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Day 30

Lost

—the Museum of Contemporary Art in Ibiza is somewhat shocking if you’re not expecting it. Ascending to the battlements—and, eventually, the cathedral—the road is tight and the cobblestone is rough on the feet—and surprisingly slippery—and at first confined by an old archway. A blind curve reveals MUSEU in large type.

I couldn’t find the door.1 The directional arrows were confusing and I ended up above where I should have been—as the older part of Ibiza City rests on basically a giant hill leading to a cathedral, my intended destination, everything goes up. The sun was direct and forceful and I didn’t have the patience to keep looking.2 I continued on to the battlements, and then up to the cathedral.

After spending more time looking for shade than at the views I returned to the museum. It’s free, which is as a surprise as finding it was, and I put my headphones in as I enter the first room. Halfway through I notice the young woman who was acting as security is staring at me in the pose that translates to any language as I’m sorry I don’t mean to interrupt but I have to.

My camera and bag are both slung over my left shoulder and she points in the general direction of where they meet at my side. She motions toward my chest and so I swing my camera in front of me, to which her expression tells me was not what she’s asking for. I put the lens cap on, that wasn’t it either. Eventually—and for whatever reason—I figure out it’s my bag that is the problem, after she tugs at the strap and motions on her body Bring it around the front.

I’ve never had this experience, where I’m not allowed to hold my bag a certain way. It’s heavy enough to that being anywhere that isn’t at its usual space is awkward at best and straining on a neck I’ve recently injured.

I spend the remainder of the visit—most of it—awkwardly hobbling through galleries, out of sorts and unable to concentrate on the works (that, otherwise, were pretty impressive).

Most of today was in this vein; perhaps not a trauma built to complain about, but enough small things going wrong or forcing me outside of the rather wide berth I keep for a comfort zone while traveling and, I don’t know. Some days are better than others. This wasn’t one of the good ones.3 These things happen. There will be more.

      Notes
  • Not that it would have mattered, as the museum would have been closed for mid-day break by the time I arrived
  • I also have a personal rule where I don’t turn around or go back a way I’ve been, under any circumstance, unless matters are drastic. Like, short of forgetting my passport en route to a train station, I’ll keep going and accept the consequences of whatever my stupidity has created.
  • As far as I can tell Ibiza is a beautiful place with enough charm to avoid its stereotypes of party culture—though I did have to deal with some insufferable Brits there for just that reason—but some days the universe has it out for you and doesn’t give a shit if it’s your one vacation day.

01:00 / 16 May 2019
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Nightfall

Palma by night

… considering Desire, its place in human nature and growth. Defining it seems as necessary as it does impossible. Without it, love falters as much as ambition. What are these concepts without desire? are they even possible?

—is desire the magnetic north of life as a journey? or is it simply the compass, giving direction that can be adopted or abandoned just as easily?

11:00 / 10 May 2019
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