I have never been a huge admirer of Hemingway until I was introduced to “The Sun Also Rises”. I always thought that the problem with mainstreaming Hemingway had much to do with the heavy masterpieces being shoved down the throats of 15 year olds around the world struggling to deal with the epic of death in “The Old Man and the Sea”. While this is nothing in comparison with the Polish literature shoved down the throats of Polish teenagers where titles speak for themselves as in “The next one to the gas chamber please” or “Ashes and Diamonds”, I take Hemingway as my guide to Spain. Ernest has been clear on defining the rules for the expat writers: live in the artsy quarter of a European city, write in a cafè, talk to other artists, drink lots. While not having been able to follow Hemingway’s rules since moving to San Casciano Val di Pesa, a small town 30 minutes outside of Florence, no amount of world’s most excellent wine has taken away all the ache for a proper writing cafè or enoteca. Not surprisingly hence, each time over the past year when I tried to write my expat blog again it has always been inside the premises of the Enoteca/wine bar on Via Urbana 49 in Rome. Not because they got WIFI or because Angela has many times handed over the keys to Lynda’s apartment or guarded my little bag left over while I run to my meetings at the UN. No, it is because the dimly lit interiors smelling of wine corks, cheese and garlic have always given me the inspiration. Via Urbana was home away from home back home in Rome to home on my way to my spirtitual home. It was Rome.
Now I am off to Seville. Heart of Andalucia which is to Spain what Tuscany is to Italy. Just the idea of going, moving, traveling makes me write again. Throughout last year I was going back to the cities, Rome and Rio de Janeiro, never a tourist, always at home while not living there anymore or yet. Seville will be different. Seville will make me write about Florence.
“Eat the garlic”, Mike said, “you must eat the garlic!” (paraphrased from “Sun Also Rises”). Somebody ones said that garlic is to cooking what insanity is to art. I say, going to Seville to polish my Spanish is to me what cafè’s have been to Hemingway.
I am back.
