Last night, the flickering of lightening bouncing around my bedroom woke me from sleep at five minutes shy of 1am.  I could not yet hear the thunder but I knew the storm was coming.  I had felt it building like itchy energy around us all day long; contaminating the normal humidity with a strange power that thickened the air and made us all a little restless and twitchy.  In a little more than one-half hour, the tempest hit with a sudden ferociousness that reminded me of an Arizona summer monsoon.  I lay in the comfort of my dry, warm abode thankful, yet again, for walls, roof, bed and blanket and listened to the torrential downpour for at least an hour.  During this same period, the power in the apartment building flickered twice and eventually set off a system alarm that rang for 15 minutes until some enterprising soul discovered the “off” button.  There was a major hubbub in the hall with doors opening and closing, muted voices muttering and footsteps ringing on the stairs.  Eventually, as with all things, the raging diminished to a gentle sputter, all returned to status-quo, and finally, utter silence at 4:27am.  At this juncture, I would like to note that neither my mother nor my child were even remotely disturbed by the early morning goings-on.  Both slept as peacefully as the dead and were surprised to hear all my news later that morning over breakfast.  

I would also like to take a moment to point out that contrary to what Frederick Loewe would have us believe, the rain in Spain is NOT mainly on the plain.  There were puddles of muddy rain water and runoff all over the sidewalks, streets, stairs, and doorways.  Rain filled each underpass and dip.  Water literally flooded the city streets and underground garages. Only a small jon boat would have safely traversed from Ferrocarrill to Constitucio along Avenue de la Pineda but the passengers would have needed to lay down completely prone in order to avoid serious bodily damage while navigating under the overpass. In some cases, the water remained perilously high well into the late afternoon even with multiple pump and tubing systems deferring water to nearby drains as quickly as possible.  It was an awesomely horrifying mess and it was clear from our train ride into the city that Castelldefels was not the only region overwhelmed with fluids.  

Our plan for today was to ride the train to Barcelona and meet the real estate agent at 9am at her office on Passig de Gracia (a relatively well-known downtown street similar to Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles), where we might also get a glimpse of the nearby landmarks.  From there, we wanted to visit at least one or two potential long term rentals and discuss our preferences, thoughts and options.  Perhaps then, we could have a nice lunch, go to the market and ride the train home.  It sounded like a lovely plan until we realized that by arriving in Barcelona at 9am, we would be throwing ourselves into rush-hour traffic with hundreds of other commuters leaving the suburbs for the city.  Thankfully we had already purchased a train card so we skipped the long lines and followed the herd to the correct platform.  We managed to squeeze onto the first train which was only slightly faster than the slow boat to China and we plugged along studying the murky countryside and our heavy-eyed co-passengers.  Now I know how they can go to dinner at 9pm.  They simply sleep on the train.  Mystery solved.  

We had some difficulty with our initial meeting this morning.  Nothing unexpected and yet it was still a surprise.  Isn’t it funny how that sometimes happens?  Our scheduled 9am meeting soon morphed into “approximately 10am, por favor?” and we were left with some time to kill before we could get started.  Eventually, we explored Passig de Gracia, taking a moment to admire the architectural art of Antoni Gaudi that is so popular in this area.  We slipped off the beaten path and discovered a lovely flower market tucked away inside what appeared to be an old warehouse.  The flower market had casino-like effect on our perception of time and we unwittingly invested nearly an hour of our lives wandering amidst the foliage and blossoms.  

At this point, we were notified by our agent that she had located a property we could visit today and would like to meet us there.  It’s only a 2 mile walk from where we were currently aimlessly meandering, so surely not a problem, yes?  However, as Americans accustomed to having a real estate agent ferry us around in a large air-conditioned, gasoline-powered vehicle, we were a little unprepared for such personal exertion.  Uphill, nonetheless.  My mother was none too pleased with this development.  I was trying to see things from a more positive perspective.  Perhaps our agent simply wanted us to observe the lovely area and give us a chance to see more of where we might be living?  Perhaps on-street parking would be an issue and she wanted to mitigate any risk of negative first impressions?  Later, we discovered the actual reason why our agent wanted to meet us at every prospective property location: she drives a Vespa.  She’s very attractive in her high heels and fashionable clothes sitting on a tiny motorized bike with matching helmet.  Given how much we walked today and the fact that we did not procure a rental contract and therefore can expect many more similar days in our near future, Mom and I are considering our own motorized options.  Allita can probably fit in a sidecar, right?  

When we finally returned to Castelldefels, we were exhausted, yet exhilarated.  We had accomplished much of our original plan, which is a satisfying discovery we seldom recognize. We did stop for lunch.  We did find a market and make many purchases.  We did see some of the popular sights in town. We also, somehow, magically boarded the commuter train so we were able to quickly return to Castelldefels from Barcelona with only the Gava stop prior to our own.  Because it was 4pm, the cars were mostly empty so we luxuriated in our tiny seats.  All-in-all, it was a productive and lovely day.  Although we didn’t find a permanent home, we did get to see much of the area where we want to live.  Up close and personal.  And, even slimy, wet and under slightly overcast skies, it was quite nice.