7. 'Skin and Bones' (Part IV): Embassy and Farewell Party

The next day an early train took me back to Madrid. Upon my arrival at Atocha I made my way to 75 on Calle Serrano, where a long line was already waiting to get into the embassy. They told me the backpack I was carrying would have to stay outside, since they only allowed you in with your phone, wallet and keys. Faced with this new challenge my mind was like a CPU running at full throttle, and yet every option led me to the same question: where and with whom to entrust a rucksack without any risk of losing it, right in the heart of Madrid and without knowing a single soul. So I decided to try my luck with the newsstand man across the street, but the kindly clerk replied ever so politely that for the modest price of five euros he would keep watch over it there. -I'd sooner spend that on a photo booth than give my dough away like that-, was the first thing I thought. And yes, the man probably had a point, but I didn't feel like being one more brick in his crafty little business. I had to lovingly tend to my battered finances after the pile of euros I had already sunk into the program, plus all that was still to come. Here I once again remembered the Cartesian Deus deceptor, that evil little genie who swaps and alters everything.

They told me the backpack I was carrying would have to stay outside, since they only allowed you in with your phone, wallet and keys. 

I kept walking up the street, crossed a road, and at the second café I found on my right I decided to ask again. I studied the body language of a waitress serving a table and she seemed pleasant enough to give it a shot. She agreed in the most cordial way, and my joy was double and sublime, more for pulling off what was already becoming quite the challenge than for the achievement itself. After giving thanks for what to me meant not having to go back to the newsstand man, I hurried to join the long line of people waiting there to apply for a visa.

The various security forces of the Spanish and American states were guarding the entrance and surroundings of the embassy, which made it clear that around there you had better behave. In groups of five we made our way into the complex, but not before they confiscated the few belongings we had left, like wallet, phone and keys. I went in with only the necessary paperwork. Once inside, they told me the ID photo I had brought was too big for the visa format and therefore no good. -Deus deceptor, quit playing your tricks!- I muttered silently, and thank goodness that before my brain could suffer another meltdown, they told me that just a few meters away I would find two modern photo booths. Can anyone guess what I spent the five euros I had saved from the newsstand man on? That's right, it wasn't hard! With that joy I immortalized the four photos in the booth. After rejoining the line of people I made my way to another, even bigger room where they were placing us, by order of arrival, into smaller lines toward one of the armored counters there. Some young ladies took our documents and checked them to make sure everything was in order. My papers were, one less worry, so next I moved on to a second counter where another young woman asked me a few brief questions in English: -What is your purpose for flying to the United States?-. I handed her my passport and she told me I would receive it at home in about nine days along with the new American visa. I left the compound happier than a stretched-out figure eight and with a huge weight off my shoulders. I headed to the café, but not before thanking the waitresses for guarding my belongings by treating myself to a delicious veggie burger there. Those minutes had the flavor of having successfully completed the American embassy formality, and now much calmer, I caught the bus back to the airport with time to spare. Menorca and the final paperwork awaited me.

-Deus deceptor, quit playing your tricks!- I thought. Luckily, before I could have another conniption, someone had already thought of it and installed two modern photo booths right there.

The month of July was already delivering plenty, and it would deliver even more with the arrival on the island of a great surprise: a visit from my dear father. He came to lend me a hand and wrap up preparations armed only with his knack for DIY, his pleasant company and his witty humor. A lover of Menorca, of boat rides and of any other excursion, he holds a master's degree in the art of inventions, in graceful dancing, in wisecracks and even in song. I tell him he's like the Spanish MacGyver, because the artist even fixed the electronic board of my air conditioner.

he holds a master's degree in the art of inventions, in graceful dancing, in wisecracks and even in song.

It so happened that around those days my friends Kike, Queijo, Paulo and Andrea organized a farewell dinner for me at the epicurean restaurant S’Arravalo in Es Castell, where its refined touch in the kitchen, its varied menu of local products and its even better service made the banquet an unforgettable evening I plan to repeat when the island calls me back.

