Turq, thanks for the visit to your new pad. I'll definitely visit in real time, should that opportunity present.
As re the Buddhas; one of my favorite images is the emaciated Buddha; do you have any of those in your collection? ** --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, TurquoiseB <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > > So. Moving to Spain. > > Where does one start? > > Probably back in August, juggling the preparation for > the move with a month of 60-hour workweeks because my > mathematical programming/optimization project started > running on chaos theory math instead of MP and MIP and > QP and CP and went seriously postal on us. Bugs out the > wazoo, simultaneous with on-the-fly design changes. It > has been said, and with some veracity, that writing > software documentation is like changing a tire on a > moving car. This one was an F1 car, with serious AI > nerds as drivers, and we lowly tech writers were > reduced to running alongside carrying the tire at 300 > kph while the developers kept changing the GUI -- and > thus the documentation -- over and over and over and > over and over and over and over and...well you get > the point. > > So it was potentially a trying period, full of many > good reasons for stress. But funnily enough, I really > didn't feel all that stressed out. The vision to move > to Spain was just too strong and too omnipresent to > feel much of anything but anticipation. > > And now I'm here, and all the anticipation barely > scratched the surface. > > The call to move here was just so strong and so clear > that I just couldn't work up a strong sense of worry > about it, try as I might. And damned if Lady Luck or > the gods or chaos theory math or whomever/whatever runs > these things wasn't listening, because there really > wasn't that much to worry about. Oh sure, the truck > broke down a few times and the truck rental people were > real shitheads, but friends helped with the box toting > on both ends, and in the end many hands made for light > work, and work full of light. > > And then afterwards we went out and had a wonderful > dinner of tapas, after which Eduardo took us to a little > chiringuito bar in a port village south of Sitges (a > designer paradise about which you will undoubtedly hear > more...much, much, much more), and we partied until 3:00 > in the morning, surrounded by Buddhas and weird Brazilian > drinks called caipiriñas and wonderful waitresses, all of > whom seemed to be called Carmen. Welcome to Spain. > > And now here I sit in my garden at 1:00 in the morning, > writing this, drinking a glass of -- I simply can't believe > I'm saying this -- local wine that we got at LIDL for 49 > centimes a bottle. And it's not only drinkable wine, it's > not bad at all. I've tasted worse Napa Valley wines at 20 > bucks a bottle. Go figure. At dinner the other night I > tasted a *much* better local wine (way over the top, > financially, a red from Ribera del Duero at 13.50 Euros > a bottle) that put most of the wines I'd tasted in France > over the last few years in the shade. > > Back to the garden. It's the real reason I moved here. I > saw a photo of this garden in a real estate office and my > first thought -- literally the first thing that popped > into my mind -- was, "Uh-oh. That's my garden." > > And, as it turned out, it was. > > Suffice it to say that this is not the first time this has > happened to me with regard to finding new places to live. > Once, at a meeting with Rama in Chicago, he got a wild hair > up his ass and announced that he was moving back to the > Boston area, and that anyone who wanted to come was welcome > to do so. Those words were no sooner out of his mouth but > I had this Class A vision of standing and looking out of a > plate-glass window at a U-shaped rocky beach, and the ocean. > It only lasted a second, but it was so *real* for that > second. > > I mainly forgot about it, but I kinda liked the idea of > moving away from Chicago anyway with Winter approaching, so > when business drew me to Boston a few weeks later, I booked > an extra day in the area and spent it driving around to see > what it would be like to live in 'hoods other than Back Bay > or the boring-assed Boston Burbs, both of which I had Been > There Done That with. And so I found myself driving on a > whim to Marblehead and parking my car and, as I got out of > it, noticing that I'd parked next to a real estate office. > Still feeling that wild-hair-up-your-assness thang, I > walked in and asked whether they ever had rental properties > right on the ocean. > > They laughed at me. Four of them -- seasoned Marblehead real > estate professionals all. And then this voice emerged from > a back office saying, "I just got one. This lady just phoned > and has an apartment on the water on Marblehead Island." The > laughing dropped in its tracks, like a poleaxed steer. The > mysterious-voiced lady (on her first day with the agency) > and I drove there. I walked in the door, turned to my left, > and found myself looking out of the same plate-glass window > at the same beach I had seen in my brief vision. Suffice it > to say I rented the place. > > It wasn't quite that spectacular with Sitges, just a *feeling* > that I was onto something here -- vibe- and power-wise -- and > that I should investigate it further. I did, went to a few > real estate offices to see what was available and at what > prices, and was disappointed with both. But on my last day > in town on that first visit, I walked into yet another real > estate office and yet another mysterious-voiced lady (also -- > no shit -- on her first day with the agency) showed me a > photograph on her computer monitor that just fuckin' Closed > The Deal. > > The apartment is nice in itself -- three bedrooms, clean, lots > of good space to work with when finding places for my art -- > on literally the busiest pedestrian street in Sitges. Step > outside the front door, and you are assaulted by the sound > of techno and the crush of pedestrians of every size, shape, > ethnic background and sexual orientation you can possibly > imagine. Step back inside the front door, close it, and the > noise of the street is just gone. Over, toast, the memory of > once having had a memory. Keep stepping inside, up one flight > of stairs and into the apartment and then *keep* walking, > through the apartment and out onto the balcony and look down, > and what you're looking at is a 9 by 16-meter private garden. > Completely silent. Like Canyon de Chelly is silent -- quiet, > but with an omnipresent background hum of power, like the > drone in a raga. In the middle of a busy, bustling beach town, > a block from the beach. Go figure. It has lighting and tables > and chairs and a big barbeque pit, and it just sings PARTY! > But it sings quietly, like St. John of the Cross's solitary > bird. It sings of *conversation* parties, not raucous ones. > > It's pretty neat sitting here in that garden tonight, gazng > at my new Buddha. > > I was with my friend Laurel tonight on the way to dinner, and > we walked past a store that had a sign in the window that > said, "Bodhas 50%." > > Some of you may think I'm all jaded and cynical and all, but > lemme tell you, the idea of Buddhas being Marked Down just > stopped me in my tracks and made me laugh out loud. There > were probably 100 different Buddhas in the store, from > various countries and Buddhist traditions in Asia. And when > it comes to Buddhas I'm really picky. I just don't like the > faces on many of them; they're just not having enough FUN. > But in this store tonight I found three. > > Two of them I could carry home with me, but the third was a > half-meter high stone Buddha that weighed a ton. So I asked > the girl if she could wait for a couple of minutes before > closing the store while I ran back to my apartment and got > one of the little rolling carts I use for hauling art. She > agreed, and I did. > > So there I was, just a few minutes ago, this weirdass old > American guy, rolling a half-meter-high stone Buddha through > the crowded streets of Sitges at midnight, weaving my Way > amongst people who were just leaving home for an evening out > on the town, at that hour. > > I must have looked pretty silly to them. Then again, they > don't always look like the happiest campers in the pup tent > to me, either, with all of this looking for love in all the > hip places stuff. Different strokes for different folks, I > guess. > > Anyway, now I'm back in my garden and the paella at dinner > was good and the glass of wine Here And Now is good and the > new Buddha staring at me from across my garden is good and > life is pretty good, too. > > If you ever find yourself in my 'hood, do drop by. > > I'll splurge and serve you the good wine and we'll sit in > the garden and talk until 1:00 in the morning or so and > have a good old time. > > And *then* we'll go out on the town, and walk along the > beach to the chiringuito bar in Aiguadolç and we'll order > caipiriñas and the conversation will really start taking > off. Bring your own Buddha. >
