Vita L. Sacksby
In Barcelona, I was hit by some strange travel dissatisfaction. The afternoon seemed stifling as we shuffled along La Rambla in the humid heat. I tried to explain it to the girl I was with;
"I mean, tourists all getting under my feet. Got to do something at some point you know..." I rambled on for a while; I knew she wasn't listening but looking at the ducks, rabbits, rats, turtles and lovebirds they were selling from big cages on the street.
A tall German woman elbowed me in the ribs and I tripped over a dog; "Goddamnit!" My friend paid attention and laughed in great snorts down her nose like a horse.
We walked on and bought a big jug of Sangria with lemon and ice from a place that was far too expensive and got so drunk and hungry that I ordered a paella, which we shared. My brain went into overdrive from the rich, warm food I'd been missing for so long, and everything was in colour again and I noticed things above street level that I'd never raised my eyes to before.
Vita likes the Paris metro, people who say: "I'm not best pleased" and the sound of horses' hooves on wet cobblestones. She dislikes ticks, sneezing and stepping on an upturned plug.