Snapshots of a Night 12-11-15

               I noticed a smudge on my glasses as I scanned the crowd for the face I had only seen in photos. I took them off and wiped them with my shirt, bouncing nervously on tip toes, squinting now to distinguish facial details. I was still wiping my lenses when he made eye contact with me. "Nice, Al," I thought. "Smooth." I stuffed them quickly on my face as he walked over.
               "Hello," he said smiling, greeting me with a kiss on both cheeks.
               I don't even know what version of "hi" I said; my mind was like a radio without signal, only emitting static.
               He was wearing a brown leather jacket and a small, cross-body camera carrying case. We started walking, and I knew he was different from those first few steps because immediately, he requested, "So, tell me something about yourself."

***

               "What do you write about? Or what genre?" he asked me as we walked past the designer label shops on Passeig de Gracia.
               I told him realistic fiction. "I like writing about people I meet, my experiences, my friends. I like actually using my friends as characters in stories that I write. I'm fascinated with the relationships between people."
               "Would you write anything about tonight?"
               I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but I laughed nervously and said that 'Yes, I could...' ("Could" was the operative word here; in writing, I have learned there are two things I cannot count on: my ability to stay awake and inspiration. I should have known that neither would be a problem for that night.)

***

               I looked up at Casa Batlló - I still can't believe I saw it! And I couldn't believe that he had wanted to come, but I'm really glad he did. The façade was washed with white lights, so it seemed more like a stage set than a real building. The visiting tourists visible through the huge middle windows were the only clue to its depth.
               I would like to know how many pictures he actually took with his fancy black SONY: my guess is more than 200. To put it in perspective, I took about 60. I liked watching him take the pictures; I could tell he was a perfectionist, sometimes taking the same picture three times just to get it right.
               One time, I was taking a picture on my phone, which takes a long time when there is dim lighting, and I thought he was waiting for me. I turned quickly around after it took and was surprised by him making a small "Uff" noise, pulling back his camera from where it must have been propped over my shoulder. I told him he could still take the picture, but what he answered, I never expected: he said he couldn’t. Once the moment was gone, so was the photo. My stomach dropped. I apologized for ruining his shot and laughed anxiously because I knew that feeling I had given him. I can’t describe it exactly. . . . It was like missing a perfect pitch in softball: you knew another would come, but you still think “Man, that was a nice one. I shoulda had it.” I hated being the cause for that missed pitch – or well, pic.

               He took photos of the people there too sometimes. It was amazing: he saw opportunities for photography – and in a broader sense, art – not in everything, but I think in life. I don’t mean this to sound over-dramatic; I say “life” as in people, nature, and natural forms (things that mimic nature). He confessed to me that he sees light differently, and it makes complete sense. He sees it as a tool to be manipulated for his craft, much like an author uses words, I suppose.

***

As part of the tour, you get to sign a guest book, writing something about your experience in the house, something to Gaudi, etc. He asked what I was going to write. I had absolutely no idea. I thought hard while he asked if I had a pen.

“An author always has a pen,” I replied with a smile.

By his responding smile, I could tell he liked that response.

I hesitated and then bent down to write in the book lying open on a wooden table. He tried to look over my shoulder, and I blocked him laughing. I wrote,

From one artist to another, thank you for the inspiration!

He took the pen from me and scratched in the book,

Aquí comença una llarga amistat 

From Catalan, that translates in English to: “Here begins a long friendship.”

I was stunned.

I felt embarrassed about my inscription. I loved his.

***

               Our conversation varied, sliding easily from one topic to another, both of us wanting to hear more from the other. I felt relaxed in talking to him, not like I had to blurt out everything about myself to impress him.
We talked about our hometowns and showed them to each other on Google Maps; it was nice to see home again even if it was virtually. I'm grateful that he gave me that.

               He was interested in my writing and asked if I had anything published. I confessed that I was not far down the road to publishing yet. Most people might have left it at that; however, I should have known he wouldn’t: he wasn't "most people."
               "Why?"
               I laughed and took a sip of Sprite to buy time. "I just have been very busy with school. . ." I laughed again and looked down. "I don't know. . ."
               He said calmly, "You know that's not an excuse? School."
               I knew what he has already accomplished at twenty-two: he already had a job of a photography company with his own clients and he was completing his senior thesis. He knew about balancing a passion for a craft with schoolwork. Giving “school” as an excuse to someone like him was pretty lame. I looked down at my lap, shaking my head. "I know. . . I know. . ." I looked up at him embarrassed but grateful. "You're right," I said with a bitter smile. "You're right."

               That got me thinking, Why can’t I get published now? Why have I not been trying? That’s the eventual goal, isn’t it? Well, why not have it come sooner than “eventually”? He saw that, and for years, I didn’t see it as something close, something already reachable. I now realize the excuses were only working on me.

***

               "Do you think you will write anything about this date?" he asked over our dinner of burgers and bravas.
               "Maybe. . ." I smiled at him from across the wooden table-for-two. "But the date's not over yet."

***

               "You find me interesting?" I asked.
               "Yes." He asked surprised, "And why shouldn't I?" 

I tried to not give the obvious and vague response of “I don’t know” but found it to be inevitable.
               He said he thought I was understanding, too, and I wondered how he could tell from the little time we had known each other.

I didn’t know yet how to describe him then: he was a lot of things all at once, and it was hard to identify which words to use at first. (As you can tell, I’ve found some words now.) He was someone who surprised people and didn’t seem to see the amazing quality about himself. He was someone who left an author speechless.

