Spanish Lessons

Last weekend I met Elena and Simon in Barcelona. I didn't actually go there to see them, but to practice my Spanish, and Catalan. No, I went there to meet them, since Elena (aka, Brujita) didn't even give me a chance to practice. But I think it was just a ploy to get me to return. Really, I did practice a bit, but mainly after Elena and Simon left.

Since the trip was a bit last minute, we ended up staying in a one star hotel. We reserved a three bed room but ended up in an apartment with six beds and a kitchen. It was around the corner with a separate entrance. Within the 20 meters between the main entrance and our door there was a bar where the prostitutes and drunks hung out. That corner had lots of girls in their too tight jeans, wobbling in stiletto boots, chatting up the local borrachos. Nothing too unusual. When I was traveling in Africa McHale and occasionally I stayed at hotels that often also rented rooms by the hour. But after my attempted kidnapping in India I seem to have developed a slight paranoia, though that didn't stop me from hiking Montserrat alone. I digress.

Six and a half years ago Ruth and I spent a few days in Barcelona. We went to the Picasso Museum, wandered through Barceloneta, and saw everything Gaudi. This time, we shopped and ate. Correction, I shopped, Elena helped, and Simon patiently critiqued. Hours were spent looking for a jacket. I found a beautiful coat that was in a 34. I needed a 36. We went to four or five shops and the racks were full of 34s. Apparently there was one 36 in the whole city, but my hopes were dashed and it could not be found, even though the stores computer had it in stock. So Elena is looking in Zaragoza for me (I hope). I still managed to find space in my backpack for shirts and chocolates, but no olive oil this time since I didn't check any bags.

Saturday was was wonderful day. We had a fabulous 4PM lunch that lasted until sunset. Walking back to the hostel to drop off our bags we came across a parade. It looked like a belated Carnival celebration with drum troupes and costumed groups. But that was just the beginning. In the morning we had seen some guys carrying what looked like the skeleton of a dragon through town. Going out for drinks that night we saw it again, but this time in another parade. We followed the parade to a square where the dragon and other beasts were laced with fireworks. It was the best thing to stumble upon.

From there we continued walking through the Gothic neighborhood, admiring the Roman walls and jumping from cafe to bar to restaurant, snacking and drinking our way home. I'm a sucker for jamon iberico. It is so delicious and just melts in my mouth and goes so well with a glass of cava. I know I'm a bad Jew, but I'm also one of the pickiest eaters around, so finding something I am willing to try and actually like is a feat that is akin to...to...I don't know, but it's rare.

Mmmm, dinner time. Photos and more stories soon. Maybe. If I don't get too distracted by Bluesfest this weekend...