What’s up everybody? You may have noticed the frequency of my posts has dramatically decreased. The thing is, things have been pretty hectic around here. In the last post I wrote about our trip to Bcn in November. As it turns out, the trip went a lot better that I could have anticipated: I came back to Angers with a job offer and lots of thinking to do. All of a sudden, I was staring into the reality of reinserting myself in the corporate world and the stark reality of that left me somewhat startled. It was just a bit too quick. When I asked them when they wanted me to start, I almost choked when they said two weeks. Fortunately, I was able to delay my start time with solid arguments about apartment hunting (more on this later) and paperwork.

There was a two week period of negotiations and the standard jockeying for position that is the first step in setting the tone in the employer/employee dynamic. That gave me some time to adjust to the idea and the new reality. Once the terms had been settled, we kicked into overdrive with the apartment hunt.

Like most metropolitan areas of its kind, Barcelona is reputed to have a very tight real estate market and many people told us up front that it was very hard to find an apartment in Barcelona. After countless hours scouring internet sites and numerous phone calls. We had enough to justify a trip to Barcelona to visit apartments. The last road trip we made was pretty cool, but we decided that in the interest of time and energy savings, we’d fly this time instead of driving (oddly enough, it’s actually cheaper to fly than to drive). Thus began our first experience with something I’ve heard people talking about since we got to France. That is, the ridiculously low cost of air travel between major European cities. While US low-fare carriers offer pretty good deals compared to the majors, the fares we saw seemed a bit too low. For example, one-way for one adult Paris Barcelona: EUR 9.99! And the return, EUR 1.99!

What’s the catch, you ask? Well there are several. First, they only fly out of very small out of the way airports, usually about an hours drive from the city you’re flying to/from. We were flying out of Beauvais which is a small town about 70 km north of Paris and arriving in Girona, about the same distance from Barcelona. This characteristic often results in the curious phenomenon that one can easily spend more time and money traveling between the airport and town than between countries. A bizarre twist of time-space compression and a demonstration of its elasticity. Another catch is that there are taxes and airport fees that get added on to their rates. But even with this, round trip travel for the both of us was less than EUR 100! Still not bad. The third major catch is that the tickets are none-everything. Once purchased, there isn’t a whole lot of flexibility in rearranging one’s travel plans. This becomes important as we’ll see forthwith.

We spent the night before our trip in Beauvais so as to avoid Paris traffic first thing in the morning. We made it OK, but the problem was the fog. It was unusually thick, but we had no idea how serious it was. As we were waiting to board, and it started to feel like a long time was passing with nothing happening, we talked to some other folks who told us they had been stranded there for days waiting for the fog to lift. Finally, the flight was officially cancelled and what ensued was a mad rush to take the only two options available: reschedule for a later flight, or get reimbursed.

From what we had heard, there was no guarantee that we would leave on the next flight late that night since that’s essentially what the bulk of the people there had been trying to do for three days. There were a few whom we spoke to that had flown in to Paris from Barcelona for the weekend or the day and ended up stranded. Some were going to take their chances with the next flight, others were going to try to get a flight from CDG or Lille where they were rumored to be departing without problems. Still others were going to take the train late that night that would have them in BCN by morning. Not being particularly fond of Beauvais nor its fog, we made what for some time afterwards we considered a rash decision and resolved to take the money and just hop in the car and drive to Barcelona.

To make the ride more economical, we decided to ask a couple of folks if they wanted to go by car and share the gas and tolls. Our passengers and companions for the following twelve hours were a Barcelona native and a Chilean who had both been stranded for days and were ready to do anything to not spend another night in an airport hotel.

After pointing the car south and driving for three hours – including very complex navigation around Paris and getting a little lost in Versailles – we finally came out of the fog and into a beautiful day around Orleans. The navigation to avoid the congested capital was exhausting and we started to privately question the wisdom of driving for twelve hours. Too late. The decision was made and we had committed to two strangers to get them to Barcelona that night.



The doubt didn’t last too long and it ended up being a very pleasant journey. I find it particularly encouraging that we can still reach out to total strangers and help each other selflessly. It’s something that I believe in strongly and try to put into practice as often as possible. Many times I’m disappointed, but there’s always the off chance of being rewarded with a delightful surprise of one of life’s simple pleasures: getting to know the “Other”.

JC is a structural engineer from Santiago in (what Vargas Llosa would call the flower of age) his fifties and was taking his first vacation in years to visit friends that had been exiled in Paris since the Pinochet coup in 1973 (the other September 11th). In addition to letting us know that he had to be in Barcelona by 11 pm to catch a train to Madrid for his flight to Santiago, he also spent a good deal of time recounting his experience of the coup and his life during the dictatorship and how Chilean society had and hadn’t changed since 1990. Unsure of our politics, he at first seemed reluctant to speak too much about it. I imagine this is a natural reflex if you spend you adult life in a police state. However, it didn’t take long for us to establish an environment conducive to frank and open discussion of the type that is sometimes easiest with strangers and aided by an abundance of time.

R – a thirtysomething native of Barcelona who, upon hearing our proposal, readily disclosed he had never driven a car in his life – is a Professor at the University of Barcelona and teaches 19th century American literature. It shouldn’t be any surprise that there was no shortage of conversation there either. I’m reminded of Sidney Greenstreet’s line in “The Maltese Falcon”: I like talking to a man who likes to talk. Anyway, for purely selfish reasons, S and I took it upon ourselves to use the opportunity to submit R to an intense debriefing about everything Barcelona. Theater, film, music, food, etc.