***

               He took me to an open square in front of the MACBA (Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona) where people around go to skate, drink, smoke, and talk.
               We stood in the square away from everyone, just talking. We stopped talking a moment and looked at each other. And he surprised me by nonchalantly opening his arms. I wrapped my arms around him and turned my head to rest on his leather-jacketed shoulder. It felt so natural: his hug was firm and comforting. I smelt the leather as I breathed in. I closed my eyes for a couple moments, remembering what it felt to have that connection with someone. I hadn’t succumbed to that in months – letting myself relax in someone else’s arms. We let go, and he walked a few steps away while I looked back at the square. Then I looked to him a couple feet toward the street. He said, "I wanted to show you this."

***

               After that night, I am happy with what I wrote in the Batlló book because although originally, I thought I was writing to Gaudi, I was really writing to an artist who was much closer to me. 

To The "Gal Pals"

    This is a personal essay-like piece of prose that I wrote about some very special people I met in Barcelona. They are: Chelsea, brave and impulsive; Josh, quick-witted and dry; Sofie, caring and fun; and Jess, logical and ("lovingly") insulting (so, in other words, "sarcastic"). This is not a perfect picture of them; for that, I would need pages ... and a lot more time. They aren't perfect, and they don't try to be. I loved my time with them here, and I know we will have to see each other again. They can't get rid of me that easily!

To The "Gal Pals":

Sharing More than Stories

We sit at a café, a pitcher of burgundy sangria split evenly between the glasses resting casually in the hands not yet marked by age or resting on the round table we sit around. It is an event that we are now accustomed to but was strangely un-routine only three months before. Conversation runs, happily tugging us along, us not even feeling the pull but simply enjoying the ride.

*   *   *

Three Months Earlier

We start by disclosing basic information: hometowns, universities, names. Then we share our interests: music, sports, hobbies. All small talk. Slowly, we move on to entrust stories of our families and friends “back home.”

Invitations are exchanged; drinks and meals are spent together; something starts to grow between us and catches us unexpectedly: we don't know until it is unmistakably present. Conversation starts to be made not just to fill the space between Now and Next.

First transparent, then thin and shimmering, beams weave between, connecting us.
There are crazy nights and inside jokes. And laughing, much laughing: our mouths gape, releasing any burdens we might have had in our rambunctious noise, and our eyes squint, seeing nothing but that Moment.

The Future is discussed: for some, it is planned; for others, uncertainty looms. Goals and dreams are both stated with confidence and whispered with hope. The beams gain girth as we ramble on, confiding more stories: embarrassing moments, reckless actions, the imperfect Us. And with it, more laughter, seeing the characters behind the tales through our ever-squinting eyes. Our cheeks hurt from repeatedly grinning together. The beams grow thicker, stronger, more strands are woven. We begin to create our own stories together one day at a time. We collect them in our pockets, bringing them out again to show others. When we go home, we will empty our suitcases of them and lay them out to enjoy again with our friends and families – those we missed so much Here.

This and More is what we have shared.

We have shared what will be an important part of my life: getting to know a different culture, learning an overwhelming amount at once, making Our way through a foreign land together. I see us hold onto each other for strength and companionship. We help each other not feel so alone. 

While studying abroad, I have met incredible people, but they are not the ones who brag about their exotic experiences. The ones who don't know what they have done, They are who I have noticed the most. You are Them. We will never be Here again – in this place,at this time in our lives, and I only spend three months with you, but I would love to spend more time. I am only in three months of your whole lives – a seemingly insignificant amount of sand which slips through each of your hourglasses. I know I am lucky to have spent this much with you.

You are Those who do not know your significance to me; You are my stories, my memories, my time abroad; You will forever be entwined with this adventure; each time I dust off a story to let it see light again, I will think of You and once again feel the sentiment of belonging that you all have given me in such a foreign place. And I will smile. I will smile, I will laugh, and I will miss You.

I will miss the feeling of All of Us.

And I don't think You know How Much.

10-12-15 
1:05 PM

Morocco, Africa

Can't Forget Sitges!

9-20-15
From One Beach Town to Another!
written : 11-20-15
   Soooo, somehow, I didn't have time (shocker!) with all the traveling I've been doing - to write about my day trip to Sitges with my program. Sitges, a tourist trap about 30 minutes to the north of  Barcelona, is known for its white, sandy beaches, colorful buildings, and beautiful old-fashioned architecture.
   And, before we got to Sitges, we got to tour the wine cellars of the famous Catalan cavas creators, Codorniu. "Cavas" is a Spanish wine which originated in Catalunya which is made from a process that mimics their French neighbor's process for champagne. (It can't be called champagne technically unless it is made in that specific region in France.) Codorniu began in 1551, but the family company really took off when one of the heirs of the company focused on publicity and planned ahead for the mass distribution of their cavas.
   On the tour, we enjoyed a tasting of two different types of the bubbly wine: a rose and a white cavas. (I liked the rose better.) After snagging some quick pics in the vineyard with a beautiful backdrop of the Spanish mountains, we hopped back on the bus and headed for Sitges!
   When we got to Sitges, we mosied on down towards the waterfront, where we winded through the cobbled streets with the multi-colored buildings surrounding us. Jess, Josh, and I had a lunch of bocodillos at a cafe and we weren't confident in our Spanish, so I remember looking at the contents of each sandwich and trying to decide which looked most appetizing. That way, we could each simply point and say, "Este, por favor. Y un cafe con leche." Done. Phew. Ordered in Spanish = check. And then you feel accomplished for getting through it, and now, after two months, it seems so funny. That was only the second time I had had cafe con leche, too. Ha! Both bocodillos and cafe con leche are old news now - still very delicious, but old news. I think that was when we really became friends with Josh, too, and started hanging around with him. It seems like soo long ago. He is someone who I feel I have known for ages. Josh is also one of those people who I feel like I could know for years and always be finding out more things about him. He is never boring; he seems to be multi-faceted, and he "knows a little bit about a lot of things." I love people like that! Probably because I want to be someone like that.
   We walked up to the fortress-like church over-looking the gorgeous turquoise water. Jess and I were making comments about how in awe we were, and Josh said dryly, "What? It's just your typical beach cathedral? Haven't you guys seen one before?"
  Jess and I cracked up!
  "Oh, NBD: just your everyday 'beach cathedral,'" Jess joked sarcastically.
   I added, "Yeah, they're all over the U.S., Jess. How have you not seen them?"
   The beach cathedral was simply - and I mean that literally because the architecture was very plain, simple, and beautiful. It was a stunning view: the greyish-white stone in the foreground and the pallet of bright buildings behind it.

