Notes From Barcelona: Chapter 7 - Spanish Treasures

Friday, Oct 2nd - Continued:

My usual haunt is packed today by the time I get out into the afternoon so I sit outside the vegetarian place and order my standard café con leche, which is actually better. I also order some hummus and pita and some sautéed mushrooms. I read my super cool guide book I found randomly in the Barcelona gift shop within the Picasso Museum. It's called Le Cool: A Weird And Wonderful Guide To Barcelona. It amazes me how funky it is and it's made to be an off-center, non-traditional guide so not too far into it, I find the secret bar, Papillon, I already found the night before and I'm kind of proud of myself that I'm well on my way off the beaten path.

I check out my new camera I got yesterday and I feel braver about just taking pictures when I want to. On my way back from shopping yesterday afternoon this constant whistling and cheering was heard and kept getting louder. I finally wandered out to the main plaza to see what was going on and there's a large demonstration happening. I ask someone else watching and she says the professional cleaners of the city are striking over their low wages. Apparently, it's a big deal. I started to take pictures and I realize my camera is not cutting it at all and right behind me was a camera store so I give up and go in and about 20 minutes later, I have a new cute, hot pink Canon. Love. It. My pictures are instantly better. The woman behind the counter promised me at least one set of directions would be in English and when I get it back to the hostel to review it all completely I find instructions in Portuguse, Spanish, French and Dutch - but no English. I dissect the French manual as best as I can and think I'm lucky I took three years in high school but can read only basic sentences, but I manage to figure out the necessities.

The policia - kind of hot.. and this time, looking a bit more fierce and menacing.

I have the slip of paper with the address of Jan and Maria, who we met last night at Papillon. I ran into Giannis at the bar on my way out and he helped me manage the metro stop to find The Sants district. Jan had said to call them around 5pm and I'd tried, but there weren't enough numbers so it didn't work and I'd given up. I figured I might be imposing just showing up, but also, it couldn't do any harm and what else did I have to do?

I actually find it, which surprises me, and after some confusion with the roommate, I figure out Jan doesn't live there. He's Maria's boyfriend and Maria lives there, but they're still sleeping. He gets Maria who comes out and invites me in. She makes coffee and tells me Jan and she stayed out late last night as he lives in Greece and has to leave today. Dinner is off, but we chat for a while and she offers to hang out with me tomorrow or Sunday and said we should go to Parc Güell to see the views of the city. She gives me her email and number and we say goodbyes and I'm off.

I'm tired, but there's really no time left after my wandering today to take a nap before dinner. I get lost a few times circling my neighborhood, say hello to Giannis standing outside Sukūr and I decide to hang out at La Ria where I'm comfortable.

Since I've been writing, Chris Cornell has been chatting me up here and there. He's super nice, Basque, his second day working at the bar and when I comment on his shirt, he says he loves the Muppets without embarrassment. He says he used to write too.. something about philosophy or theology but the word he says is 'pheology'. Either way, it's something to do with language and prose. We talk about everything - where I'm from, Spain, the different languages of Spanish and Catalan, the food, his tattoos, the tattoo convention in town and how he looks like Chris Cornell, which makes him laugh. The other bartender who I've seen there the last couple of times I've been in walks by and smiles. He starts to pour five shots of something and I ask what it is. He tells me it's a coffee liquor and pours me my own. It's good. Chris Cornell had given me a different cherry flavored shot earlier - these digestives are common for after dinner. But with the wine I'd already had while writing, I'm getting a bit lit.

The bar is getting loud and a bit rowdy. I love the local feel of it because it's not really a tourist hangout. It's almost divey. Everyone smokes and is having a good time. Clearly there are a few loons, but that adds to the local flavor.

Saturday night, Oct. 3rd:

By the time I'd left La Ria, I'd met three English men; two of them older, brothers, and one was their son who'd they'd brought to Barcelona for his 21st birthday. We talked about the English vs. the Irish, football and David Beckham being a sellout, Gordon Brown who the English father said he'd rather have a hot poker shoved up his ass than vote for - things they had very strong opinions about. But they don't stay long and after they leave, Chris Cornell and I keep chatting. When it's my turn to make a motion to leave, Joseph, the other bartender - also the owner - opens his arms wide for a hug and I can't deny him. These guys are just so warm and friendly - everything I wanted Barcelona to be - without being creepy like some of the men in this city. This bar will be one of my favorite memories for sure.

