La Playa – La Última Vez 

We slept in and it was wonderful.  Today was the perfect day of relaxation to remember the trip by.  We packed in the morning to save a lot of hassle and chaos, and made our way to Nova Icaria for one last fun yet relaxing day at the beach.  While there, I made some conclusions:  1) I think the majority of the beach’s nudists are over sixty. 2) There is no reason whatsoever for a woman over sixty to take off her top unless she is showering in the privacy of her bathroom. And 3) Speedos will never be cool.  Especially not on old men with their old topless wives.  I guess it’s just a fact of life that I’ll never fully understand.

 

When we got home we washed the sand off and got ready for dinner – but not before we got caught up in the game.  Watching Federer and Roddick duke it out in the Wimbledon Men’s Final was probably the single most intense workout I’ve done this month.  We were very lucky not to have received a complaint about the noise, because by the time the match’s final set went into its twenty-ninth game (a set can be over in six and usually never exceeds thirteen at maximum), we were screaming and jumping and kicking the table when it took a turn for the worse and Federer finally won.  There went Sampras’ title.  But Federer is hard to dislike, so we were able to enjoy one last dish of Paella and gelato without a second thought of the game, and I don’t think I will lose much sleep tonight.  Speaking of sleep, I need to get some of that.  Our taxi arrives at 7:30 AM sharp to pick us up, and how awful would that be to miss our flight home because we overslept?  I will write one last entry when I get home; something interesting might happen on the plane.

 

Thanks to all who took time out of their busy lives to read my blog – I hope you learned a little about Spain in the process.  Me voy a dormir - ¡Adios!

Independencia Americana

Today was a very eventful day, but I can’t go into much detail at 2 o’clock in the morning!  This morning we woke up later than expected, which was devastating because we have unfortunately saved much of Barcelona’s sightseeing for our last weekend here.  Of the many things we planned, the only success was souvenir shopping.  We had planned on going back to the beach as well, followed by a cable car tour of the city to see it for our last time from the aerial perspective.   With a bit of changes in our plan, we ended up having a night of surprises.

 

While souvenir shopping on La Rambla, Mother and I enjoyed paella, gelato, the warm sun, and some Wimbledon Women’s Tennis finals in a smoky Irish pub.  Amazingly enough, after visiting every store and artists on La Rambla, its surrounding streets and its back allies, we managed to purchase small presents for almost every loved one we have ever known (the hardest part of souvenir shopping is deciding who to narrow the gift receivers down to).  I even met the real Edward Scissorhands! And as a note to all who read this: If traveling to the beautiful and diverting Barcelona, do not eat/drink at American:soda.  Think of overpriced times ten and you get American:soda.

 

When we got home that evening, we did all of our Internet research on Barclona’s Montjuïc funicular and cable car; we had planned on seeing the city from a new perspective that night, but we were not so lucky.  We took the funicular all the way up, only to realize that we missed the last cable car by eleven minutes.  “You can still take that bus up to the castle,” the guard with whom we were not very happy with suggested.  We wanted to ride the cable cars! But the bus would have to do.  We made it to the castle and it was beautiful. However by the time we got there it was already sunset, as our bus had to ride up and down the mountain three times to avoid some traffic jam.  At least the sunset was beautiful!  We took pictures outside the walls of the thirteenth-century fortress, and we captured the essence of the ships ad sea, the moon and sun, the group of drunk guys laughing and dangling one friend from the top of the castle – what a beauty the night turned out to be!  When we had taken pictures to our hearts’ content, we walked up to enter the magnificent stone stronghold.  Except the old man at the entrada slammed the door in our face and told us it had closed at 9:00 PM.  I looked at the time on my phone, confused.  It was 8:56.  Just our luck. 

 

Despite our poor timing and unfortunate run-ins with grumpy guards, it was a very memorable experience and although we couldn’t get inside the castle, I think we enjoyed it even more than the drunk men who did.

 

On our way back home, we stopped at Plaça Catalunya so I could meet and say goodbye to my friends one last time – they were throwing a Fourth of July party at Caroline and Natalie’s apartment and they wanted the American to be there.  I called Clara to ask for her address, and after she told me she said, “Would you like me to come get you?” 

“Nah,” I replied.  “I know my way from here.

“Ok, if you’re sure.  You’d better get here quick because I made nachos and guacamole just for you! Oh and Morgan,” she added. 

“Yeah?”

“Watch your bod,” she almost laughed

 

Less than three minutes later I found out what she meant.  Originally, I was going to visit my friends alone while my mother dearest chilled in La Rambla.  Bad plan.  I don’t know who was more worried – Mom about letting me leave or me about leaving her there.  (But seriously – bringing my mom to a party!) La Rambla by day is overpopulated by tourists and street venders and performers.  La Rambla by night is the place for locals and street venders/performers of a different kind.  Don’t accept any alcohol or illegal drug substance from the men, don’t even look at the women in heels and short dresses because they don’t care if you’re a guy or a girl – and keep your purse in front of you.  When we had almost decided to call it a night and go home, I got a call on my phone from Edmund, Clara’s German friend from the movie last night. “Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“This is Edmund, from the cinema.”  He spoke in Spanish

“Oh, hey.  Hey I’m kind of in the middle of trying to find out where I am, could I call you back?”