* * *

   We went down to the beach and met up with Lynn, Liza, and Katie. We laid out our towels, pulled out our iPods or reading, and I put on sunscreen. And, I still find it funny because I was one of the ones in the group that needed it least, yet I was one to put it on. Some of them (cough, cough, Jess) thought they would "be fine" for two hours, which was all we had. Stupid white girl. Just kidding. No, but really. . .
   The next morning, Jess came into the kitchen as I was making my breakfast. I looked at her, and just said, "Wow."
   "I don't wanna talk about it," she replied monotonously.
   I laughed in response and went back to my toast, which was still not as burnt as her even though I left it in too long.
   So, back to Sitges.
   Sitges is the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. It was a scene from a World Traveler's calendar (which actually is a thing because I have one): the sun shining, warming my skin, a bright blue sky hanging above me, white sailboats floating lazily on the clear water, the beach cathedral standing tall in the background. I never wanted to leave.

That Night

To be continued . . .

6-15-16
   Now, I'll continue. (I hope you weren't holding your breath.)

   That night - i think - was the first night of the week of celebration dedicated to the patron saint of Barcelona, maybe of Catalonia. . . Eulalia. She was a thirteen-year-old virgin girl, who died a martyr and is celebrated because of it. A king attempted to kill her by burning, but she did not die. There is a street in the Old Town named after her because legend tells of her rolling to her death down the inclined street in a barrel stuck with sharp nails.
   Anyway, now there are fireworks on the Barceloneta on the first day of celebration. Jess and i ate dinner with Cristina and headed to the school (a meeting point we all knew how to get to) to meet up with Josh, Lynn, and Liza, three friends we had made from our program. (Sidenote: this is when i had asked Josh if he knew where the "big-ass fountain" was in the park. He said no. No worries, he does know where it is now.) We met them all at the school to head to the fireworks (a short walk), which were to start at ten. The beach was packed! We sat down on the beach as the first fireworks were starting. The fireworks were big and colorful (nothing compared to Lea's Firework Spectacular, of course, but still very good.)

   Afterward, Lynn, Liza, and Jess talked about going out somewhere to a bar. We didn't have class the next day, so i was down. Josh said he was gonna head home, so he headed to the Metro with us but said goodbye there then headed toward the Arc de Triomf, not Urquinaona like us. At this point, having been there only a week, we knew about three Metro stops in total: the one near where we lived, the one near school (Arc de Triomf), and the one near the ISA office (Urquinaona). The bar that Lynn and Liza knew about - they had gone earlier in the week - was an Irish bar called George Payne. And, in-coincidentally, it happened to be located right near the Metro stop Urquinaona.
   I hate to stereotype, but Lynn and Liza, being sorority girls, seemed like the right people to show me the ins and outs of going out. It turned out that i was right.
   It turned out to be a tourist bar where there was sometimes live music and always a Party Platter of drinks for a good deal. We got a Party Platter. For four euros each, we got a carafe of some possibly-vodka and juice of questionable fruit origin, eight shots, two Sex on the Beaches, and two Cosmos (or some fruity drink like that). Somehow, Lynn, Liza, and Jess ended up talking with a group of three guys, which seemed perfect: there were four of us, but Liza had a boyfriend - to the dismay of many European guys, i'm sure. Liza could easily have been plucked from an H&M catalogue, seamlessly blending into the backdrop of Barcelona with her very fashionable European style. She was a wavy-haired, dark brunette with pale Irish skin and freckles. Her blue eyes were usually bright with confidence. Lynn matched her friend in confidence, but that's where their similarities ended. Secretly a math nerd, Lynn was outgoing and funny. With straight and shiny, chestnut-colored hair and bronze skin, Lynn was curvier than Liza, but no less stunning. Lacking confidence, i looked up to them at the beginning of my trip. They were, well, cool.
   There was no live band, but that didn't stop some people from dancing - including me! One guy was dancing me and twirling me (a little tipsily) on the small space of floor between our high-top and the bar. I didn't care that he probably had drank one too many because, simply, it was fun! My friends teased me minimally when i rejoined them. Jess was at the high-top next to ours with one of the guys, speaking stuff i could not hear over the music and chatter. Lynn and Liza filled me in while the other two guys talked to each other for a minute.
   “Jess is speaking Catalan with that guy. She speaks Catalan! Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” i said. “She majors in it at her school.”

Their faces showed how impressed they were. I looked over at Jess, leaning toward the guy she was talking to while saying something animatedly.

i found out later that Jess gets a lot more confident in her Catalan after a drink or two. That night, when we were walking from where the taxi dropped us off to Cristina’s apartment, she spoke Spanish to me, saying it was important for us to practice. i just said “Si” when i thought appropriate because between the drinks she and i had, i knew our Spanish was not exactly top-notch. But that night was, so it didn’t matter.

We ended up talking to the guys who had gotten a table close to ours. They were hanging at our table with us, still sipping on our Party Platter, while Jess still talked with the Catalan guy at the next table. At least one of the other two was from another part of Spain, and just moved here to go to school. They had all met at their university, the Universitat Autonoma de Barcelona. We were all talking, exchanging histories, bios, and whatnot. (Sidenote: i quickly found out in Europe that – because a good amount of them learn English in school – it doesn’t make much sense to them for me to say i study “English” in college. I got the response from a guy one time, “But you already speak English!” Yeah, thanks, Einstein.)

