Ah, that sound is magic…it’s pouring rain outside. It’s the first time we’ve had any serious rain since I arrived in Barcelona almost a month ago. The entire region (Catalunya) is suffering from a drought, the reservoirs are very low, and we are always reminded to conserve water. It’s really something that’s on people’s minds here; I’d say that, compared to Canada, there’s more consciousness in the general population of (water) conservation.

The city of Barcelona “proper” (not including those garden-waterers in outlying areas of the metropolitan region) has low water consumption per capita (for a major Western city): apparently around 110 litres per person. Catalunya’s average, on the other hand, is 272 litres per person, more in line with much of North America, I believe. (Yes, I know calculating a true water footprint is more complicated, due to indirect water usage such as the water needed to produce goods, fuel, etc. Indirectly, we consume thousands of virtual litres per day.)

Of course, this year’s Expo in Zaragoza (June 14 to September 14) is focused on the theme of “Water and Sustainable Development.” Very timely…but how hypocritical will it be if they go ahead and build the mega-casino complex in the dry steppe landscape of Aragón, not far from the expo site?

In Montreal, there aren’t even water meters in peoples’ homes, so household water usage is “free” (infrastructure costs are included in the property taxes). You don’t receive a regular utility bill, so you have no personal cost associated with your consumption of water. People run their showers for a half-hour, water their lawns without conscience, run the tap for ages while washing dishes. I used to be one of these people.

As for me, luckily my Spanish “tutor” has trained me, years ago, to shower in three phases: wet-lather-rinse. The middle phase (water turned off) can be as long and luxurious as you like! (ha ha) You’re not as likely to get cold here during that phase; nevertheless, I showered that way in Canada for the past couple of years without any grief… (Someone told me in the U.S. it’s referred to as a Navy shower.)

Every weekend, we’ve been going to art exhibitions. Not big ones at the major galleries, but smaller ones (that also tend to be free, perfect for us “cheapies”). Last Saturday we went to see one at Casa Amatller, called Dones d’aigua (”Water Women”), which featured water-related photos of women and girls in Africa, alongside short essays about the problems caused by the extreme amount of time they spend fetching water each day. Imagine spending between five and twelve hours, daily, on the basic necessity of getting water — not to mention carrying 20 or 30 kilogram jugs all the way back home! And with all your time spent on this necessity, there is no time for school, fun or anything else.

It was a sobering reminder — even in Catalunya, a drought isn’t really a drought, and we’re hardly suffering from it. You turn on the tap and water comes out. It may smell funny sometimes (the Brita filter takes care of that), but you can drink it without getting sick. And if there were a real water shortage, we could always just drink wine…

Last night, after 17 days in Barcelona, I dreamed of fútbol. Sure, I’m aware of the extreme passion people here feel for their (our) team, Barça — which includes meeting them with hate-filled protests at the airport and cursing them through the fence as they practice after another disappointing loss. But I, myself, am no sports fanatic. If I were to have any sporting thoughts right now, they’d likely be about my Montreal Canadiens, as they head into the playoffs after wrapping up their season triumphantly.

Yet, there I was, on the soccer (er, football) pitch. Argentina versus Brazil. It was never clear which side I was on (hidden meaning?), but I was with my Argentine friend from elementary school, so one might venture a guess. We weren’t doing well out there, and I in particular wasn’t very effective — but what would you expect? I’m no pro (besides, I don’t have the right hair to be a soccer star). What on earth was that coach thinking, putting me in?

So far this may sound like an anxiety dream, but I don’t think it was: I was really enjoying myself. It was exhilarating to run up- and down-field with all these soccer greats (even if we couldn’t seem to put the ball in the net). And everyone, on both teams, was very supportive of me. (Hmm, I should have realized I was dreaming, because it’s not like that would ever happen…least of all between those two nations!) Anyhow, what’s the message I’m supposed to take into my waking life from this? Perhaps: the ball is in my court…so what am I going to do with it? (Or perhaps, as a friend of mine would say, it was just random neurons firing.)

Question: is fútbol so much “in the air” here that you can’t help it seeping into your skin (and dreams), even if you try not to pay attention? More likely, the dream stemmed from a minor incident in real life: a kid’s ball bounced toward me the other day, and I actually managed to stop it in mid-air with my foot. While I didn’t subsequently “bend it” like anybody in particular, I did direct it back toward him in a reasonably competent way. He politely said gracias, then went back to the serious business of blasting it off the concrete wall, to the delight of all the gran gent out for a quiet “sit” in the park.

In other news: my crate of worldly possessions has finally left Canada (a week late). Actually, looking at the information from the shipping company, I was disappointed to see that it seems to have actually departed from Halifax (must have gone on a truck from Montreal; sigh). I had romantic notions of a port-city-to-port-city delivery. At any rate (or, more precisely, at an average rate of 19 knots against a strong headwind and 6m waves), it is now on voyage 14 of the ZIM Haifa, in the mid-Atlantic (track its position here!).