A Place Called Home

It's starting to feel like I live here. I went for a run by the beach this morning. I live ten minutes from the beach, and in January it's warm enough to go running there. Wow. Anyway, after that I tidied up my apartment a little, went into work for a while. Regular stuff. Stuff you do when you live somewhere, when you're not a tourist anymore. I'm still kind of a tourist, of course, and probably will be the whole time I'm here. Definitely an outsider. But I kinda live here, too. And that's pretty cool.

AND I have a confession to make. File this under the category of "Be careful what you wish for because you might get it." Remember yesterday I was ranting a little bit about coffee? Well. I was walking on La Rambla today, which is about as close as Barcelona gets to Times Square. I wasn't hanging out there, but it was the most direct way to get from where I was to where I was going. And I had to go to the bathroom. And right when I started thinking I should look for someplace to go, I came to a McDonald's. They usually have relatively clean bathrooms that, unless you're in New York, you can sneak in and use without buying anything. I went in. Sure enough, there was no key or food purchase necessary to use the baños. But I kind of wanted caffeine and there was no line, so I thought What the hell, I'll just see what the coffee's like here. And it was wonderful. 200 mL, in a paper cup with a lid, strong but not too strong, fresh, hot but not too hot. Shit. I love the coffee at friggin' McDonald's here. I am so not European.