una poca de gracia

I went to Barcelona and I bought: A flat, An office, A bike, A gym membership, a cool bag, a monitor, some speakers, some bedding, a mobile phone and um, dammit I can't remember the last one - I'm out. It's not bad for three weeks, all I need now is a girlfriend and a yacht and we're all set. You have no idea how glad I am that my bank doesn't know how to contact me.

I've also discovered the secret to learning Spanish. Predictive texting! After I found my way round my phone I changed the language to Spanish and I can now send texts to people in less than half an hour, but, and here's the kicker, you have to know how to spell. Admittedly in Spanish that's quite easy, it's pretty much phonetic. It's not like in London where I could never arrange anything for tomorrow because my phone wouldn't let me get away with the mm version I was used to.

The Spanish is definitely improving, at least my velocity is slowly approaching that of a stoned Spaniard. The main problem is that I'm still thinking in English, which is dangerous because the constructions are totally different and I almost never get it right when I translate word for word. Everyone's very polite and they understand me, but I must sound like Yoda all the time. Take the simple phrase "I miss that club I like, it's brilliant". In Spanish you have to say: "it I throw less the club he which tastes me, is of whore mother!".

Everytime I tell a taxi driver that I'm here to learn spanish they get really annoyed. They're absolutely right. It's like going to France to learn German. Yes everybody can speak it, but the language is Catalan goddammit. Having said that I've almost never heard it for any length of time. Everybody from here or who's moved here speaks both fluently, so much so that catalas and spaniards find it hard to tell eachother apart. The girls at the office speak both so fast and switch between so randomly and rapidlly that I just have to zone out and concentrate on work (which is probably a good thing). It does however mean that my Spanish is better than I thought, it turns out that when I didn't understand what they were saying they were actually talking catalan (or so I tell myself!).

I'm really tempted to have a go at catalan too. I might get a book. It's a very old an proud language. It looks like french and sounds like italian. Tu pots parl catala? But to be honest I'd never get anywhere with it, it would be like learning latin or esperanto; fun, but unless the necesity is there I won't remember anything.

Things are all beginning to click into place rather nicely. I've got the school work routine going, although I still think I'm on holiday and go out drinking way too much. My day's are LOOONG. Early morning school, lunchtime in the office until about 9 or 10, and then straight out for a drink until the earliest 1. It's do-able but if my insomnia ever kicks in again I'm likely to keel over. The two hour lunch break should be a legal requirement for everyone! Especially when accompanied by the quiet plaza tapas terrace with two lovely graphic designers talking about politics and changing the world. Living within cycling distance of a beach should also be mandatory, although this is probably less practical.

When I said that everyone in Barna is an artist I hadn't realised exactly how deeply that changed the culture. Artists are extremely uncool here, almost geeks. My flatmate Javier for example is a 3d graphical artist, bass player in a well respected avant rock band and ex head chef (which he kindly didn't mention until after I made him dinner). He also seems reserved, shy and doesn't have a lot of friends. Miren is an actress, although like everywhere else in the world that means she's a waitress, although she just auditioned for a part as a waitress in a film, so things are looking up!

When I tell people I'm a photographer the sigh gently and look for someone else to talk to. When I tell them I'm a computer programmer they start cooing like an over excited pigeon. No-ones asked for my autograph yet, but it won't be long now. Above all though I'm really enjoying myself. It's relaxing, I've almost completely forgotten that my life is a mess and I have no future. I don't have any real friends here yet, although I've got a couple of promising prospects, but I've discovered that not a lot of people here do. Everyone's just generally more friendly, and they basically know everyone else well enough to not feel the need for bast friends. I feel really honoured that I'm being accepted and yet still have all you guys, who I love and miss honestly.

I'm coming for a little holiday to the UK, so you can all take your seething jealousy out on me in person, but more of that in another email, I'm never sure if anyone gets to the end of these ones.

I throw you all of less and you taste me much!