An older guy (well, older for us – like 40 or something) came over with a Party Platter for us. Now, i’m not stupid, so i knew not to drink it. However, i was impressed with how Lynn and Liza approached the situation. Lynn had balls. But she was polite, too. He wanted to see us drink it. (We still weren’t done with the other one, and I wasn’t looking to get wasted, so I was buzzed and perfectly content.)

She told him right off the bat, “Okay, drink some.”

He said something about not putting anything in it, so why did he have to drink it?

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” she said when he tried to walk away, trying to hand the Platter back to him.

It was a weird situation, where he wouldn’t drink it, and we certainly weren’t about to. I don’t remember the other guys really jumping to our aid. . . Although, they might not have understood all of the English. . . Liza jumped in for backup for Lynn, just as insistent and immovable as she was, despite being smaller. i just sat there watching, not really sure what to do honestly; i mean, they were taking care of it.

Anyway, somehow the guys tried some of the drinks once the 40-year-old creep walked away, and they were not as suspicious as us. So, they got a free round of drinks. As far as we know, nothing bad came from drinking them.

After some more drinks and small talk, the guys said they wanted to take us somewhere. They told Jess’ guy about it, but they all told us it was a surprise. We were not too keen on that idea.

Lynn spoke for us when she said, “No, no, no. We’re not going to go with you for a surprise. You could rape us or something.”

They were insistent, of course. While Liza chatted with the guys, i asked Lynn if her and Liza were okay. They had been talking pretty loudly in the bar and being . . . umm silly, if you catch my drift. She made sure that the guys didn’t hear her tell me that her and Liza were fine in her normal voice. I breathed a sigh of relief. Jess wanted to go with her Spanish hottie. And we couldn’t let her go alone.  

As we walked on the sidewalk away from The George Payne, telling the guys that they better not try anything, i did the calculations in my head: 4 of us, only 3 of them, and i had sandals on so i knew i could run. Plus, even though they didn’t seem like the fighting sort, i thought we could take them. i felt somehow safer with Lynn and Liza – as if they had done this before or something! I know, it sounds stupid. But they had two things i didn’t: experience with guys and street smarts.

So, without knowing where we were going, we followed them. They told us that it was a great surprise. My brain was on high alert, the alcohol wearing off. Lynn and Liza were talking loudly with two of the guys and Jess had her arm hooked in Spanish Hottie’s. i watched them walk in front of us, laughing and flirting. i tried to remember everything that i thought might act as a sort of landmark for us if we had to find our way back. The truth was: i wasn’t worried about where the guys were guiding us; i was worried about when they might NOT guide us.

For the first time in my life, i did something – not stupid. Stupid i think i’ve done. No, this was . . . reckless, something rash. Something where your brain says, This probably isn’t the smartest choice. But my gut told me, You’ll be fine. You got this!

Luckily, my gut was right.

The guys led us to a very narrow-fronted building where one of them works, located in a busy square across from their university. We went up in a lift with them to the top of what – from the inside – looked like an apartment building or a hotel. It was about three or four stories high. Inside, the floors were covered in tiny black and white tiles in a mosaic pattern.

By the time the guy who works there unlocked the door on the landing of the third or so floor, we were all giggling with anticipation, while Lynn made jokes like “You better not try anything. I’ve seen the movie Taken!”

We were led through one of those offices that tries as hard as it can to not look like an office: you know, the over-stuffed couches and wing-backed chairs, , but the brochures and pamphlets on the quaint wooden side tables give it away. i looked at as many brochures as i could to try to figure out where we were. Unfortunately, they were all – shocker – in Spanish or Catalan. So i didn’t understand much. (Again, the alcohol had worn off for me at this point so my brain was in over-drive. And, i’ll admit that yes, it probably was a little paranoid of me to take one of the brochures when no one was looking, but just in case we needed to find that place again, i wanted as many clues as possible.) i was in the back of the line and felt like i was more tagging along on this adventure. So i was the last to see that we followed the guys onto a rooftop overlooking the lit square. There was even a small pool! i immediately went over to the railing-lined edge and took some pictures. It was so cool! The golden lights from the lampposts lining the square and the green and red stoplights all reflected in a silvery, golden glow in the wet tar in the square. It was lit up as if with Christmas lights – just mostly the white ones.

We hung up on the roof with the guys, Jess flirting with Spanish Hottie, Lynn and Liza joining the conversation, and me being simply amazed by the view. Of course, i made friends with the guy who had a girlfriend. But, we had some cool conversation. Turns out, he was a Media / Communications major, and being the lover of movies and English / Communications major, we had quite a lot to talk about.

i feel like that was the beginning of my adventures! i do. Because that was the first night i felt . . . different. Different than my regular, what-i-would-call-boring, goody-two-shoes self. i felt like i could break away from any expectations that anyone from back home might have of me – not go completely haywire. But just enough.

And, i found and i’m still finding now that once you deviate from those expectations that people have of you, well, it’s hard to go back. Humans are creatures of habit; they don’t like change.

i am . . . changed. 

A Day to Enjoy to Every Day to Enjoy

11-15-15, around 5:00 p.m., Barcelona Time

   Honestly, I just finished going through a period where I was feeling very lonely - in more than one sense of the word. I know, crazy right?!? I'm in a foreign country with people I've only known for a few months and the only taste of home I have here is some microwaveable pancakes and a Dunks on a very, very rare street corner: how the hell could I be lonely???
   Well, ta-dah! I did it.
   However, this weekend, I was reminded of who I am by the person who knows me best - better than I know myself usually. And I had some much-needed confidence boosts from a couple you-know-who-you-are-and-what-you-mean-to-mes. I felt like an author again - something I didn't realize I hadn't felt in a while. I was reminded that my writing is something to be proud of and that I have a different perspective on the world that can be shared. I was reminded that it's okay to be alone and that I should enjoy it. I was told to take some "Alex Improvement Time." Shopping was also recommended! (I really like that one!) I was reminded that I am beautiful and strong and, as Dad always says, "gorgeous"! I was reminded that I am an artist, that I am a food-lover, athlete, and kind-hearted person. And, that I am young! More than one person reminded me of my young age and spirit and to remember that while I take my time in a city that always seems to take its time. To treat myself. To love everything around me and myself. To enjoy.
   There is a verb in Spanish, "disfrutar," and I love it because while it means to "enjoy," and it has "fruta" (fruit) in it. "Take the fruit of life," it says. I have a month left before I go to Roma. I plan to be an expert at "disfrutando" by the time I go. 
 
