Vino Tinto con El Menu Del Dia

Spain, Barcelona,
18 Nov. 2010.

¨Y Pa El Beguda´, Senyor?¨, I try to ignore the black stumps of teeth left in the grinning mouth of this local Anciano waiting on my table and asking me in the local limbo what I wanna drink. I realise I am in a non-tourist part of town and therefore will be served a whole bottle of Vino Tinto...no way to resist the temptetation of knocking it down completely while working on my Tres Plats Del Menu del Dia- Postre exluded - dark red wine entering my blood stream and doing a serious number on my day time consciousness, mixing in my Gringo tummy with the Ensalada, Paella Valenciano and Bistec Con patatas...let´s not forget El Postre Que Es Aqui Helado de Cafelato.

Surrounded by locals who despite the twenty percent unemployment rate in this Hispanohablante country seem quite capable to pay the daily eight fifty for the daily midday meal, outside in a local bar while gossiping the latest news of Los Vecinos, have a smoke after the necesary intake of food, Una copa de Conyac on top of El Vino Tinto or Blanco De La Mesa...

I ponder on the latest happenings in my life , like the people from the Hostal explaining me this morning the visitors that were around last night while I was sketching Borrachos de Marruecos in La Plaza Reial, my newly found African buddies from the street asking if I was in probably having a bad day of street selling and a thirsty throat for Estrellas...

Persisitent buggers not realising this free Estrella adventure was a one time affair and no ¨Tampoco Tengo Una Hembra Europea willing to marry an illegal African inmigrant with big dreams but empty pockets, no sister or blond daughter willing to take care of the necesary paperwork, a place to stay with the marital bed included...

I am more interested in the two canadian cruise ship ladies having a few days off here in Barcelona untill their Crusero will start in earnest down and up the meditaranean coast, having a strong need for female companionship myself while kipping in a dormitory with males only for five consecutive nights now, the snoring of drunk Scotchmen who return home after long nights of bar hopping in the Barcelona nightlife, keeping me awake at night...

Remembering the soft midnight groaning of Thai Hot mommas with emotional attachments to a Ting Tong painter from far away Holland who always is willing to part with some Thai Baht for food and rent money, willing to let them have the art they pose for in midday sessions inside a fan controlled room while the temperatures soar well into their forties outside...

This Vino Tinto is defenitely doing its number on me and I still have to finish the other half of the bottle, try to get to my Hostal, sleep off dark red wine entering my blood stream with a certian vengeance of the past, making me remember things long since forgotten...