Danny

Esperando Verano

All the catalas, the barnas the giris (gringos) and everyone in this town (for whatever reason) is waiting for the sun to come. It's weird, you can feel the tension, the slight disbelief that although the weather is in English terms pleasant the sun has yet to bake down in that arrogant fashion that bodes the beginning of summer.

Nobody believes it, clement is not a word used this time of year, and a lot of the locals are bracing themselves to the wind and going to the beach anyway, a kind of weather denial.

I'm in a simmilar state. I'm partly settled here, I have a job a flat a few friends and a gym, but I'm also waiting for something to kick in. It's a weird sensation, I'm already yabbering in Spanish like a two year old fascinated by the sounds eminating from my mouth. I already hate tourists, they fill the streets when I'm in a hurry, bungle infront of me in queues trying to fathom the strange coin shapes in their hands. When I see them brandishing their wallets or cameras, I almost want to pickpocket them just to show them. But somehow I'm not here yet. I shouldn't hurry, it's only been two weeks. All the Spaniards rip the piss out of me for still being on London time and wanting everything now. Tranquilo Tranquilo

I'm a giri! (read that again, it doesn't say girl!) It means outsider and is used with no particular malice to refer to anyone not Spanish, and for the Catalas even Spaniards are included. It's actually quite fun. Almost everyone here is a giri, so much so that I don't know who exactly there is left to refer to us as such. My friends so far are English, Italian and Dutch, although I can still practice my spanish - their level is sufficiently higher to justify it.

Yesterday was saint George's day. I'm not sure where saint George was from , but he certainly can't have been english because the catalas hold him dear to their heart. Apparently he slaid a dragon and saved a princess (I love how easily catholicism and mysticism hang out together). To this end every St George's day (dia sant jordi) the men give their loved one a roses and the women return the favour with a book. The rose is because the pool of dragons blood legendarily sprouted them. The book is a later addition, it marks the deaths of shakespere and cervantes. It's a really sweet festival. The center is packed with wandering couples clutching books and flowers and meandering through the market stalls that spring out of nowhere. It was really weird seeing all the st George's cross flying without the accompanying strains of "Football's comin 'ome".

To celebrate there was a glastonbury style market in the park cuitadella the whole weekend, with the usual rash of shiatsu massage stalls, veggie organic fast food and trinkets. The Spanish hippie is an especially grungy version, more leather boots than spandex tights, and the place was awash with guitars and poi spinners and jugglers and a bunch of the ubiquitous beer can sellers that fill the Ramblas like pigeons. It was great fun, the sun was finally peeping out a bit and I got a break from the endless tortilla sandwhiches. I attracted some attention with my posh london poi balls, they're more into the cheapo plastiic with tails version than my gorgeous sleek velvet socks (if you have no idea what I'm talking about look up poi on google)

I cooked dinner for the English girls, my usual Ceaser salad and a newly updated risotto. All very civilised.

Last night was a different story. First a quiet drink with Alesandro, my italian philosopher friend who helped me stretch my castillano to the limits on sartre and oil politics. He's actually really cool, Hawkeye from mash with woody allen glasses and a italio-spanish accent. Then on to a party near the beach, which turned out to be an erasmus house birthday party. I had the best spanish there, but the worst costume (no-body told us it was prostitutes and pimps). Then dragged off to an extremely hippodrome style club with gratifyingly few giris where I danced the night away and tested my theory that I'm sexier when I try it on in Spanish (the juries out). I wandered home about 7am bedraggled and lost and trying to aviod the dissaproving glares of the locals who can't believe I'm giong home so early.

There's a hell of a lot of bars here, I know that's fairly obvious but it still takes getting used to. They fill up at 12 and empty after three and no-one seems to be aware of impending daylight. They must take it in turns to sleep here because I don't think I've ever seen it quiet!

