Remember the premise of the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas? Its existence was an open secret for decades – an inside joke. Everyone in Texas (maybe beyond Texas) knew of the whorehouse in LaGrange, Texas, but it wasn’t discussed publicly. Then, an ambitious newscaster decided to blow the top off the story of the “Chicken Ranch.” It was called the Chicken Ranch because chickens were accepted as payment for services for a period of time following the stock market crash of 1929.

A similar place exists in Spain close to the French/Spanish border in Catalunya, in a town called La Jonquera. Besides brothels, the town has several shopping malls and its major thoroughfare is lined with high-volume, duty-free shopping for alcohol and tobacco. The town is basically one huge truck stop. Think of a compound of Buc-ee’s truck/convenience stops. It is full of truck drivers who are, apparently, always looking for a good time. I’m not certain if it is home to the largest house of prostitution in Europe, but one that is certainly among the largest. “Le Paradise” is so named as a nod to its location near France, and to add a certain je ne sais quoi to the place. Let me say right now that I have NO personal knowledge of any of this!

According to Spanish news sources, there are semi-naked women everywhere in the area – rain or shine, under bridges, on the roundabouts, in parking lots. Besides the roadside prostitutes, there are those who work inside the mega-brothel, Le Paradise, which reportedly can accommodate 100 prostitutes. Prostitution itself is neither legal nor illegal in Spain – there is no specific legislation on the issue. While voluntary, adult prostitution is not a crime, pimping, trafficking, and profiting from the prostitution can be illegal. 

Just some fun facts!

Perhaps this is not a good segue to my next topic, Ava Gardner, as I do not mean to imply anything about her character – although she did have some crazy romantic adventures! Ava is my favourite actress of her era – mainly the 1950´s and 60´s. She played Lady Brett Ashley in the film version of Hemingway’s novel the Sun Also Rises about American and British expats who travel to Pamplona to the running of the bulls. I think in that movie she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen – mesmerizing, really.

Ava first came to Spain to perform the starring role in the movie Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951), and she fell in love with the country. “I don’t know if it was the climate, the men or the music,” she said, “but as soon as I set foot in Spain, I had a crush on this country.” I know exactly what she means!! She became friends with Ernest Hemingway, who introduced her to bullfighting. She dated bullfighters, including the legendary Luis Miguel Dominguín and bullfighter/actor Mario Cabré who appeared with her in Pandora. When Ava began seeing Cabré, Frank Sinatra, whom she had been dating, travelled to Spain to try to win her back. Sinatra managed to get Ava to marry him shortly after. He was reportedly intoxicated by her and never really got over her, even after they were divorced six years later.

Pandora was the first of several movies Ava shot in Spain. It was filmed in and around Tossa del Mar, then a sleepy fishing village on the Costa Brava, but now a bustling tourist mecca. There’s a statue of Ava to commemorate her time there. I think it was exciting for the locals to have a Hollywood movie star in their midst, but her unrestrained hedonism was a bit much for the repressed, puritanical Spanish under Franco’s regime. Franco’s police kept an eye on her during the 10 years she lived in Spain, as shown in documents found later. I think they were watching me too!

I’ve mentioned in the past that the donkey is a symbol of Catalunya. Seen on flags, tee shirts, bumper stickers, hats, and plenty of other places, the Catalan donkey is more than just a breed. The “ruc català,” as it’s known in Catalunya, is a larger than most donkeys, on par with the average height of horses. They are dark brown in color, with a distinctively characteristic white nose and belly. This species is known for being peaceful and strong-willed. They are hard-working, and they get the job done. They were known to carry loads of up to one hundred kilos and be three days on the road without drinking.

The ruc is native to Catalunya and the Pyrenees and is not found anywhere else in the world. It is one of the oldest breeds of donkeys. Once numbering around 50,000, there are now only about 500 purebred Catalan donkeys remaining. An association to promote the Catalan donkey breed was founded in 1978 to protect and improve the lives of the native animal and ensure that the breed survives.

The ruc actually has a connection to the United States. A number of the donkeys were shipped to the U.S. in 1785 as a gift to George Washington from King Charles III of Spain. They were used as beasts of burden as the U.S. expanded toward the west, and also worked in the fields and in the mines. Donkeys were later imported in greater numbers because they proved to be more docile and less resistant to work than horses. The importation of Catalan donkeys remained active until the end of the 19th century, following the outbreak of the Spanish-American War and the growing commercialization of motorized machinery.

