A Basque in Boise

Two glasses of wine

It’s 2:30 pm and I’m already feeling the effects of the two glasses of wine I had with my sister. It’s 2:30 pm on a Thursday afternoon in July, a work day like any other, another week or so before the streets of Bilbao start missing all the people on vacation in Malaga, Barcelona, or wherever it is they vacation in August. Soon I will be gone too, back to my life in Boise, which feels so far away even though I left only three weeks ago. I have a full schedule before Monday morning, which I plan to enjoy to the best of my abilities, even though I’m a mess inside. I should be used to it by now, it’s the same fucking thing every year. Or maybe that’s why it gets worse as I get older, because I know what comes after being home every summer, multiplied now by the sadness my kids feel when they leave Ortuella, my parents, their izeko and their friends.

Andoni spent two weeks this month going to soccer camp a few hours a day. He cried non-stop for an hour when the time came to say bye to his buddies. I don’t even want to think about next week.

I’ll take the train back to Ortuella today after having lunch with a couple of girl friends in Bilbao. I can already tell you I will cry my way home, just like I did yesterday and the day before. I like looking out the window and taking in the ugly scenery along the rail road tracks, which for some reason appeals to me. Mostly old buildings plastered with colorful graffiti, which I can’t understand but give some life to the sad-looking walls, miraculously still standing after years and years of neglect. If it weren’t for the bright red flowers highlighting balconies here and there, I’d never imagine there was life inside the apartments. I think how I’ll probably die without being inside any of them. So close, so right there. But I’ve been to places in New York and Nashville.

Shit, time to meet for lunch in Casco Viejo.

Thanks for passing by: ↓

Lynn Bradescu Steven Roosevelt Mark Bieter Aitzol Azurtza Nere

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