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!

Dios – Dónde Está?

I decided to come home from school early. I left before my last period and now I am sitting in my apartment, writing a blog entry.  Today I felt the impact of the ever-decreasing percentage of Believers in Europe.  Yes, in Spain, the country responsible for the Spanish Inquisition, the percentage of atheists, agnostics, and non-believers has grown to 19% as of last year.  Today during conversation class (which follows my first two periods during lunchtime), the conversation started with Astrology and horoscopes.  I was not so naïve enough in the beginning to think that it was possible to remain on such a topic, and sure enough, within two minutes (give or take), we were on the heated debate of Faith. The conversation was not very productive one, I might add.  The three others in the room – a young Swiss man, a quiet German woman, and a graying professor – were all Agnostics.  It was a small class, which was fortunate considering that the room couldn’t have contained any more heat.  Once again, we all had our separate views and portraying them in Spanish can get a little frustrating.  It was the most frustrating for me, though, being the sole Christian in the group, to have three well-educated elders looking down on you and your silly beliefs. They had it easier too; all they had to know how to say in Spanish was “It’s simply not possible to know the truth.”  What they implied by this simply put “simple” statement was that we don’t know where we came from or where we’re going and we never will.  I, on the other hand, had to explain the Bible, the Catholic and Protestant Church, and Christian Doctrine all within one forty-five-minute period.  And did I mention in Spanish?  I did the best job I could – at least as good as one can hope to do when the mediator of the debate is one-sided (and not on yours side).  I could get into the details but I’d rather not.  Perhaps another time (I have a feeling the topic will come up again soon – Professor Romero rarely starts conversation class with a topic much less dull.  I understand his reasoning, though; by forcing us to talk about topics we are passionate about, we are forced to converse in the only language we are allowed in school, Spanish, which will have to suffice.) 

 

It was funny how the conversation took a turn for the better/worse within two minutes.  It started with the question, in Spanish of course, “So you don’t believe in Astrology then?”  the German man, Bernhard asked.

“No,” I replied. “It’s silly and man-made.”

“Do you believe in magic?”  It sounded like a cheesy pickup line, but he was serious.

“Also silly.”

“But you believe in God?”

“More that anything.”

“Isn’t it the same thing…?” And then we were off.  It was a race to finish our thoughts, yet calm and organized and polite at the same time. When the bell rang and the teacher scurried out of the room, Bernhard’s face soften and he was back to laughing and conversing and inviting me to some Swedish festivity the next day, just like any friend.  I wish all my friends could share my passions – especially a friend that shares his pencils with me when I forget mine in class, or buys and splits a sandwich with me when my stomach growls too loudly in class – but today that notion was slapped square in the face.

It has not only been in today’s conversation class where my faith has stirred ruckus or created problems for me.  One less firm in their convictions might call it a burden or an inconvenience.  But this might a newsflash for some:  God was not created to convenience man. I perceive that attitude from many people here, people who are fed up with the local Catholic Church for the “rules and regulations” that go along with it.  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all just go to heaven?  I don’t mean to single out the Europeans – America absolutely has its numerous flaws, and I am not one to talk of being perfect – but there is an unmistakable feeling of emptiness in some aspect here, and it is easy to tell that Jesus is no longer at the center of these lives, but on “the outside, knocking to come in,” as my teacher, Mr. Maddry, puts it.

 

Sorry for that tangent – now, back on topic.  It was not only today in conversation class when my faith raised other concerns.  It might even occur more than once in one day, as today for example.  During my first period, one student of 28 years, Amir, asked me a question using the conditional verb tense, as our paper’s instructions informed.  (In Spanish) “If you could meet any famous person in history, dead or alive, who would it be?”  Easy. “Jesus Christ.”  Oops.  Wrong answer according to some.  The good thing is that I don’t care if it’s the wrong answer according to some because it’s the only right answer. 

 

Well I have shared more than expected about my less-than-fun day.  I didn’t take any pictures or go out of the apartment – I wasn’t exactly in the mood to see more of beautiful Barcelona – so I thought I would post one that I took the day we visited Montserrat.  I find it ironic and I relate to it in a sense.  Oh well, nobody ever said it would be easy!  I am going to get ready for bed, turn off the lights, and pray that I have the most positive effect possible on those I encounter tomorrow, the next day, and the next.  As the Apostle Paul once wrote, “They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.”

Moussa Ag Assarid

Can’t write much today – my computer’s about to die and I can’t seem to locate my charger.  Whoops.

 

School was great today! I met a lot of new people in the school who live in the student residence where the majority of the students find accommodation during the summer.  I also learned that some of the students are currently in the “home stay program”, where they live with a host family that may or may not speak English.  The feedback from most of the home stayers is positive.   Today was the last day for Justus (tall German number two), who I have gotten the pleasure to get to know more than most of the other students. 

