La Rambla E-Book

Maria Reinecke

• Herausgeber: PalmArtPress
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Seitenzahl: 76

Beschreibung

Anna flies to Barcelona for a week alone and is immersed in the intoxicating power of the famous Rambla. An encounter with the young Catalan Louis Mustafa in the stunning city gives her more and more clarity about herself. In a fascinating way the author Maria Reinecke succeeds in allowing the reader to participate authentically in the intense experience of the protagonist. A thrilling reading experience!

Leseprobe

Maria Reinecke- La Rambla

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek

Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie;

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ISBN: 978-3-941524-20-0

ISBN: 978-3-941524-25-5 (eBook)

Originalausgabe- Deutsch: ISBN 978-3-941524-02-6

© 2012 PalmArtPress

Pfalzburgerstr. 69, 10719 Berlin

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Gesamtgestaltung: Catharine J. Nicely

Umschlag Foto: Charles J. Nicely

Übersetzung: Mollie Hosmer-Dillard

Maria Reinecke

La Rambla

Barcelona-Story

aus dem Deutschen vonMollie Hosmer-Dillard

1. Berlin - Barcelona via München

Tegel Airport, 8:15 a.m. Anna’s flight leaves at 9:10 a.m. Barcelona via Munich. Ronald is dropping her off. Anna wants to be alone. Brief hug. Short wave goodbye. Glance out at the cloudy runway. Melancholy settles in. What’s the point of this trip? Is she running from Ronald, from herself, from her whole complicated family situation; is it panic in the face of her impending fortieth and the question of what she intends to do with the rest of her life; is she hoping to find adventure in the Catalan city? She doesn’t know; she just wants to get away.

Row three, window seat. Buckle up. Chair upright. The seats next to Anna are still open; hopefully they’ll stay that way. A young woman with a baby, arms full of luggage comes towards her, sets her things down next to Anna. The tiny child is adorable, the girlish woman friendly, but Anna avoids the little one’s searching gaze, turns to the window; she doesn’t want to smile, doesn’t want to move her arms and legs over a single inch, doesn’t want to have to reassure anyone that she doesn’t mind whether or not the squirming bundle brushes her arm, doesn’t want to have to react at all, not here, not now.

The young mother stows her things on the other side and takes a seat next to a dapper man in his sixties who smiles politely. A bottle in the little one’s mouth promises silence.

The young woman has to get to her luggage once more, can’t open the overhead compartment, then can’t close it. The steward helps her. As this is happening, the baby’s bottle falls to the floor. A friendly passenger from the fourth row picks it up. The young mother nods thankfully and finally sits down.

- Young mothers have an obtrusive quality, Anna thinks irritably and is happy that her son is older and that she’s been able to leave this role behind for good. Although:

Anna had been ready to go this morning, was sitting on Jonas’s bed, wanted to hug him one more time, felt his hot forehead.

“You have a fever! Then I won’t go. I can just visit Barcelona some other time!” Anna had said with alarm.

“Mom, you’re going!” her son had hotly contested, briefly raising his head before burying it in the pillow again. Anna knew that it was no use talking about it. For the last several days, Jonas had been looking forward to a week alone, having the place to himself, eating pizza, watching TV for hours on end. Should she still go? She had sent Thomas a text message, he could take care of his son once in a while, and in an emergency she could count on Ronald. So Anna had drawn lots of little hearts on a note and laid it on the kitchen table along with money for the week: “Adios, Mom.” And had left with a heavy heart.

A break in the clouds, the sun a little closer, no breakfast on the short flight, not even a cracker. Munich. Connecting flight to Barcelona through Gate A15. The small Lufthansa plane to Barcelona seems ridiculous next to the giant ones around it; it only has 13 rows, the 13th is marked with 14. Superstition runs deep. A feminine voice from the cockpit:

“Mrs. ... and her crew welcome you on board!”

And to top it all off, a woman would be flying this tiny machine over the Alps and the sea! It seems that she will never get to see Barcelona. Doubt in female ability also runs deep.

But they carry on valiantly, the female pilot and her Canadair jet, through the strong turbulence and throughout the three course menu with red or white wine and champagne. Anna drinks water and tomato juice. Up here, somewhere between thunder and lightning, heaven and earth, the vision of what Barcelona might have to offer disappears completely and something like fear creeps over her, thinking of what she has set into motion.