The ruc became the unofficial national symbol of Catalunya in 2003 when two Catalan friends created this alternative, satirical response as a counterpoint to the omnipresent Spanish bull stickers across much of Spain. The bull is seen by Catalans as a symbol of the concentrated power of Spain, while the pacific ruc symbolizes the Catalans’ desire for independence. The Catalan donkey is known for being sturdy, agile, and stubborn, traits with which Catalans identify.

I went to a Los Lobos concert recently in Barcelona. I didn’t know much about the group except that they were known for singing La Bamba, a song made popular by Richie Valens, the artist who died at age 18 in a plane crash with Buddy Holly and other entertainers. The members of Los Lobos appear to be of a somewhat advanced age, so I was thinking that the audience might be of a similar generation (mine!!), but the crowd was quite diverse in every way. The band plays rock as well as ranchero (Tex-Mex) music. A woman in front of me went crazy when the band played the ranchero music. Later, I asked her if she was from Mexico. She said no, she was from Burgos (Spain)! That made me laugh. Burgos is about as traditionally Spanish as you can get – think middle-of-the-country type vibe. I asked AI what US city would be comparable to Burgos, and it told me Madison, Wisconsin.

The month I spent in the US around the holidays was jam-packed with family, friends, and lots of travel. It was all fun, especially the time I was able to spend with my grandkids! AND the visit to the Catalan restaurant in LA. All of the waiters were Catalan! The food was very good and quite authentic – croquettes, shrimp in garlic, black rice, patatas bravas! I told the waiter I was studying Catalan and we spoke in Catalan throughout the service. He brought the manager over to introduce me and he shook my hand! It was a shining moment!!!

But the absolute best part of the trip would have to be that the results of my follow-up PET scan showed no trace of lymphoma in my stomach or elsewhere. I have an appointment with the oncologist in July to discuss a schedule of follow-up testing, if any. WOO HOO!! I almost had a setback when they found something suspicious on my mammogram, but after a follow-up ultrasound, it was determined to be nothing – an experience that many women (the lucky ones) have.

On New Year’s Eve day, my daughter treated me to a mani/pedi at a nail salon in LA. I chose a pale pink – a lighter shade than my usual bright or dark red polish. A few days before returning to Spain, while in the shower, I looked down to see red stains on my big toes and my baby toes. I thought it might be blood, as I had shaved my legs, and it wouldn’t have been the first time I wounded myself with a razor. But it was not blood and would not wipe off.

I had taken a “natural” sleeping aide recommended by my doctor the night before, so I thought maybe I had sleepwalked and marked up my toes in my sleep. I later figured out that the color came from a pair of black shoes I rarely wear and had only tried on for a minute the evening before. Darn… I liked the mystery better.

On a random note, I think everyone hates group texts, except perhaps the members of the group who love to ask inane questions or respond with “ok” or “great!” or another meaningless answer that just makes your phone ping annoyingly. You think you have a message from a friend or someone you were waiting to hear from, but it’s only a ping with “Yea!” wasting your time. I am on a WhatsApp group for my Catalan class. There are about 13 of us. The group text is necessary to keep everyone informed about homework and also to notify us if class is cancelled. But, one of the group posted this picture and asked if anyone in the class had lost it. Ping.

A PENCIL!!! And one of the other students answered “not mine” – ping. Oh my God.

Happy to be back on the Costa Brava for a five full months!!!

I had planned to take lots of photos of the Christmas lights in Barcelona the night before I began my trip back to the States. Last year I wrote about the lights at the Sant Pau Hospital (link to Lights! Camera! Action!). This year I went to see them again and they were beautiful, but I should have opted for just wandering the streets. That’s next year’s plan. The City recently announced that Barcelona was elected a European Christmas Capital 2026, recognizing its Christmas customs combining tradition, innovation, and sustainability. Here is a link to a video produced by the City of Barcelona: Barcelona Christmas Lights.

A photo of the tree lighting in Begur is below. There were more people in the main square this year than I have seen in the square ever for anything. It was really fun to be out with all the locals.

Even more exciting news is that I ran into the Russian at a local IKEA-type store. He and I have waved hello in the past, so I know he knows my face and that I am a neighbor. But when I saw him in Jysk, I said hello and he embraced me like I was his long-lost cousin. I mean he hugged me tightly! I’m not sure what would have happened next after I picked my jaw up off of the floor, but just then someone “encouraged” us to move out of the main aisle of the store. He went one way toward the counter to pay and I went the other to continue my shopping mission. How bizarre! Maybe he’s being nice to me to throw me off the trail of whatever crimes he has been committing!!

