As well as a change of job, I had also changed my dwellings for my last two weeks of Valencian summer. Not once but twice. I had told all the staff at the hostel that I was leaving but staying in the city for a couple of weeks. Alex, one of the Aussie activity guys said he had a spare room in his house that I could have till the end of the week. It was just around the corner of the hostel, right next to the Torres de Quart; one of the two remaining 14th century city gates. Serrans Gate is the touristy one, restored to full spender, it sits in an open area next to the park at the end of one of the old towns busiest streets. Torres de Quart is the battle scarred gate, inconspicuously looming at the end of a quiet road covered in cannon ball holes and blows left by the Napoleonic Wars. Apartments in most major cities which live in quiet, central streets next to major monuments are normally very expensive. In Spain that isn’t the case. You can have a cheap, central flat on a pretty road for ten times less than in England. I’m not exaggerating.
The flat I stayed in the following week was Marcella’s. A Colombian Canadian who I had met through the German friend I’d met at a Couch Surfing event. Marcella was a jovial, wholehearted person volunteering at a nursing home. She had once tried to teach me how to dance to Latin music; I was a slow learner. There wasn’t any drama in Marcella’s flat in the modern North of the city. Well not until the very last moment anyway. I had a sofa-bed in the entrance parlor that would have been very uncomfortable had I not been tired at the end of each day.
Alex’s was quite different. I’m not sure what happened to Atlas. I know that she had been seeing a Spanish guy in Madrid and had continued to reiterate that we should talk less, but two days into me living at Alex’s flat she decided to visit. I asked if it was cool for her to stay and he brushed it aside, “of course”. I was staying in a free room he had; Atlas arrived, she was very happy and very prurient. We court up in my spare room before leaving the house for a drink. We quickly returned though as, well, when in company. I had a message on my phone from Alex when we got back. He was asking me to move our things into the room next door as the landlord might arrive to show the room to someone. He said that the room was free. I took that as the room was available to use as I had the last but when we moved our things in, it seemed very much occupied. I sent a text to confirm its availability and he replied, simply: “Sure”. Given Atlas’ unexpected, welcome visit we dived into the room. It was a hot sticky summers day. In midst of things there was the noise of someone entering through the front door, the sound of a suitcase. I leapt off the bed and blocked the door just as someone tried to push it open.
“Hello?” a female voice asked confused.
Me and Atlas looked to each other fearfully.
“Just a minute.”
We had taken the precaution of removing the sheets from the bed. We quickly returned them over the sweaty mattress, threw on our clothes, took a deep breath and hid our smiles the best we could. The girl, quite confused, sat awkwardly in the kitchen. She took it well enough. She didn’t seem happy about it but who would? We quickly left her to enter her room, smells of us surely lingering unpleasantly. I slept my last two nights on the sofa in the front room.