THE END OF THE AFFAIR Part 3

The following weekend was Valencia. I had the dress, the shoes, the shawl. I was so excited and felt so, so secure in us. He had invited me to his Brother´s wedding?! Too fast, too lacking in caution I now see.

I met his daughter for the first time outside the hotel. She threw her arms around me with an excited, all consuming energy and love. His grandmother gave me an icy hello. Why had she been so frosty with me when in the end I am the injured party? Did she know something I didn´t about him, his ex wife, his taste in women?
Disjointed communication and an odd distance between the family members. The children all took to me straight away. Him and I then escaped and had the most romantic evening I have had in a long time. It culminated in a drunken phone call to my mother saying he loved her daughter and then hours devouring each other in the dark, stripped naked of any other worries or issues; purely physical mixed with loving words and hushed voices.

The next day, the Wedding day. People I didn´t know or care about. I suppose I was an imposter.
He was serious and tired, united to his longterm friend; weariness and lack of sleep. I was elated. I spent most of the day with his daughter in the hairdressers and shopping but missing him. She told the hairdresser I was her mother.

The wedding itself was a mix of observations towards him and the family dynamic, tainted with loneliness and insecurity. He didn´t drink, he didn´t actively respond to me. My acts of affection were met with affection, but I had to go to him.
At the dinner table in the vast, canteenesque banquet hall, he had told me to stop worrying as I had to focus on his actions, not on his words and that he had taken me to the wedding. Was that not enough proof of his feelings? In retrospect, no.

The end to the weekend was dramatically different to the ending I had experienced in Madrid just one week before. I had cried quietly in the bathroom on the evening of the wedding when we had returned to the hotel. He was tired. I felt rejected in some way and my strong and unfailing instincts had told me that something irrevocable had changed in the dynamics of our relationship. He had got impatient with me as he had heard me cry. He tried to comfort me but I saw a total lack of empathy. The next day he was in a bad mood. HE had a 6 hour drive back to Madrid. HE hadn´t slept well. I WAS seemingly the selfish one, and yet I was the one who later on put myself in his shoes, thought it through and generously or stupidly adapted myself to his needs.
 I stuck it out. He took me to the train station. We had a fast food lunch. I showed him my most recently published article. He didn´t read it. I felt trepidation. I felt the sense of an ending. He left with his daughter and said ´Te quiero´.
That was the last time we saw each other. The communication continued as always but I saw signs of waning commitment. I saw signs of a confused, overworked man who couldn´t live up to the image he had created of himself. I saw cruelty and impatience and then regret. I saw huge amounts of frustration. I saw the hideous vice of potential alcoholism rear it´s ugly head. I witnessed the sense of being the victim in a badly thought out game of two halves, where sentiments and love are disrespected and under valued. I saw and experienced a distancing, and then the silence came.

THE END OF THE AFFAIR Part 2

A week and a half later I was with him in Madrid. He paid for my ticket and I went to his house. To the Lion´s den, to the lair of the Alpha male.
He picked me up from the airport. I was so elated but nervous. I wore a long, green dress and felt wonderful. He took a photo of me as I came out of arrivals. We kissed. He was a hugger and I felt so protected pressed up against him.
He drove me home and made me dinner; prawns with tartar sauce to begin with, and then a strange mix of bacon and green vegetables from a tin. He cooked well actually and all weekend I felt very looked after as he mentally processed what to make me and then served up steaks and salads, gazpacho and then as a response to my own hunger request, a fish dish with leeks at 330am. He even made me a special strawberry dessert and asked me tenderly in the mornings if I was ready for my coffee. Details are everything and should never be overlooked.

We went out with his friends that first night, and the next, and the next. To the same bar del barrio. No glamour or variety there but raw authenticity yes. Something that I also love. His friends liked me, he showed them I was his. It was a magical, essential feeling of ownership.

That night in the kitchen he drew me closer and I didn´t resist. I had planned to do just that as the following weekend we were going to Valencia together to his half brother´s wedding. I felt that carnal acts could wait until the romantic setting of a wedding. However, he had told me that we would be sharing the hotel room with his daughter. I could´t quite believe what I had heard. Then and there in the hallway of his flat, I had an instance of reversed morals and decided to allow what we both wanted to happen, to happen. We were compatible, and my fears melted away. Although in the morning I quietly observed his behaviour towards me searching for signs of a wane in interest.

The weekend was magical but not as magical as I had anticipated. The trip to The Prado and to dine in the gardens of The Ritz as we had discussed ( Or I had imagined alone maybe ) only came half way to fruition. Late start, tiredness for his part and for mine, ( but I fought mine off as I was so happy to be there ). A late lunch at home, resting on the sofa, more intimacy there and then, and he took me into town. Demonstrations, roads closed, no parking spaces next to The Prado. We went round in circles. We went to another part of town. We walked around briefly and we went into a coffee shop where he knew the owner. He had helped him with an investment apparently. He walked out without paying for our coffees, presuming that it was on the house. I was a little embarrassed. A giver? A taker? A provider?

