Sorry for the lack of updates; I know you all (five or so) have anxiously awaited updates on my life. It is so exciting at times even I can't stand it--like today, when I spent a grand total of 8 hours in subways, buses, and an airport to go...nowhere. RyanAir canceled my flight to Shannon, Ireland, an hour after it was supposed to depart. A frazzled service agent offered me another flight 10 hours later, but I declined after calculating that would mean more hours spent traveling than with my incredible friend Erin. Instead I requested a full refund, which she gave me along with a corresponding receipt. Then, when I opened my email inbox after the 1.75 hour bus and metro ride home from the airport, I read that I would only be credited one third of that amount. Some poor soul at RyanAir will have the pleasure of reading a rather unhappy message from, and no one at RyanAir will have the pleasure of seeing my discontented face ever again, if I can help it.

What almost went down at the cashier's desk. AP photo.

But really, as I discussed with the amazing Stephanie M Lee, who is also trying to keep an updated online account of her life in Europe, the term "travel blog" has some internal tension: if one is actually traveling, one cannot blog all that much. Kind of like, if you're trying to inhabit another culture, documenting every experience with a camera is difficult; although, a Universitat student told me, many Americans try.

My long post speaks to this point: with travel plans decimated, I am blogging.

Last weekend I spent some time in Montjuic, a beautiful lush mountain rising out of urbanization. At the top are facilities constructed for the 1992 Olympics, but the hike there is far more captivating (at least when no world-class athletes around). On our way down we went to Fundacio Miro, the beautiful museum that houses much of Joan Miro's work. Watching the painter's perspective change internally and spurred by external factors was fascinating, from his take on the dominant aesthetics, human beings, and the Spanish Civil War and WWII--realities gruesome to the point of unreality. All this even though I was incredibly hungry: no mean feat, Miro.

Also, at some point I went to see a Flamenco show. Ten minutes in, the (main) female dancer hurt her knee and didn't perform again. The man was amazingly talented and worked very hard to make up for the loss--he was dripping sweat--but alas, I imagine Flamenco in Sevilla is slightly different.

And just because the beginning of my post was so bitter...

I like to watch the city and the sea unfold from the top of Parc Guell, or this jardin by my home--it's absoluteley incredible. And when I do, I always remember the views of Berkeley from Grizzly Peak, the Rose Garden, Indian Rock, or the lookout point on the firetrails behind the football stadium. And I remember that despite the rich experience I'm having here, my heart still lies with the people of Noregon.


Next: my planned petition to Governors Schwarzenneger and Kulongoski to annex Oregon with Northern California, no feds required!