TODAY
   I took myself out today and took your advice:
   I went to the diner for breakfast;
   I walked around the Old Town, which I always love to do!;
   I bought myself a Neymar Jr. Barca jersey (I had to after seeing him play and score that awesome goal!);
   I bought myself a new pair of shoes, and I said to myself, "I don´t care if anyone else likes these. I do!" (That´s not usually a thing for me.);
   I took myself to a cafe I have been wanting to go to (more on that after*);
   I had a gelato with a scoop of caramel and a scoop of chocolate-hazelnut.

   * The cafe I went to was one that I read about in my tourist book. (Thanks, Dad!) It was called The 4 Cats (in Catalan, Els Quatre Gats), and it claims that Picasso and "other bohemian intellectuals" used to go there. My waitor helped me pick out a dish that i thoroughly enjoyed! It was eggs, potatoes, Iberian ham, and some white and grey squiggly things I decided not to question because it was so delicious! ( I never found out what they were.) I spent about two hours there, I think! The interior was decorated with mustard and reds, dark woods, and gold accents. One wall was dominated by a large replica of the famous painting with the two men with impressive mustaches on a bicycle built for two. The waitors were all in black dress pants, white shirts, and black vests with bowties. I felt like it was a cafe that Dolly from Hello, Dolly! would have been a regular at!

   Mostly through all of this, I took time for myself; I wrote, I read, I thought, and I enjoyed.
 
Thank you for the reminders. 
You always know what to say. And, of course, you're always right. 
Love you.

She Is Lucky Who Has Friends

11-15-15, around noontime, Barcelona Time
 
   A group of touring students stopped for a minute in front of the mock 50s diner I sat in. They milled past. I sipped my paradoxical cappuccino. (The American coffee here sucked the last time. Yes, unfortunately, I have to admit that I have come to this diner before. It was just as disappointing last time, too. I won't make the mistake again - but let me just say : eggs Benedict and pancakes can only be found in so many places in Barcelona.) 
   The students, I knew, would follow the pattern that I took part in repeating at the beginning of this fall: meeting a bunch of new people, judging the crap out of everyone, seeing who you seemed to fit in with and who you wanted to fit in with. Then, people split off and cliques form, the cool people separate from the not-as-cool. "Cool" in whose eyes? The group´s as a whole, I suppose. I am always in the group who isn't considered "cool."
   At first, I came here wanting to be more adventurous, to take more risks, and I associated that with "cool." But I have realized that isn't me. And that's okay. In my own way, I have taken risks, tried new things, and explored new places. (I do need to work on getting to know myself better however.) But, I have realized that the people who aren't considered "cool" are usually the people who just don't find themselves cool. They don't think of it; they don't care. And they shouldn't. I shouldn't.
   Now, I think this whole "cool" and "not cool" thing is just a nice way of saying the "stuck-ups" and the "not stuck-ups." And, not all the people in these groups fit this stereotype obviously. But it has helped me determine that I don't need to "fit-in," something I thought I had learned in high school and had come to - I thought - accept in college. Maybe doubt just came back in a different form in this new country. Either way, I know it now and don't want to forget it. I appreciate the people I have met here and hang around with. It also has gotten me to appreciate my friends from home and school in the States more as well. I talk to people here who for their own reasons do not have the large group of reliable, loyal, and kind friends that I am so lucky to have. I would like my friends to know that, too.

i am . . . lucky. Lucky to have friends. Not just any friends: My Friends.

Hope Is a Child

At Yet Another Street Corner Café

   11-14-15, around 6:00 p.m. Barcelona Time

   A young boy around (I'm guessing) six years old came up to the other side of the café table I was sitting at while staring blankly, I enjoyed a favorite passtime of mine: people-watching. He blinked at me from behind his Harry Potter-like thick framed glasses, a paperback in his hand with a fantasy illustration on the back cover. The kid was cute in his navy letterman prep sweater and dark hair helping the Harry Potter resemblance. 

   I smiled and said <<Hola>> in response. 

   One of the men he was with - his father I'm guessing by the similar characteristics and fashion sense, including glasses - asked me confusedly if I knew him. But, he stumbled over his words, stopping a couple times to internally debate whether or not to ask the question. I finally understood and replied, <<No, no I don't know (him)>>.

   The boy went back to his presumed father and a white-haired man - presumably his grandfather by how the brown blazered man and him were talking to each other before. The father apologized. 

   I said, <<No, no>> to mean <<It's nothing>>.

   But, I didn't get to tell themit was nice, nicet for someone to think they knew me, that I could fit-in here, that I could belong. Possibly. It was nice to have that interaction - a small human connection, no matter how brief. And, with a stranger nonetheless! It was nice to use my broken Spanish not in a structured environment, like a classroom or for ordering food. And, actually, it could have been Catalan that the man had used originally. . . 

   And, I didn't get to tell them that I thought I knew the book the boy was holding : it wasa Harry Potter book. I may not have known the boy, but I know his story very well. 

   The dark-haired boy, his father, and his grandfather walked inside the café. Thank you to them. I doubt I'll ever get to tell then, doubt they'd ever think - well, then, they thought they were bothering me. Ha! 

