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the foreign daughter
past the Episcopal Museum
and then along Carrer de la
Ramada to La Rambla, before
heading up Carrer Morgades,
first past the Post Office and
local magistrates’ court, then
the municipal market till I
reached Jacint Verdaguer.
But I decided I wanted to
enjoy the narrow old streets
in the old part of town and I
wandered for a while smelling
its antique odour that’s been
mine for so many years. That’s
precisely why I loathe that
smell. I’ve made it mine, I’ve
so assimilated it that it has
become part of myself, but
these are impassive streets
altogether indifferent to my
presence, to our presence that
is so recent. For a moment I
almost turned right towards
Plaça Don Miquel de Clariana
and took a look at the Bojons
Palace which, till not very long
ago, was home to the library
that was my haven for hours
on end. However, I wasn’t
thrilled by the idea of seeing
its closed doors and headed
to Corretgers. I stopped in
front of the Convent of the
Congregation of the Blessed
Sacrament, the Sisters of
Perpetual Adoration, who
have always intrigued me
and still seem an unknown
quantity. Well, not really
always, initially I had no idea
what a convent or a nun was,
let alone an enclosed nun.
What could a frizzy-haired
young girl from the dusty
North African countryside
know about such an exotic
reality? For years the building
meant nothing to me, was
just another of the city’s old
buildings, stone upon stone
that resisted the passing years.
All I knew about inside was
the angel bread a mysterious
hand gave you from behind