I took that train to Madrid, and kept right on goin'. I have now arrived in an alternate universe: a place inhabited by lots of very polite, smiling, well-groomed and suntanned people, fear, loathing, opinions, nasty food, and at least one hypo-allergenic dog. I do not belong here, but I'm enjoying myself.
A big prize to the person who can guess where I am! (No fair guessing if you already know.)
Cryptic can be really annoying, but very soon it will all become clear to you, dear readers. (I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten to blog. And remote as this place may be from the Real World, they DO have internet access.)
I sometimes have a scary feeling that there is no "home" for me in this world, that I don't belong anywhere. But then I read things like this, gleaned from "Wandering Woman's" profound blog:
José Gasset y Ortega, from "Revolt of the Masses":
And this is the simple truth—that to live is to feel oneself lost. He who
accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground.
Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look around for something to which
to cling, and that tragic, ruthless glance, absolutely sincere, because it is a
questioning of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of
his life. These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All
the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce. He who does not really feel himself lost
is lost without remission; that is to say, he never finds himself, never comes
up against his own reality.