el gitano

I can feel the warmth of the fireplace on my back, and it balances out the cold floor tiles under my bare feet. Today, again, I've done a lot of wondering about what I'm doing -- the finca needs lots of work and I need lots of work, but this perfect fit is somehow obstructed by my here-and-there motivation. If the farm's owners were able to be more excited and energetic at the moment (less distracted,) I would be too, but that's no excuse for something I should be able to control and inspire in myself.

John left this afternoon for Albacete to work out details for the new boat he'll be skippering for his millionaire Spanish boss, and he took with him Olivier, a Belgian chef and deckhand who's been staying here the last couple days -- someone my age around the place for a change.

Yesterday morning the three of us, plus Mama (Simona's mother lives here with us -- my adopted grandmother for the month) went for a drive through the hills, then after lunch Olivier and I thumbed our way into Cabanes for a few glasses of the local tinto at a bar. Easy like Sunday afternoon.

Olivier and I are from different worlds, and I envy much his freedom and confidence. He was raised in the forest, speaks five languages, and seems to live from ship to ship, day to day; not afraid to pick up his things and go someplace else, knowing he'll find someone and some way to survive. He encouraged me to forget about my return plane ticket to the States thre months from now, and keep on living and exploring this area. I tried to explain my "need" to return and do something career-wise, excusing my fear of jeopardizing security by telling him I want to have a hand in something "bigger than myself." He spoke of working hard and saving money this summer, as $5,000 will buy him a beach house in Brazil.