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.

Montserrat 

What a full day! Again – being the American tourists that we are – we ventured off on another guided excursion, but this time not through Barcelona, but all around Catalunya, too.  I’m going to give a very short summary, because we are about to go get coffee and gelato!

 

Cons: First of all, I am sad to say, we did not see Sleeping Beauty’s castle today.  Apparently that town wasn’t part of the tour…  But it’s ok because we were also looking forward to hearing the very famous and oldest boys’ choir in the world at Montserrat – but wait, we found out after we were there that they actually didn’t sing on Sundays like the tour guide said.  A church choir not singing on Sunday, explain how that makes sense.  Well at least there was still the cool church museum that we got a free pass to from our tour – oh, nope.  The pass was actually for an audiovisual tour, which I think was free if you had your own headphones. Lesson learned: don’t pay 70 Euros to go on a guided tour when you can just go on your own.

 

Pros: For every disappointing aspect of the tour agency’s sorry performance, there were a hundred fascinating, wondrous features to make up for them!  Our first stop was Bodegas Torres, a winery as old as Phoenician times.  This wine country is one thing that gives the Catalonians pride and distinguishes them from the rest of Spain.  When we arrived, we were taken into this lower dungeon-like area via choo-choo train where we were greeted by a hologram tour guide, followed by a hologram scenic background.  Very high-tech.  After, we took some pictures, enjoyed the perfect weather, and sipped some wine (grape juice for me actually). 

 

Our next stop was Montserrat. The Pyrenees, among which lies the town of a thousand-year-old Benedictine monastery, are fat sausages that stick out of the earth and have a distinguishable shape and texture unlike anything I have ever seen in my life – not even in pictures.  The basilica was busy but serene.  The low hum of the monk’s chanting and the Latin murmur of the priest sent a wave of tranquility over the crowd, and I think that even non-believing tourists felt Divine presence.  In the center of the church was the famous Black Madonna statue, which is a black Mary! It is the only Mary with black skin ever found in history!  We saw some men and women standing in the circle in the middle of the church courtyard with their hands raised high, waiting to receive the Holy Spirit.  Some just did it to take a souvenir picture.  Some kids raced and rolled around the courtyard for fun.  I don’t think they were supposed to do that.  I only saw one monk while I was there, I am disappointed to say.  But we did see some sort of traveling circus act there, showing off their ability to form human towers.  We stopped in the gift shop and were on our way again.

 

The next destination was the beach town of Sitges, located thirty minutes outside of Barcelona.  It was a quaint town, most of the buildings erected during the fourteenth century.  Today happened to be some famous “flower carpet” festival, a country-known contest to test the decorative abilities of anyone who enters. It was really cool to see the streets covered in art, but this cool art brought tourists, and when there is limited street space and many tourists, you don’t have a comfortable experience. We hurried into the first open restaurant we saw, where came to the realization that Sitges is a sort of gay community, or at least there is one very nearby.  I’ve a feeling we aren’t in Houston anymore. But the culture change is a good experience – we never know what we’re going to see next. 

 

Be right back, we are getting gelato.

 

Back.  We got gelato and my long skirt blew over my head.  Note to self: don’t walk over vent-looking things in the ground.  You would think that the streets wouldn’t be crowded on a Sunday night, but luckily for me and all the people around me, there was some sort of show right next to our apartment, and it turned out that the band wasn’t the only show they got! I think I’ll just stick to shorts from now on.

La Rambla

1.Woke up at noon.

2.Left the apartment at 3:30.

3.Walked to La Rambla, a popular street among both tourists and locals alike.

Our jaunt to La Rambla was especially interesting. We saw street performers such as actors and musicians, a parade of Hindu converts, stands selling animals from the Canary Islands – oh yeah, and a riot of naked people. I couldn’t understand what their commotion was about because they chose Catalán as their language of rebellion. All I know is that there were about fifty or more men and women (mostly men) riding bikes in their birthday suits through Las Ramblas, and the more attention they grabbed the better. Thankfully there were police cars and motorcycles following close behind them. No, wait – the police were helping them! The police force of Barcelona was going out of its way to escort fifty naked people through an area heavily populated with tourists from around the world. Forget about public indecency! (I took pictures, but I don’t think they would be appropriate for this blog.) We had been on our way to dinner but we lost our appetites, so we walked around for a while until we settled down. My family is very indecisive and sat down at three restaurants before deciding. For the first restaurant, the hostess took too long to seat us (apparently it was a seat-yourself restaurant but we didn’t know that), the second restaurant’s menu had hamburgers that were too expensive, and we almost left the third because there was no soap in the bathroom and that meant the chefs had not washed their hands, but we had been walking for about six miles and didn’t have the energy to get up. The dinner was quite enjoyable! I finally tried the famous seafood paella of Spain and it was delicious. We learned some new words in Spanish too!