I’m writing this post from my home in Galveston, Texas where I’ve come to hang out for a few days before and between flying to visit my kids and grandkids in Florida and California. I had planned to leave both dogs at my friend’s house in Spain over the month I would be gone, but after Cassie passed away, I didn’t have the heart to leave Cam alone. He wouldn’t have been literally alone as he has other pets to play with there and he gets plenty of attention, but I felt that at this moment in his life, he needed to be with me. This was my first time flying transatlantic without a friend handling the second dog. It was hard getting all of my luggage plus Cam around with no assistance, but we survived. The only complication along the way was that my baggage was sent through to Houston from Barcelona and was not available to me for my overnight stay in Paris the next night en route to the US. The Air France agent in Barcelona had assured me that I could pick it up in Paris. But no. I had no toiletries, no clean clothes, no nightgown, and worst of all, no dog food. The Air France agent in Paris gave me a goody bag with a few things – toothpaste, oversized tee shirt, deodorant, etc., which helped. I got Cam a breakfast bar and a pack of small sausages from the hotel’s shop. Poor thing.

I hope everyone has a lovely holiday!! I will be back in January, hopefully after a stress-free, glitch-free return flight. Ha ha, like that could happen. And fingers crossed for my medical tests!

BONES FESTES!!!

I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’ve called myself Susie Catalana or La Reina de la Muntanya Baixa (Queen of the low mountain), and lately I was given the moniker of Empordenca or dona de l’Empordà (woman of the Empordà). The Empordà is the far northeastern corner of Catalunya bordering France where Begur sits. I don’t know if I believe in past lives (sorry Shirley MacLaine), but if there is such a thing, I think I may have had a past life here. How else would the feeling of belonging be so strong? I used to think I had a past life in Spain, but to be a Catalana feels right.

The Catalan people are known for many qualities, generalizations, of course – they are cheap (savers), proud, stubborn (a burro is the symbol they stick on the back of their cars), guarded, and cliquish. They say Catalans are “closed” at first, but that once you’re friends, you’re friends for life. I hope that is true! But the traits I see most, and would like to say I identify with, are determination, a love of freedom, and bravery.

Maybe all countries/cultures have as many shared symbols, customs, and past-times, but I think the Catalans have more! Look at this video…it’s in Catalan, but the images are meaningful without words…all the things that make Catalunya Catalunya!!! Watch till the end, it’s less than three minutes. It’s so good I’ve watched it many times. I tried for hours, literally all day, to insert the video directly without having to include a link, but surprise, I am not a techno-nerd. Hopefully one of these two links will work for you.

Link to the video Visca Catalunya (Long live Catalunya)!! A post shared by Sos Català (@sos.catala)

Catalan history explains a lot about the characteristics of its people. I won’t go into it here as it has been my experience that when I load up a blog with history, I get fewer “likes”! I guess your eyes are glazing over. I try. I’ll just say that the Catalans have experienced their fair share of repression over the centuries, and yet the culture endures. There is a pride, a defiance, a shared national identity and spirit that holds them together and that I find inspiring. Trying to learn the Catalan language and learn about and participate in their culture have definitely been the most rewarding parts of my senior year journey!

Probably the most well-known symbol of Catalunya is the Sagrada Familia. A couple of weeks ago, they added part of the Cross of Jesus, which is among the finishing touches to the Basilica, scheduled to be completed in 2027. The completion date has been delayed several times, most recently by the Pandemic! It’s such a marvel and all paid for with private funds. I’ve added another video showing the placement of the cross on the top. If you have time to watch, it is cool! This is the BBC’s coverage on Youtube. Sorry for the commercial at the beginning.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UqL_5eLh30

I’ve written about the human towers before. I may even have mentioned this particular event in Girona that takes place during the city’s annual Festa Major every November 1, but it bears repeating. These people are amazing! Please watch the video here from youtube; 3cat – Pujada del pilar dels Marrecs a Girona (01-11-2025). I’m sorry there is a commercial at the beginning. The child (child!!!) on top falls, but they start again to climb to the top of the long flight of stairs, and when they reach it, turn to the crowd triumphant. It’s amazing enough that they do it on flat, solid ground, but to mount an enormous staircase at the same time!! I’d like to see this in person one day. There are other festivities related to the Festa Major. When I was visiting Girona for other reasons, I ran across a display of the figures of the giants that are worn by townspeople in parades for the delight of children especially.