“Yeah, I know.  Where are you?  I know you told Clara you could make it here on your own but I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Oh… thank you,” I replied hesitantly, deciding what to do with Mom.

“Oh there you are, Morgan!” Great.  Too late. 

 

I explained to my mom in a matter of four seconds that she would be coming to a Fourth of July party tonight, knowing that if Edmund was willing to leave a party to make sure somebody he hardly knew didn’t walk alone, he wasn’t going to leave my mom in the street. 

 

Strangely enough, it all worked out and it turned out to be very fun!  We were extremely happy to have a male walking with us down the dark allies to Caroline’s apartment.  My mom really liked him as well as the rest of my friends, and they really liked her! Although we said we could only stay for a while they insisted that we had a drink and try their attempts at American food (they had made macaroni salad, nachos and guacamole – even corn on the cob) and they were waiting for the American approval.  By the end of the night, I met more really nice people that weren’t from school, and my mom liked my friends so much that she invited them to come live with us if they ever came to Texas.  This worked out perfectly because Caroline had already wanted to come to Texas and Clara was planning on going to the Grand Canyon and would love to visit Texas afterwards.  I exchanged facebooks/email addresses with new friends, hugged and kissed the old ones goodbye, and we were on our way again, and without Edmund this time (despite his attempts to protect us womenfolk once more, we couldn’t take him away from the party again).  We half sprinted home and made eye contact with no one until we were safely on our street again.  It is very late now, and we have finally made it to bed.  Tomorrow is our last full day and we must get some rest now.  ¡Hasta mañana!

 

The Birds de Alfred Hitchcock 

It is 2:30 AM and I’ve just gotten home; please accept my apologies for any typos. 

 

Today was my last day at school.  It turned out to be a little more sentimental than I expected.  Each of the students in both of my classes waited after class to hug/kiss me goodbye, wish me good luck in my travels and studies, and of course – exchange facebook names and emails.  It took a month for me to realize that I needed to start taking pictures of things other than monuments and historical sights.  I brought my camera and we had a great time with that, as we hardly got any schoolwork done.  Luckily, professor Romero walked by at the right moment, and I quickly grabbed his attention to take a quick class photo of Jordi’s class.  The more I think about it, I’m really going to miss them, and at least a picture will help me have something to remember them by.  In conversation class with Romero, I said goodbye to the two German girls that were fun to be around (and listen to when they spoke English), although I hadn’t gotten to know them all that well.  Andreas would be in my next class, along with Johanna (Zahap and Rafael were not present), but since I was leaving early and so was Andreas, and Johanna didn’t want to stay by herself, we all played hooky a bit early and went to the café next-door in celebration of our one-month accomplishment.  Before I made my way home, I stopped by the reception and picked up my “Certificate of Completion”, and I was out the door. When I got home, Mommy and I watched Andy Rodick beat Andy Murray (much to England’s dismay) and after much jumping and screaming and general commotion, decided that this Wimbledon final is going to be the best America has seen in a while – with three Americans out of four players in the finals (men’s and women’s), I think the demographics will show a lot more than just tennis fans tuning in to the Tennis Channel this weekend.

 

At 8:30 I arrived at Plaza España, where I had planned to meet Clara and Caroline earlier today.  You see, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a big-screen movie is projected onto the side of the castle that sits atop the mountain called Montjuïc, and tonight’s showing was to be Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.  Along with the beautiful Canadian, Caroline, was her sister, Maddie (who is fluent in not only French, like Caroline, but Japanese as well!) The half-Asian sisters are constantly stopped by people who demand to know their ethnicity.  There were about five other friends of theirs with them, all girls from Maddie’s class that I wasn’t that familiar with.  Along with Clara were two hulking German guys, Edmund and Lukas, who are staying in the same residence as Clara, and apparently have served nicely as bodyguards and tour guides since Clara first arrived.  They were very polite, as well as trilingual and very knowledgeable in various subjects. The whole way up to the top of the small mountain was a lesson in Law and Economics from Edmund and lessons in Medicine and the works of Alfred Hitchcock from Lukas.  How wonderful!  They found me “interesting” (and I decided to take that as a compliment because I wasn’t sure what to make of it), and they admired my desire to study abroad while in high school – The U.SA. can thank me later for going around the world making a good name for our people.