After dinner was more of a challenge. Working our way through the immense crowds in the streets, we really had no idea where we were going. However we did see some really cool exotic musicians, three fabulous opera tenors, a dog trained to limp for money, and some professional bubble-blowers along our path to nowhere. Finally we stopped to inquire about directions, and I asked an officer (in Spanish!) how to get to Paseo de Grácia from there, and we were on our way. Less than halfway back, we got too tired and yelled for a cab – I don’t know the locals do it!

Anyways, the whole point of this trip to La Rambla was to purchase some bus tickets for tomorrow – we are going to Montserrat, a beautiful town in the Pyrenees Mountains that is home to several famous grand castles, one of which was Walt Dinsey’s inspiration for the setting of the classic Sleeping Beauty. We have a long bus ride ahead of us in the morning – ¡hasta mañana!

Font Magicál

I apologize in advance for typos and confusion – I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s 3 AM and I just got home. Those Europeans love to stay out late.

Well apparently nobody shows up to school on Fridays. My third period class had only two other students today, and in my noon conversation class, I was completely alone. Yes, completely alone with the peculiar little substitute named Hernán. This very odd stand-in for Señor Romero couldn’t sit still for more than seven seconds at a time (I eventually just counted), so I didn’t get much out of the lesson. I got a chance to practice, though, when my family and I took the nightly bus tour of the city (I know, how… touristy, right?) and we stood in line next to a Spanish-speaking couple from Italy and I held a conversation – and pretty well if I do say so myself. On my way there I saw one of my fellow classmates in the streets and he took me by surprise with those European cheek kisses, which I totally forgot about.

My brain can’t put into words right now how I felt when I saw the city, the architecture, some of which was constructed when Christopher Columbus was young. The unusually designed and shaped buildings were designed by artists who many consider geniouses, the most famous being Antoni Gaudi. His work can be found all over Barcelona, but the city’s most famous attraction, the Sagrada Familia, is a church that is famous for its incompletion. The expiatory church, started in 1882 and expected to finish in 2030, has three facades – the Nativity, the Passion, and the Glory. Gaudi uses Christian symbology to tell the history of Jesus Christ through art. Gaudi left a design of what he hoped the finished church would look like when it was done. When the construction is finished, it will have four facades in total.

Towards the end of our tour, we got out in order to view Font Màgica de Montjuï. Font màgica is Catalán for Magic Fountain. Montjuï is the highest point in the city that used to be a Jewish settlement (the name means mountain of the Jews). For those of you that don’t know, Catalán is the official language of the region of Catalunya, which the city of Barcelona is a part of – but I don’t think there is one person that lives here and speaks only Catalán. It sounds to most like a mixture between French and Spanish, and that makes sense considering the location. Anyways, the “lame tour” turned out to be a really awesome experience. I could talk about it longer, but I’ll just spare you all and go to bed. I need to have some energy left to explore more of Barcelona tomorrow – it’s my first weekend here and I don’t want to sleep through it!

La Leche Frita

Didn’t do much today.  Except eat leche frita (fried milk) served to us by an extremely pregnant waitress. Oh and I learned this: don’t call these locals Spaniards – they are to be identified as Cataláns.

La Siesta

Today wasn’t the most eventful.  I woke up late, went to school, went to class, came home, took a siesta at four and woke up six hours later, which was five minutes ago (my family pushed and shook me but apparently I didn’t stir).  This morning during the first break, I got more familiar with Farva and Aamir, the Iranians from Sweden who are actually some of the most genuinely nice people I have ever met.  I learned that they came here not knowing but three words of Spanish two months ago, are now speaking at conversation level, and plan to stay until at least September (Aamir has applied to a university in Barcelona and if accepted, Farva will get a job here and they will stay for two or three years).  I thought this was strange and interesting but later realized that this is the way of life for many young Europeans, traveling during early adulthood. 