Other than that life here is actually suprisingly normal. I go to work, I work, I come home, I eat (at an ungodly nine) sometimes I go out, sometimes I stay in. It's great. Apart from the ridiculous shop opening hours (I think the official timetable is any time I'm not there!), being woken up by organised tours every morning (no-one told me I was next to a roman column) and a really annoying problem with internet connections which is extremely dull, its all going hunky dory and to plan.

The summer isn't ready yet, but when it comes I'll be all set!

Love you all,

To unsubscribe from the mailing list please simply stop being a treasured friend.

Danny

corriendo como un pollo sin cabeza

So it's been an interesting few days. Let's start at the end.

I'm sat in my flat! I have a flat! Let me repeat that I have a FLAT! I know it may not seem much to all you aboded londoners but after the flat hunting process here the fact that I have a roof over my head feels like winning an oscar (I'd like to thank my spanish teacher and the Barcelona metro system and loquo.com, and especially my familly and god without whom women like me would never have had the chance to get such an important role..

It's cool. It's a little on the old falling apart dingy and characterful side, which anyone who ever visited (or for that matter lived in) my flat in london will know makes me feel right at home, but it's big, it has a roof it's supercentrico (right next to pla st jaume in the old city) and most importantly I'm legally allowed to sleep in it.

If anyone has ever flathunted using loot or gumtree or the like, you know the score. Now try that while staying in a pension you can't afford for much more than two weeks, and you're having to do all the phonecalls and emails in a language which but for the grace of a long holiday in america is totally alien to you. And ofcourse you're in a beautiful foreign city, which means you stay out late every night anyway, and then wake up early... You get the picture.

All I can say is it's been interesting! I've seen hovels and palaces, walked up more flights of stairs than I care to remember, waited in the cold for estate agents and had to play strange mind games with the other six people he booked to view at the same time. I think I've been to every stop on the Barcelona metro (which I absolutely adore, no-one ever apologises for trains being stuck under leaves and there's a beautiful countdown that gets the next train right to the millisecond) and met a lot of very nice and very odd people who I couldn't dream of living with.

By Wednesday night I was ready to collapse! I simply couldn't cope anymore. No-where was right, well except for this place which I had reservations about and was worried would go really quick. I've got to be honest, I'm still fairly sure I could do better.

What changed everything was getting a phonecall from lorena and rosa. They're these two lovely graphic designers who work in this cool office in Gracia (the Barcelona equivalent of stokey imho). I'd never actually met them, but I'd exchanged emails with there co-worker who'd tried to get me to commit to renting this office based on a few photos on the web. I had assumed it had gone (she kept telling me they had to sort something out now!) but I got this lovely phonecall saying it was still available and if I wanted to come and see it ..

I dropped everything. The thing that was worrying me the most was how hard I was finding it to work out here. The internet cafes are relatively expensive (if you factor in the insurance for stolen phones etc) and miles apart and I was beginning to wonder if with the flat hunt I'd ever manage to earn any money out here. This was perfect if the office worked out then I could relax and look for places slowly, safe in the knowledge the money would be coming in.

It worked out and I relaxed. The office is supercool (it seems super is the spanish equiv of mega for you welshies) and funky and the girls are extremely sweet and NO ROS I DON'T FANCY THEM (well maybe one of them). I rented it on the spot and chilled out loads, so much so that I realised exactly how exhausted I was making myself with the flat hunt and decided I never wanted to see another place again. I took this place and fell asleep instantly.

I woke up and went to a gig. It turned out to be a very famous band (mirror in the bathroom??) playing to a group of expats in a half full pub. It was great. I got wholly drunk and went home and fell asleep.

Today I moved (never ever ever wheel handluggage over cobblestones unless you have the co-ordination of a jazz drummer) and did my first days work and learnt the spanish for adsl router (It's router de adsl). And now I'm sat in my new flat writing this.

Oh and my flatmates semi famous (you will have heard of him if you like the weird avant-rock he plays).

Is there a lesson he. I don't know, maybe it's more important to be settled than right.

Anyway more love at you, and don't worry as soon as I make proper friends out here I won't be bombarding you all.

XX Danny