This past weekend was the Carmen Amaya Flamenco Festival in Begur. This was my second or third? time attending the local flamenco show. The flamenco guitarist, below, was fantastic. But it was my first time attending the Sardinada – a celebration of the sardine! that ends the festival. Luckily there was more to eat than just sardines. I want to like them, but the tiny bones bother me. There was a band playing music that I learned was the Catalan Rumba, a musical genre that originated in Barcelona in the 1950’s in the city’s Catalan gypsy community, and is a fusion of flamenco rumba with influences from Cuban music, rock and roll, and other popular styles. It was great fun. There were expats there but lots of locals celebrating probably what was our last warm day of the year.

Just to let the Cassie lovers and other just plain animal lovers know, Cam and I are slowly adapting to life without her. I’m still sad. Our apartment is quieter and more tranquil without the mischief-maker in chief around. Cam has always been more aloof – he isn’t standing at the door whenever I come home, he doesn’t follow me into the bathroom (I used to give Cassie a neck massage when she would put her paws on my knees while I peed. TMI?) and no little hot dog body snuggling next to me at night. Poor Cam was always dog #2 around here, so I’m hoping we can bond more deeply and that he can be my little buddy. We’re going to take longer walks together and go more places as it will be easier with just one.

We had an episode of some pretty extreme wind this week and it knocked one of the heavy metal shutters off of the wall. That was bad enough, but when I tried to close the other shutter before the wind could blow that one off as well, it slammed on my hand. Ouch!! It could have been worse!

AND…drum roll…the Russian is BACK!!! I saw him on his balcony. He lives alone, mind you, but he was talking with someone I couldn’t see. Already there have been two odd cars parked nearby or in his garage! The intrigue continues. I’m so excited!!!!

That’s what I called Cassie. At least when I wasn’t accidentally calling her by my daughter’s name. She seemed like a daughter. She also had hair the color of Donald Trump’s (no political commentary, just fact). She passed away yesterday – I had to put her down. She had a brief battle with cancer, but aside from a few moments of listlessness towards the end, she was jumping, hopping, and running, ready to eat any kind of food that might come her way.

She came to me as a rescue. My mother, who was 91 at the time, had always had a dog. In fact, a friend of mine said she wanted to come back in her next life as my mother’s dog, because every dog my mother ever owned was pampered and was constantly at her side being petted. When I was a kid, we had wire-haired dachshunds, so when my mother lost Jennie, a lab/German shepherd mix she acquired because my now ex-husband’s dog had an unplanned litter of TWELVE puppies, I found Cassie on a website devoted to dachshund rescues. She had been on the streets of Midland in West Texas. She was transported to the Houston area by helicopter through a program created by several oil companies to transport dogs for “humanitarian” purposes. From the moment I saw her, it was love at first sight. She stood on her hind legs, as she would always do, and pawed the air, as if to say TAKE ME!! I knew she was the one.

She was a notorious attention whore. If anyone dared to pet Cam (my other dog, her brother in spirit if not in blood), or God forbid take him into their lap, Cassie would jump in or worm her way in between them. Petting Cam was not allowed in her world. She was the princess! And she demanded all the adoration.

Cassie had a full and adventurous life. Not only did she travel on transatlantic flights, including one in which she managed to unzip her carrier and run down the aisle of the plane towards the crew area where the food is kept, but she visited France many times, and even walked (and pooped) along the Seine in Paris. She hiked in the mountains of Switzerland, where she drank water from a beautiful waterfall. She stayed in hotels and AirBnB’s across Spain and France; this past summer she stayed with me in a fancy hotel on the grounds of Chambord castle!

Along with the good times, there were the not-so-good times, including when she ate 1/2 of a brick of chocolate and spent two nights in the hospital. Or the time she ate 1/2 a jar of peanut butter and I had to administer charcoal medication to get her to poop it all out. Not to mention when she ate a good portion of a baggie full of melatonin chewies the day before flying back to Spain, and I didn’t know if we’d make the flight! Oh, and the time she either jumped or fell from the balcony of my apartment here, a pretty healthy drop, and then turned up at the front door! But during all of those crazy times I was never afraid she wouldn’t pull through. She had a constitution of steel! She was iron-willed and she was never deterred! I thought she was invincible…

Cam and I must carry on. He has always been looking over his shoulder to make sure she was near. One time she managed to get herself locked in a friend’s pantry closet. As we looked everywhere inside the house and out, Cam was on my heels crying loudly until we found her. He was beside himself. I always said if the tables had been turned, she wouldn’t have noticed he was gone, or she would have shrugged her shoulders and said oh well! They did play well together, chasing each other around my beach house in Galveston or my apartment in Spain. But she was always the Alpha and she never let him forget it. I think he was afraid of her and kept his distance especially if she was eating or had a treat. Who will hoover up all the crumbs in the kitchen or under the dining table now? That was her job.