How I spent most nights - with my journal and liquor - this night it was a cherry flavored digestive and plenty of rioja.

Joseph - the owner of La Ria - super nice guy. Go see him.

La Ria - a picture I took on a Monday night. Everything is closed on Mondays. Who knew?

I headed in the direction of my hostel, feeling tipsy and walked by Sukūr. I ask Giannis if we can hang out when he's off and shockingly, he's defensive and gives me all this attitude. I say we don't have to if he's busy and he tells me to call him, which I explain isn't easy for me since I have to use a pay phone and he knows where my hostel is - only a few doors down from the restaurant. I say I'll wait at the hostel if he wants to come by, but he makes some excuses about not knowing when he'll be done and we go a couple of rounds of this and I'm really confused and getting irritated - especially when he loses his patience and says, 'Ok, we've had this same conversation three times now.' I feel like I'm talking to one of my exes and I start to see that the other night with Sam probably pissed him off more than he's willing to admit. I'm really surprised he's talking to me this way and I tell him I leave on Tuesday and I just came by because I wanted to spend time with him. If he'd like to see me, he knows where I am and I walk away hurt and disappointed.

In my room, I realize I'm out of bottled water so I run down to the little store nearby and think, ok - I'll try one more time with Giannis to clear the air. I didn't want to leave it like that. I really try to be kind and sweet and he gets sarcastic and says it's all his fault, this misunderstanding, but he means it as a blow off and it's clear we aren't going to end well and we don't. I walk off again after a stand off of him not caring and being rather cruel and me not knowing how to fix it because he doesn't want to. So I head back to my room, drunk and alone, and have a good cry over probably every man I've loved and all my broken hearts before I finally fall asleep.

Sunday, Oct. 4th:

Friday was a good test of my abilities - or lack thereof - to be alone, explore and trust what will happen. Saturday I got up at a decent hour around 10:30am, made myself ready for the day and attempted to find the Catedral. I wanted to get pictures of the little pond by the Frederick Marès museum. I do find it and that makes me happy because it's so easy to get lost here. There's a little girl playing near the pond carrying a small bag of breadsticks and singing while her mother sits on a bench with the girl's baby brother. She doesn't stand still long enough for me to get a picture of her unfortunately. She's too giggly, but adorable.

The Frederick Marès museum is open and I remember it's in my supercool guide book as a recommended site so I go in. This man was a one-of-a-kind collector and you wonder how he could've afforded these things and simply where he kept all three floors of it all but the gorgeous Greek sculptures and Byzantine Christian artwork still keep me in awe - even if I already saw similar pieces at the Museum of Catalunya.. I mean, did I mention how the Spanish love their Jesus' on crosses? Because they do. Like whoa. But Frederick had many MANY rooms of this stuff and he didn't forget Mary and the baby version of Jesus on her lap.. lots of those too. So that's all well and good - but after that, it gets really weird. There are whole rooms dedicated to his collection of what were more ladies' items of fans, hat pins, period fashion drawings, um.. locks of hair. There was a room entirely for keys, knives and scissors of every kind and size, intricately ivory-embellished pipes, playing cards, old pictures, royal crowns, tins, boxes, marble caskets, plates and pottery.. I'm not talking one wall here or one gallery box - whole rooms, hundreds of feet, THREE FLOORS. It went on and on and on.. It was like your grandmother's house if she'd gone well past Eccentric Street collecting turtles or dolls and settled onto Insanity Lane collecting Everything That Collects Dust. Becauase hi.. Did you hear me on the THREE FLOORS?! It just started to feel super creepy by the time I reached the top.

See? Oh-so-pretty little pond.. lovely and serene.

Pretty Grecian statue thing..

Aww Jesus.. don't die.. it's just so sad..

Don't forget Mary and baby Jesus on her knee! Like 43 of them..

Then.. let's collect some marble caskets with some creepy devil dog at the end, shall we?

And some fans, some old silverware.. the regular grandma type things..

