13April, Day 93, Barcelona

I had a lot of time waiting in the airport to finish this old entry. I think Mark Twain’s said, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter essay.” However, this did not seem to come into effect today...












The kidney is not for sale
I had booked a flight to Barcelona about a month ago because I’ve never been to Spain, and some of my Italian co-workers have suggested that I might really like it. I picked the weekend after Easter because I figured Easter would be more crowded. The city was pretty crowded anyway, but I guess high season is beginning soon.

One of friends called a couple weeks ago to invite me to some sort of yoga conference that I didn’t go to, but this led to a conversation discussing plans for the next couple weekends. I mentioned I’d be going to Barcelona. (I think this was around the time I wrote the “Hotel Barcelona” entry but never got around to mentioning this conversation at that time.) She suggested that she had a friend living there and that I might be able to stay at her place instead of renting a room. So over the next few days I began to establish contact with her friend. She sent me her address, directions, phone number, photos of the apartment, then photos of her visiting Rome, and then Germany. Things seemed to be going a little too fast and were falling into place a little too easily that I began to get suspicious. I discussed these developments with a few friends and arrived at various conclusions. In the worst case this could be a setup to steal my kidneys to sell on the black market. In the best case I might make a new friend in Spain, or even get to stay the weekend without paying rent. The general Italian consensus seemed to be that this was a set-up opportunity to sleep with this woman. But they tell me that the other girl also wants me, which I find absurd to consider because she’s more than a few years older than me.

Yellow Flowers
There was a train strike on Friday so I decided not to go into work that day because it was going to take me even longer to get to the airport. I left at noon for a 4PM flight because I had to take the bus into Milan, wait a while, and then take another bus to the airport. Although the travel went smoothly, it still took more than two hours to finally get to the airport. (At least I was in the pleasant company of two girls born in Hong Kong that were studying in England.) I would have to take another hour-long bus from the Girona airport to Barcelona. This made the trip a total of about 4 hours dealing with busses, about 1 hour flying, and 1 hour waiting for my plane to leave bringing up a grand total of 6 or 7 hours traveling. –Funny how flying was the shortest part…

I left Italy on a warm sunny day that had me wondering if I should be wearing shorts, but arrived in Spain to find a grey drizzle. Soon after leaving the Girona airport we passed vast fields of bright yellow flowers that brightened the day despite the gloom. I’d made it to Spain and was excited to continue my adventure! But I was still unsure what I might be getting myself into, and since I had been unable to make contact by phone, I wrote down a few phone numbers of hotels before leaving just in case something was awry.

Tapas and internationals
I was feeling rather soggy by the time I arrived at the apartment. I sounded the bell unsure what to expect, but a sweet voice on the other side welcomed me inside. There was a moment of awkwardness in figuring out which language would be most comfortable. I think I saw a flash of disappointment on her face when I said I am not Italian. But after living in Italy nearly 8 months, I can see it would still take quite a lot more before I might begin to think and act Italian.

I got a quick tour of the apartment complete with narration of the decorations that included some of the photos, various artifacts, and souvenirs from around the world. I felt comfortable here, and was glad that my hostess was so welcoming. She even invited me to go out with her and her friends later, but I explained I was getting hungry and was thinking about going in search of dinner. So she offered me some Spanish antipasto at her house, and suggested that I could get some tapas later. This sounded great, as I wasn’t looking forward to going back out in the rain. We shared some red salami, cheese, bread, and a cup of hot tea made my sore throat feel much better while chatting through some more introductions.

The tapas bar was an interesting experience. I didn’t know what I to really expect but was anticipating a sit-down place like the Spanish restaurant we used to go to in Mountain View. Instead almost everyone was standing around high tables or near the bar littered with plates of colorful snacks. We found her friends who had already amassed quite a pile of toothpicks. Evidently they had been there for quite a while already. I was surprised by the mix of people: an American girl who had been living in Spain several years and married a Spanish guy (who was not present), an outspoken American guy on vacation from Japan with his two children, and another visiting for a month from Ft. Lauderdale. I was expecting to exercise my Spanish, but instead, found that more Americans than I’d ever gone out with in Milan surrounded me. (Although this was not really a typical group. Even the two kids were already talking politics at the age of 12 and about visiting countries that I don’t think I could find on a map.)

Barcelona is…
Barcelona took me by surprise as a clean, orderly, cosmopolitan contrast to the cluttered mayhem of Milan. The wide tree-lined boulevards make for pleasant walking and bicycling, and there were a considerable amount of tourists doing just that. The beach reminded me a bit of Las Olas, Ft. Lauderdale, while the numerous piers converted into a shopping mall was reminiscent of Darling Harbour, Sidney. However, everything is colored with a greater or lesser sprinkle of Spanish flavor making it unique in a way that could be the basis for some of the architecture sets used in Pirates of the Caribbean.

I like Spain’s Spanish
I didn’t get out the next day until almost noon because we had been up pretty late last night and I was still fighting the tailing end of the cold, so didn’t want to push it. I took the metro to Gaudì’s unfinished church-monument to the Sagrada Familia. Between the tourists and locals, I listened to the people around me speaking a potpourri of languages. I’ve noticed the Spanish here is markedly different from the Cuban and South American accents that I’m more used to hearing. They sing it more as though it may be influenced more by a French or Italian timbre. I still struggle a bit more to pick up some words, but I’ve decided that I definitely prefer the sound to what I hear back home.