Chef's suggestions at the restaurant S’Arravalo in Es Castell.    With my father in full party mode with the Pèl De Gall.

The sublime part of that night was that the town was deep in its festivities, so as we left the restaurant the roar of a merry crowd singing along to a rock concert suddenly invited us to keep the revelry and celebration going. So we headed down to Cala Corb, with its jetty, its stage and, to top it all off, the throng of people dancing and drinking to the beat of a song. It was the Pèl De Gall, and just laying eyes on them was already a sure bet for quality and fun. What musicians, what a band, unstoppable the rhythm they instilled in the crowd. Even my father, and the guy isn't much of a rocker nor does he understand ‘menorquí‘, broke into a dance right there all by himself, guided by the high vibrations of the show: he looked like the ‘dandy‘ of the festival. I couldn't help but film him, because I surely wouldn't find another one like it. What was only meant to be a dinner among friends ended in style with pomadas (gin and lemonade), beers, the group scattered about, and us finally in the safety of a car heading home to rest.

Performance by Pèl De Gall on July 21, 2023, at Cala Corb (Es Castell / Menorca).

One of the next steps was to buy the plane tickets, both for Cincinnati and the one that would first drop me off in Granada to say goodbye to family and friends. However, it still wasn't wise to buy the flight to the United States until the visa arrived. But the postal service was efficient and the missive arrived in time, so that by July 23 I had already bought the Barcelona to Cincinnati ticket, dated for August 5 with a layover in Chicago, and for only 1,070 euros. At that stage of the game it was never going to come cheap. Even so, for the height of summer it was a good price, perhaps because I bought it with the return locked in, though forfeited, for the month of October. A one-way ticket alone cost something far more outrageous.

Everything was once again a constant drain of energy and money that in the long run I would recover, yes, but for the time being the wins were coming only in dribs and drabs. I calculated that between buying a secondhand car (about $6,000), plus its insurance ($600 / 6 months), paying the rent on the new home plus its deposit ($1,200 + $1,200), the first month's living expenses (about $800), plus some extra spending, it would be wise to set foot on American soil with a minimum of $10,000 in cash, exactly the maximum allowed to enter the country. I would surely fall short, I figured, so after that I would have to keep leaning on the credit card. Though I'll talk about that in another post, because in the end I didn't even leave with half of it.

it would be wise to set foot on American soil with a minimum of $10,000 in cash, exactly the maximum allowed to enter the country.

I still didn't know where I would live, what car I would buy, or how I would exchange so many dollars. It was all unknowns that only the passing days would clear up. So I decided to follow the natural course of things, stick to the maxim of ‘go with the flow‘ and keep rowing the drakkar.

A key date I had to sear into my memory was August 8, the day the training curs, or prep course, began at the American school; mandatory for all the school's staff. I called it ‘A-Day’, since the real ‘D-Day’ was set for August 22, with the start of classes and the landing of the young hordes. That day I would come to know firsthand the true reality that awaited me.

And so, at the end of July I left the island to fly to my almost-native Granada, where there was hardly enough time for so many friendships anchored in the past; and yet, all I wanted was to get to Kentucky and finally start the game.

In the end it was the eagerness over the unease, the delirium of leaving over the sanity of staying, that ended up convincing me to set off. Nothing weighed me down and almost nothing held me back. Even my dog Pelusa had been gone for over a year already. So it was ‘now or never‘, the moment to break out of the comfort zone and start everything from scratch. With no house or car, no family or friends, no music studio or band (the Holy Crackers), and without Pelusa or the sporadic visits of the cat Pillastrón, I was off to the United States. Everything was left on standby. I set out with nothing but the J1 visa and a work contract under my arm. A new phase was beginning: reinventing myself all over again.

A new phase was beginning: reinventing myself all over again.

My dog Pelusa.

The cat Pillastrón, a visiting cat. Recording in the studio.

– ‘In the Air’: from Menorca to Cincinnati Next Saturday, December 23, 2023 (the only chapter left in this series).