Pretty dresses!

Weird lounging Mary in a box.. where she's holding a mini Jesus on a cross all happy and it really confused me..

I mean, isn't it a teensy bit creepy?

Not nearly as creepy as this BRAID OF HAIR.. which looks rather scorpion like at first, doesn't it?!

Incredibly intricate ivory carved pipes..

Crowns of every kind.. How does one get these?!

Pictures and cards.. it was never ending..

I feel thoroughly icky upon walking out the door of the museum and decide maybe it's time I did some retail therapy. The goal was shoes and I more than succeeded. Three pairs of boots, two scoops of gelato and a picture of the biggest cockroach I've ever seen and I'm back at the hostel to drop off my treasures before I settle in for a 30 minute nap before dinner.

Hi.. ew ew ew.. creeeeepy.. run run!

It's 8pm and the crowds are getting louder and being inside, I feel like I'm missing out. I can't tell if I'm hungry but wine always sounds good. I head to the Pulperia where I couldn't find a seat the other night and I actually see one open. I ask the guy next to it if I can sit there and he says his friend is there but after determining I'm alone, he tells me to take it anyway. His friend comes in, clearly joking with him about giving his seat away to what I hope he's saying is a cute girl. They're friendly and funny - Ivan, the one I sat next to, is from the Dominican Republic and has great English. He sometimes sounds completely American so much it throws me. He's texting friends in German tho. Idress is French and tells me to call him Baotist instead. He's loud, over-the-top extroverted, and a crack up. We talk about why they're both here (they clearly visit the Pulperia a lot by how they talk to the waiters), their lack of plan for the night and how neither has a girlfriend.

Baotist's is actually a sad story. His girlfriend moved back home to Germany four months ago where she's living with her mother and her barely one month old daughter - also Baotist's. The mother pressured Baotist and her to relocate promising a job and a place to live, but he wasn't willing to leave Barcelona and the girlfriend didn't come back with him after their daughter was born. He's clearly crushed by it, but I recognize that thing in him that's pure man - the ability to bury it and move on to another subject that enables him to laugh and joke around. Or is that just moving on? I don't know.

We move on to my break up - like that's a better subject - and he tells me very sincerely to stay true to myself and take care of my heart. Then he says we're all in good company because Ivan was also dumped two weeks ago.. but he was the cheater in that story and the girlfriend took him back and finally couldn't take the fact he hadn't changed. Now he's regretting how he treated her. Ahh.. boys.

We hang out for a bit and they help me order a little food, joke with the waiters behind the counter and invite me out wherever they're going. On the way, Baotist is crazy friendly with everyone he walks by. He's Barcelona's welcome wagon, flirting with a group of older American women standing outside a hostel and daring one to dance with him in the street. They laugh and blush and you can tell it makes their night. He walks right up to a bar window where there's a group of people on the inside. He acts like they're old friends, waves, and says something loud and friendly. We go in and Ivan tells me Baotist probably doesn't know them at all, but that doesn't stop him from approaching their table. They love him immediately and he's over there for a while. One of them, an Irishman, Eamon, comes over to get drinks and ends up chatting with us for a long time. I'd only heard a bit of his acccent, not enough to get the Irish accent at first, and mistakenly ask if he's English. He feigns being insulted and teases me about it for a while, but he soon realizes he's been gone from his table for so long waiting on the drinks and chatting with us that the girlfriend is looking over and wondering what's taking so long. Baotist, always willing to lend a hand, says he'll go over to the table and keep her entertained.

Once the drinks arrive, Eamon makes a friendly goodbye and Baotist returns to our spot. But the boys don't seem to want to stay terribly long and Baotist feels a little badly. I say it's fine and I can manage on my own. He suggests I could crash Eamon's table of friends and it's not such a bad idea. He offers to take me to the beach tomorrow if I want and gives me his contact info. The boys leave and I shyly make my way over to the Irishman's table and hope for the best. I don't know why I thought it would be a problem though. They very boisterously agree that I should crash their party and I wonder what adventures I'm in for now.

