Today I went on a walking tour of Barcelona's Gothic Quarter. It's the oldest part of the city, established by the Romans a really long time ago. The specific date escapes me, like most everything else the guide said. Honestly, I was a brat during the tour, unable to shut up about how cold I was, and how I must have incipient deafness and blindness, I was having such trouble following the guide's stories and visual references.

[Above: some exemplary Gothic architecture, probably with a meaning that I didn't hear.]

But for at least a few minutes during the tour, the history of the area gripped me. We entered a plaza in the heart of the Quarter, with a small, dry fountain in the center and a school on one edge, out of which kids on recess were maniacally running. Next to the school was a wall suffering conspicuous decay, unlike the rest of the Quarter, which has undergone, or is in the process of, restoration. The guide explained the decay was the remnants of shrapnel from the Spanish Civil War, when massive violence swept through Barcelona, the last holdout against Franco's nationalists, and devastated the Gothic Quarter. This particular wall was left unchanged to commemorate the children who died inside when Nationalist fire destroyed the makeshift orphanage it shielded.

When Franco took control, he attempted to erase Cataluyna, the autonomous community of over 7 million here in North Spain. Speaking in Catalan meant imprisonment or execution, and not until the fascist leader died in the 1970s did Cataluyna truly begin rebuilding itself. The history made me realize why this language, Catalan, and the culture it represents, is so important. I had been nervous to learn Spanish in a region with two official languages, and where most prefer Catalan at that, but now I wouldn't change a thing. A study of the complexity of human nature is unavoidable, particularly how we choose to associate and the fear that can arouse in those on the outside looking in. It really highlights the horrors occurring in the Gaza Strip.

[Above: Catalan government building]

Unfortunately, I could not take a picture of this wall because the minute I began focusing my camera, a little kid ran up to me screaming "No pictures of ninos, no pictures of ninos!" and the guide launched into how photographing children is very illegal in Barcelona. Although I had no intention of photographing the narcissitic demons, I nevertheless left my camera in my bag until we exited the plaza and the penetrating glares of newly attentive parents.

Also, I bought slippers today because hardwood floors get dirty and I'm going through socks way too fast. Here is what 2 euro will get you: