Edward, if you ever happen to read this, know that I write this post with humor and the deepest gratitude for including me in your life, and tolerating me as a fixture in your kitchen for two weeks.
As you may very well know, Europeans have a much greater tolerance for living in close quarters than Americans do. And if you know me, I pride myself on being able to live in close quarters, for throwing myself into the lions den and feasting on the raw flesh of the gazelle with the rest of them. Ok maybe not, but I’ve eaten so much meat recently that that now feels like a very apt reference.
Edward, the patron saint of generosity, offered to host me as long as I liked while in Spain. This included sleeping on his very comfortable fold out couch in his living room in Madrid, and joining him, his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s visiting niece and nephew from the Dominican Republic, and his girlfriend’s visiting mother from France, at their beach house in Sanlúcar, Cadiz, Spain. Oh and Ipa the dog, can’t forget about her.
Not one to pass up a free place to stay or an authentic, local experience, I accepted Edward’s offer with gratitude and enthusiasm. I don’t like to know what I’m getting myself into, so I didn’t ask questions about accommodations or logistics. As it turns out, I’m sleeping in a very comfortable twin bed that serves as a couch in the kitchen of his two bedroom beach house, in the midst of a charming fishing village, that also hosts some of the best restaurants in all of Spain. Edward’s niece and nephew are sleeping on the couches in the living room, and abuela and Edward and Ale occupy the upstairs bedrooms. Needless to say, it’s a full house.
The thing about sleeping in someone’s kitchen is that you wake up when the first person wakes up (which gracias adios is usually me) and you don’t go to sleep until the last person goes to bed, which is usually about four hours past my normal bedtime. But hey, I’m just along for the ride. If we’re partying until 3 so be it, let me just grab a few shots of espresso real quick.
In addition to not having much personal space, I’ve been humbled by Ale’s niece and nephew, who are 10 and 13 respectively. They speak French and Spanish perfectly, and although they tell me their English isn’t great, I’ve heard them speak and it is probably on par with my Spanish. The 13 year old is a rising star in the Dominican Republic surf scene and went to the junior world Championships in El Salvador this year, and the 10 year old is an absolute gorgeous firecracker of a human being who will give a lot of boys a run for their money in the coming years. I can’t help but assume they think, “what is this 34 year old weirdo doing staying on my uncle’s couch?”
Which brings me to my next point. I can only live on someone’s couch for so long before I begin to feel like I’m constantly in the way. Edward would never tell me if he was sick of having me around, and in fact has told me many times I can stay as long as I want, but as my brother says, “it’s better to leave a day too soon than a day too late.” With that in mind, I booked 4 nights in Sevilla before I go to Barcelona. When I told Edward this, he said, “Great! We will meet you in Sevilla!” Which put a big smile on my face because I think that means he’s not sick of me. I can’t speak for the rest of them. Next stop, Sevilla.
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