Notes From Barcelona: Chapter 6 - A Little Bit of Home

Friday night, Oct. 2nd:

I'm back at La Ria tonight. It reminds me of a biker bar, but much more brightly lit. It's one of my favorite places so far. Everyone's tattooed and pierced to the nines - if piercings can be to the nines.. ? I tried the Pulperia in the other direction and it was packed. My body is tired of walking and tho the last 24 hours has been great, tonight I feel lost. The bartender, who reminds me of Chris Cornell, is wearing a shirt with the two hecklers from the Muppets on the front. He's just cool. I order a glass of rioja, pimientos de padron and patatas bravas after making myself comfortable at the bar.


Last night I decided to hang out at Sukūr and thought Giannis and I would make plans after. I got some amazing food - this goat cheese and apples concoction that was fantastic and some sort of steak medallion yumminess. Then finished with the risotto that was luxuriously delish. After writing and reading for a while, I start to feel like maybe I'm doing myself a disservice by hiding away in the bar and then a group of three Americans walk in. Giannis tells them they can get drinks, but the kitchen is closed, rather sharply. They decide to stay anyway and after talking to them, he announces they're from Seattle. I instantly light up and so do they with that familiarity of ohmygodwecanspeakenglishthankgod feeling. After some conversation with the brother about how he just found out the Sonics are no longer in Seattle and I tell him that's old news and it's all about the Sounders now, he invites me over to hang out at their table with them.

Sam and Sally, siblings - nicknamed for their big pretty eyes that remind me of Dr. Seuss characters - and Violet, Sally's college friend, also a character from Willy Wonka, were on Violet's first trip to Europe ever and were all heading to Paris the next night. We instantly chatted about everything we'd all encountered and were talking so fast I'm sure no one near of foreign ethnicity could keep up. We laugh a lot. Sam is a diplomat and is currently stationed in Madagascar and tho Sally had lived in Seattle and convinced Violet to move there, she left soon after and relocated to San Francisco where she's an immigration lawyer. Violet was the only one of the three who still lived in Seattle, working in environmental construction (? Something like that.).

We barely take breaths in our conversation and the bar is closing so we tell Giannis to meet us around the corner when he's done and I introduce them all to La Ria. We get a bottle of rioja while we wait and exchange contact info before we all get too drunk we forget. Sally and I both figure out we're both adopted, which seems unbelievable for the resemblance to her brother. Giannis arrives and we discuss our next plans of hitting this club called BLVD on La Rambla for dancing and general merriment where he can get us passes to get in.

Once there, it resembles a lot like a club right out of Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle with three rooms for techno, 80's and hip-hop respectively. The first two have scattered inhabitants, but the hip-hop is where the party is. We get drinks, take pictures, sweat our asses off and giggle a lot. I'm really drawn to Sam, but technically I'm with Giannis so I try to keep the flirt down because I don't want to be trashy. I've already been college-level promiscuous here and tho that's within my right, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings either.

Sally makes a face, Sam and Vi all smiles..

Sally's random funny face catches on with the group and Giannis joins in..

The girls and I need air and they seem ready to go. The guys follow us down tho I think they wanted to stay, but the bouncer won't let us hang in the lobby to make our decision of what to do next so we all leave and discuss outside. We filter out onto La Rambla to go over our plan and it's crowded - crazy crowded for almost 3am. Not everyone's from the bar crowd. There are still plenty of tourists wandering about and plenty of wacky types to keep said tourists entertained. I snap a couple of pictures of these kids lying on the ground for no apparent reason and giggling hysterically. We don't understand them when we ask what they're doing, but they're having a great time.

Then there was this fine gentleman sparkling with the most facial piercings I'd ever seen in my life. He wanted five Euros for me to take a picture with him. I said no and gave him the change I had but it wasn't close to five. Hi. Do you see the tattoo on the top of his head creeping out? Ew.

We all head to another more quiet bar that doesn't really seem to suit any of us and the girls decide they're done anyway. So does Giannis. We walk everyone to their respective places - the girls to their hotel first on the other even dodgier side of La Rambla and Giannis to his apartment between my hostel and the club and when I say goodbye he just seems friendly and unphased. Well.. ok. That was.. easy. Hm.

