In the taxi from the airport, the changeover began in her eyes, the willows of Amsterdam replaced by the tall palm trees of Barcelona. Two cities always wet, always humid, but the humidity in Barcelona had a sparkle, like glaze breaking up, like Mediterranean mezzotint all day.
Vivi was in such an agreeable fog, feeling a comfort and familiarity in her return to Barcelona and the precincts of her beloved Catalonia, that she hardly paid attention when Alexi gave the taxista directions. Mountain on the left, sea on the right, Montjuïc, mar, the road curving at the port, then the straightaway down the palm parade to the little plaza of the neighbourhood. For the first time, she exited the taxi with a man who wasn’t her husband.
Exiting, she realized, at the Pla de Palau. Her normal destin
