Perfección

Oh, peeps. It's like I've died and gone to heaven. I. LOVE. BARCELONA.

I love saying hola! I love the supermarket - it's like the land of custard. I love the boulevards. I love the people who are kind and cheerful and warm. I love the food - I had a superb meal for lunch (at 4:30 pm?!): a pasta with Iberian ham, some other kind of ham, cream and eggs followed by the hugest avocado vinaigrette you've ever seen, a chocolate cake-like thing that defies description and the most delicious coffee I have ever been served in Europe. It was a cortado - and by that I don't mean a Toronto cortado (aka a slightly drier than usual cappuccino). It was (and I can't tell you how rarely this happens) the perfect temperature.

I love the architecture, the weather, the horticulture, the sales, the shoes, and man, I love our apartment:

A small snippet of the living space...
In 1200 square feet, it's got 2 bedrooms, a separate (large), fully stocked kitchen, easy sleeping for 6, a dressing room (?!), a fantastic bathroom, original mosaic floors... Honestly, if you gifted me this place, right now, I would live here forever and would not change a fucking element of the design.

I'm writing this from my fabulous balcony, eating some kind of creamy, salty sheep's yogurt (I think that's what it is) watching the swallows and bats fly around. (Yeah: While I am completely freaked out by the tiniest bugs, I'm ok with bats and lizards, who the hell knows why...)

It appears that I cannot eat lunch at 4:30 and dinner thereafter. My stomach is having a bit of a flip out so we're snacking now, after wandering the insanely packed streets at 9 pm. It also appears that this culture does not sleep - or eat before 9:30. But so far, this apartment is silent.