 

When we reached the top as the movie was starting, we spread out our picnic blanket (yes, we had a picnic!) in the field and laid out our various dishes of bocadillas, Spanish ham, cherries, melon, grapes, Pringles, wine for the other women, and pineapple juice for us young folk.  Although everyone but I was old enough to drink, they were considerate of my being in their company and purchased an alternative drink, which I thought was very thoughtful.  It was one of those nights that you only see in movies, and I couldn’t believe that today was he start of my last weekend in Barcelona.  We laughed until I worked out my abs enough to burn all the calories of that Spanish ham, and I am almost certain that I won’t ever look at swooping birds the same again.  One of the most amusing sights I’ve seen so far in Barcelona had to be tonight when we got up to fold our blankets, and the macho, six-five Edmund jumped higher than the moon when a bird dove in to have a look at our crumbs. That made the hassle of getting up and down a mountain very worth it.  We all said our “one-last goodbye’s” and Clara, Edmund, Lukas, and I headed a towards to Green Metro Line and headed home.  I got off at the Diagonal, where my wonderful mommy was waiting up for me to make sure I made it home safely.  It is very late now; in fact, now that I have showered and gotten ready for bed, it is past 4 o’clock!  Thank goodness its Viernes!

La Ciudad Vieja 

I felt a bad case of something similar to “Senioritis” today.  I woke up at the usual 7:30 AM, remembered that I had already passed me test, then rolled over and went back to sleep.  I missed first period.  I tried to act casual as I half-sprinted my way to school, hoping that I wouldn’t be so late as to miss part of second period.  I reached the café next to my school when Caroline, Clara, and a new Swedish woman who’s name I forget, walked out to greet me. “How was playing hooky?” Caroline joked, as we walked up the staircase of the school and I pretended like I’d simply been with them on break, on time like everyone else.  Class was great, my appreciation for it and my teachers growing as I realized I only had one more day there.  I said my goodbyes to Amir and Farva, since tomorrow they will be absent in order to pick up Amir’s parents from the airport.  After school, Mommy and I watched Wimbledon as Serena Williams beat some girl in a close match (one of the best I’ve ever seen her play).  She will play her sister, Venus, in the finals – I’m so excited!

 

So after that, Mom and I attempted to go souvenir shopping for friends and family, but that hardly worked out on account of us getting lost again, but this time in a slightly scarier part of town.  However, the scarier part of Barcelona is the equal to nicer parts of most cities, and I kind of liked its bohemian style, graffiti art, and doggy/kitty doors carved out of store windows.  But closing in upon a slightly more eerie street, we encountered what I would call the strangest store (if one could call it a store) that I have ever seen:  its sign read “Atelier de la Muerte Negra” – Catalán for “The Factory of the Black Death”.  In the window there was another sign that also read in Catalán, “Hi, we are not in the public face.  We do not sell.  We do not buy.  We do not want anything and we do not want to be bothered. We are not a bar. [More Catalán I couldn’t understand]  We wish you a good day.  Kindly, The Death.”  I might be wrong, but I think that’s irony. Apparently one was not meant to see into the workshop, due to the iron-barred fence and the red curtain drawn in the window with nothing on display but a Skeleton and with a sign that said “KEEP OUT”.  Behind the curtain, barely seen and sitting the dark, was a more realistic skeleton peeking through the crack.  What creep ran this freak show, I wondered.  I was taking pictures of the cow skull nailed to the top of the store front, right next to the Jesus crucifix, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a jerk of motion in the window; two security cameras were pointed at me with red blinking lights going off – time to split!

 

We made it out alive before the Zombie Police came after us. We were exhausted from our efforts of navigation, so we stopped at a market to purchase some peaches and people-watched on the street as we savored them.  We stopped in an old-looking Catholic church, not fully realizing tat it was a church when we walked in (we came in through a mysterious side door), and just sat and reflected in the pews for a while, admiring it’s simple beauty.  On Sunday, we will return.  Afterwards, after walking about the city for two hours, we realized that we had landed ourselves right on the corner of our street, two minutes away from our apartment; we had walked in a giant circle…

 

When the time came for dinner, we decided that we would give one Thai restaurant one last chance before we gave up on it for the remainder of the trip.  You see, we really miss spicy food, and we have been trying to get Thai food since the first week of our arrival, but we can never seem to get there when it’s open.  Like every restaurant in BCN (the locals’ own nickname for their city), this one has very strange hours.  It opens at 8 AM every day and closes at 7 PM.  Only on Thursdays and Fridays do they stay open for dinner, but only after closing at 7 for an hour, and reopening at 8!  So we get there 45 minutes early, excited that it was to open soon, and despite our aching feet, we walk around the block until it opens.  It’s 8 o’clock and its metal gate is still down.  Thirty minutes pass before it opens (we were obviously desperate for Thai food) and at last, we are able to sit down and enjoy Pad Thai, Fried Rice, and the most sinful chocolate lava cake I have ever laid eyes (and taste buds) on.  How satisfying!  Our stomachs full, we headed back home, where we met a sweet American couple standing in the front entrance, wondering how to get to Plaça Revolución, located somewhere within our own neighborhood.  One would think that, being here a month, we would know where that is.  Nope.  We are some directionally challenged Americans, my mom and I, but we gave it our genuine efforts and rushed upstairs to research the plaza’s location online to help out our fellow Americans.

