T-minus three hours to being drunk on an airplane and flying towards: Madrid! Barcelona! The South of France!
Although I travel light -- always! -- it feels like I have been packing forever. I consider myself a minimalist. I like to keep an almost-empty closet with "staple" garments: two pairs of jeans, two shorts, a few tanks and tees, one button down, a couple sweaters, a couple dresses, a couple leggings, one jacket, one pair of keds, one pair of running shoes, two pairs of boots (at most!), one pair of stripper heels. Everything should fit inside a small closet. When I buy new clothes, I donate old ones.
Packing for a trip follows the same suit. I pack minimally. But being a minimalist also forces one to be meticulous. Think: if you're only going to own one black dress, it's going to have to be the right dress. If you're only packing one bag for your trip to Spain, it sure as hell better be the right one.
So, after eight or nine trips to TJ Maxx and the Container Store, my musty gray carry-on bag is finally standing upright and locked beside my night table. My huge, burgundy Vera tote is resting on the bed, full of airplane essentials and the beanie lion that has traveled with me everywhere since I was fifteen. Only my laptop waits to be tucked into it.
A month ago, my husband Michael sent me an email with the subject line, Prado, baby! And in the body of the email was a link to Museo Del Prado and photographs of the impressive bust by Camillo Torreggiani, Pedestal de Isabel II, velada. (1855).
I wrote back to my husband, "I have no words, baby!"
And you know, I really don't. I have no real knowledge. Just feelings. Just an overwhelming pleasure and an ensuing need to stand stupidly before this tantalizingly translucent statue. It reminds me of a thought I have all too often, Oh, the softness of a girl... of a woman. Looking at this, even in pictures, do you, like me, long to delicately lift away that diaphanous veil?
Before I continue, I have to thank our best man and beloved friend, Miguel Vazquez, for giving us an excellent list of recommendations of Spanish must-sees and must-dos, without which I (if not my husband) would be rather lost. Museo del Prado is at the top of our list, Miguelito! And so is Museo del Jamón. We will either prove the French Paradox true by eating demasiada charcutería, walking everywhere, and coming back to Boca thinner than we left -- OR! -- we will happily debunk that myth. Jamón Ibérico, Karen Santos De Silva, as per your recommendation... it's happening!
What else is in the cards? Nightlife. Spaniards live the way Michael and I wish we could -- with late mornings, long siestas in the afternoon, and nebulas of nocturnal activity swirling after dark. No wonder Papi keeps asking me to move there! Dinner a la diez de la noche suits us perfectly; we're most alert a las once and we stay awake past las doce. Moving to Barcelona would mean the end of our Ambien needs.
(Minimalist or not, I packed a pair of stripper heels and a travel atomizer full of my favorite perfume. Duh!).
Towards the end of our trip, we will be driving to the South of France to visit Michael's beloved friend, Jacques Doudelle, with whom Michael was a musician in Paris forty five years ago. Jacques is generous and gallant. He drove seven hundred kilometers from Avignon to pick us up at the airport, and then spent several days with us. On a particularly sweet, balmy evening, he took us to Caveau de la Huchette, where Jacques is a big movie star these days. I have a video on Facebook of Jacques and me dancing at that club. His daughter, who visited us in Boca when she was thirteen, is now a brutally beautiful, full-bloom nineteen. Her name is Marianne, and why wouldn't it be! Lovely French goddess of reason, equality and liberty... perfectly fitting for such a fine young woman.
The best part of traveling is all the people involved, and we are so blessed to able to make this trip this year.
Hmm. 5:30. Time to boot this computer down, tuck it into my tote. It is rather uncharacteristic of me to take my laptop overseas, but something tells me I'll be writing a lot during this trip.
6/5/18
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