The Art of Getting Lost

We decided to get lost yesterday. I had read about the art of getting lost on a placard in the Museu d’Història de Barcelona. But I had never purposely gotten lost and wanted to try it. So we took the tram, then the metro to Liceu, and walked through Old Town to El Born, to one of our favorite places. It took twenty minutes, so we were hungry when we got there. Sweet Lima is a Peruvian café full of light and good food and Arabica coffee grown in Peru and roasted in Barcelona. The people there are friendly and upbeat. It is a fine place. 

Gina found us a high-top table, and speaking only Spanish, I ordered our food at the counter. Peruvians speak Latin Spanish, which is slightly different from Castillian, the official language of Spain and the basis of modern standard Spanish. Navigating the basics of life in our new language is always pleasing and a sense of accomplishment. Each day, we are becoming more fluent in Castillian—poco a poco. And each day, we feel more at home.

After enjoying freshly made pollito sandwiches, the bread made a few minutes earlier was warm and soft with just the right crunch on the outside. Gina savored a cappuccino and me a cortado. After a while, we told everyone adiós y hasta pronto with no goal except getting lost. 

So we wandered lazily, arm in arm, to the right, left, and right and found ourselves on a cozy street we discovered on our honeymoon twelve years ago. It is the heart of El Born and has a paved walkway down the middle graced by ancient lamps and trees. When we first saw it over a decade ago, it was like we had entered another world. 

That made me think of the cute bar we discovered on our honeymoon. It had to be nearby. After several wrong turns, we found it! We went inside and told the barman we were here twelve years ago for our honeymoon and now live here. He congratulated us and asked if we knew that Tapeo had first opened only a few months before our visit in 2012. 

We told him we had just eaten breakfast and would return soon to celebrate old times. After a few more minutes of cordial conversation, partially in Spanish and English, we left with a warm feeling in our hearts and vowed to find our honeymoon photos. I have included them below.  

I asked Gina which way, and she said left (a la izquierda). We found a tea shop, and after a chat in Spanglish with the proprietor about the technique, we purchased red chai tea and reusable tea bags. We then turned right and began randomly wandering the historic narrow streets and dark alleyways. 

After a few turns, we discovered a street filled with stunning graffiti art. I had heard about several streets with this kind of art and had tried to find it when I gave my friends Ray and Alan a tour of a few of my secret places in Old Town but to no avail. And like magic, here it was. I began snapping pictures. (See below.)

As we explored the street, peeking in windows, we saw designers sewing clothes and artists sketching and painting. I felt like I had been transported to the book A Moveable Feast with Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Except this was better. We were in Barcelona, Spain, and this moment was real and now. It was my place in this world. I had chills.

As we wandered through this magical district, I saw a winter outfit on a mannequin in one of the design shops. It screamed Gina. The ensemble was made of black wool and multi-layered with a delicate ribbon around the neck. The pants were bell-bottomed and shortish, like the fashion here in Europe now. The front had a long descending triangular opening filled with black lace. 

I told Gina you must go in and try it on. It would be perfect for our trip to Austria next month. She was hesitant because she is not prone to buying expensive clothes, and this outfit was obviously handmade. I insisted. As we walked in, there was a window in the floor, and you could see the designers creating. The sales clerks were two gorgeous human beings, one from Barcelona and one from Holland, both clothes designers. They were delightful and made Gina feel at ease. 

Of course, the clothes fit Gina’s body perfectly, as if they were made for her. The girls oohed and aahed. Stunning. I felt my jeans growing tight. The nude mannequin in the window looked forlorn, but I was ecstatic. After negotiations, we arranged a significant discount for the entire ensemble: the silk blouse with the dainty ribbon, wool sweater, woolen slacks, and wool jacket. 

As we continued through the art district, Gina shyly told me that it was the first couture outfit of her life. She struggled with buyer’s remorse for a few minutes but then settled into the fact that I had bought the clothes and had no remorse whatsoever. We wandered a bit more until our legs protested, and we realized we were nearing 10,000 steps. I took photos of the street signs to find our way back, and we began searching for a metro station. What a perfect day. 

I marveled to Gina that it would take weeks to explore Barcelona’s Old Town: Gothic Quarter, El Born, Ravel, and Cuitat Vella. Yes! We felt gloriously weary but happy as we traveled uptown to our apartment. Thankfully, I had a pot of my homemade chili on the stove for dinner, and after a cocktail (or two) and fun reminiscing about the day, we fell into our cozy bed.

The evening slipped into a glorious and lingering morning of lovemaking and snuggling. If this is what retired life in Spain is about, bring it on. After a year of adjustment, we are finally settling into our life as Spaniards. What took us so long? I think we will get lost again next week.