Well. Five days later. Told you entries would be spotty.
The friend who's been staying here, Y., is someone I've known online for several years (part of a community that used to be highly active in mighty entertaining ways). A runner, serious enough to have taken part in numerous marathons. A couple of years back, during his third Berlin marathon, I floated the idea of coming to Madrid for the annual 26.2 mile self-torture-fest, offering use of the guest room here at casa runswithscissors. He seemed to like the sound of it, we went back and forth without coming to anything firm, left it as an idea for some future time.
Within these months since the turn of the year the idea came up again, this time gaining momentum, gradually becoming an actual event skidding toward us, becoming more real with each passing week. Until we finally began talking details. The Madrid Marathon is run on a Sunday, I assumed that would mean having a houseguest for a long weekend. A few weeks back, I received a note from Y. saying he'd booked his flights, he'd be here for a week. Anyone in the room with me when I read that would have heard an audible gulp. This is a small place, guest arrangements work well for three or four days. After that it becomes more of a challenge.
I suggested Y. stay here for four nights then spend the rest at a residencia or pensión, an idea he was open to. I began the search for alternative accommodations, striking out all the way around, until I asked my next-door neighbor, Esperanza -- a woman who runs a residencia for students -- if she might have a bed available for that night, for a friend somewhat older than her normal clientele. She apparently has room for four guests, three of the beds were booked by a group of three young French women, leaving one available. At wildly reasonable rates. I took it, let Y. know everything was set, joy abounded.
Last Thursday night: an hour before I headed out to the airport to greet Y. and drag him back here, my doorbell rang. I opened it to find Esperanza, informing me that the group of three French students had somehow become four French students. Meaning no room at the next-door inn for Y.
So I've had a houseguest for most of this last week. Which has been surprisingly fine. The 3-D version of Y has turned out to be a genuinely good guy -- smart, with a good sense of humor. A bit shy at times, a bit quiet, with a trace of underlying steel that surfaces at certain fleeting moments.
Y., wandering around Madrid, shaved head and all:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 6:04 AM [+]