 

This day was also worth noting because during our lunch-time conversation, a new guy joined the class (now there were three of us), and I was suprised at the controversial topics we discussed. We talked about the economy, redistribution, general politics, Obama, abortions, gay marriage, the environment, health care, Republican and Democratic parties, fundamentalists, Obama's stimulus package. Of course it was difficult to convey my moderately conservative viewpoints to a room of three Europeans without coming across as blatantly offensive (after all my Spanish political lexicon consists of about three words), but overall it was a great experience.  There we were – a Spaniard, a German, a Swede, and an American – and each of us had completely different opinions on every matter. 

 

So I walked out of the building after school where my mom and aunt greeted me, and we walked to the market store where we bought some essentials for our fridge; we established that eating out every night was getting pricey.  I was exhausted though, and watching the two of them pace up and down the isles in case they missed something the first time was like watching grass grow.  I took the keys and walked home alone, in fear of falling asleep on the floor of the Consum convenient store.  When my mom and aunt finally returned they chastised me for not staying to act as a translator between the two of them and an angry store clerk who apparently was yelling at them to weigh their own vegetables in Catalán.  I’m not sure of what help I could have been seeing that I can’t speak or understand Catalán, but I didn’t care because I wasn’t paying any attention to what they said.  Instead I had sleep on my mind, and sleep I did – for six hours straight.  Some siesta!  Now, I must try to go back to sleep so I can finally get on the right sleeping track for this Spanish time zone.  ¡Buenas noches!

Las Calles de Barcelona

“¡Hola, buenos días!” Señora Galindo started class at 9 AM sharp. I was still half asleep, but that didn’t stop her from rattling off questions at me in Spanish. Was it Spanish, or was it Chinese? I can’t remember. Whichever it was, I just fed her the generic “no comprendo” and then she was off to humiliate another half-asleep student. Talk about a first impression. I had an advantage over most of the students, however, who were all over eighteen and had taken full advantage of the discotecas that are open until 6 AM. (I should be grateful, though, that her teaching methods make me pay attention in class.)

After that class was a thirty-minute break during which German 1, German 2, the two Iranians (who I found out actually live in Sweden), and I walked to the café next door for some coffee and enjoyed our break on the roof terrace of the school building. They shared with me their words of wisdom on life in Barcelona after offering me a cigarette, which I kindly denied, and told me of the best clubs, bars, and discos to attend, which alcoholic beverages to stay away from, which back alleyways to stay away from if I didn’t want to get mugged, etc. What they didn’t know was that the tight shirt-wearing Brazillian man had told me all of this the day before, and that their tips were pretty useless to me – except for maybe the mugging thing. “Make sure you don’t stand on that edge of the terrace; an extremely old woman likes to lounge on her balcony over there without clothes,” advised Nickelback’s twin. Five minutes later I realized that this was a very helpful tip, and I would never wander from the left side of the terrace again. The tall German (whose name is something I can pronounce but not spell – I’ll call him Alfons) pointed out that the thieves of Barcelona were the nicest he had ever encountered. He noted that they often use giant scissors to cut of handbags instead of using assault. “I thought it was really nice that one took my things in my apartment but put my keys on the table. And they organized my drawer, too,” he recalled nonchalantly. But don’t let this talk of thieves scare you away from Barcelona. There is only one area, a street called Las Ramblas in downtown Barcelona that is known for having thieves – El Paseo de Grácia is a safe and attractive place to live.

After the next period, during which I was ravenous, I had hoped to get a bite to eat with a Canadian girl named Caroline until I received a written invitation to attend a conversation class during lunch break with my next period’s teacher, Señor Romero. Only one other student actually went. I’d have to wait to eat. After my last period, I walked outside at 3 PM to see my Aunt Hilda and Grandpa (we call him Tata) waiting to greet me. They had just arrived from a nine-hour flight from the U.S. and could use a bite to eat and so could I. We had a light lunch to save room for a big dinner and gelato of course – tonight was Tata’s birthday and my parent’s anniversary (although they were in separate countries), so we had to go somewhere nice for dinner. After we went home to change, and I took a wonderful three-hour nap and then we were on our way. We decided on a semi-fancy Catalonian restaurant with a name that escapes me. It was much farther than expected and we got lost one too many times. However, simply walking with my family in the streets of Barcelona, which were lined with numerous designer shops such as Chanel and Gucci and Armani, was a fun enough time for me – we did some people-watching and I came to some conclusions about the locals in Barcelona. For example:

1. 1.The people – young and old – love to express their PDA.