Although Cam and I are bonded, it is different. He was the second to arrive in my life and always seemed the second in command. He is more aloof, or as I always describe him, contemplative and deep. She was not contemplative nor enigmatic, but “out there” bursting with personality. PET ME CONSTANTLY was her motto. She was something! And she was lovable, or “amorosa” as a Catalan friend called her. What an endearing bad girl she was!

Cassie was well loved by many and will be well remembered. That is some consolation to me. It’s the end of an era. It’s just me and Cam now.

This is one of my favorite photos of the two of them, keeping an eye out for danger in the neighborhood.

I’ll write something a little more uplifting next time. Until then, here is a photo taken from the garden today of our first snow of the season in the Pyrenees. I think it fell for her…

I am a little bit beside myself. I’m pretty certain the Russian is gone. If you haven’t previously read about my Russian, see Suspicious Minds…

What am I going to do now? Who am I going to watch, track, monitor, report on? There was a young couple in his place recently who had a car with French plates, but they’re gone now. In the past, the cars have come and gone and whatever people may have been in the house besides the Russian himself have kept a very low profile. The presumed French people were walking around the neighbourhood, not stealthily.The same bicycles are in the garage, but I suppose they could belong to the actual owner, if not the Russian, or maybe he just left them behind. Or maybe he’s coming back — but it’s been over a month.

It is interesting to me that both the Russian and his German neighbor next door left the area during the two and a half months I was in the States this past summer. I wonder if they realized I was getting too close. I guess I’ll never know uness his photo ends up on the front page of some newspaper. Damn. I feel like I’ve lost some of my raison d’être!! I rather fancied being a modern-day female Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it would be more accurate to aspire to be Jason Bourne or Jack Ryan, famous spy hunters!

One of the few con’s of living here is that I don’t have a clothes dryer. Many, if not most, people do not. It simply uses too much electricity and is expensive, so my landlords have not installed one. I don’t know where they could put it anyway as the washing machine takes up the whole closet where it resides. So I hope for sunny days!! The sun works well for clothes-drying in full summer. They dry pretty quickly and fully then, but the rest of the time it’s a challenge. When the sun is out on my balcony, I put them out on a rack. They start getting dry but if I leave them too long and the humidity rolls in, they get wetter again. Then I have to move the rack indoors and hope they will dry out more inside before I put them back out in the sunshine the next day. Then it happens again. All of my clothes these days are damp. I sometimes resort to putting them piece by piece on the radiator. This is probably dangerous and not the radiator’s best use, but radiator drying is all I can do unless I want to cart everything to the washateria. At least now there is a washateria in Begur! It’s actually very nice with large, efficient machines. Before it came to town, I had to drive 30 minutes to get to a washateria. It’s the small things!

I jumped out of bed for a couple of really good sunrises last week:

“If it wasn’t for bad luck. You know, I wouldn’t have no luck at all” is a line from a song – Born Under a Bad Sign. Link to song is included. Great song.

I’ve always thought of myself as lucky. I’m an optimist. I’m positive. I’ve been spared a lot of pain experienced by others. I feel lucky that I had loving and supportive parents, that I was born a free woman in the United States, that I was given opportunities for a good education and rewarding employment. And I have the best children in the world. Sorry, but it’s true. For better or for worse, I’ve gotten most of the things I’ve ever really wanted.

Looking at my life through an objective lens, however, there have been some things…Shit seems to happen to me, small things, but they add up when looked at in their totality. Just in the past couple of years I’ve had the my car robbed; I’ve had all sorts of trouble with my car (s) – my Peugeot just got out of the shop AGAIN after it died on the highway: I’ve had so many faulty air conditioner(s); and I’m sure there’s more…Just saying that sometimes I look up and see that small cloud following me. But I just gotta keep going and smiling.

I recently received some more bad news, devastating news really. My beloved dog, Cassie, has a cancerous tumor in her kidney and metastases in her lungs and lymph nodes. She is not a candidate for surgery, but we are going to be treating her with a cancer medication used to shrink cancer cells. First me with my stomach cancer, now her – we’re a pair – a pair of tough, old broads. Cassie is 14, and I know it’s not curable, but I’m hopeful we can have a little more time together. She’s my girl.

