Day 23
It was a slow sleep night so my mind was all over the place.
There was the dream where I was working in an office at a large factory and I was having a bath and a Swedish school tour group walks in.
Then there’s the more common one where you’re trying to get away from something and you’re looking over your shoulder but you’re running in sand, wearing a hospital gown that only ties up across the shoulder blades. I can’t tell you how often I get that one.
But the main theme last night was the decor that you see in each Airbnb. I’ll focus strictly on the five that we’ve had so far on this trip, and only on the flooring.
The vast majority of materials are stone, cement, or ceramic tile, but our first stop in Madrid was different.
It was the earliest version of laminate flooring; I’m guessing early 80s? It was considered revolutionary at the time. A hard composite material in plank form with a photo-embossed image simulating some type of wood grain.
At Dore and Hugo’s place they must have scoured the bargain bin outside of Ivan’s Car Wash and Flooring Emporium because there were only two variants of images on the laminate. So distinct patterns would show up as you sat at the table having your coffee, not quite awake, head leaning down, squinting, looking for something to read.
The two images that came to mind, made of knots and wood grain were of a train with the engine spewing smoke being chased by Mexican bandits. The second one was a scene at the beach at one end and a likeness of Jesus at the opposing end. The beach scene was pleasant with gulls, maybe a tiny boat, and somebody floundering in the water much too far from shore.
The Jesus scene was just His face. Not the happy face where he’s bouncing children on His knee but the agonized face as He’s nearing the end on the cross. You could just picture Him looking down at the jeering crowds below Him thinking, Myron… he’s a goner, Ishmael… same, Morty… he is so gonna die, Seymour… burn baby burn you shmuck!
So with that pattern in mind and only two sips of coffee so far, I saw… Jesus, train, Jesus, Jesus, beach, train, train, Jesus, beach, Jesus. The image of Our Lord was the clear cut winner. But then Spain, is a Catholic country afterall and they do love their Christos.
Norberto’s floor in Sevilla was all white ceramic tile throughout. Keep it simple, make sure it shows every speck of dirt and every toast crumb. Afterall it wouldn’t be him doing the cleaning (he had a lovely sister).
Valencia was where the architects with the new remodel, Stefania and Tano were. It was uncured concrete throughout; practical, it held an interesting pattern as different areas cured faster than others. It felt very good on the feet, smooth with a hint of texture from the hand-trowelling. It had slight cracking throughout as it was only a 3/ 8 layer of parging over the previous concrete floor. Normally this would be considered a flaw but the cracking was intentional to add character and would soon be bonded by the sealer when the owners were happy with the curing process.
Then onto Barcelona where we stayed in a 5th floor (actually the 7th floor) studio hosted by Laura and Javier.
Mid-30s, both with lots of ink on their exposed areas. Four kids; eleven, ten, seven, and oops, one and a half, rounded out the team.
Laura gave us the whirlwind tour when we entered the flat coming off the elevator. A short corridor separated us, with the left-hand door leading us past our bathroom and into a large bed and seating area with a bar fridge included (an essential on the road). This led out onto a large balcony/patio area that overlooked bustling Gran Via street about 80 feet below.
The right-hand door from the corridor led to their apartment. Quite long and large but with six occupants to house it must have been a challenge. We could hear them interacting with the kids, friends, and family that dropped by but it was a pleasant experience and we really felt for them.
How badly would you need the money to be able to give up your second bathroom, an escape/sanity area and your only access to outdoor space? These folks were going to get five stars even if Carol fell over the railing.
Anyways, the flooring was all white ceramic tile, laid 30+ years ago, with some missing grout here and there. You really don’t get a good look at floors until you’re seated in the bathroom. There’s time to ponder many things, your head is generally facing down as your body is relaxed and what you don’t want to see is any movement.
Many places, especially in older Mexican hotels (and some places in Barcelona), will serve up these tiny, tiny, black bugs. They are non-offensive to me but Carol will buy a case of Lysol, rubber gloves, and bug spray to handle the situation.
They seem to know their place and stay on the tiles. They must have a very basic diet of air and microorganisms and they have an extremely short lifespan. They spend their lives rapidly moving in circles, much like a chastised teenager looking for a vacuum cleaner before their mom comes home.
They fit neatly into the missing grout areas and then suddenly emerge at a tile further along the floor. They have siblings as they tend to be noticed in quantities of fours and fives all running in their erratic patterns.
Obviously they cannot be left to scurry to and fro, so a suitable death method has to be decided upon. While Carol’s tools of choice are mainly chemical-based, my choice is the toilet paper and thumb-crushing method. Now these are hardy souls and a mere one-thumb press just acts as a massage or back scratch to these little folks. These are two-thumbers and even at that you squash, turn over the paper, and they are still fighting for life. I guess I would too if I didn’t have Jesus. If it wouldn’t wreak such havoc on the tiles I would suggest a quick wallop with a ball-pean hammer.
Being in a room that deals with disposal the natural method is to toss the paper with writhing attachment into a swirling puddle of water. But after seeing their tenacity up close I choose to induce a second flush and then on my hands and knees, stooped in an all-too-familiar position looking into the ivory receptacle, I make absolutely positive that the little fiends are on an excursion to a lower floor. By my reckoning I am being a true conservationist by using 9 liters of water to dispose of a mere microbe by reducing the water level of the rising seas. Just call me Jacques Cousteau.
Now we are in Montpellier where the floors are also white ceramic tile throughout. The grout is aging, but not at Barcelona levels. I look carefully and see remnants from Carol’s hair brush, a drop of wine, and last evening’s snack but nothing moving about… yet.
Blue Delivery 