Tancat per Agost

Tancat per Agost

The end of August is bittersweet—school starts tomorrow for the kids, and the office building in which Alec and I will work opens. So it feels like the end of summer, even though the weather is still hot, and the sun sets late, making it difficult to go to bed early.

On the one hand, it has been fabulous to have an entire month of relatively unstructured family time—we have moved at our own pace, enjoying lazy mornings at home in our pajamas, and spending a lot of time wandering the city. We have recharged our batteries. On the other hand, at this point I think we could all benefit from some structure and routine. And let’s face it—there’s a limit to how much time four people can spend in their own little bubble, even when they love each other a lot. I think we are all craving contact with other people. It was obvious today at the kids’ school orientation for new families—we eagerly scattered and scoped out potential new friends.

One thing I will not miss is the whole “tancat per agost” business. This means “closed for August” in Catalan, and the streets are full of stores posting versions of the sign in the photo below. And even if a business is not open, it’s clear that not much gets done. For example, when Alec put down the deposit on our car, he asked when it would be ready and was told two weeks. So on Friday, when it had been two weeks, he called and asked when he could pick up the car. The answer? In two weeks. When he told the person on the line that it had already been two weeks since he had been told two weeks (are you with me?), he said: “Impossible—no one would have told you that. Nothing happens in August.”

This week our neighborhood began to transform, waking slowly from its August slumber. Every day when I go out, it seems that another business has opened, although a significant chunk of them take “August” seriously, opening only on the first of September, even though that seems sort of random since the first is a Wednesday. Still, it’s starting to seem more lively around here. We can now walk to a small grocer for fresh bread, staples and fruit, a pharmacy, and a salon for dogs!

At the orientation this morning I plunked down 20 euros for something called “the Barcelona Notebook.” The PTA ladies swore that it’s an invaluable resource for moving to Barcelona—it’s got listings and recommendations for everything from tapas bars to nail salons to doctor’s offices to fabric shops. I skimmed it hungrily on the way home, searching for places to buy Asian cooking supplies and kids’ shoes. After lunch and haircuts for Alec and the kids, C.C. and I took off to find a used English language bookstore we had found in the “notebook” and came home with a sack of books. It’s unclear when our boxes will arrive and, even though the iPad has come in super handy, the kids are antsy for some real books.