 

After class I bought some pants and two tree planters to, well, plant trees, and on the way home decided to take a shortcut through Parc Gruell.  Parc Gruell is filled with venders that are quite unlike the ones you see on every calle in Barcelona.  Every one was from the African country of Mali, and every one was as friendly as can be.  I learned about Mali today; I learned about its styles, its languages (which is officially French, but Bambara is most widely spoken), its religions (mainly Islam, along with the ancient religion of the Spirit of the Land), and its friendly people!  We are not ones to shell out Euros to every roadside retailer that we see – it’s simply not possible – but today I’m convinced we got our money’s worth.  As we were walking out of Parc Gruell, I saw a flyer with a man’s face on in, in a high-quality photograph obviously taken at a photo shoot.  Hey, he has the same bright blue ­turban as that guy selling purses over there.  Hey – he is that guy selling purses over there!  I took a flyer and put it in his face, not sure if he spoke English or Spanish.  He nodded.  He was the guy.  There was the cover of a book with several boys on the front printed next to the picture of his face. Was he an author? Yes.  And not only was he an author – he was an actor, too!  It turns out that he speaks French, his tribal language, and enough English to tell me about his life/book.  His parents died when he was young, and he and his brother started a school for other boys in the middle of the desert.  His book had been translated into three languages, and is going to come out in English, too.  After it comes out in Arabic, Italian, Catalán, and German.  I decided I didn’t want to wait that long so I bought a book for €10 and so did my aunt.  It turns out that his interesting life didn’t stop at authoring his own book, but on top of that he was an actor! He played in a French television series called “Louis La Brocante”.  What an interesting guy, Moussa Ag Assarid.  We requested a picture and book signing, like three kids in the same Barnes and Noble as J.K. Rowling, and of course, he granted our wishes.  When he signed my book, he signed with a symbol of a bird.  “My mother, her favorite animal was the bird.  When I sign my name I remember her.”

 

We passed on through Parc Gruell and encountered a tall, silly Malian who saw us admiring his hat selection.  When he found out we were from Teaxs, we became instant friends.  It turns out that he was far more widely traveled then the three of us put together, and he loved the Southern U.S. – especially Atlanta, Georgia. He assumed we loved country music (which we do) and we discussed all the famous contributors to the music genre that have come out of our great state. Actually it was more like the Malian telling us which great country singers have come out of our great state.  He even knew that Johnny Cash’s first wife was a Texan – pretty impressive.  In fact he is one of the few locals I’ve met that asked where we are from and didn’t reply, “Oh. George Bush is from Texas.”

 

Well I just got in from playing cards with my Grandpa for the last time until he and Aunt Hilda return to the good ol’ U.S. of A., and I sat down to write this and reflect on the day.  (I guess my computer decided to hold a charge after all.)  I am in Europe, yet I learned a lot about an African country today, a country I had no intention of ever knowing the name of, let alone its national language and religion (both things that we would never have learned had we not spontaneously taken a new route home). Lesson learned: do stray off the beaten path.

Opera y Flamenco

School was good.  The opera was better.  Well it wasn’t really an opera.  In fact the majority was hardcore Flamenco dancing.  There were only two dancers and two opera singers, but man did they give a show.  It was exhausting just to watch from my seat!  I would have gotten pictures, but they were prohibited.  I tried to sneak one when the security guard walked outside but it was blury.  So instead, I hoped this photo from outside would suffice.  

We got lost trying to find our way home on the metro, making 360-degree circles underground.  We eventually found our way, after passing the same Chinese instrument performer a few times and two guys sucking face two times too many.  Now we rest in our comfortable abode, and that’s about it for now.  Hasta mañana.

Antoni Gaudi

I woke up forty-three minutes early this morning and I was not happy about it.  During all of that extra time, I read a Spanish brochure and understood the whole thing!  I was immediately put in a good mood for the day.  Later, at school, it was a brand-new start to the week! I returned to the classroom for second period five minutes early from our break, expecting to be alone.  When I walked through the door I found a pale white, round-faced boy with rumpled light hair sitting in my seat. My seat. His shirt read, “I am thinking of a perfectly good excuse.”  He couldn’t have been older than fifteen.“Cómo te llamas?” I probed. “Alexadre-blah-blah,” the kid replied.  Foreign.  “Cuantos años tienes?”  “Quince.” Yes! I wasn’t the baby anymore! So I told him the ropes of the school like I’d lived in it my whole life.  I told him where we all get coffee and croissants and about the roof terrace where we chill during breaks.  I told him all the other students were old except for me, and I managed to do it all in five minutes.  When everyone returned, the teacher asked him his name and nationality, and then I realized he spoke English.  Stupid me. Alex – I decided on just Alex – was from The Ukraine, and he seemed to speak perfect Russian, English, and Spanish.  Beats me as to why he’s in level two out of five Spanish.  I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but you know, I think I am the only person in school who speaks only English, and to be honest it’s kind of embarrassing.  I want very badly to beat the stereotype of being a stupid, self-centered American, but there were just so many factors of my everyday life that I have to downplay during class discussions.  The one language thing, for example.  What foods do we eat?  Hamburgers.  How much do you spend on such and such? Way too much.

 

There were other new students too.  Joining Alex in second period, who was rambling in Russian with Marina (the woman who used to sit next to me before Alex took my seat), was a new French girl with a French name that I don’t remember.  During third period, which was taught by the woman who used to teach fourth period (which I went home for), there were three new students:  A dark-skinned, green-eyed Moroccan young man from Paris; a German girl with short curly hair and a polka dotted dress who was taken straight out of an old black-and-white photo; and a Finnish woman with glasses who couldn’t speak much English and sat right next to me.  Class taught by the woman (Marta) was fun and relaxing – a nice change from Gabriel, with whom you can never know what to expect.  Every week the two teachers of a class will switch off between first and second or third and fourth period.  On my way home, I was met by my family and we made our way to Parc Guell, a place built by Antoni Gaudi, and later dedicated to him by turning his home into a museum. 

 

We had amazing Italian food, had gelato on the roof terrace, and went to bed.