  They left me smiling and with a little more of something that we can all use a little more of : Hope. 

BTW : This blog post was originally written in pen on napkins (small ones I might add) from the café mentioned above. Does it get more author-y than that?!?!

I'm a Slacker

I'm Way Behind on Blogging!

   Sorry, everyone! (And by that I mean probably just Mom and Dad.)
   I have been soooo busy with school, Morocco coming up, and of course, traveling that I haven't had the time to blog! I want to really bad and write down everything, but it might not happen until after Morocco. :( I'm going to do my best!

   The real reason I'm blogging is because I couldn't wait to post that I MET LOCALS today!
   I was sitting on a bench in the concrete quad that we have at my university. It's an old military barracks building, so the classrooms are on the circumference of the building and there's a quad in the middle with the cafe-like tables for the cafeteria (it's seating is partly outside) on one end and park benches and other seating all around the edges.
   So I was there and some other students came and sat on the other side of the bench I was on. I said, "Hola" and asked them where they were from and after looking at me like I had 6 heads, they said, "Here" in Spanish. After saying I was from the US and using some bad simple phrases in Spanish, one of the guys turned around and started speaking English to me. (They always do that.)
   Long story short, he is looking for an intercambio and I want friends so it's great! His name is Miquel. We'll see how it goes. I'm so excited to meet some new people, maybe get to know the city better from a local's point of view! (I'm such a dork, I know.)

Vale! (That's Spanish for "Okay.") I gotta go do some homework!

i am. . . busy!!

Needing a Boost of Confidence . . . (and Not the Alcohol Type)

Some Better Spanish Wouldn't Hurt Either

   I walk around the concrete quad in my university, and I want sooo badly to talk to some people. However, I lack confidence in my Spanish - and for good reason. Finding a patient Spanish person to speak to is a crap shoot. Sometimes, people are nice and speak clearly, like a guy I talked to today, asking about the formation of a congregation of people outside the building. Other times, we foreigners get the Mean Girls treatment, with the how-dare-you-think-you-can-just-talk-to-us attitude. I got such an attitude (not to that extent, but I certainly wouldn't call them patient with me) on the train this morning when I tried to make conversation with some students who were obviously from my university. I think they were freshmen. Maybe that was the problem. *claps hands together and makes "hang-ten" gestures with hands* Stupid Freshmen! (Anyone not familiar with HP the Musical, please, don't hurt yourselves trying to figure that reference out.)
   I have an intercambio (conversation partner), but currently, she, Angela, is M.I.A. I emailed her and haven't heard back. I'm gonna wait a bit longer before I resort to Morse code, smoke signals, or flares.
   However, I want to talk to more people on my own, too. Not at a bar or anything. Just to make a friend here.
I've got a little fire in my belly. Maybe it's all the folklore of St. Jordi and dragons or the rebellious and stubborn attitude of the Catalonians that's got me like this. But, whatever it is, gosh darn it, I will talk to them eventually!

   i am . . . determined. That's the Catalan spirit, no?

Not So Important, Miscellaneous-Type Things

   That moment when you realize your skinny jeans aren't tight on you anymore = day made. :) Not such a fat bastard anymore from all the walking i've been doing here. Booya!

* * *

   i am very surprised by the number of people who speak English at the university. My friend was just talking to me about needing to set up her wifi, and a girl with a possibly German accent asked to go with her because she was having trouble too. Then, a cute ginger with a British accent tried to help them.
   You really have no idea where to expect English.

* * *

   This song has been stuck in my head for a few days now. i started singing it one morning, and now, i can't seem to stop.

"She wears a Red Sox cap

to hide her baby dreads.

The girl she was in New England

is different now and then.

In all the local bars, 

she flirts and tells the boys 

while they're talkin':

she's from Boston."

-Kenny Chesney, "Boston"

i am . . . random.

To the Land of the (Really) White and Green!

   A brief aside to Dana:
  My pasty white and freckle-faced friend, i write to you to tell you that i will be venturing to the land of your kin.
   And, don't worry: I'll bring them sunscreen.
   -Alex

* * *

  i am so excited to go to Ireland! Jess, my housemate, (yes, i can finally use her name), and i are flying out tomorrow. We plan to visit Trinity College and see the Book of Kells, Dublin Castle and the gardens behind it, and of course, the Guinness Factory.
  Jess said, "This is your first time to Europe, right?"
   "Yup," i replied.
   "Okay, then you pick what we do. i have one thing i want to see, and that's it."
   "Wait, what?"
   She was totally cool about it, and said, "Yeah, I've traveled around, and this is your first time, so we have to make it the best."
   i was speechless. After a while, i said, "Are you sure?"
   She just answered with a smile, "So, what're we going to do in Dublin?"
   Isn't she awesome?
   Yeah, i guess I'll keep her. :)

* * *

   Well, to answer her question:
   On Friday, we will be doing a tour of the Irish countryside from Dublin of the east to Limerick in the west. Along the way, i will get my share of medieval castles and Celtic ruins, while we both enjoy the beautiful view of the green hills and commentary on the history of Ireland. Our very exciting destination is the the Cliffs of Moher, which is where the Cliffs of Insanity scene in The Princess Bride was filmed. (For those who don't know, that is my favorite movie.) Another favorite of mine is the Harry Potter series, which more of you probably know. These cliffs happen to be where the scene in the sixth movie when Harry and Dumbledore travel to the cliffside to go to Voldemort's cave was filmed. Needless to say, my dork-o-meter is sky-rocketing, and i can barely control my excitement! It looks amazing! I'll try to get pics up here soon.
   i plan on ending the day in a good ol' Irish pub to sing, dance, and drink along with Jess and some real Irishmen! (Who knows, maybe I'll find one in his twenties. You never know, i could dig gingers.) :) And, "Benny and the Jets" may also be requested. Not Irish, but as 27 Dresses shows us, lassies and lads, always a good bar tune.

