There is a distinct lack of a balcony stool as I sit with an iced coffee writing this. The idea was to find one at Rastro. For various reasons, I have not been searching in the past month and I refuse to pay €25 for the cheapest one available at IKEA Goya. It is arguably too late. 

Things, like the balcony stool that do not exist: 

• Part of my front tooth, after being chipped off in a club.
• Halloumi, or at least there is a scarcity in most supermarkets here. 
• My friend’s phone that was stolen. Well it does exist, just not in his possession. 
• Suede protector. Also in existence, just not in my possession. 
• A food shop that doesn’t include eggs, feta, chickpeas or bananas. 
• The rose head not connected to its stem. 
• The dating apps on my phone after realising that they were, in fact, just contributing to a diminution of self-esteem and meeting men that voted for Brexit. 
• The permanence of time. In which case, there does exist temperance. 
• The entirely fictional scenarios I make up in my head. 

Things, unlike the balcony stool that do exist: 

• The endless happy days in this city. 
• Vermouth.
• A genuine fear of horses. Having gone on a road trip with my housemates a few weekends ago, horse riding was one of these fun activities. For them, not so much for me. I got on the horse, the horse started moving, the instructor left me floundering, and within five minutes, I was on solid ground. Despite the high levels of embarrassment, the hour spent reading in the sun was redeeming. 
• Inflation. The price of a café con leche at the kiosk I go to most mornings has increased from €1,95 to €2,10. 
• The superfluous yet essential details I add to every story I recount.
• The stories you hear at book events, like this man who met his wife at a party after spilt red wine on the white carpet in a Kensington flat. Paul Mccartney was also there. The same man showed me his IMDB page. He was a worker in the film adaptation of 1984. 
• Fleeting encounters with strangers. These include the man from Venezuela who works at Distrito Burger, a smash burger restaurant I chose for my housemates and I, without realising they did not have a vegetarian option. The people I meet at salsa. The aforementioned people I have met at these book events. 
• Mango sorbet at TOTO. 
• Pride for my friends who ran a marathon in Madrid; the temperate Sunday evening that ensued was spent drinking vermouth and hopping from tapas bar to tapas bar. 
• The balcony itself, in which many a coffee, book, drunken conversation, diary entry, have been detailed. 
• Toledo cathedral. Despite the extortionate €10 entry to the church, I was greeted by an opera rehearsal. I have nothing more to add to this other than the price to get in was, of course, worth it. 
• Norwegian men. 
• A patchwork of localisations in which we try to create pockets of community in the city. 
• Having a Coke with You. My favourite Frank O’Hara poem, if not my favourite poem of all time. Listen to O’Hara reading it. 
• Conversations on a balcony, not my own, about poetry. Not the poem above. Conversations about the poem above.
• Summer plans, which start in New York and end somewhere in South America. 
• My plane ticket leaving Madrid. I am trying (and failing) to prolong this existence. 

I went to a book event at the bookshop my friend works at about this offline journal called Analog Sea. Only sold in independent bookshops, through word of mouth and physical events, the editor discussed this need for an offline presence in the digital age. So a community found this journal only offline, which is wonderful and slightly pretentious. Now I fall under this group that knows about it. Except I am sharing this with you all online, so this slightly defeats the point of what the editor was trying to say. But then you need both. Once a physical book has been bought, it leaves the capitalist system, the editor spoke. You have control over who reads the book if it is shared, kept, or passed on. There is no Amazon telling you what book you ought to buy next, no algorithm for a recommendation. The books become their own economy (my aside). This is something that equally exists and doesn’t exist because I’m not sure one can stop the existence of capitalism as a result of a paperback. Although it is a nice idea. I have been passing Leaving The Atocha Station around my friendship group. We all seem to relate to it in a different way. I am yet to feel like I have left the capitalist system through this exercise. 

The cultural digest: 

• I am currently listening to Nothing Matters on repeat, thanks to my Spotify discover weekly. 
• One of the best films I’ve watched this year: Certified Copy. Set against the background of the Tuscan countryside, an English writer has just published the book of the film’s title. He claims that a copy is just as valuable as the original in order to understand the work. In the audience of his talk, a French woman with a highly impatient son is soon forced to leave the room. James comes to her antique shop to pick her up, and they spend the day touring the city. There is an absence of plot and reality, and as a viewer, we are left to question what is real and what is a copy. 
• The Sorolla Museum dedicated to Joaquin Sorolla, the painter of Mediterranean light. Go, if only for the garden.
• Sala Equis. To watch a film, but more to try the Patatas Bravas.
• Joana Biarnés, a fashion photographer, has an exhibition of her work at Sala Canal till mid-July. 
• Mision café for the best chai latte in Madrid. 
• Sala de Despiece is a culinary experience. It’s also one of those curated places where your eyes eat more than your stomach, and you’re slightly still hungry after. 
• The film One Fine Morning. Having seen it in the cinema, with Spanish subtitles, I feel like I have reached a peak in the year abroad.
• Casa Macareno. Some of the best tapas I’ve had in Madrid.
• Analog Sea Journal, if you can find it. 

I walk to work past the palace and weave through the crowds of tourists just before 10am. I walk back from work through a string of people dressed as large animals. A Koala is saying Hola. The daily routine. My friends came and left. I took the metro once because it was raining. It has been raining a lot recently. But there is sun in my heart and a few more vermouths still to be had. 

eleanor xx