WATCHING THE RAIN IN GALICIA

06/10/12 UA3542 depart CMH 6:40 a.m. arrive ORD 7:06 a.m. UA477 depart ORD 9:26 a.m. arrive PDX 11:41 a.m.

09/10/12 depart portland greyhound station 12:05 p.m. arrive grants pass 5:20 p.m. old ford pickup to fort freedomland (via the kerby mart) via the oregon redwood highway (number 199).

13/10/12 depart grants pass greyhound station 9:00 a.m. arrive portland 2:20 p.m.

17/10/12 DELTA9100 depart PDX 11:30 a.m. arrive LAX 1:52 p.m. culver city bus to santa monica/sunset blvd metro rapid to silver lake.

20/10/12 red line metro to union station flyaway bus to DELTA4678 depart LAX 1:59 p.m. arrive SFO 3:20 p.m. to BART to civic center.

22/10/12 DELTA9051 depart SFO 8:35 p.m. arrive PDX 10:13 p.m. (two hour delay)...rose city taxi to terwilliger and taylors ferry.

24/10/12 amtrak cascades depart portland union station 12:45 p.m. arrive seattle king street station 4:30 p.m king county bus 255 to kirkland transit center.

25/10/12 king county 245 to 255 to amtrak bus depart seattle king street station 10:45 a.m. arrive vancouver pacific central 2:15 p.m.

28/10/12 amtrak bus depart vancouver pacific central 9:00 a.m. arrive seattle king street station 12:45 p.m. amtrak cascades depart seattle king street station 2:20 p.m. arrive portland union station 5:50 p.m.

29/10/12 UA321 depart PDX 12:19 p.m. arrive IAH 6:15 p.m. UA4341 depart IAH 7:20 p.m. arrive CMH 10:54 p.m. (no delay despite the efforts of the edge of superstorm sandy).

and on october twenty-sixth, after at least three prior visits, i finally succeeded in being talked to by a staff member at solder and sons at main and cordova on vancouver's downtown east side. nonetheless, having already eschewed a book purchase that day, i considered it unfair to consider buying the copy of granta number 10 that was on the fiction shelves of the small store. travel writing. and "in this issue," just as it had started coming down outside, márquez's essay "watching the rain in galicia." but because of more immediate commitments, i only gave myself a moment to smile at the thought of shedding a tear at the title.

on the thirty-first (which was as early as was possible for me), under the sway of the urgent tone of that article in the next morning's article globe and mail, i voted. way to go ohio. or, i guess, we'll see. then i went to the library. i had a book overdue. but the main branch also had a copy of a book that included that essay.

"i don't know where the shame of being a tourist comes from," márquez writes. ...and i don't know how i feel about that statement. but it was better, perhaps, that i hadn't read the essay in that issue of granta, because even more than the author's observations on the galician rain -- and on the wind, "that sows the lunatic seed which makes so many galicians delightfully different" -- i appreciated the poem by lorca that this other collection had included as an inset on one of the pages. "it rains in santiago, my sweet love. white camellia of the air, shadowy shines the sun/it rains in santiago in the dark night. grasses of silver and of sleep cover the empty moon/see the rain in the street, lament of stone and crystal. see in the vanishing wind shadow and ash of your sea/shadow and ash of your sea, santiago, far from the sun. water of ancient morning trembles in my heart." and in those words by the poet from the vega of granada, my own (unknown) far away lament for the delightful galician lunatic i had met in andalusia. and then for everyone i had met there. and then for everyone i had more recently left. my morriña for all of the places i was already missing, and that which was even deeper, maybe, for all the ones that i hadn't yet been able to see.     

 

...CONTINUED

my train was late in arriving at king street station, and i wanted a coffee. i'd been late arriving at union station in portland myself and hadn't had time to get back to courier like i'd planned. the beginnings of a sore throat had helped me excuse sleeping in. because, anyway, i had already repacked. when, however, my train arrived late at king street station, i did want that coffee. the zeitgeist! and a (new?) roaster by that name just down the street. and then didn't force me to wait for a pour over. still, with the train delay and the detour i took to walk my coffee around the vicinity of pioneer square, i didn't board my bus until five. i should have gone directly to the transit mall from the platform, but i made my excuses to myself again and imposed. the good lady was waiting for me across the lake.

it wasn't until almost half past six that i dropped my bag in her hall. i'd imposed again after getting off the bus and asked to be excused to the restroom at the public library near the parking garage. hail mara, ever so full of grace. and after my bag was down she let me take the time to change, too, even though our canceled then remade reservation was for almost just then. but it would have taken even more time to cook. plus, we'd already re-excused ourselves the indulgence of the restaurant in the car, and as soon as she was home she was on the phone getting us back our table. time was short, but we wanted to enjoy each other within the limits of it that we had, so we didn't rush. i hadn't yet seen the house and took another extra moment after changing to take in the living room while she attended some work that had been kept waiting while i'd made her wait. above the birthday couch in the living room there's a photograph of me. i'm kissing her husband.

at dinner, i didn't join her in a prosecco apertif. the beginnings of a sore throat, i told her. but maybe i could get her sick, and then she could keep up with the escape by calling in the next week. and say (she said) that i think i caught something while i was having dinner with the man who wasn't my husband? so when our server came back before serving us our dessert to ask if we were celebrating any special occasion (she'd recognized my date but hadn't been able to locate her customer history), i made sure make my meaning clear in my response: she was married to another man. a smile from the greener grass on the other side of the table. so maybe we could have a candle or something to celebrate her husband. her husband who was doing a stint abroad.

between the prosecco and dessert there was food. i liked it. it was very likely very very good. the gay date in the corner looked to be of the sort that only went to restaurants with food like that. but what i liked better was that it lasted. the courses, which i could still enumerate but will say that i can't, whichever they all were, the fact of the food just helped us take our time, which was short, but which we were able to savor by drawing out dinner. with dessert we had coffee, like we'd used to. but this time we had decaf, because even though time was short we needed some of it to sleep. and at that point i lapsed for a moment and remembered that night at nopa. after dinner i'd had coffee, but he had opted for tea. my sore throat hadn't been beginning yet, so we'd both had a drink. it would have been nicer to have been less distracted over that meal, but i didn't let that thought distract me for long. she wouldn't have minded me sharing my thoughts, but i'd been in the middle of trying to share a different story. it's a good story, but sometimes it's nice not to have to live it alone. so we savored our decaf over some dumb shit that was just our wanting to savor our decaf. maybe we were quiet, but i think that we talked. talked quietly, maybe. (that's some dumb shit.) but we did whatever we did and drew it out until it was time -- not yet out of time -- for her to take me with her home. the night i spent, i'll tell the story, with the most beautiful woman in seattle. and in the morning, i woke up early, packed, picked up, and just missed the bus i should have taken if i wanted to get coffee before getting back to the station.