 

As for now, I must head off to bed.  Tomorrow is my last day of school, and I don’t want to miss half of it for sleeping in!

 

Muchos Descuentos! 

Well today was The Test.  I destroyed it, I think, so no worries there.  The only stumbling block was when the “Hablar” portion of the test came up, when Jordi decided that he wanted to ask me about genealogical studies. Well that’s odd.  I could have sworn that he was going to ask me what I did this past weekend.  Este fin de semana, fui a la playa… I had my rehearsed answers ready in my head.  But wait – going to the beach wasn’t going to suffice.  This was a little discouraging considering that I don’t know how to say anything about genealogy in Spanish, but nevertheless, I managed to pass with flying colors in the end.

 

Today was the day that all of the girls (and some guys), locals or tourists, have been looking forward too.  In between test sections today, Carlonine, Farrah, Clara, and I took every chance we got to exchange locations of our favorite stores; today was the beginning of Sale Week.  Yes, Sale Week, when you can get an 85-Euro dress for 9 Euros (precisely what I did today), and when there are lines of fifty people or more waiting outside Gucci, Chanel, Valentino, and various other designer brand stores that practically “give their merchandise away”.  Obviously, we could hardly wait to get out of school.  Today proved very productive for me personally.  Not only did I pass The Test, but I also got €210 worth of close for €49!  I love Sale Week! And all we get in the States is Tax-Free Weekend.

Alemania

I really feel the Spanish starting to click.  They [the experts] say that it takes a month before one starts to benefit from immersion to the point of speaking fluently.  It’s a shame that after three weeks, my time is almost up.  Today we spent time reviewing for “El Examen”.  That’s right, the Big Test is tomorrow and I don’t think anyone is looking forward to that.  I have actually made it a point to get in bed before midnight tonight, so that my mind can give its best performance tomorrow morning!  Preparation/review can pretty much sum up today, except for during conversation class; two new German girls joined our class, making that three Germans and an American. When the topic of “America” was suggested by Gabriel, the two girls looked at eachother and rolled their eyes in a “we would have to talk about America” manner.  With a quick recovery, I suggested that, since the American was outnumbered three-to-one, it might be better to discuss Germany, Alemania, Deutschland – or whatever you want to call it.  Nice save, Morgan.  I think the girls appreciated this very much and we talked about the common misconceptions of Germans.  For example: they don’t eat sauerkraut.  I know, I was devastated. We talked about their favorite cities and how the North is completely different than the South.  We talked about their nice cars and their brands of beer (I wasn’t very knowledgeable in this topic) and how they fabricate their some fifty common brands of yogurt.  Now who knew Germans liked yogurt so much! 

After school my mommy and I made pizza and did some shopping – and it was real shopping this time, not just window-browsing.  Shopping was followed by dinner, which was followed by some brief studying that probably shouldn’t have been so brief.  But as for now I need to get some sleep.  Buenas Noches.

 

Nada, cont.

Well it was a typical Monday, except that we started preparing for the exam today.  Apparently it's a 3.5-hour test with a 30-minute break in the middle.  Not looking forward to it.  But the good news is my teacher said I would pass with flying colors.  Caroline from Canada came back from Stockholm today (she's been gone for a week), and I was glad to have her back as my conversation partner.  The topic of the day ended up being Megan Fox because of the two of us, and we held somewhat of a "Dr. Phil Show" in class while the class gave us their recommendations in Spanish on how to deal with the fact that our boyfriends, along with every guy on the planet, would just always like Megan Fox and there was nothing we could do about it.  How disheartening! On a positive note, I was not alone in conversation class - the German who had joined the afternoon class the previous week was in there with me today, and since our teacher wasn't in the room for about fifteen minutes, we exchanged each other's brief biographies. 

It was a good thing that we had an early dinner/late lunch, because I fell asleep as soon as we got home and couldn't be woken up until now.  It's half past midnight.  Whoops!

¡Nada! 

Events of today:

1) Slept in until 3

2) Ran around the neighborhood

3) Watched Brazil win… great

 

 