2. 2.Far more people bring their dogs with them to run errands, go running, or just take a walk than in the U.S.

3. 3.Everybody rides mopeds. Mopeds are the way to go if you think about it. They are better for the environment, save gas, and save time due to the ability to weave in and out of stopped traffic.

The people are not very talkative or busy, which can be good or bad depending on one’s personality. It is quite unlike the Southern Hospitality feel of Texas, that’s for sure, but the Spaniards live in their own little world which is also refreshing at the same time. The women are more natural – they have a natural beauty to them that doesn’t need garish makeup to compliment their features. These are small differences, but ones worth noting; in my opinion Americans could take a few lessons from the Spaniards! Minus the PDA.

I got to use my Spanish to find our way to the restaurant and once we got there, we received a fabulous meal of flaky white fish that melted in our mouths, followed by tasty gelato. It was a long walk home but I enjoyed getting to spend time with my grandpa and practice my Spanish with him. I think that I’m going to benefit from learning Spanish in more ways than I thought!

Well, once again, it’s late, and I actually have homework to do for school – can you believe that!

El Confusión, Profesor Romero, y Los Viejos Sociales

I woke up this morning – late for school, as usual – and it was the strangest feeling having to rush down the sidewalks of a foreign country to be in a classroom on time.  And the fact that my biological clock was saying, “It’s June and it’s eight o’clock in the morning – go back to bed,” was not helping one bit.  I got to the school in the nick of time only to hear from the receptionist – let’s call her Sally – that I was not signed up to start the course that week.  She sent her apologies.  Refusing to give up my dream of learning Spanish (and getting school credit), I went ahead to the second floor instead of the first floor where Sally had directed my complaint and I took an oral placement test from a teacher on that floor, where she placed me according to my speaking ability.  This woman was far more willing to help than the first, and she guaranteed that she would make arrangements so that I could get all of my hours. After the confusion had passed and I felt assured that we weren’t being ripped off, my mom and I ate a real Spanish breakfast, since I had missed the beginning of the first class anyway. At the café, the waitress spoke in Catalán, so I just asked for “su favorito” and hoped for the best.  I received a short of stiff bread with ham on it (that was more like some impenetrable superbacon) and some jugo de naranja to drink – they don’t like ice in Europe.  I guess that just like in America, there are good and bad restaurants in Spain, and now we can eliminate one from our list of possibilities.

 

When I returned to class, the only teenager, not knowing a sole, I was greeted by a room of smiling international faces.  I sat next to a middle-aged woman from Russia who spoke Russian fluently and Spanish surprisingly well, but not a lick of English.  The others in the room represented the whole world, it seemed: there were two young men from Germany (one looked just like that guy from Nickelback), a young woman from Canada, a hilarious couple from Iran, a pretty  girl from Argentina, and a quiet girl from Sweden.  And of course there was me, the American.  That class went swimmingly, Spanish being the unifying language between all of us so we were forced to use it; there was not a word of English spoken. 

 

After that class, there was a brief “orientation” given by a muscular Brazilian man who wore a shirt two sizes too small.  It turns out that this was no orientation, but rather some sort of social hour in which flyers for bars, clubs, and discotecas.  Whoops!  I tried to blend in with the over-eighteen crowd in the room but when the sign-up sheet for a Wednesday night (strange night to party, right?) invitation to POSH – Dwayne G. House of Rock and Hip-hop, I unfortunately had to pass the clipboard on to the next guy.  Everyone looked at me; I explained my age.  Cricket, cricket.  It might have been the most awkward and drawn-out three seconds of silence I have ever experienced, and I heard whispers in the back of the room, “¿Qué pasó?” “Es un bebé.”  Besides that, though, they were all extremely friendly.

 

