Ha here we go.
Barcelona or Girona -- Where to go? The little voice said, you already saw Barcelona, lets see what Gerona has. So, Gerona it was. How can I express how much fun it was to cut people off as if I were home? Shortly after reclaiming my senses I realized the car was lagging, which reminded me of the first day I drove my new car on the emergency break for many hours. After pulling over and sitting in silence for four minutes I decided everything was okay since there was no burning rubber stench in the air. When I attempted to switch the car back on -- No power -- There was nothing. Haha. How fun. I couldn't even turn the key. I tried and tried, to no avail. I looked about, it wasn't a deserted area. But was it welcoming, touristy? Not in any sense.
O - well, I thought as I collected my purse then headed towards these two electrician looking men up the road. Once I reached them it was,
"Ola Por favoro me ayúdeme, El carro" as I pointed to the car down the way.
One of them said, "Mecánico?"
Me: "Si! Si!"
Both men pointed diagonally across the road to a rather large auto garage.
Me: "Ha I promise you I'm more intelligent then this."
They smiled, shrugged, and nodded.
Me: " Okay ...Gracias! Ciao!"
When I reached the garage I met with Mr. Auto. I started to explain the el carro story -- but the man simply shook his head no and crossed the street, leaving me there on my own. This infuriated me very much. Stronzo! When I crossed back over the electrician guys told me it was siesta time, they also said a few other things, but I could not hear over the shouting in my head. Effing siesta! Superb.
On the walk back to the car I spotted three men emerging from a restaurant, ran to one of them, and started talking. It went a like this: Me ayúdeme carro! And guess what folks? He paused from his life to help. He returned with me to the car, got it to run, and showed me what I did wrong. Beautiful Spaniard! I hugged him thanks, much to his surprise and went on my way.
Once I got to Gerona I parked near a large city park, entered, sat near a mossy fountain, and wrote in my journal. My head ached from the highs and lows. I had no idea as to where I was going to stay. I thought, at worst, I could sleep in the car. Then I scribbled, "Food," then did something of it.
The waitress at the restaurant at which I dined lead me to the Internet cafe and Paul. (If that were only his name - Yeah I can't remember it.) Paul was a young guy who was visiting family in Gerona for the summer. He said he was twenty-two, yet he looked nineteen. He wouldn't show me his id so he was most likely younger than that. We made friends, he helped me with the Spanish computer. I booked my flight for Rome the next day. That was one worry down, and one more to go.
I asked him where the beach was. All though the responsible thing would be to plan where I would be lying my head that night, my head thought that the beach would be a better idea. He said it was hard to tell, but he could show me. At which point, I said, "Want to go to the beach?" Of course he said yes.
So, off to the car we went. (I know I know taking strange boy to car = stupid move. In my defense clear thoughts had vanished from my mind hours ago, way back at the airport.)
On the ways out of town I spotted a market, and realized I need tampons! Since I thought this as we passed the market, we had to circle around the block to get back to it. In the midst of circling a truck materialized blocking the road ahead. I really had no patience for it, looked around, and drove up on the sidewalk and around the truck at which point Paul called me, "the Mafia"? I laughed and told him I was worse.
There was no parking in front or near the market, but there was a parking garage close enough whici I drove down into. Once down there, Paul said, "This is a hotel."
I said, "O yeah, lets see if I can get a room."
There is no doubt in my mind. The boy had to think I was nuts. He probably hoped for it, hoped in his boyish mind that something rated R might sprout from all this.
We took the elevator up. I said hello at the concierge counter and asked the price of a single room. Mr. Concierge said a price. Paul said, "Is too expensive." I said, "Don't worry. Can I see the room?"
The three of us took the elevator up, walked a lavishly long hallway, and entered the room. I looked at the bedroom, the king sized bed, the large windows, the bath. I said, "I want it." (Let me explain for a moment. When things commence to heat up I will always throw the plastic at the fire instead of yours truly. I know what your thinking. Why not simply pay the 250 ticket at the airport - I guess it just wasn't hot enough for me to do that just yet.)
After handing over my card I told Paul it was a pleasure meeting him, but I didn't want to go to the beach anymore. Rest was what I needed. He looked puzzled as he left. When he was gone I told Mr. Concierge that if Paul were to return that I did not want to be disturbed. (There was something about his willingness to obey throughout the whole ordeal that caused me to feel unease.)
Once alone in my room, I took a long long shower. After that I went to Mango and bought a dress. Then I closed the night dining alone at the hotel restaurant with a book. At last, peace.