I love saying hola! I love the supermarket - it's like the land of custard. I love the boulevards. I love the people who are kind and cheerful and warm. I love the food - I had a superb meal for lunch (at 4:30 pm?!): a pasta with Iberian ham, some other kind of ham, cream and eggs followed by the hugest avocado vinaigrette you've ever seen, a chocolate cake-like thing that defies description and the most delicious coffee I have ever been served in Europe. It was a cortado - and by that I don't mean a Toronto cortado (aka a slightly drier than usual cappuccino). It was (and I can't tell you how rarely this happens) the perfect temperature.
I love the architecture, the weather, the horticulture, the sales, the shoes, and man, I love our apartment:
|The view from our terrasse. Trust me, it is all that.|
|A small snippet of the living space...|
I'm writing this from my fabulous balcony, eating some kind of creamy, salty sheep's yogurt (I think that's what it is) watching the swallows and bats fly around. (Yeah: While I am completely freaked out by the tiniest bugs, I'm ok with bats and lizards, who the hell knows why...)
It appears that I cannot eat lunch at 4:30 and dinner thereafter. My stomach is having a bit of a flip out so we're snacking now, after wandering the insanely packed streets at 9 pm. It also appears that this culture does not sleep - or eat before 9:30. But so far, this apartment is silent.