Virrei Amat

by angeliska on August 18, 2005

The very instant the plane touched down in Barcelona,

I knew something had changed.

My soul felt lighter, and my feet began to do a little dance

of their own accord to the hypnotic rhythm of the baggage carousel.

The heaviness and tension that lay on me like a stone,

even when floating in the salty-blue buoyancy of the Aegean

dissipated, and a strange bubble in my chest began to ascend

upwards, iridescent and strange.

The difference between here and where I was before is paplable:

The dark pressure and mystery of the Balkans has been exchanged

for an open and frank warmth here in Spain-

In Greece, every face resembled an icon- peering out of varnished

darkness with suspicion. The air a gilded corona around their heads.

The fleshy lushness of Roman Catholicism versus the archaic angles and mysticism

of the Eastern Orthodox- the same old schism presents itself constantly.

Sagrada Familia covered in water-lillies, flying birds, sea turtles, snow.

Dragonflies and bats emerge from the shadowed stone,

snails creep the edges and fish roost in tangled niches..

Tourists mill in tight jeans and faux-hawks, Germans in sandals and socks.

Photographs to follow upon my return- I bought a new camera!

This is the most beautiful and harmonius city I have ever encountered.

Walking down any street here is a revelation, and I have to pick myself

up off the pavement every five minutes after a deep swoon.

It´s dangerous to be this in love with architecture, I tell you.

Black squid ink rice and horchata.

Wide avenues lined with chestnuts and sycamores that spit flecks

of dewy green sap over my shoulders. The smell of sycamore sap

is the smell of home for me. I could live here.

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