Sometimes the best things in life are free because, sometimes, sandwiches are free.
On Thursday, my 9:30 a.m. field trip was cancelled because there was a public transportation strike. I found this out around 9:30 a.m. while feet away from the museum after walking (my feet away).
I tried getting on one of the few bus lines that was still running, but it was packed like a can of sardines and smelled worse. Tangent: I had the worst bus ride ever today where I sat in between two old men whose breath smelled like they drank too much coffee six years ago and hadn't gotten around to brushing their teeth yet. It also smelled like the outcome of drinking too much coffee. I won't go into detail there, but you probably know what I mean.
Wait what was a saying. Okay so, to prevent the day from getting really bad, I went into a book store (cue choir of angels). I will spare you the description of how my heart feels in the children's section of a bookstore and skip to the part where I bought the Italian versions of
James and the Giant Peach (because it's at my baby level) and
The Great Gatsby (because it's my favorite, of course). (((Do) I use) parenthes))(es) too much),)"))? Then I went to get a sandwich and the creepy guy gave it to me for free and it was a free sandwich, so I didn't even care if it was given out of creepiness. It's the culture here for guys to be creepy, therefore it's not anything to be concerned about because it's normal. For example, a guy asking me for directions last week turned into him trying to Vicky Cristina Barcelona me into going to Milan. Anyway, I was sitting on the ledge of a fountain eating a free sandwich in the piazza by my cancelled field trip on a perfect day weather-wise thinking, yeah this is good.
I don't know why I just typed that all of that, but I really don't want to delete it because it's already been written. Moving on.
That night I left for Barcelona.
Barcelona, quite frankly, was not as great of a city as I thought it would be. Maybe it's because I hyped it up too much by wanting to go there for literally the past ten years or because I have been too spoiled aesthetically living in Rome, but I have no desire to go back any time soon. This is strange because
everyone I know who has been to Barcelona has told me that they loved it. Am I crazy! The food in Barcelona is awful.
War Horse was boring. I don't understand the consensuses society is coming to without my input.
Don't get my wrong; I am extremely happy that I went to Barcelona. First of all, Gaudí was a genius. Second, Las Ramblas. Third, STARBUCKS. I'm not into Starbucks compared to Caribou and Coffee Bea, but I almost cried when I saw one in Spain because they do not exist in Italy. You'd think Starbucks would be all over in a city that prides itself on coffee but, if you think about it, the opposite makes way more sense.
As I've potentially already said, part of the value of living in Rome is how rah rah America it's making me. Similarly, Barcelona has made me appreciate aspects of Rome that I'd taken for granted. I even returned to my apartment with open arms after my first (last? please last) hostel stay. According to people with prior hostel experience, we were in a nice one, but I'm pretty sure "nice hostel" is an oxymoron. Hostels are so strange I can't even. The patrons of a hostel are more diverse than the Star Wars Cantina crew and the only thing more awkward that sitting in your shared room with all eight people in there is sitting in your shared room with one other person in there.
The only positive thing I have to mention about hostels is that they allow one to sleep on a top bunk, an experience not frequently offered to people over the age of nine. I genuinely enjoy top bunk, not only because it reminds me of summer camp. Top bunks are like window seats; you may wake other people up when you go to the bathroom, but it doesn't matter, because you're cozy and nobody wakes
you up.
Oh back to Starbucks super fast: we ran into another girl from IES there on the last day and she came with us to the airport. Also, a girl who graduated from Scripps last year (lives in Spain now) visited Rome a few weeks ago and happened to be staying ~a 5 minute walk from me. Most insane though is that a girl with whom I was a Page at the MN State Capitol in high school is living in Rome only a few blocks away from me.
Barcelona redeemed itself some on the last day when we went to the beach. I'm generally not a beach person, but it was the best part of the city. I liked it a lot. The vibrancy that I'd expected to be everywhere in Barcelona was at the beach, where there were farmer's market style rows of tents and people rollerblading by small seafood restaurants and chocolate-covered churro stands (yeah).
I hadn't expected Catalan to be as present as it was. It was odd enough trying to remember Spanish, a depressingly difficult task. The only phrase I said with any rapidity in Spanish was "I'm sorry; I study in Rome now and it is difficult to separate Spanish from Italian" because I said it so many times. Catalan doesn't look real. It contains a lot of "x"s and uses words like "supermercat." Like, you know that's another supermarket in another language, but your brain is wondering if that's Spanish that you've forgotten, while additionally conjuring an image of a super meerkat. Confusing things like that constantly.
Barcelona summary: very glad I went. Not as hoppin' as I wanted it to be. Bland food. Worth it for Gaudí. If you liked
War Horse and generally agree with other humans, you'll probably like it. Not my favorite.
In less surprising news: I'm still eating like a tapering athlete. Even more so after craving it over the weekend. Gabrielle made too much pasta a bit ago and he just called me in to clean up. You can't get doggie bags in Italy, so I am the dad who eats everyone's leftovers. For how long is this acceptable?
I'm sleepy. More and pictures to come.
Bona Nit! <--Good night in Catalan. Do you see what I'm saying??