I returned to class, where another series of uncomfortable events unfolded. There was a new teacher, Señor Romero, and he liked to make fun of Americans.  Oh and even better, remember the guy that I attempted to pass the clipboard to minutes earlier?  He was in my class, and he sat right next to me.  And then I had to ask him for a pencil, which I forgot.  His name was Gabriel and he was from Sweden.  Next to him was a man from Turkey who wore sunglasses indoors; next to him was a woman from Germany who seemed perfectly normal; next to her was a sweet blonde couple from Moscow, Russia; next to them was, as Señor Romero put it, “some punk kid” with red curly hair, a name of Patrick and an “I♥Ireland” t-shirt. Can you guess where he’s from?  The class turned out to be not only educational, but highly entertaining.  Señor Romero asked series of questions about our hometowns, and I didn’t realize until after I told him about Houston that I sounded like a lazy and wasteful American, much to the entertainment of Patrick, who didn’t seem so active or industrious himself.  Some of the questions asked (in Spanish of course): Are you in Barcelona for your job; how much does it cost to rent an apartment where you live; do you walk or bike or take the bus to work?  I answered honestly in Spanish.  I was here on vacation; I know the apartments are not cheap; I don’t take any of those to work because I don’t work, but I do take a car to school.  “¿Cada día?” my teacher was taken aback.  Yes, of course I take a car everyday, why would he ask that? “Sí, Señor.” The class sighed simultaneously and said, “Oh, America!”

 

After my productive day of Spanish my mother and I were ravenous, so we headed out to an early dinner, only to find that virtually every restaurant in the city was closed and would not open until 20:30 (8:30 PM to Americans), as it was typical for Spaniards to dine this late.  However we stopped at a giant market, ordered in Spanish, and enjoyed some fruit that was able to sustain us until dinner.  As we sat on a bench and people-watched, my mom pointed out the noticeably large number of elderly out for walks throughout Paseo de Grácia, unlike back home. “Here, the elderly like to be social and active.  It’s a shame that in America we like to trap them in nursing homes.”  And she was right.  I looked over at the bench across the street and saw several elderly men and women, socializing like schoolchildren.  I’m beginning to like the mentality of the Spaniards, for the most part.  Whoops it’s getting late.  I never realize what time it is with military time.  I have school tomorrow, and I don’t want to disappoint Señor Romero by falling asleep in class. ¡Hasta mañana!

 

Arriving

Well we arrived in Barcelona at around 8:15 AM today, a grueling eleven hours after departing from Houston.  The plane ride was fine.  Fine is all I can give it credit for because I think every flight attendant was either in a bad mood or just plain mean.  Nevertheless, we are finally in Barcelona, at the Paseo de Grácia, where my mom and I are currently lounging in our new apartment.  The apartment manager, Pablo (who so graciously picked us up from the airport), was a wonderful first impression of the country!  He makes us feel right at home.  For those of you that know Mr. Malouf, he is his twin brother, I swear.

Since the personal goals I have set for myself during this trip consist of mainly one thing (and that is to speak Spanish), I have enrolled myself in a seven-hour-per-day language school in the heart of the plaza.  It takes approximately fifteen minutes to walk from my apartment to the school, and I begin class tomorrow. Even without taking my capricious decision to attend school into consideration, I think that simply existing in the Spanish environment will dramatically increase my Spanish-speaking ability – I have already attempted using it a few times today!  And although I am at potential risk for showing all of Barcelona that I am the “stupid American” tourist who tries to use broken Spanish, I don’t care, because by the end of this month – when I am fluent – I’ll prove them all wrong.

Getting Ready

My name is Morgan Long and I will be a Junior in High School this fall. In three days my mother and I will be traveling across the Atlantic to experience the culture and festivities of Spain that draw in over 50 million visitors each year, making Spain the second most popular tourist country in the world (after its neighbor, France, which I also plan to visit). From June 6^th to July 6^th, I will be attending a language school in the Spanish region of Cataluña, in northern Barcelona.  During this month I hope to discover just what it is that distinguishes Spain from the other 193 countries in the world.

So this trip should be interesting for a number of reasons:

Numero Uno – I’ve heard that people in Barcelona speak with lisps and that should be funny/entertaining.

Numero Dos – I’ve also heard from reliable sources that Paella (a Spanish dish) is “to die for”.

Numero Tres – Bye-bye iPhone.

Numero Cuatro – It should be interesting to see how long my mother and I can survive together in the apartment without killing each other. (Just kidding…but not really). We both give it seven days.

Numero Cinco – Three-hour lunches with optional siestas? Sounds like heaven to me.

However these details are trifling in comparison to the more wondrous aspects of the trip – the museums, the family heritage, the churches, the mosques, the language, the fiestas, the people! – and best of all I won’t be left out during dinner conversations when I eat with my boyfriend’s family (they’re from Guatemala). I only hope to capture the essence of it all through words and pictures.

So all that’s left to do now is pack and wait to see what wonders España will hold and find out whether or not Spain will live up to my expectations. Got to go! My family wants to get Greek food (not too much for me though – I’m saving my calories for Paella!)