Tarragona 

This morning I got up and ran for the first time since I’ve been here, and let me tell you – it is not an easy thing to do on the sidewalks of Paseo de Grácia, smushed with too many tourists and locals alike.  But, I managed, and I made a friend along the way.  I was tired and sat down on the steps of a bookstore to rest when a woman in her late fifties and her dog, with the face of my dog, walked by.  The dog tried to eat my headphones and they walked on by me.  I must have looked depressed or lonely or something of the sort because the woman came back to talk to me.  We talked for about twenty minutes completely in Spanish. I know, I impressed myself, too.  She was by far the friendliest woman I’ve met since I’ve arrived.  She told me she loved Americans and loved life in the States.  She had lived in Los Angeles for eight years or eight months (I can’t remember), but either way she fell in love.  It just so happens that L.A. is my favorite city, too, and we immediately bonded.  She said she moved back to the Cataluña (where, according to her, the people love Americans!) with her family.  I asked her if she had kids.  She had none.   I gestured to the dog, Linda, and she agreed: Linda was her baby.  She picked her up and plopped her puppy over her shoulder to demonstrate for me how they danced when her boyfriend wasn’t at home.  She had been divorced, and when I asked her if they had plans to get married, she just laughed and told me she liked me and my enthusiasm.  And she liked me for thinking she was young enough to get married again.  I never knew there was an age limit on marriage but apparently there is some understood rule.  She made me feel loads better about the mentality of the people here; now don’t get me wrong – I love this city!  But I think, due to the language barrier, it is difficult to encounter people that I can relate to.  But today I found one.  Her boyfriend passed by with loot from a grocery store excursion, and he put it all down to enthusiastically shake my hand (my hand because I am American) and without more than two words he scurried away.  “He’s shy,” the woman giggled.  I cheek-kissed the woman and her dog tongue-kissed me, and we went our own ways.

 

Today we went to Tarragona, an ancient city of ruins from the Roman Empire that are still being excavated today.  My mom took the Metro to the train station, which we had difficulty finding.  Fortunately, we ran into Bernhard on his way to the train, which he would take to the airport.  He was our guide, and to return the favor we offered to help him with his luggage, but he refused.  When we reached the staircases, however, we could tell that he regretted that refusal, so we took his bags anyway.  How fortunate that we ran into each other!  We bought our tickets and made it in the train only to find that the train system worked similarly to the Metro system: you stand up if there aren’t enough seats.  So we stood up for an hour on a moving train and made it to our destination of Tarragona.  What a beautiful town it was!  The water was clear, the air was warm, and the sky was bluer than the regular sky-blue.  There were not many people and too many cats.  (But I don’t mind –I like cats.) We saw a Roman amphitheater and a museum filled with way too many artifacts things to write about.  At first, we thought that the first floor was the entire museum and we were slightly disappointed.  Then we realized there were four floors.  We learned a lot today.  As the Spanish tell the account, Tarragona was one of the stops on the Apostle Paul’s missionary journey.  Could we have walked today where Paul walked almost two thousand years ago?

 

As a result of the heat, we let the appeal of the water get to us and made our way to the beach, where we saw around ten women over sixty-five dressed in flamenco outfits.  It was a good thing I decided to wear a swimsuit underneath my clothes this morning, just in case.  When we were ready to return, we were fortunate enough to get on a train with plenty of seats, so we could enjoy sitting down without feeling the guilt of watching others stand up.  You never appreciate just sitting until you have to stand in an isle of a train for over an hour.

 

Well we are home now, but I am writing this in the dark due to our building’s power outage. I will post this when we regain power and Internet.  ¡Hasta mañana!

Las Bodas, Trivial Persuit, y el Hard Rock Café 

(This was supposed to be up yesterday)

 

School was great today.  I showed everyone how brilliant American students really are.  You see, yesterday my class had discussed stereotypes of other countries from their own (the ones of Americans are too sad to repeat), and today they admitted that they had been proven wrong. We played trivial pursuit in Spanish and I was the only one who knew what the third most read book in the world was (after the Bible and Koran), which director made the first 3-D movie ever, the chemical symbol of gold elements, and the bonus round question of “What is the difference between a heart attack and cardiac arrest?” 

 

Enough boasting.  After school, mom and I had a snack and took the Metro down to Jaume I in search of the Archive Museum, and of course, it was closed.  The restaurant/store hours in this city are unbelievably unpredictable and terribly inconvenient.  Once we finally found our way, we got a little lost, but we had a good time exploring a new part of town.  It was a quaint and quiet part, less tourist-filled than most.  We encountered numerous brides along with their elaborate weddings in one large plaza that we came across.  There is a very popular church in the plaza apparently, because about every 30 minutes, one bride would roll out in her Rolls Royce and another would swoop right in.  How strange.  We saw a nasty and graphic special effects museum, which was impressive but nauseating.  After, We walked into the cutest store where we finally found some authentic souvenirs to bring home instead of the typical magnets that say BCN on them.  It seemed so inviting from the outside, but as soon as I picked up some painted castanets to test them out, the storekeeper got mad at me and took them away to set them back in their box.  Didn’t buy anything there! 