Sam is cute, by the way. I think I might've forgotten to mention this. He was talkative and funny at the restaurant, but seemed shy at the club. Maybe he wasn't sure about my interest and I guess neither was I. On our own, he was back to being friendly and funny, but not really flirty. It was just really easy to be around each other.

We try to go back to BLVD, but it's clearly closing as we get there so we walk across La Rambla and see a group of policia watching the chaos of late night drunks filter out to the street, but they just stand there. Sam thinks we should approach them and states that they wouldn't turn down a cute girl with a question and we head their direction. We're brave enough to ask them where we should go now that it's 4am. Something has to be open and one officer is actually nice enough, surprisingly, to tell us about a club called Papillon, and I say surprisingly because after hours clubs are illegal. But very quickly in Barcelona you realize the policia are nothing but a peace-keeping presence and by that I mean they do a lot of just standing around. They don't do anything else and don't seem intimidating.. more apathetic. But of course they know of the illegal places. They aren't blind. We tell our policia friend to join us when he's off work and he laughs. Then we head the direction he's pointed us in.

We think we're getting close and we have no idea where to go so we ask another small group of people, two guys and an extremely gorgeous girl, if they know of the club. She lights up and says they're going their too and to come with them so we do. After our quick introductions and small talk, I realize their leader, Lazarus, is Greek, from the same small town Giannis AND is one of his good friends. Could Barcelona get any smaller?

We get to the door, still in the Barri Gòtic, and are signalled to keep the noise down. Illegal clubs are allowed to exist by the policia because they cooperate with being hidden among residential areas. They don't want anything to jeopardize that.. understandably. Inside, it's crowded, a dark and dingy little place purely for the after hours crowd who simply doesn't want to go home yet. We talk to our new friends a bit, talk to each other and really don't stay longer than an hour probably - even after randomly being sung to by a strange guy just standing near us. Sam abruptly looks at me and asks if I want to get out of there, but there's a different look I hadn't seen in his eyes. I say yes and we say goodbye to our new friends, who made sure I had their contact info before we left and offered to make us dinner the next night and Sam and I try to find our way back to the more familiar side of the Gothic Quarter.

I take some pictures on our way thru the quarter and eventually we realize it's later than we both thought after we make it back to my hostel and then back out for um.. supplies.. like 8am actually. It's been quite the night.. and morning... and after a while, Sam has to leave to meet the girls for their last tour of the city before they're off to Paris that night. I go back to bed, hung over still, and doze in and out due to the constant street noise, which I love and loathe at the same time because the energy never stops here. At 3pm, I finally get up feeling much better. Back on my own again today, I get ready for my afternoon and head out to to my regular spot in the plaza for a café con leche and some food.

Thanksgiving Break

I'm at the ranch with the whole family today. We're expecting quite a few people and some who were not expected as well. Since my step-dad passed away, one of his sons and his family have moved in with my mom and she has instant grandchildren and a house filled with noise and people she loves to fuss over. I'm glad they're here for her. It's weird to have new step-siblings and step-nieces and nephews - not that they're new exactly, but they live here now so they're more apart of the family than they ever were. It's strange realizing you're not the kid your mom dotes on completely anymore. And the fact they call her Grandma already when my brother and I haven't even procreated was a little surprising, but I'm happy Mom glows with a new motherly purpose. It suits her.

This year has been a roller coaster for me personally and I find at times I'm still struggling with finding my way through it, but the point is I haven't given up. I do have some friends who don't understand it completely and honestly, I don't either. For a few months, I really didn't recognize the person I was anymore and that isn't a place I want to go back to. I just hope as time passes, things continue to lighten and my perspective stays positive.

I have a lot to be grateful for. I've met a lot of new people this year who I count as good friends now. Some good friends I don't see as often, but when we do, it's like no time has passed and we pick up where we left off. At least one decided I didn't fit in her life anymore due to certain choices and that's to be expected once in a while. And the ones I see and talk to regularly have shown to be resilient with as much as I've leaned on them this year. I couldn't have made it thru some dark days without them.

