb to the top of the stadium with enormous golden balloons resembling soccer balls, to be released onto the field during the spectacle. Thursday and Friday after school, they were at the stadium til late into the evening. They had to dress in black, and I had to sign a release for Hannah to appear on TV. Saturday was the big night. I missed the show, but, over at Carme's apartment, caught the tail end of the game, when Messi, for FCB, scored his second goal of the game to defeat Sevilla 2-1. Fireworks went off all over the city.

The game coincided with La Merce, Barcelona's biggest festival, which ends today. Parades, free concerts all over the city in the public squares, lots of stuff for kids, sports spectaculars, and several bizarre local traditions including Carrefoc, in which spectators are sprayed with fire (sadly, I missed it as I was at Blanche and Carme's place), and a parade of huge, papier-mache heads that mock the city's institutions. Last night, Blanche and I met at Placa Catalunya and plied the packed streets, at one point encountering an impromptu samba group (Blanche refused to dance because she said once she starts dancing samba, she can't stop). My destination was Placa del Rei for a show by Angelique Kidjo, an amazing African singer and one of my all-time favorites. The Placa was packed for the super high-energy show, and Angelique regaled the crowd in French between numbers. I danced shoulder to shoulder with the tightly packed crowd.

Tomorrow, it's back to school for Hannah, and time for me to figure out what I'm going to do with my life, now that the business of arrival and establishment is concluded. Suggestions are welcome.