My international ladies

My international ladies — whose ladiness I dare question — are three friends who left Catalonia, each one moved by a different motivation, and whom chance wanted me to meet the same week.

The first lady to leave and the first I met was my blond friend from Huesca. Having been born in Catalonia, close to Girona, she lived in Begur for sixteen years until she moved to Huesca, her father’s hometown. I paid her a visit two weekends ago on the occasion of her birthday. She picked me up at the bus station and took me to a neighbour village with less than two hundred inhabitants. It was its town festival and they forced me into trying some homemade wine and other spirits. It’s widely acknowledged that people around Huesca don’t drink water, not even with their pills. We ate, befitting the tradition, in a Chinese restaurant and then went to the pubs, where they obeyed the other tradition of trying to fix me with someone. That night, however, I gave myself to the dancing — partially because someone was passionately dragging me to the dance floor.

The second lady’s going to be in Barcelona until next weekend, when she’s going to fly to Switzerland as a part of her PhD project. Last Friday she threw herself a farewell party and we gave her a Barça T-shirt — which will be useful to wipe her tears in the current situation of the team. At the end of the night she insisted on me visiting her. That was neither alcohol nor friendship speaking, but the twenty euros of the meal I owe her because I didn’t have cash and I couldn’t remember the secret number of my credit card — which makes completely sense since it’s secret.

The third lady is the most international of them. After living one year together in Badalona, she left me for a job in Ireland, a job in something as normal as multiplayer online role-playing games. We spent last Saturday together; we had lunch in a Korean restaurant, sat in the sun in front of the Sagrada Família, walked quite a lot, had an ice-cream and saw Barça’s defeat before having a hamburger. I went to bed happy as that had been my only full day of holiday and doing absolutely nothing. And — why not say it? — because she’s the person I get on best and I’ve known for longer than anyone. Although I won’t say it aloud for I’ve got an evil image to keep.

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One thought on “My international ladies

  1. Pingback: My international ladies strike back « Either a linguist or a chemist be

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