There are always points in any trip or vacation when one feels out of tune with the whole idea of vacations – they can come because of overdoing it (bars, restaurants, credit cards) or contrarily from underdoing it (as though you aren’t taking advantage of whatever supposed delights were available).
The conjunction of insulted annoyance at the fact that I have been unceremoniously dropped by Nick (the local lad who found me amusing for about three days), combined with a disaffection for the gay locales (most of which are unusually inane, or of course intimidating given the perfection of the local torsos), plus a certain boredom I’m feeling for shopping, eating, and other tourists, have put me distinctly out of tune since yesterday afternoon. Then of course there’s the fact that I have not done anywhere near as much work as I had hoped – but perhaps I will do more today, or tomorrow.
And, of course, behind all of this, the difficulties of Neville’s illness, and the tangled complications of the hospital, visiting, possible worsening problems....
All of these feelings are at least timely, in fact sort of to the day – I hadn’t realized it, but yesterday at midnight was essentially the End of the Season (end of the Festa Major, last weekend in August) – people have been going by me in the direction of the train station with suitcases all day (reminding me of an eerie production of Szymanowski's Krol Roger, where for the entire third act extras walked past behind the singers in traveling clothes with suitcases, walking up an airplane stair into nothingness). It's true that the end of August, and the end of September, will be additional ‘ends of season’ – but this was one of the most clearly marked. Therefore perhaps it’s appropriate to find this town tinselly, overly hot, greedy... or maybe I’m overinterpreting.
But it is annoying to sit at café tables and have French people blow cigarette smoke at you; and then walking home through what seem to be an infinite number of yapping, peeing little dogs... I suppose I can’t decide whether it’s more exasperating that I’m here, or that soon I’ll have to go home.
Comments