Dinner with P– on Friday – tapas and two (!) pitchers of sangria.
That's not as dramatic as it sounds – this sangria wasn't very strong; normally one good glass of sangria can have me giggling and inept, but I suspect this was only the wine, juice and fruit, with no brandy slipped into it. Ah well, it was the tapas restaurant near the river, which has a fine and stylish outside location, but rather second-rate food. I've also noticed that none of the waiters seem to be from Spain – although, when I asked whether our friendly, pleasant-looking, wide-mouthed waiter was Italian (as so many of the restaurant's employees are), he was annoyed with me. He tangled me in a guessing game in which I did very badly – "I'm from the only place between two continents" – I thought Malta? or maybe something Baltic, or somewhere in the tangle of Oceanic islands? No, he meant Istanbul – which, for some reason, he called Constantinople. I felt a bit silly – of course, the Turks like to point out that their country, and capital, are split between Europe and Asia. Come to think of it, I should have talked to him more about being Greek – why else would someone from Istanbul say he was from Constantinople, unless he was of Greek parentage?
Oh, and: the whole also heavily colored by the hot day, pleasurably moving into a light evening, outside near the river; and I've just had a haircut (very short), and am wearing pirates (those Spanish short jeans - yo ho ho) and sneakers, and generally feeling light, cheerful, young. Ish.
But enough context. That's not what this entry is about. At some point the conversation turned to upcoming travel, vacations, Spain, Barcelona Sitges. I started telling P– about my plan for a few August days visiting Susan and Rob during their annual August-in-Sitges vacation. Ended up waxing very lyrical – and trying to be very convincing: as P– has never been in Spain, I thought he would enjoy Sitges a lot – especially because it has such a strong context of relaxed, self-respecting, cheerful sensuality, which I think P– could afford to experience more in his life. Well that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
In my attempt to convince, I started to catalogue the beauties of Barcelona and Sitges: the dramatic, stylish beauty – someone once said that, although it's a much smaller city, Barcelona could give Paris a run for its money. The fun and warmth of it all: I– always tells me that I should visit Madrid, because it's much livelier – by Spanish standards, Barcelona is considered haughty and cold – but let's face it, that's in a Spanish context. Compared to northern England (heck, compared to anywhere in northern Europe, or North America for that matter, including Mexico), practically anywhere in Spain is livelier and more fun.
I can prove it's more fun – on my first visit to Sitges, which came after I had spent a lot more time in Germany, Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Belgium, there came a night when, at about 4 am, we were arguing over which wine to drink with dinner. In a café, about twenty yards from the ocean. And I thought: wow... this is lots more fun than Basel. And I also thought: what a shame I didn't specialize in Spanish music....
I told him how dramatic and stylish the local gay communities are; how fun, how really enjoyable (as opposed to the rather beer-soaked, shabby approach in provincial Britain, but I didn't say that of course). The casual beach life, the sunny streets... there are so many beauties, so many temptations, to the whole experience. And last year, for the first time, I stayed in Sitges and visited Barcelona, rather than the reverse, and discovered that it was just as much fun, and vastly more relaxing.
Well, the upshot was: I talked myself into it. If there was any question about whether I was going to go myself, it's been decided.
As for P–, who knows?...
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