We went to the Collblanc market for the last time this morning, not so much to shop as to say goodbye to friends we’ve made there. Sylvia, the talkative clothes vendor, the olive ladies, one with a daughter who’s going to university in San Francisco soon, the butcher ladies, who taught us the word “filete” as they sliced chicken, the Barca futbol fans from Argentina who supplied our fruits and vegetables.
Two months. I haven’t lived away from “home” this long since I first went to college in the 70’s. It’s been less like a vacation and more like moving. I miss some things back home, especially my sobrinita, but I’m sad to be leaving. Mary is ready for home, though. It’s been hard for her having no one to talk to but me. Imagine that!
We’ve spent the last couple of days wandering around parts of Barcelona we love, and some we have neglected to visit until now. We’re still discovering new things and having new experiences. For example, we wandered into a somewhat sketchy neighborhood, and I finally encountered my first (to my knowledge) Barcelona pickpocket. I should have taken a picture, but I’m afraid he would have absconded with my camera. He was a gregarious sort, and at the same moment he was saying, “Welcome to Barcelona!” I felt his hand at the top of my pocket, just in time. I was able to turn away, secure both pockets, and walk away with wallet intact. He was working solo, or I’m sure he would have succeeded.