Blackout in Barca and the conference begins- September 9, 2004

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After a whirlwind morning filled with more introductions, work, and breakfast, I situated myself by the pool. The heat of the sun beat down on me today, with no cool relief from the Mediterranean breeze. I hoped I wasn't getting further burnt under the cover of my 30SPF sunblock and worked on reading my book. Reading really transports me to whatever locale the novel is set in, but I would periodically be drawn back into the luxury of my own exotic Barcelona.

I cooled off a few times by swimming laps in the pool, much to the schoolboy delight of the three English businessmen sitting at the far end of the pool, one of whom I believe nonchalantly snapped my picture with his digital camera. I grew tired of their giggles and climbed back out, only to find three chatty, tattoo-covered Americans had taken up residence in the beds next to mine. I quickly determined that they are from a rock band, though it was unclear which one. Their ring leader, a guy with scruffy blond hair and a back ravaged by acne scars, was wearing a Ramones tee shirt when they arrived, but I hardly think they would advertise themselves that way. I kept eavesdropping to see if I could figure out who they were, but to no avail - I only know that they recently arrived from Germany, so it seems they are on tour.

And, right now we're having a little hiccup of excitement - I've got no power. It appears that it's not only me, with the hall lights dimmed as if back up generators have kicked in, but I can't be sure. I only hope no one is stuck in the elevators, and I am endlessly grateful that my room is only on the eighth floor. Part of me hopes it isn't just my room - otherwise I am sitting here with no power and I need to let someone know. Yet part of me also hopes it isn't building-wide. It strikes me as being symptomatic of a terrorist attack - honestly, Barcelona is not nearly as secure as New York, and the Hotel Arts would be a perfect target.

However, as I peek my head into the hallway and listen at the elevator shafts for movement, there is none. The power must be out.

Once I realized the power was out at the hotel, I walked down the eight flights of stairs to the lobby to put in a little "face time" with the delegates and companions. I can't even remember who I met that afternoon since it was such a whirlwind. The power eventually came back on, and the hotel staff circulated to let us know we could take the elevators upstairs and at the moment, the power failed again. There was a collective groan from the crowd as those who had moved towards the elevators returned to their seats. After a few minutes, the power came up again, and again the hotel staff circulated to let us know it was safe to take the elevators. One of the companions wanted to know if they really meant it this time, because the last time they said it was safe, we lost power again. They assured her it was safe, they had called the power company and the power would not go out again. That made all of us feel relatively confident, until we stood to head upstairs and the power went out yet again. This time, we just laughed at the situation and took our seats again, vowing not to believe the hotel in the future. So when the power came on again, and a member of the hotel staff passed us, the same companion grabbed him to say that we wouldn't believe that it was safe to take the elevators, and the staff members told us that now they weren't letting anyone take them. We were comfortable in the lounge though, where you could order drinks and sit in the soft brown couches that almost swallowed you when you leaned into them. Or you could take your espresso and sit in a tan leather chair, sipping the dark liquid and laughing over what your companion said. It was all very chic and expensive, overlooking a small veranda with tables and the beans from which cascaded a waterfall. Unbelievable.

Finally though, the power was on and the hotel staff promised us that it was safe, going so far as to accompany us in the elevator. I bid my companions goodbye on the eighth floor, and they requested that I look for them later to ensure that they survived the elevator trip. I quickly showered and changed in my room and headed down into the garden for the welcome reception. I felt elegant in pressed black suit pants and heels, matched with a rich maroon silk top that had a side bow on the neck. I picked my way along the large stones that were separated by an inch of grass and joined a couple of the delegates who had already arrived. Then, others began to filter in and over the course of the next several hours, I made my way around to most of them. It was fascinating to meet everyone, and I was happy to continue the evening by heading to dinner with some of the group.

We headed to Posit, where we had a very interesting meal. I laughed as one of the delegates pointed out that our waiter reminded him of Manuel, from Fawlty Towers, and he and my dad proceeded to refer to him that way for the remainder of the meal. Wine was ordered for the table, which took so long to arrive we wondered aloud if they were pressing the grapes themselves. But even though the service was slow, the conversation at dinner was wonderful. We had managed to get ourselves into the popular group, so I was regaled with stories of previous meetings and visits. One of the delegates was intensely animated, with his eyes growing large as he gestured with his hands, his accent getting thicker as he would enthusiastically tell a story. His animation was both enthralling and humorous. I was enchanted by the whole table - three quiet lawyers. chattering away in a form of German, another lawyer's off the wall stories and jokes - all of it was fantastic, and I was disappointed when our three hour dinner came to an end. My dad and I headed to our rooms, while the others went on to the hotel bar, because the next morning would dawn early and there was much to be done.

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