My short lived career in a bookstore

I found myself in Madrid, where I'd be saying goodbye to Sujji. Madrid was utterly different from Lisbon; louder, more eccentric, more stressed out. Nevertheless, we decided to make the most of it.

The very first thing to do was, of course, breakfast. We were so hungry that we forgot to take pictures... but trust me when I say that fresh orange juice and churros dipped in hot chocolate, among other random things like patatas bravas and avocado toast, were heaven in that weather.

We ambled around, taking in the majestic beauty of the Palacio, the little squares, the gardens and catching the last of the sun's rays.

Ameerah guided us to small nooks and crannies, including the place to have churros and chocolate.

We over-indulged, and had to walk it off. So we headed to Desperate Literature - a very hipster, cozy bookstore tucked away on a narrow street. Desperate Literature was started by Charlotte and Terry, who worked at the famous Shakespeare and Company. Today, it acts as an oasis or caravanserai for the dreamers, poets, writers, readers, expats, travellers and locals in search for a good book, a cup of tea and a cocoon to retreat in... and a typewriter and a guitar to belt out the poetry of your thoughts on.

Charlotte was absolutely lovely, making us tea and ... saying 'yes' when I startled her with the question as to whether I could camp out there. I was about to make a childhood dream come true: sleeping in a bookstore.

Sujji and I feasted the end of our adventures together with a smorgasbord of titbits that we'd grabbed from the San Miguel market: paella verdure; huge chunks of creamy burrato on thinly sliced bread, sprinkled with almond and blueberry or caramelised onion and sun-dried tomatoes; spinach croquettes; olives and an unexpected find - pickled eggplants.

We toasted to our friendship and healing journeys with 40-year old port... in a coffee cup (they didn't have takeaway glasses so we had to use espresso cups).

After saying goodbye to Sujji, I headed towards DL. I needed to be there by 22.30 to help with the closing of the store for the night. I had plenty of time, so headed to the launderette (I was literally on my last pair of clean undies so the situation was dire) and had dinner at a vegan restaurant next to it. Proud of my timekeeping, I sauntered to the bookstore at 22hr... to find the shutters down.

Turns out my phone was still on Lisbon time. An hour behind. Thankfully the people in the store were understanding... but what a fail (so much for good first impressions....).

Seeing the bookstore from behind closed shutters was such a strange feeling. The little bookstore takes on a different, magical dimension - as if the authors and luminaries who composed all those beautiful, wrenching works, uplifting stanzas are whispering to you, putting ideas in your head and unlocking the words trapped in your heart.

I settled in with a hot water bottle and an air mattress, cocooned by the rows of books. It was surreal.

Waking up was an equally strange experience, as I helped out to catalogue the books, sort them out, open the shop, and do bits and bobs here. I daresay I wasn't very good at it; I'd drift in some reverie or start wondering which book I could buy. It was hard work and I admired the people who ran and worked the bookstore: their reverence and excitement for the books were not dulled by the amount of work they had to put in to make a livelihood off them.

Nevertheless, this was an incredible experience.