My first year in Spain I was in Barcelona. I arrived on a Sunday in August, which as anyone who knows Spain knows, meant complete and total emptiness. It was hot and everything seemed closed. As I got to know the city day by day, the weeks went on and all of the sudden, summer was over. How did I know? The rain. It rained and rained and rained, my roommates told me "This is how summer begins and ends, rain."
Fast forward 7 years (holy cow!) and now I'm in Brooklyn, hours away from riding out my first hurricane (say what?!). Yup...it's true. Those nearest and dearest to me are here, with snacks and brownie mix and enough fluids to keep us hydrated until Monday at least. (Although José at the bodega downstairs swears they'll be open tomorrow. "Estaremos aqui, te juro." Ok José).
While in Spain over the summer, I learned a new word (let's be real, I learned more than one new word) that seems especially fitting for this weekend: riada, flood in English. I was staying in Valencia, a city that in 1957 was severely affected by a flood, there are still markers around the city showing how high the flood waters rose. The river flooded and the city decided to divert the river outside of the city center in order to avoid future devastation. The result? An amazing garden and park area. In Valencia I spent many an afternoon (well as many as I could reasonably fit into 2.5 weeks) enjoying the park.
While I'm not expecting much destruction or devastation here (it's better to be safe than sorry though, bravo Mr. Bloomberg) neither am I expecting anything amazing or beautiful to emerge from these rains. Well, perhaps this scarf that I'm working on will be fantastic. (Pictures to follow?)