 

After our exploration voyage to the other part of town, mom went shopping and I met Bernhard and Amir and Sabi at Hard Rock Café, as it was Bernhard’s last night in town before he left to work in Hong Kong for six months.  We had a great time, and about halfway through our meal, “I Want You Back” by the Jackson 5 came over the restaurant, and I’d say about 95% of the restaurant stopped what they were doing to pay tribute to Michael Jackson by butchering one of his most famous songs in an off-key manner.  We were a part of that 95%.  But only M.J. can sing that song and I think he would have appreciated our efforts.  When we said our goodbyes, I finally mastered the European double cheek-kiss, and we departed our separate ways.  I met up with my mom and we did some window-shopping before hitting the sack.  Estoy muy cansada.  ¡Buenas Noches!

Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett

Rest In Peace.

La Playa

(This was meant to be up yesterday.  The site was down.)

I figured out why consuming so much milk is a strange notion to Spaniards.  Today on the Metro, a baby was crying, and his mother refilled his bottle with Coke!  No wonder the baby was grumpy!

 

Well we hung out at the beach all day! It was fabulous! Minus the nudity and the old women in bikinis/old men in speedos. But other that that, it was perfect – it was windy but warm, the water was chilly and refreshing, and the sand was white and clean!  Quite the change when one’s beach is Galveston, Texas.  I ran down to Barceloneta Beach about a mile and a half down the street and took a look at some tennis courts (in case we want to play this week) and an oddly shaped building that looked like a bird’s wing.  Later, I was in the water when these two little sisters of nine and twelve came up to talk to me.  It was pretty cute, but I didn’t speak their language (I can’t remember what they called it), and they didn’t speak mine.  One spoke a little bit of Spanish, and we were able to use that to communicate – I love using Spanish in everyday life!  But when their uncle and dad came over to talk to them, and the little girl came back and told me that their uncle loved me (I don’t think she knew how to say “he likes you”, and she translated “te ama”), I decided I’d had enough of the water for one day and we went to go have lunch.

 

We had Mexican food for lunch! That’s right, Mexican as in the Mexico right next to my Texas!  I felt a sudden wave of nostalgia as I dug into my rice and beans, and I missed home for the first time in two and a half weeks. But then I remembered what the couple from Florida had told me yesterday and then I forgot about being homesick and thought about how darn lucky I am to be in Spain right now.

 

Well I have school tomorrow, so adios for now. 

Fiesta de San Juan 

(This was meant to be up two days ago.  The site was down.)

 

We talked a little about San Juan (Sant Joan in Catalán) today in class, along with the observation that Americans drink a lot of milk.  I never realized it, but apparently we are “obsessed with milk and yogurt”.  And apparently we consume our dairy products in containers far too large for our own good – and I remembered myself in the market down the street from my apartment begging my mom to buy two bottles of milk because they ran out too quickly and I hated having to buy milk every day.  Interesting note by the Europeans! A new girl in our afternoon class from Maine, who looked much younger than me but was actually graduated from college already, was not pleased with the friendly jokes, and it was very uncomfortable sitting next to her and hearing her mumble angrily under her breath. But class is not all about picking on Americans; we pick on every nationality.  Germans are too tall, have beer bellies and an ugly language; the French are rude; every sentence containing the word “Russians” also contains “vodka”.  Yeah, class is productive. 

 

Back to the real subject of the day: Día de San Juan Fiesta! The bombs began early in the morning.  Well actually they were firecrackers with the sound intensity of bombs.  Our group of adults and two teenagers was like a class of schoolchildren, waiting to get out for Christmas Break.  We will not have school tomorrow, so we were all anxious to get outside.  My mom and I had a great time at Nova Icaria Beach, where we met some really nice Americans from Florida.  It was nice to hear some familiar voices for a change.  When I told them what I was doing in Barcelona and how long we were staying for, they said something that really put things into perspective for me.  “Do you know how lucky you are to be here?  We would have never dreamed of coming here when we were your age,” they laughed.  “We had to wait until we were in our fifties before we were financially able to make a trip like this!”  And are only here for two weeks.

 

 

As it grew dark after dinner (during which we had the perfect seat overlooking the marina), the kids started bringing out the fuegos artificiales (fireworks), and the party began.  The beach was filling with the goers of the annual Fiesta de San Juan, a huge beach gathering that people come out-of-town for to experience.  During the fiesta, the people stay out until six in the morning, and everything is closed the next day.  Everything.  My mom and I made it until about 12:30 and then we started to get tired.  (We can hardly handle waiting to eat at 8:30!)  On our way back down the beach, mom got shot with a piece of explosive from about a hundred feet away, and it hurt.  Then I got shot with a piece of explosive from about three feet away, and it hurt a lot more.  In fact, a nice bruise formed within 30 seconds from the forceful impact.  As we made our way to the Metro, everybody else was making their way to the beach.  As mom put it, we were “salmon swimming upstream”.  And oh boy, were we fighting the current.  When we finally made it up from the underground station in our neighborhood, we were stopped by three or four American girls.  “Eengles?” one asked in a poor accent.  We looked at them. “Umm, dónde está el beach –?”  “We speak English,” I said, trying not to show how happy I was that some poor Americans had mistaken us for locals. “Oh, yay!  Is the beach this way?”  We instructed them to take the Metro because it was about a thirty-minute walk, and that they were going in the wrong direction.  They thanked us and we sleepily made our way back home… or at least we thought we did.  Turns out we started walking the wrong way when we got out of the Metro, and we had told those girls to go the wrong way, too.  We were actually walking towards the beach… Whoops!  We hurried back to our apartment so that we didn’t pass them again when they figured out that they weren’t seeing any palm trees.  I still feel terrible – I keep telling myself that they figured it out immediately so I don’t lose sleep over it.  It’s no use though, because I won’t get much sleep due to the bombs and fireworks going on outside the window.   ¡Buenas noches!