(P.S. - Dad, trying Bailey's in Ireland is on my to-do list, so you can live vicariously through me! They won't be as good as yours, but I'll let you know the verdict.)

First Day!

9:41 pm Barcelona time
   "First day of school! First day of school!!"
   Yup, today was my 18th First Day of School.
   But i felt more intimidated than a freshmen in high school for the first time. At least freshmen don't have to worry about everything being, well, foreign. Literally. Today was difficult. It was the first time i really had trouble communicating with people here, and it got very frustrating. It made asking simple questions into a big process sometimes. And, i won't lie; i was in super stress mode between that and my literature professor coming off as a stony, unapproachable stick-in-the-mud. Being the dork that i am, i was really excited - and also nervous - for the literature class. My program luckily has tutors to help me with the class, which makes me feel so much better. And, they said what i have realized from 18 years of different teachers: teachers have to show who's boss on the first day.
   i have a lot of respect for study abroad students who come to America and go to other countries now. People told me i was brave for going abroad, but i didn't feel brave then and still don't. i feel . . . ignorant . . . and maybe naive. Because i didn't realize that the Spanish "have a different word for everything!" No, really.It finally hit me today that English is not always going to be an option, and while i knew that before, i haven't run into situations where i can't ask for someone else's help or explain what i mean in Spanish. Today, i was on my own. It could have been way worse, but i definitely felt alone at times.

i am . . . (maybe) getting more independent.. .

A Few More Days (Somos Dias Mas)

   Finally, i write this, doing just what i was most dying to do when i knew i was going abroad. Imagine the most stereotypical, romantic perception of Europe there is: sitting at an outdoor cafe, writing. i just enjoyed a croissant con crema (the cream like the filling of a Boston cream pie - a little, surprise reminder of home. And then, its' heavy presence a perfect contrast directly in front of me: the Arc de Triompf (the Arc of Triumph). Ironically, the arch wasn't actually built to celebrate the winning of a battle; it was built for the 1888 World Fair. Barcelona has been host to two World Fairs, 1888 and 1929.

Okay, I'm catching up on 3 exciting days, so sorry for the long post!

The 15th

   Breakfast today was toast with peach marmalade, a banana, and some instant coffee with my housemate, J (still don't know if i can use her name. i just met her, so i don't want to freak her out by telling her that I'm writing about her.) We took the metro and had to go to another meeting - this one, not as boring as the last ones. J and i then split a panini with cheese, a light pizza sauce, and hotdogs.i also had my first "cafe con leche" (coffee with milk). It's a shot of espresso with milk mixed with it. We then split a sort-of cheese danish, minus the cheese. It was filled with "crema," and sprinkled with coconut. It sucked. Just kidding - it was delicious. i have been wanting to try more pastry since.
     Then, my program provided a city bus tour in a coach bus for all of us. Yes, the guide showed us most of the tourist traps in the city, but he told us a lot about the history of Catalonia, as well. Seeing all of the beautiful sights of the city made all of our to-do lists a LOT longer!
   As if that weren't enough for one day, some of us, myself included, had to take our Spanish placement test: 80 multiple choice, 1 short answer, and a 5 minute interview. i found out that i placed into Advanced Spanish 1, which i hope is a good thing. After the test, we had a tour around the school by students who will be doing study abroad in the U.S. Most of them will be going to B.C.

The 16th

   We went to an old church!
   Yeah, right. This was not just any old church; this was the most famous Catalonian basilica, La Sagrada Familia, perceived by Antoni Guadi. It is so complicatedly detailed that it has a beauty not only pleasing to the eye, but to the mind. The basilica's name means, "The Sacred Family," meaning Jesus, Mary, and Joseph of Christianity, and it tells their story from Jesus' birth to his death. However, the basilica was built primarily to restore morale in the old traditions, which people were losing faith in. It was meant to bring people back to The Church, so it was to be a masterpiece.
   It does not disappoint, completed or not. The building is not completed because it used to run strictly on donations; it was to be FOR the people, BY the people. For one whole decade, there was a recession and not much money went to the church, which slowed construction. Now, the construction funds come from selling tickets to see the building, which brings in twenty-five million euros a year! They hope to finish the construction by 2026, the centennial of Guadi's death. But, with the ten tallest towers still to be built, things are (ironically) not looking up. The basilica was started in the 1880s, but who knows when it'll be finished.

The 17th

   Today was J's birthday!
   J and i met up with two amigas of ours and took the metro to Monjuic, a mountain in Barcelona. We went up to see the Olympic Village and the view from the top of the mountain. MCLA friends, i think i found the real Top of the World. We walked down the mountain and found a restaurant that had coffee, which was surprisingly difficult at 4:00 pm, and we had cafe cortado con hielo (ice coffee).
   Our program took us on a tour of the MNAC (Museo Nacional del Arte Catalunya), where we got to see Gothic and Neo-Gothic art. We didn't get to see the modern art and other exhibits because of how little time we had, so J and i are planning to go back. Then, there was a water show with all of the fountains outside the museum lit up. And, to top of the day, a group of us had some mojitos and tapas at an outdoor restaurant. Everything was delicious, and it felt good to feel like i was in the right place at the right time, just enjoying the moments. i don't know how many people have those moments or how often, but this was a day full of moments like that and plenty of laughter.
   And hey, i'm making friends, too, which feels awesome!

The 18th 

   i went to a tour of the Gothic Quarters of Barcelona. It contains the parts of the Old City that still remain, whether by reconstruction of old buildings or a building made in layers through the centuries.  (Fun fact for my Jewish friends: there is also a Jewish Quarters as part of the Old City,) We learned some of the legends of Barcelona's patron saints, St. Jordi (George) and St. Eulalia. The city's buildings in the Gothic Quarters date back to Roman times, when the Romans took over the

***
   Tonight starts the five-day-long celebration of the patron saint, Merce. We had dinner (lightly fried fish, caprese-type salad, and a warm green bean, potato, and some-type-of-ham-type-meat mix) and are going to the fireworks at the beach!

i am . . . a shoobie (for now).

