Sitges VII

Tomorrow I shall go to Girona for the day – a good idea, as I clearly need to get out of my funk here (for which pardon me – here I am blogging about a lovely vacation spot and just handing you a lot of neurotic miseries; chalk it up to the heat, and reading Pessoa, perhaps).

Girona includes Xevi (pronounced Chevy), one of our graduate students – a charming, even slightly old-fashioned, guy, who is always friendly but with calmly polished manners; he wants to show me the old city, which should be a good thing (although, unfortunately, it is even hotter there than here).

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Good restaurants and bad

As I have said: near the waterfront is that wonderful tapas bar which we usually call Monica's (although that's not it's name, but Monica cooks and owns the place). At Monica's the food is good, classic tapas well done; cheap; and amazingly fast, with the still-very-charming Sebastian dashing around at top speed and offering excellent, hard-working, service. A popular, crowded, straightforward place – especially impressive as it's basically a hole in the wall with a lot of chairs out on the pavement.

But next door... Philip's: the bar where we wait sometimes, when Monica's is full. Theoretically a bar that serves food, the food is actually rather tackily chosen (chili and hamburgers?), but perhaps that doesn't much matter because hardly anyone orders any; the putative existence of that food is predicated on pictures arranged around the door, which as far as anyone knows may not represent external reality.

Worse is the rather inept and exploitative approach to serving drinks – for example, I asked for a Campari and soda; that good ol' fraud Philip didn't have soda, because he says they don't sell it in Spain (what about agua con gas, then, which isn't so far off?); so he gave me a Campari and – wait for it – tonic. Yecch. I hate tonic at the best of times – sorry, I think quinine is only good for preventing malaria – but the combination of sweet and bitter made a drink that seemed like something you'd use for cleaning drains. Now the trick to all this, and what makes Philip such a twisty bastard, is that he didn't tell me before pouring and serving me the drink, and watching me try it – he explained all of this afterward. Apparently the jackass has done the exact same thing (same drink, same decision, no warning) to Susan.

He charged for it, of course, although I ordered and drank something else... the ultimate in exploitative expensive-resort-and-transient-customers behavior.

In his defense, though, he would have to charge for it, wouldn't he? – because his bar is usually mostly empty; when people do go there, they don't exactly represent repeat business (one has the impression that his clientele is made up largely of the unwary). Adding to the general charm of his establishment, he started playing disco in the afternoon, and singing along with it – he was a bit drunk (never a good sign in a bartender) – which I suppose made sense as Monica's was very busy, but he had only two or three customers. Apparently this spectacle is, however, an improvement over the situation two years ago – when Philip's ex and business partner Rainer was actually around to help with the bar, they would enact vindictive little disagreements over every little thing. Now Rainer refuses to talk to Philip, or come to Sitges – probably just collects his cut every month... which tells you how charming their relationship must be.

Now these two restaurants seem to represent something significant in the world of hospitality: if you're going to run a bar or restaurant – and that obviously represents an awful lot of work; I wouldn't do it myself – doesn't it seem like a good thing if you actually like people? And – if you like them enough to enjoy serving them?...

But perhaps that suggests the definition of a good life: doing what you love, and doing it well, even if it looks like too much work to other people. I wouldn't trade lives with Monica or Sebastian, but I envy them their obvious pleasure in a job well done (even when they're run off their feet), not to mention their clear affection for those of their customers whom they come to know – which connects to the whole world of real hospitality, of taking care of people because you get pleasure from seeing them happy.

And, of course, by implication, it also tells you the definition of a rotten life: doing something you don't enjoy enough to do it well, to scam people you despise, out of money that you send to an ex who hates you – horrid summer, after horrid summer....

•••

"What is the purpose of your trip?"

That question they ask when they check your passport: it is a good one. Although I am not as disgruntled as I was several days ago, I remain a little out of sync with Sitges – I can't quite figure out why I'm here this year.

As usual, my response is to analyze – and to assume it is my fault; or somebody's fault, anyway. But perhaps simply asking the question is a useful thing... in any case, tomorrow I will experiment by going to Girona: to see if one of the purposes of this trip is simply to see something new – to see another of those beautiful old European city centers that I love so much....

Comments

[zigtai]

Thanks for a wonderfully written blog. I was searching for info about Sitges and came across this surprising "wall of mirrors". I'll be back for sure!