I exited the metro and did an about-face to find the church towing behind me. I think its tall ornate spires have a strangely organic posture that I would later find is typical of much of Barcelona’s Gaudì-influenced architecture. I opted not to pay the 8-euro admission because the line was long and I didn’t feel like waiting. Instead, I began to make my way across the city with the eventual destination of reaching the beach.

I stopped for a few empanadas about half way across the city when it began to rain. I wouldn’t have picked this spot if the rain didn’t push me inside the first available door. The empanadas were good, though priced about double what I would’ve considered reasonable. After lunch I backtracked to the Pedrera, a museum famous for more of Guadì’s works and roof with panorama of the city and some very unique chimneys.

Surf: missing cali
I continued my jaunt stopping in the cathedral, and taking time to wander though the Barrio Gothic before the streets suddenly opened up to the harbor. I saw a monument to Christopher Columbus and a cable car stretching over the water to a nearby hill overlooking the city to my right. While an oversized mosaic head and a boardwalk leading past the piers ending at the sea were in front of me. I chose to walk straight and return via the piazza of the monument. I passed some loud Brits making an ass of themselves. Their faces were rosy from the recently glaring sun or the sangria. I guessed the sangria.

I crossed the piers and finally reached the sea. Big choppy waves had attracted some surfers, but the wind and the cold gave them exclusive use of the water. I took my shoes off and touched the water to trigger a flashback of Santa Cruz. I felt remorsefully far away from my days of surfing and windsurfing in California. When will I be back?

Multinational dinner
My host had suggested that we might go to dinner together if I wanted. I enjoyed the company of her and her friends the previous night, so I agreed to meet her at the apartment by 8. We went to a vogue hotel for a drink where we would meet some of her other friends. We searched for the others but didn’t find them so took a seat on a couch to wait. I had a strange sensation that the waitress treated us as a couple.

Late like a Latin
The group eventually assembled shortly before midnight (for dinner!). It was a diverse bunch of professionals. Some of them had done an executive MBA together others were random acquaintances. Out of 14 people, we had 12 countries represented. The median age was probably close to 40. I soon became disinterested by most of them with the exception of the Brazilian, the Filipina, and Flemish. The oil tycoon sitting next to me nearly put me to sleep, but he paid for everyone’s gourmet dinner so I guess I shouldn’t complain. Although in hindsight I would’ve preferred a smaller group of the people I felt more compatible with.

Club cuties
Then we went to a club around 2. I couldn’t really picture this group dancing much. And apparently the bouncers had some reservations for certain grey-haired members in our company as well. But eventually everyone got in. The tycoon bought a round of drinks and then the group began to spread out. I think some of the others went home, or went looking to meet new people in the club. I was very impressed by the clientele. There was a great female/male ratio with a median age closer to me than I typically find in clubs in the USA. I think I could’ve had a lot of fun meeting people here, but I felt it would be wrong to leave my host since it was nice of her to bring me along. I like her company though, so I didn’t feel that bad about not trying to meet some more of the clubbers.

Love lost
We left around 4 or shortly after even though the place was still hopping. It had been a long day and it was about to get longer. She saw some friends of her recently separated boyfriend on our way out. They spoke for a few minutes before she got emotional. They went back in the club and we started back to the apartment. This was not drama that I wanted to be a part of. --Especially at this early morning hour. As we walked home she explained that there was a guy she thought she was going to marry and have a family with, and now he was getting more and more distant. I guess I was taken off guard because I associate girls crying over boys with middle school and movies, but this was a grown woman in tears. I felt genuinely sad for her, but had no idea what I could say or do to console her.

Touched, Vulnerability
I put my arm around her as we walked trying to think of something to say. Nothing came out. I guess in a situation like this the better thing to do is listen then speak. After all, who am I to give advice about love? It has been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend. (Some people have me thinking that it’s been too long, but that’s a different story.) So I offered to listen if she wanted to talk. I felt this was also a moving experience for me, -glimpsing into the deeper emotions of another person and force myself to consider some questions that I’ve been avoiding. I think this dialogue brought us closer together.

A global problem?
I woke late again and only had time to visit the Guell park before I’d have to leave for the airport. The park is beautiful, though crowded with tourists. It’s heavily influenced by the Gaudi style with points of interest along a path weaving though scattered groups of trees and open areas. I reconsidered some of the events of last night, and began to wonder how we have allowed modern society to appear to work against natural selection. It seems the poorest and least educated sectors of society seem to be breeding the most while less professionals appear to start families.

Benvenuto a Italia
I got off the plane in the Bergamo airport and asked the kiosk for a bus ticket to start my journey home. They only had tickets to Milano Centrale, and pointed me towards the tourist office. The tourist office was closed for dinner so I walked to the other end of the terminal looking for another ticket salesperson. I found a tabacco shop (which usually sells bus tickets) but they were all sold out. I returned to the tourist office. The clerk was back, but did not have change for a 20. I asked a café for chance, but they could only give me two 10’s. I went back to the tourist office, but this was still not small enough denomination. I walked to another café, but they did not want to change the 10. I started yelling after a third café began to balk at changing the 10, but they finally agreed. I walked back to the tourist office to get the ticket. But by now I had missed the bus and had to wait 40 minutes for the next one. It took me to the train station where I would catch a train back to Monza. But the train was leaving in 1 minute and this ticket machine had a line of 10 people. I found another machine across the station, bought my ticket and ran to the train barely catching it. Phew! What a way to be welcomed back to Italia…