P.S.: i found out that the insult word for tourists is pronounced "giddy," so it's not "biddy."

La Sagrada Familia & My Host Familia

1:25 AM
Barcelona, Spain

My Host

   My host must think I'm a stereotypical fat American.
   My host family consists of an older Spanish woman,** who cooks wonderfully! Mom, I'm eating very well: from tortillas espanas - not flour tortillas - (It's a 2 inch thick seared egg, onion, and potato slab of goodness!) to paella with shrimp and sausage and ham fritters. I will eat anything she puts in front of me and usually only ask what it is after I've started eating.
   Something funny: the Spanish eat fruit and yogurt for dessert. I'm loving the watermelon after dinner, but it's no wonder I'm not seeing any fat Spaniards!

Cornelius Fudge at My School

   Today, I walked into the university and saw . . . Cornelius Fudge.
   Okay, not exactly. You know in the fifth movie when that huge banner of Cornelius Fudge is hanging in the Ministry of Magic? Yeah, my school has a smaller one hanging outside the main entrance in a cobblestone paved plaza.
   Only it's not Cornelius Fudge. But he DOES have a hat on similar to the iconic bowler! So, anyway, the guy is actually Pompeu Fabra, the guy my university is named after and more importantly, the creator of the first official Catalan dictionary. He solidified many of the grammar rules followed in Catalan.

Bookworms, Unite!

   I had boring meetings in the morning, but I got to see what clubs and sports are offered at UPF (my school). Summary: theater is an option; softball is not.
   Moving on: the library here (from the pics they showed us) looks like the library at Hogwarts, so being the nerd I am, I can't wait to see it! A big part of our university is renovating and using old buildings, and I think they said the library used to be a textile factory. It looks like it has high ceilings and brick walls. #EnglishMajor #DorkingOut

La Sagrada Familia

   My feet won't thank me for the walking I did today.
  The most exciting part of my day was walking around with some of the girls from my program. We walked around Barcelona, exploring the streets. We saw the outside of La Sagrada Familia, which is indescribably and complicatedly beautiful. The Gothic architecture is amazingly detailed. It was designed by the famous artist Gaudi, but he died when they were not even close to done. The city has been trying to finish it for years, and it is estimated to be done  in 2026.
   We walked the streets more - wherever they took us really - and looked in some shops. Then, we walked down to the beach and sat there and talked a while. It was all really cool, different, and pretty! It's still kinda weird to see a lot of restaurants and shops closed during some periods of the day (for siesta or dinner time).

My Housemate

   Oh! And, I hung out a bit with my housemate. She's super cool! And, she wants to be friends, not just housemates, which I really appreciate. I just hope I am getting off on the right foot with her. I don't want her to think, "Great. I'm stuck with you. I guess we'll be friends." When I get excited, I blab. A lot. I know I was doing it earlier because I was so excited to get to know more about her. She'll probably get me duck tape for my birthday. I hope it wasn't too annoying.
  She said she really misses her family (she's been away from them a couple weeks) because they are close-knit, which sounds like mine. I want to make her feel . . . not so alone. Hopefully, hugs will help! :)

I am . . . feeling much more adventurous than yesterday.

**Haven't gotten permission to use names of people yet.

From Biddy to Being a "Biddy"

9-13-15

7:20 AM Spain time

Hey, everyone!

(I’m writing this from Madrid’s airport, but I won’t be able to post until later.)

   Today (or yesterday, I suppose), I left my hometown of Peabody, fondly nicknamed ‘Biddy,’ and embarked on what everyone keeps calling “the adventure of a lifetime.” Well, I’m just saying, Barcelona had better live up to that because otherwise, well, . . . we’ll see . . . I’ve heard that the natives / locals call foreigners “biddies.” I was hoping to NOT be called a “biddy” until a lot later in life, but oh, well. I just hope they mean it less like the term “gringo” in Mexico and more like the term “shoobie” for a tourist in Rocket Power.

   It was strange saying the whole “Adios” to my parents. Of course, Angelabaglady was on the verge of tears, following the stereotype of protective Italian-American mom to a T. (Love you, Mom! And I wil miss your hugs, too.) And Dad was joking, making us feel better about the whole thing, telling me he was jealous and Ma that “There is no crying on Spain Day!” Leaving went by in a blur. I still kinda feel like I wasn’t there; maybe I watched it all happen from outside my body. Feels that way.

But, as I sit in this airport café, typing away to literally no one yet because I’d have to pay for Wifi, I find it really hard to imagine that I’m in a different country. NO. Really. Other than the fact that a LOT of people are speaking – get this: SPANISH around me (it’s like a convention that I wasn’t invited to), the signs are all in English! The café is called “Eating Point” with cheesy pics of people smiling at various dinner tables, saying “smile,” “eat,” “enjoy.” I’m not complaining: it’s clean and has sangwiches and water, so I’m all set. All the airport signs have English and Spanish, too. (Thank the airline gods!)

   Can’t wait to be done with my upcoming flight and be in Barcelona! Very excited to see the city, meet my new housemate & host family, and talk to other humanoids. (I’m a wee bit shy with my rusty, mediocre Spanish at the moment.)

I am . . . full of anticipation!

Getting Started

This is a travel blog I am starting to record some of my experiences while I am studying abroad this fall. It is for friends and family to know where in the world I am and what I am doing.

But I like to think it is also for myself. 

What for? 

I'm not sure yet. . . . Things just make more sense to me when I jot them down.

Oh yeah, by the way, I am . . . a writer.