I can honestly say that despite the exhaustion of driving for twelve hours, it was a refreshingly pleasant experience. We exchanged mathematics before parting ways and even got JC to the train station with time to spare. It was a beautiful night in Barcelona and the layers we had started off with in Beauvais had been reduced to the bare essentials for a Mediterranean evening. We were there, half a day late and a compressed schedule for the next few days of searching for a place to call home. At that moment though, it was all about being there.



The start of Wednesday would be ominous for how we were to spend the next three days. We had made appointments to visit one apartment per hour for the entire day and were already late for the first one. From then on, it was non-stop apartments, porters, agents, tiny elevators, sometimes stairs, kitchens, bathrooms, floors, bedrooms, and location, location, location.

By the end of day two our heads were spinning and our backs and feet could barely take more. Our task at that point was to pick out a shortlist of apartments. Two hours of tit-for-tat, negotiation, and bargaining later, we had a list of finalists and a priority we could both enthusiastically support. The hard part was done, now all we had to do is close the deal. Well, that’s easier said than done. It turns out the market is so tight, owners are very selective with whom they rent to and routinely assemble their own short-list of candidates and then chose upon whom they will bestow the honor of renting an apartment. When the agent put this to us I almost lost it. There was now way we were leaving there without an apartment and we didn’t have time for any dog and pony shows. I suppose my reaction betrayed my sense of panic and disappointment because the agent – after sufficient financial assurances to be sure – had pity on us and let us have the place. Not a moment too soon, I don’t think I could have repeated that exercise.



After successfully closing the deal on the apartment, we drove back to Paris. We spent a couple of days there enjoying the hospitality and overall good vibes at F&P’s place. We know them from college and apart from the keg parties, we also share a common experience as a transatlantic couple. It’s always reassuring to know that regardless of how complicated and sometimes weird one’s life can be, there are others with similar experiences. We also had managed to coordinate our trip to spend some quality time in Paris with A&A who were passing through. I always consider it a treat to be able to spend time with our friends. But to be able to come together from so far away despite the pressures of time and money is a real luxury. Not to mention the fact that doing so in Paris. The experience was all the more poignant since from the moment we closed the deal in Barsa we knew our days in France were counted.

The days after Paris transitioned into a seemingly endless procession of full-blown French style feasting bordering on the obscene. The Christmas season starts a few days before – depending on the size of one’s family and the extent of social engagements – and can last well into January. For a few days there, we fell into a routine of sleep, wake, eat, drink, sleep. Without exaggerating, I can say that one can easily spend all of one’s waking hours eating and drinking! On Christmas Eve we started eating at 20h00 and didn’t finish until almost 4am!

It’s been a whirlwind of packing and eating and preparations and well wishing ever since. Above all, it’s been a time to reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going. Sometimes I have a hard time grasping what we’ve done, what we’re doing. Sometimes we look at each other and ask if we’re crazy or just plain stupid.



So here we are now. Got the job, got the apartment, and now we have to begin (or conclude?) the exact reverse of the process we undertook last April. At that time, I was amazed at how difficult it was to extract oneself from all the complexities that attach us to a space. Now we’re in the process of reattaching ourselves, only on the other side of the Atlantic. I think of it as a ship leaving port and now docking at another. Here entering the harbor. There reaching the dock. Here securing the moorings. There unloading cargo… There’s a certain excitement to the new port of call with its exotic tastes and smells, the newness of language, and eternal the promise of discovery. But no doubt, some melancholy in the longing for the freedom of the open seas.

So what, if anything, did we learn from this voyage that brought us to the shores of the Mediterranean from the north Texas plains in such a roundabout way? What has contact with different peoples and other travelers taught us about ourselves and our way of life? Are there any truisms we can assert to have proven? Do we know more now than we did before?

Surely, many different responses will come to mind as we reflect on these and other such questions. On the whole though, I think it safe to say that the very act of posing such questions and the manner in which we approach them is as important, if not more so, as any response we might conjure. Therein I think lies the value of periodically detaching oneself from the bonds that tie not only to place, but also to assumed conviction and sworn beliefs, to pledged values and professed loyalty, and above all our image of who we are. It is at such moments of detached reflection that we choose our convictions and beliefs, we choose our values and loyalties, and we choose to become. And this act of choosing, is the act of exercising what we call freedom.

To choose place, that’s a start.

Most likely, by the time you read this the calendar on your computer will have ticked over to 2005 and we’ll be in Barcelona (in internet blackout while we get ourselves hooked up). As for what to do with the blog…I think we can all agree that here and now is as good a stopping point as any. It’s been great to share our experiences with you – albeit in rather clumsy prose and with an absolute disregard for mixing the active and passive voice. For me, it’s been a great excuse to do something I’ve always wanted to: keep a travel journal. Perhaps someday I’ll try to refine it and fill in more detail about some of our experiences, especially in Mexico and Honduras. For now, I think I should like to express my deepest gratitude for sharing this experience with us and for the kind words of support. Most heartfelt thanks to all. Keep moving, keep asking, keep doing. We will.