WHERE THE HELL IS REUS, SPAIN AND HOW IN THE WORLD DID I END UP HERE
First of all let’s establish the reason for this blog. I left Quillan with a bitter taste in my mouth. Six weeks later I arrived here with an entirely revised outlook. Reus isn’t a big city as cities go, but it’s a great change and I have embraced it. Most of my life has been spent in small towns. Lisbon (we’re not talking Portugal) is where I arrived and spent the formative years of my life. Mt Vernon (again we’re not talking New York) is where I spent four years going to college followed by stints in Wyoming and Nevada (not the state of but both small towns in Iowa-Jim you know it’s that famous football state). At that point I made a major move to the Quad Cities (just what it suggests-four relatively small cities in one metropolitan area of four hundred thousand). Dubai was next (yes, that Dubai) followed by 23 years in Mt. Pleasant (which was pleasant but had no hills let alone a mountain).
And then came Quillan which started out wonderfully and soured a bit shortly before I left. For the most part my small town upbringing served me well and I much preferred the stages of my adult life evolving there. But after my month in the US headquartered in Eaton Rapids (a town of 5000), I am truly enjoying the initial days of my month in Reus, Spain. After this month I have seven months back in a small seaside resort community not far from Montpellier. At that juncture play time is over and I will have to be serious in assessing options available. But until that time I’m having a ball exploring my new digs with a pleasant local guide.
First of all a little about Reus. Most Brits know it because of its airport which has served as a starting point for British vacationers in the better known sister city of Terragona or the seaside towns of Salou and Cabrils. The city itself is home to about 100,000 souls of a variety of backgrounds. My apartment is a 3 bedroom (but only one bed), 2 bathroom (yes the necessary elements are present) with a large living-dining room and a small ill-equipped kitchen. It’s on the second floor-that’s European floors-with a very functional elevator (lift for my friends from across the channel). It’s famous for being the hometown of Gaudi, the well known builder of that horrible, beautiful architectural edifice in Barcelona, the Cathedral Familia, almost a wonder of the world, which has been under construction for over 100 years and now has an official completion date of 2026. Gaudi is everywhere from the Gaudi Hotel to a very large park with his signature style beautifying the already stunning landscape. He gained fame by breaking pretty porcelain things of value as usable items into little pieces and then reassembling them into bizarre works of funky but appealing art. Several benches and shelters done in his famous style adorn the park.
Traffic is terrible in the morning and evening but other than those hours things flow without incident. Buildings are more modern than in most European cities. One block from my apartment is the largest modern mall that I remember (the ski hill mall wasn’t there in Dubai), and I have visited numerous large cities in France and across Europe. It’s four stories of mostly glass and the stores aren’t Louis Vitton or Gucci, but they certainly aren’t WalMart. Contrasts abound. There is a convenience store three doors down beside a modern butcher shop. Just down a half block is a wonderful fruit stand. The fruit is grown locally; tastes great without looking like wax replicas. There is a Mercato that rivals Les Halles in Toulouse or Lyon; all kinds of weird foods can be found. Good seafood is plentiful.
About every half block is a small bar; most have ten euro three course lunches-yes things are much cheaper here. A few nights ago while waiting for the reason for my settling here to finish work at 9, I sat in an upscale bar in the seaside village of Salou (a short 15 minute hop from Reus) and enjoyed a glass of good wine and a beer for 3,90 euro. Today’s lunch was entrecote with fried sweet potatoes for ten. Most fruit is a euro and a half per kilo. I won’t mention fuel options.
The weather is warm and dry for the most part. It’s been around 75 every day (that’s near 23 in that strange way of measuring temps where it has to be below zero for water to freeze) and cool at night. It’s after 6 (waiting again) and I’m outside in a bar. My t-shirt and shorts are enough, but when the sun goes down sweatshirts are a welcome addition to the wardrobe.
I will return to Quillan no longer. Some of the scenery appeals to me no more and I have spent too much time looking backward. I prefer to be in France to be protected by the French carte de vitale, so I contacted a rental agency that offers long term rentals singling out seven options that I thought were all near the Spanish border. Only one of the options was available for the months I required. It was in Marseillan which I later found was nearer to Montpellier than Perpignan. I went to view the house and was so pleasantly surprised that Marseillan no longer seemed an inconvenient distance from the real reason for my being here. Fate arranged a meeting between two people of varied backgrounds with little in common on the surface but actually very much alike. Yes, we enlist the help of Google Translate, her father was a theater director and her mother an actress, her oldest son is a guitarist who has traveled the world playing professionally and she had three years of Medical school before deciding to channel her talents to the natural health side of healing. I am a jock turned author whose dream is to hit it big but with realistic understanding that there are few Dan Browns around. My best guess is that I will return to Reus when my time is up in June. After what I’ve experienced in the last year, I have a need for stability and I can think of no better way of establishing myself in new surroundings. I‘ve been involved in relationships lasting 20 and 35 years and both have eventually failed. I’m willing to try again.
To keep things in perspective a major league baseball player who hits one for three is a star. If I strike out at least I’m going down swinging.