I left Madrid sad. Hee went to work on Monday morning and left me incarcerated in his attic flat which was miles from the center of town. I didn´t like the sensation of being the little woman at home waiting for my man to come home. I wanted to explore Madrid, go for my breakfast alone and be free, all the while knowing that I was loved and in love.
He came home and took me for lunch, but basically ignored me for the duration; more calls, business head on. He took me to the airport and we kissed.

I arrived back to Barcelona missing him terribly but also aware of my own vital independence and lust for life that seemed ever so slightly quashed by him. He had written the first message to me whilst I was in the airport. He missed me already. I remember crying on the bus home but also messaging him constantly, so in effect I didn´t feel alone. I was in love but also still me returning to the life I had built for myself alone. He had spoken to me many times about wanting to be with me in the same location, to live with me, maybe in London, maybe in Madrid, maybe in an as of yet undecided city. These were his plans. I felt a mix of terror and excitement. His overwhelming need to rush and not allow us time to simply enjoy each other from a distance, worried me. Could he simply have not really seen me? Was he unaware of what it meant to simply be in love and allow the joy to envelop you instead of worrying about a future that may never happen?

HOMBRES, MUJERES Y EL DINERO

Hombres, mujeres y el tema del dinero.¿Cuándo lo debemos compartir con un nuevo conocido?¿Tenemos que ser generosos siempre?O, ¿Podemos olvidarnos de las normas sociales que dicen que la generosidad y el ´´caballeroso´´ todavía tiene peso en el momento en que alguien quiere mostrar como es?

¿A ser tacaño con el dinero, indica que también eres así en otros campos de tu vida: emocionalmente y con tu tiempo por ejemplo?

¿Qué significa la generosidad monetario, o la falta de eso, en una cita romántica?

Starting the mission of tackling and decoding a life abroad

I first arrived in Barcelona in Jan 2009 full of expectation and a little teeny weenie bit of dread. I had just returned from a year and a half of hardcore life experience in South America. I first lived alone for 8 months in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I then, for fault of a wonderfully spontaneous but later to become an extremely complex intercultural love affair with a Peruvian doctor, I then moved to Cusco, Peru. I spent a further 8 more months living there with the aforementioned medic. I also give thanks to this experience for allowing me to discover in depth the amazing country that is Peru, and for, without wanting to, losing a great deal of weight due to stress and nervous energy. (Love is a dangerous thing at times, as are Peruvian stomach parasites!)
After this Peruvian/English love experience ended in 2008, I decided to continue my love affair with the Spanish language and Latin culture and moved here to Barcelona. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Two years on, I have learnt many things about the Catalan mentality (and certainly about my own). Most notably, their perception of foreigners, in particular foreign women, is unsettling at times. 
I have fallen in love... (No, not with a Catalan) but with the no rules barred, seemingly relaxed attitude of the locals. Who, on the other hand, are extremely complex and serious individuals.Behind the facade of laughter and relaxed joviality that exists to varying extents in whichever culture you may find yourself in, lies a complex series of ´´cultural detectors´´. These can be used to decode the characters of the locals. Which is exactly what I am going to be doing here in this blog. How does an English 30 year old woman or señora....(sounds so final and formal in Spanish: as if I really have stepped over the age threshold from girl to mature lady, without even knowing it... In the English language I would still be referred to as a girl!!) mange to absorb the amazing Catalan and Spanish culture, whilst retaining her own nationality and satisfying her unique needs and wants?
You can take an English woman (who considers herself to be a woman of the world first and foremost I might add) out of England, but can you take the English out of the English woman????I always thought you could, but now I am beginning to realize that maybe you shouldn´t really want to do so...

The Men in my Barcelonian life: both friends, confidantes and more..

Male influences I have in my life...

Geovanny, 33 and Colombian. He is separated and has a child.We were neighbours.We met in the street one day. He was a kind of friend but I don´t see him as a potential partner.What we have is respectful but It doesn´t interest me that much. I invest too much energy into my sentimental relationships at times, but with Geovanny I am much more complacent. He is what he is and as a long term partner he would not be for me. A friendship with a man is a very good thing.I enjoy male company, but in this case, there is not so much complicity.

Miguel Angel, 22.Catalan.We met online and went on three dates.I was very impressed by his emotional intelligence for a such a young guy. In the first date he analyzed me. He explained the significance behind wearing rings on the fingers I wear them on.He said that I had a prominent masculine side to my character.He also said that I reminded him of his grandmother ( yes I did laugh to start with and check for wrinkles in my pocket size travel mirror). He said that his grandmother and I share the same energy.I found it very interesting.However, there was no sexual chemistry.We now have a lovely friendship and I feel that he has shown me that with some Catalan men, I can indeed maintain a platonic friendship just as I do with my British friends.