I hope you all find your own moments of reflection today and the levity in your family. Mine is weird and crazy and crass. I brought two bottles of wine to get thru it all, but it's an experience and I'm glad I'm here. If your family gets to be too much, please feel free to come visit mine. There's plenty of room at the ranch. Just bring more wine.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Interlude

I sometimes wonder what the best solution is to my journaling dilemma of trying to catch you all up on my adventures in Barcelona and having life.. you know.. keep going amid Birthday Month and all that comes with that. I mean since Halloween, it's been pretty exciting around here. There are lots of dating stories, girl drama - come and gone, thank GOD, dinners with many friends involving lots of catching up, SeaCompression - the giant Burning Man after party, a They Might Be Giants concert complete with sock puppets AND, as if that wasn't enough, because you know, it isn't.. my birthday party ended the week!

Phew! You'd think I'd be exhausted.. and ok.. I am a little, but it's been one of the best months since spring that I can remember. November is often like that because it's not my favorite time of year, but it is my favorite month with my favorite holiday - my birthday. Attention-whore at heart who's learned to downsize the attention-getting a little, I still love having an official day that's kind of all mine. Since it fell on a Monday this year, the festivities couldn't really be fully celebrated on the day because Mondays never feel right. I did end up with a small group of friends watching the highly anticipated Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog - and I say 'highly anticipated' because I didn't know about this Joss Wheden incredibleness before and I'm late to find out everything, but OH. MY. GOD.. Funniest thing EVER! Apparently there are enough extras by the cast that it could make a whole funny musical DVD on its own! But you can't really go wrong with Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion.. No. No you can not.

Next there was the Burning Man after-party, Seacompression. Basically all the Seattle burners and their ilk gather together in a giant hangar and have a Burning-Man-like burn just without the playa. Any excuse to dress up, dance, and be merry but it's a little different without dust and without 100-degree heat. We shook some booty as a booty is wont to do when wearing booty-shakin' attire and we met friends in the men's bathroom since the line was much shorter and stayed up til the wee hours groovin' and basically gettin' down with our bad selves.

Case in point: I shake my striped booty-shakin' self..

Eight and I share a hug and picture.

Gabi gets down..

Brit Paul groovin to the music in a coat he fashioned himself!

Weird restroom pics with Cayenne, Mez and a little Miss D.

It pretty much took all day Sunday to recover from the debauchery of the night before.. but it was sooo worth it. Since I couldn't afford to do both Burning Man and Barcelona, I figured this was my one night to pretend I was on the playa this year and it didn't suck.

And the party didn't stop there. Tuesday we succumbed to the steady downpour outside in order to see They Might Be Giants play the Flood album live. Appropriate title considering the weather.. We knew it was going to be a good show, even not knowing what to expect, but we didn't think they were going to blow the roof off the place, which they did.

The opening act's name defies memory, but they were Irish and adorable, beginning and ending their set with songs accompanied by ukulele, which I recommend to every band to do. There's something incredibly charming about that instrument and it automatically puts you in the Bands That Don't Suck category.

But of course the true joy came when TMBG walked on stage and proceeded to overwhelm us with their quirkiness and the songs off Flood. I was in college when that came out and clearly not the hardest core fan among the sold-out crowd. But they played my favorites, Birdhouse In Your Soul and Istanbul (Is Not Constantinople), which friggin rocked. But then - in the middle of everything? SOCK PUPPETS. I kid you not! I do not kid.

We watched a screen come down and we noticed we were being filmed so we raised our hands in collective crowd stupidity like all audiences do when told we're being filmed to the sock puppets' delight. They introduced themselves as The Avatars Of They and then rocked our collective socks off from that point on. Seriously, they should have their own show. Not for kids, of course.. but they reminded me of a similarly quirky group, Barenaked Ladies, and their on-stage antics.


Two and half hours later, thoroughly concert-ed out but happy, there's still a birthday party to look forward to at the end of the week.

It seems a bit anti-climactic now because it was just whomever of my friends could make it to my new favorite neighborhood bar, The Bottleneck Lounge - a favorite because of it's cool bartenders, cool owner, and two-block proximity from my house. I could literally stumble home if necessary.

There were good friends, stellar drinks, a fucking off-the-hook homemade cake by Shine and a lot of silly pictures.

Cayenne and Amsterdam (complete with unborn little one) present the cake made by unseen Shine.. mm!