Speaking of aging and death, have you heard of Maria Branya Morera? She was a Catalan woman who when she died last year at the age of 117, was the oldest human on earth. She was born in the U.S. to a family of Catalan origin who moved back to Spain when she was young. She made Barcelona her home and died in Olot, Spain, a town not far from where I live. She identified as Catalan, using the name “Super Catalan Grandma” on social media. 

Lots of medical professionals studied Maria before her death, trying to determine how she managed to live so long. Clearly, part of the reason was heredity – she was simply born an incredibly durable woman with a fantastic immune system. But one of the factors to which Maria herself attributed her long life was that she ate plain yogurt three times a day. Scientists have agreed that having a healthy, effective microbiome is definitely a booster for good overall health. She ate a certain brand of yogurt, Fageda. I read that its sales skyrocketed when this information about Maria became known. So I’ve started buying it too. I’m not sure if strawberry-flavored counts, but I can’t stomach (ha ha) the plain. It looks and tastes too much like milk. Horrors. And I’m not going to eat it three times a day. But maybe once a day with fresh strawberries will bring my life expectancy closer to 100!

The array of available potato chips in Europe (and I assume around the world) is seemingly endless. Americans seem pretty satisfied with the regular ones plus sour cream and onion, barbecue, salt and vinegar, honey mustard, and a few others. I wrote about my potato chip taste test in my “Chips Ahoy” post (link included) a few years ago, and I’ve commented on a few other ones since then. A friend shared photos of some really crazy ones from Asia! My all-time favorite weird flavor is hamburger! I tasted the separate flavors of beef, onion, tomato, maybe pickle? It was surprisingly good!

On my way to Spain through France this September, I discovered some more luscious varieties, others when I was in London, and even more here that I hadn’t seen before! I haven’t tried them all, but I’ve listed the ones I did try in order of preference:

• ketchup (#1)
• grilled beef (#2)
• camembert (#3)
• yakitori (#4)
• pepper roasted chorizo (#5)
• bacon & cheese (#6)
• pili pili
• Paris mushroom
• French fries and sauce (?)
• pesto mozzarella
• aioli
• summer truffle
• cheese and black truffle
• curry sauce
• blue cheese
• mushroom
• Tex Mex chicken
• Thai beef
• cheese naan
• goat cheese with espelette peppers
• tapenade
• Sobrasada and honey (sobrasada is a raw, cured sausage made with ground pork, paprika, salt, and spices)  
  

I wish I could have bought and tasted them all, but my car was already packed tight and there was no room for bags of chips! I expected that bacon and cheese would be the winner, but it was pretty gross and the ketchup variety definitely won this round!

Toward the end of my journey to Begur, I spent a couple of nights in Sitges, a beach town just south of Barcelona. To my surprise, it was Bears Week. If you don’t know what it is, look it up. There was quite a party atmosphere in the streets. But I am glad I missed the partying at the nude beach!

When I got back to Barcelona from a jaunt to the UK, I discovered that my car, which I’d left in the airport garage, had been ransacked. This is the latest in my list of petty crimes experienced in Barcelona. (See my post “Crime and Punishment“). Everything was strewn on the seats and the floor that had been in the glove compartment, the console, and the door pockets. There was nothing of value and they didn’t even take my mini boxes of Werther’s caramels. But they took one thing – my car title!! I had been told not to leave it in the car, but I really thought it could be a problem only if the car was stolen, and I didn’t expect that to happen, especially with all its dings and dents. My immediate worry was that I would have to make a Police report, and I am scared of the police. I don’t have a driver’s license for one thing. Well, I have my international driver’s license, but supposedly after six months here you are supposed to get a Spanish license. I’ve heard it is expensive and difficult to pass, so I’ve been avoiding police as much as possible and gambling on not being caught. The police are often stopped at the side of the road by a roundabout – usually at least two or three of them and a couple of police cars. They pull people over, presumably for having expired registrations or maybe just looking funny, but I always hold my breath and so far I’ve always been waved on. When my registration was out of date (actually this happened a couple of times for perfectly good reasons), I would take another route if I saw them ahead.

I haven’t seen any evidence of my Russian neighbor/spy since my return. No movement of the window shades (closed) or cars on the street or in the garage. I don’t know if he’s moved or is just away. If he’s gone, I wonder if I blew his cover!! In addition, his next door neighbor, a German, is also gone and there is another family living in that house. I always expected that he and the Russian were colluding. The German told me he had a wife and a baby but I never saw them. Hmmm….