Pete, 31; an English guy that we met in a bar before Christmas 2010. He seemed every bit the gentleman.Very correct and generous.A nice person. We went out together a few times and It was all very slow burning.However, unfortunately It later materialised that his relationship with alcohol was all consuming. Seeing this fatal flaw in him put an odd end to something that started well.We never spoke again and he left Barcelona a few months ago.

Jean, 29, Ecuadorian.We met in the pizzeria where he works over 2 years ago.We become friends and have been ever since.He is very special to me.He was interested in me romantically at the beginning of our friendship but never attempted anything.He is either shy or simply doesn´t advance with women that easily.So we have a very affectionate friendship and I pass by his place of work weekly to spend time with him there.All of his colleagues know me and I am the queen of the place.It´s an incomparable feeling to be so loved.The Pizzeria has the most wonderful atmosphere thanks to the staff´s energy and presence.If they didn´t work there, It would be cavernous and without personality. Jean is a very special person.Someone who I will probably never be with in any context apart from friendship...something is always unsaid between us I feel.Was I or am I attracted to him?

Henry, 31: my wonderful, sweet Henry.He also works at the same pizzeria as Jean.He is the life and soul of the place.He has a warmth and magnetism that is truly extraordinary.We have also known each other for over 2 years, and he always jokes that he was in love with me calls my mother his mother in law!However, he is tiny and I am very tall and as a joke he stands on a stool to kiss me hello and goodbye!He has a very strong masculine energy however.I truly love him.When we are together we don´t stop laughing.He is a joy to be around.My friends who come to visit me, say that for them, ´´Henry´s Pizzeria´´ is their first and last port of call!La Sagrada Familia and other such tourist attractions, pale into insignificance next to Henry!

Entrevista real Pau: 24.06.2011. Parque El Turo Putxet

 LLevé 9 meses apuntada en una página de citas. Conocí a Pau así. Quedamos algunas veces y al final decidí a hacerle esta entrevista. Ya no estamos en contacto.

 ¿Qué opinas de mi?
¿Cómo te atraigo?
¿Pór qué te apuntaste al página Sexyono?
¿Has tenido buenas experiencias sentimentales con las chicas hasta ahora?
Crees que te conoces muy bien a ti mismo?
¿Cómo eres?
¿Cómo sois los chicos Catalánes?
¿Cómo son las chicas Catalánes?
¿Cómo se compara las chicas extranjeras con las de aquí?

DATING IN BARCELONA: Interviews with my male Catalan friends

I have spent going on a year dating Catalan and Spanish boys, with mixed results. I think that in general, the dating game is overrated and can be quite emotionally draining, time consuming and irritating!

However, I have met some nice people, and pushed myself through trial and error, to see what I truly need and want sentimentally.

Some of my recent experiences have been less rewarding however, and rather negative.Regrets aside, I would say that my reasoning for documenting these dating experiences, is still to decode the interpersonal and interracial relationships that many of us tend to maintain. Brave or stupid, daring or silly, call it what you will, being foreign and single outside of your own country is a full time challenge.

Interview tactics gone wrong

Up until recently, getting hold of my young Catalan acquaintances in order to interview them, was virtually impossible. They disappeared out of my life in a puff of smoke, and silently at that. Therefore the interviews were put on hold.

I enclose the original questions that I had written for one particular boy, in Spanish but translated into English. Maybe this particular interview is meant to be an only a series of questions with empty spaces where the answers should be. How to get to know the workings of a male Catalan brain without the subject matter being obliging is beyond me:

Questions for J (the Catalan boy in question):  28th March 2011

• Your parents are separated. Do you think that this has affected your approach to the sentimental relationships that you have had?

• Has this affected your choices of women and types of relationships?

• What do you think of Catalan women? I know the answer to this one at least! He doesn't like them at all and finds them very bland and difficult.

• Which nationality of women do you tend to go out with?

• How do you find foreign women? Do you understand us?

• Have you ever lived outside of Spain?

• Do you consider yourself to be an independent person?

• Do you understand or respect how difficult it is to live outside of your own country?

• For you, who is your ideal woman?

• Are you happy?

• How do you compare Catalan and British women?

• Are you happy with your body, and do you consider yourself to be a good person?

• Do you have more male friends than female friends? I refer to friendships with the opposite sex which have no sexual connotations. 

         I think that the interview is certainly written with a preconceived idea about what I wanted him to tell me.I felt frustrated by his lack of communication, and utter selfishness, hence me wanting to literally question him. He was someone who took readily, but who couldn´t give emotionally.Not a remotely positive influence.

I suppose the conclusion here is, that you can´t change somebody, and why would you want to.It´s simply a case of filtering out the negative influences that come your way in life.

I still wonder what he would have said to me though in answer to my questions!!I could second guess his answers, but not all of them...