Me - just a complete dork..

I'm reminded that there's a lot of life around me, a lot of positives, and really, really good people to remind me of that stuff when I forget. It's been such an emotional year. I guess if you didn't have the downs you'd never recognize the ups, but there are a lot more smiles when it's Up Time and it feels long overdue. So as winter gets on and the end of 2009 gets closer, I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, which is moving forward. Bring on the next year of challenges. I think I'm ready.

Notes from Barcelona: Chapter 5 - More Pictures Than Words

Thursday afternoon, Oct. 1st

I got up today at a reasonable hour, 10:30, made coffee for the last time in the apartment, chatted only briefly with Emma and Keano all the while noticing how sore my calves were. I showered and packed then walked my bags over to the Hostel Baires across the street. The room is solely mine and has a little balcony off Carrer Gignas, which I walk down every day. It's clean with a sink and a little balcony. The bathroom and shower, both different little rooms are down the hall.

I get ready and make my way out determined to find the Picasso Museum today. I scoured the map yesterday and it doesn't look far or hard. I walk in that direction and take in parts of El Born and the Barri Gòthic I haven't yet seen. I'm still shy with my camera and I don't know why. It's silly. I find my way down a main street, see some government building a distance away and then recognize Carrer Comerç and walk down that til I hit Carrer Principessa and have to ask where the museum is. He doesn't speak English so I keep going and find the Museu de la Xocolata, buy a gift for one of my girlfriends while there and then ask directions thinking one tourist spot has to know where the other is. They do, I head out and it's gorgeous and stunning and old and the sad part is, they don't allow pictures, not even without flash, so I spend a small fortune in the gift shop because hi - Picasso - and only get pictures of the plaques outside to mark I was there.

Afterwards, I buy a few scarves for girlfriends just down from the museum from a nice man who's selling them. After I pay for them he gives me advice on how to protect my bag, where to eat near Plaça de Catalunya and asks me where I'm from. We chat and then I'm off for food. I seriously spent so long in the gift shop buying souveniers that the siesta hours came and went so businesses are opening up again. I find a cute little clothing boutique and fall for a little bright green and grey hoodie. It's stupid as far as the price, but I can't give it up and tho the woman and I go back and forth in foreign-to-the-other gibberish because she doesn't speak any English, we still figure it out. I pay for it and a couple of darling little handmade coin purses shaped like animal faces for my nieces, Emo and Lulu back home. I also found some Spanish fans that might be touristy, but I think they'll love them and I've seen a lot of Spanish women using them especially in the metro stations where it's so unreasonably hot it feels like Middle Earth.

I find a little café, Buenas Migas, where I sit myself down for a bit and write and watch. I realize I'm near the Catedral where Giannis took me to the other day and I watch huge talking tours come and go speaking all kinds of languages - French, German, English/American. It's only Thursday and you can tell the crowds are already picking up. Sigh - my hip and my writing are suffering at the moment so I'm going to pop some pain pills, then head over to the church for some pictures and home after to freshen up.

These are outside the Catedral - churches hold something for me but this.. wow.. this was some of the most stunning architecture and you can feel the history emanate from the walls.

Inside, it's intricate and ornate and every nook and cranny deserves to be logged by a camera, but you just can't get it all and it certainly doesn't do it justice, the beauty of it all..

I love this Mary - she has this very contented smile.. It was comforting.

My favorite crucifix of the entire trip.. I love that Jesus is flanked at every side by angels..

Outside, but adjacently connected to the church are the cloisters from the 14th century. There are no words but phenomenally gorgeous..

The gueese always number 13. I found conflicting information saying they are kept there and also they choose to be there. I'd like to believe they choose to be there by a lovely and tragic religious history. They say they're 13 because each goose represents one year of the life of the martyr Saint Eulalia who was a young girl tortured to death in the 4th century for her religious beliefs by the Romans. She's the patron saint of Barcelona.

Hi.. random Picasso on the roof perimeter of this building that's across from La Seu. Beautiful - wish you were here.

Busker - a motionless one at that - but his hat out nonetheless for the euro you might throw in for his determination I suppose.

My favorite angel of the whole trip.. just takes my breath away for some reason..