Bordeaux and Palmiers

I have a hard time writing about the place where I am.

The second I leave, it’s easy: I suddenly remember all the things I loved about being there, why it’s so special and so different from where I am now. But writing about the place where I am is a struggle, which is why you haven’t read anything yet about the past several weeks I’ve been spending in Llombards, Mallorca.

I don’t know why I’m suddenly able to write about it. Maybe it’s because I’m so close to leaving: in eight days, I’ll be headed back to Paziols, and you can bet that that’s when you’ll be hearing all of my stories about Llombards and Spain. For now, though, all I have to offer is this story. Maybe it will speak to you and let you know how much I love it here, even if I can’t really say why myself.

I’m living in the downstairs apartment of a finca that my boyfriend’s friends own. Ian and Katrina moved to Spain several years ago, and although they’re old enough to be my parents, we all get along great. They rent this apartment to travelers who want to have the true country experience of living with rural Spain, and they rent the other half of the finca to a German couple.

Ian has installed a small pool, which is right next to the deck that we rent along with the apartment. It looks out into the fields that Ian owns along with the land, as well as into the next yard, where there are two horses being kept.

I love to sit out on the deck with my dinner (no earlier than nine… we are in Spain, after all) and watch the horses. They chase each other through the pasture, completely oblivious to the world around them. They don’t know anything about the horses that live in New York or Paris to draw carriages of tourists through the streets. I doubt that these horses have pulled a carriage in their entire lives.

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