More on La Fiesta de San Juan up tomorrow!

Fillet Mignon

Yep, there were new kids on the block today, as it is Monday and Monday typically brings newcomers.  Patrick (the Irish kid), moved into the morning class, where he realized that he couldn’t sleep through class anymore like he did when Marta taught; Pilar, the first period teacher, is one tough cookie – and she does not stand for incorrect answers, let alone snoozing in class.  During conversation class, Reto was absent, leaving Gabriel, Denise (the quiet German girl), and me to ponder and discuss why we thought American clothes sizes were so large and why Gabriel had to shop in children’s stores whenever he visited New York.  Well that one’s a no-brainer, but I let them have their laughs and American fat jokes.  The afternoon class brought four new students, one of which from the United States!  But he was a bald car engineer from Massachusetts who looked to be in early to mid-forties.  Not much there to relate too, but I still took comfort in knowing there were other “Stupid Americans” there who could only speak one language: the universal language of English. Steve the car engineer is only staying for a week, though, and doesn’t seem to understand a lick of Spanish, so I am at a loss as to why he is in Aula 2 instead of the beginner class, but whatever floats his boat, I guess. Two other Americans enrolled in the school today, as was rumored today – perhaps I might make their acquaintances tomorrow. 

 

This evening my mother and I relaxed in our apartment, and I learned how to prepare Fillet Mignon with sautéed mushrooms and potatoes! It was quite delicious, if I do say so myself, despite the fact that we have trouble deciphering the “hieroglyphics” on the oven and microwave, as Mom puts it.  And by “hieroglyphics” I don’t mean Spanish – I mean there are actually little squiggles and symbols on our kitchen appliances that Einstein couldn’t figure out if he tried.  Nevertheless, we prepared a more than decent meal, and I took a stroll about the neighborhood for an hour or two before getting ready for bed.  ¡Hasta mañana!

Antoni Gaudí, cont.

By listening to some audio tour today, we stumbled upon the most interesting thing that Barcelona has had to offer.  Large enough to hold 10,000 worshippers when completed, La Sagrada Familia is Barcelona’s most famous fascination. For those faithful blog readers (Priya), some of this might be review.  Yes, I have visited and written about the church before but not in detail, given my viewing conditions (we snapped a few pictures on a guided tour while our bus was stopped at a stoplight), which were not exactly ideal.  Today, on the other hand, Mom and I were able to spend as many undisturbed hours there as we pleased, with only our audio tour headset to accompany us. 

 

We debated whether or not spending the extra €2,50 per person on some headphones would be worth it – but boy were we glad at the end of the day!  There was so much to learn that one misses simply passing through the construction site.  As it turns out, every little speck of that church was going according to plan.  When one feels the certain tranquility of nature being captured by stone walls and columns – that is not by chance.  When one notices that the lighting in the church is conveniently perfect for taking pictures as well as achieving peaceful reflection– that is not by chance either.  In the words of Gaudí, “the amount of light should be just right, not too much, not too little, since having too much or too little light can both cause blindness…” The stained glass windows were strategically placed at unusual angles of the church, some painted, some not.  Each window, painted not with pictures or scenes of the Bible, but rather color fragments, contained geometrical shapes that specifically symbolized a point in time among the life and history of Jesus Christ. 

 

Antoni Gaudí was the master of Christian Symbolism.

 

When Gaudí was a child, he lived constantly in poor health. He was unable to start school at the same time as most other children, and instead stayed in constant care of his mother, who took him to spend much of his time in nature, where he says he connected with his Creator and found inspiration for his future designs. “Those who look for the laws of Nature as a support for their new works collaborate with the creator,” Gaudí observed.  He was all about using the environment’s natural beauty to achieve balance and equilibrium that created the perfect place of meditation, while telling with accuracy the story of the Savior from the virgin birth to the ascension to the present-day legacy of the church.  There was a patterned theme than ran throughout the giant structure that is La Sagrada Familia. With its three (eventually four) great facades, each telling a separate part of Jesus’ life – the Nativity, Passion, and Glory – I could see the changing theme in plant life, animal life, shapes, and even types of minerals used in Gaudi’s construction.  No square inch was ever the same.  Standing on the inside, from the altar where a priest will stand in some twenty years, I observed the columns with a keen eye.  They looked the same.  But with the help of my headphones I saw eight completely different structures! (This is why I’m not an artist or mathematician).  Starting from the bases of the columns, which were each made of a different material depending on the weight it had to hold, I could then see that they each had a star-shaped foundation, which twisted and turned until the five pointed edges of the stars were no more, and the top of the columns seemed like almost perfectly rounded cylinders.  In addition to Gaudí’s genius, these stone trees branched off near the ceiling, which was composed of palm leaves – when the architect originally cleared the land for his structure, the field was filled with nothing but yellow flowers and a palm tree, which he remembered in the ceiling.  I found myself standing in the middle of the magic forest that I once invented in my mind of six years, but I think Gaudí’s imagination takes the prize.  He was right; I found my perfect place of meditation – and how convenient that it is a perfect place of worship as well!

