I'm a little distracted right now, but I've realized that if I only post when my attention is entirely and centrally focused, this blog will never happen. Also, after thinking in Spanish all day, writing in English is somewhat difficult, so please bear with me. For the record, the source of my distraction is a movie with incredibly bad dubbing.

[Above: a walkway in Gaudi's Parque Güell]

So...I'm in Barcelona. And I love it. I live in the northern part of the city, on the third floor of an apartment building overlooking a busy street and a really amazing barrio. Granted, the barrio is amazing mostly because I am a foreigner. Truly, its existence is not unique--like every other neighborhood in Barcelona, it is packed with tiendas, farmacias, restaurants, cafes, bars, bar/cafes, cervecerias, etc. etc. I've only been here a week, but in all my walking--and that has covered many, many miles--I have yet to find an area of housing unattached to a barrio. Unlike in the U.S., where surburbs dominate, every home has a "local" everything; even though the residents of Barcelona love to drive, there is no need. You could theoretically never leave your barrio and manage to furnish your apartment, keep a well stocked kitchen, and remain clothed and caffeinated. But if the three mile radius around your home becomes a bit stifling, the public transportation is great. There's a very fast and convenient heavy rail--as long as you catch it before 12 a.m. during the week, which sucks just as much here as it does with the Berkeley BART.

I live with a single woman, Pilar, who is a 48 year old preschool teacher with the energy of someone much younger. She's very patient with my minimal Spanish skills and difficulty understanding the local "s" to "th" accent. (Here's looking at you, Chrithtine.) I really like the schedule here. Big, late lunches and then late dinners at 10 or so turns is really relaxing. There's no rush to finish errands by 7 p.m., and it saves me from needing the second dinner I eat in America. But the going-out schedule will take some getting used to. Bar hopping starts at the earliest around 11 p.m., and going to clubs pretty much doesn't happen before 2 a.m. Last night I came home around 5:30 a.m and am still recovering. For those of you feeling disappointed you won't be able to make fun of my lack-of-party-animalness, rest assured that I would still be better off home at 2 or 3 a.m; after all, I wouldn't want to remove such a ripe source of fun for you.

Interesting notes: everything is expensive here because the Spanish economy is hurting too, and of course because the dollar sucks, but wine is cheap. Yesterday I went to a calcotada, where you peel and eat long and super thick onions, along with--at least for our group--an incredible quantity of accompanying foodstuffs. Even though nearly everyone here does speak Catalan with each other, if they hear you are a stupid American struggling just to speak and understand Spanish, let alone another language, they switch to Castellano. And just when I thought I was leaving abnormal weather (see: Portland snowpocalypse), Barcelona and the rest of Spain has been experiencing cold and rainy weather since I arrived. In this sense, my luck is regrettably predictable.

But I want to give the most emphasis to how incredibly nice most of the people here are. They are so patient with my lackluster speaking--even though most speak some English, they will put up with the Spanish conversation out of politeness. I feel so at home with the culture. Everything is relational: people greet one another with kisses, gesture at and touch one another while speaking. And coming from someone with an impenetrable personal space bubble in the US, that is saying a lot.

If you are still reading, I applaude you. Come visit me, ya?

-Sam

[Above: Bench in Parque Guell overlooking city. Gaudi made a mold of one of the construction worker's rump and repeated it in the long, winding bench, making it as comfortable as a cold stone seat can be.]