Day 4 · The fifth horseman of the apocalypse

Dear Diary:

Vicent is always saying that, instead of toenails, I’ve got cockles. Maybe that physical connection to fishing is what led me to visit the Cabañal, Valencia’s sailor’s quarter. Although the only fisherman legacy that remains are the prawn’s heads people throw in the ground. I enjoyed the Cabañal very much because it’s a bit like me -a beautiful, dreaming soul with a broken facade and snot on its walls. Damn sinusitis!

We’ve also been to the House of Vicente Blasco Ibáñez, a very important Valencian writer nobody knows at all. I left my mark there, and for once it wasn’t a torrent of urine. But the joy doesn’t last for this Bostonian, because what I thought was an homage ended up to be an attack to world heritage. Life gives you back what you give to it, like my friend the horse breeding facilitator used to say, so I got attacked too, by a brick. But since it was a modernist brick, I was OK with it.

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