 

I could talk about the geometry and paralleled symbolism for a while, but I don’t think I will for two reasons.  A) It is 2:20 in the morning and my mom’s going to be angry when she reads this, and B) That would take several more paragraphs.  Oh yeah, and C) I don’t understand most of it.  But Mr. Forth would be proud to know that I had “fun with math,” as he puts it, when I used my knowledge of conic sections to decipher some blueprints on display! I guess I didn’t sleep through all of Algebra after all.  I would love to stay and enlighten you all on the most fascinating structure I’ve ever laid my two eyes on, but I think I’ll tell you about the architect instead, since I’ve already titled this entry “Antoni Gaudí, cont.”.

 

Gaudí never used blueprints.  The blueprints I’ve just mentioned are ones made and needed by his successors in the mission to finish La Sagrada Familila.  Gaudí never needed plans; he used imagination. Gaudí dedicated the last twelve years of his life working on the church, but died an accidental death, earlier than expected.  On June 7, 1926, Gaudí was run over by a tram.  It was said that in his later years, he let his appearance go, and cab drivers refused to pick him up, fearing that he couldn’t pay the fare.  He was eventually taken to a pauper’s hospital, and wasn’t recognized until a day later when his friends found him in hopes of moving him to a better hospital.  He refused, saying, “I belong here among the poor.”  He died three days later on June 10, 1926, when half of Barcelona mourned the loss of their architect. He was buried within his creation, near the current museum that lies underneath the church. 

 

There is no doubt that Antoni Gaudí, also known as “God’s Architect”, will be remembered throughout history for pushing the limits of structural design where no architect had gone before.  He brought together perfect synchronization to represent the history of Christ, and against all odds. Beating poor health and poor grades in school, he showed the world that he achieved his dream, and Barcelona is biting their nails to see that finished dream in 2030. When Gaudi received his deploma, Elies Rogent declared, "Qui sap si hem donat el diploma a un boig o a un geni: el temps ens ho dirà" ("Who knows if we have given this diploma to a nut or to a genius. Time will tell.")

 

Well it is late and mother is not pleased with me.  I just told her I was getting water but we both know that’s not true.  ¡Adios!

 

 

Sábado 

Enjoyed a beautiful Saturday in La Rambla with Mommy.  Some advice: I don't think that shoe stores work like they do in the States, so don't ask to try on a million sizes in a million colors.  Just know what you want and what size you are!

Institut De Gospel, Barcelona

 

Talk about a change in perspective!  Putting yesterday’s foul mood behind me, I set off with my mom after school to do some shopping around town, and what did we see?  A group of about sixty to seventy people in black shirts, singing in the middle of a courtyard with a bongo player and guitarist.  Their shirts read, “Institut de Gospel, Barcelona”.  Their low hum of an African praise song rang in my ears as I pieced the information together.  Let me get this straight. More than sixty vocally open Christians standing before me with a crowd of triple that size clapping and humming along?  Inconceivable! Well not quite inconceivable, but a pleasant surprise nonetheless. 

 

We were on the way to buy a pair of shoes that I have been bothering my mom about since the first day we got here.  I know, I’ve been quoted and reminded many times that “all [I] wanted was to go to Spain and learn Spanish” – but these shoes would go really nicely with learning Spanish in Spain, I’m serious.  A few days ago, the store next to our apartment informed us that they were out of my size in every color.  Yay!  So to make things more difficult, of course, the saleswoman directed us to the not-so-close other store.  We walked for about two miles and got to a busy tourist street – and then we walked up that for one mile, looking for 44 La Rambla.  When we started to complain that 44 La Rambla didn’t exist, we realized that we were on the wrong street.  Two more miles – then dinner (we would take a break before finally going in the store).  Well when we were done with dinner, we walked across the street to find that we were seven minutes too late; the store was closed.  Oh, irony!  The good news is that we walked off our entire dinner, I’m pretty sure.  More importantly, though, my mom and I had some pretty unforgettable times this afternoon! We are both too tired to hold a conversation and think it wise to turn in for the day.  ¡Buenas noches!