Montserrat

The schoolorganizes a trip there. Travel blogs rave of it. It's on the list of "Top 10 Things to do in Barcelona". Yet, when it came to Montserrat, I had zero desire to go. All I knew of Montserrat wasthat it was a 2 hour trip to get there and it's a giant rock you have to climb. At the top, there is a monastery. Scott's first attempt to get me to go went a little something like this:

Scott: Montserrat on Saturday?

Kat: Umm I was thinking more like beach on S

aturday.

Scott: So you don't want to go to Montserrat?!

Kat: Na....

Scott: Valentina's coming

Kat: (Pauses) Maybe...

Scott: There's a beach there....

Kat: Really?? Oka.... wait! No there's not!

Everyone was doing it so I decided I really should go. We compromised and decided we would go on Friday afternoon instead of Saturday morning, sinc

e Friday was suppose to be dreary. We caught the train at Plaça Espanya and rode fo

r about an hour outside of Barcelona. Trains and subways in Spain do not have 6 or 7 separate train cars connected to make one big train. It's not like an American subway where one has to force open the train car door, try not to look down at the track flying by and make a leap of fate into the next car. Instead, all the cars are open and connected by a moveable platform that bends and sways with the movement of the train. Great, right? Except the one on this train was in dire need of WD-40. It was releasing the most horrific, high pitched squeak the entire hour. I thought I was going to lose my head. Scott finds my inability to cope with these kinds of situations utterly hilarious. Everytime it squ

eaked we would make eye contact, I would tighten my jaw and shake my head and he would laugh.

As a side note, earlier in the day Scott and I were walking through the metro and I told him my screaming-baby hypothesis. I am convinced that on this trip, everywhere I go there is this one screaming baby that follows me and continues to wail in my ear. I could be on the beach, in class, on the metro, in the shower... wherever, and there will be, without a doubt, the screaming baby. It's actually incredible. Toward the end of the first trai

n ride, when I was just about to light the squeaking train car on fire, Scott reminded me that at least it was not a screaming baby.

After the train ride, one has to take a tram up the mountain to arrive at Montserrat. Well actually, one has two options. You can either take the tram, which is a smaller train and it takes about 20 minutes - or- you could opt to take the cable car

where you will ride in a gondola-esque contraption up the mountain to take in the view. Being that we're in Spain and I don't trust the metro let alone a cable car

constructed in 1970-something, we opted for the tram. This ride truly was incredible. The little tram climbs up the mountain at nearly a 90 degree angle and every view is cooler than the last. We were so high up our ears were popping. It was a little scary but very cool!

We finally got to Montserrat and stepped out into the little village. The colours and the way the buildings were shaped is comparable to Italy's San Gimignamo. It is breathtaking. We got off the tram and kind of stood there for a moment. In our haste to get there, none of us

actually did research as to what to do when you get to Montserrat. I knew it had some holy roots somewhere along the line... but I was

tired and feeling silly so I made up my own story as to why Montserrat is a famous holy site. It goes a little something like this:

Montserrat is the site in Spain where, about 400 years ago, Jesus landed his space ship in order to settle the dispute between the dinosaurs and the humans. Jesus told the dinosaurs to cool it and they wouldn't listen so he killed them all - like a ninja. Then he told the humans they were free from the dinosaurs and that's when the super bowl was created.

It turns out, this is actually not why Montserrat is famous. If you want to know that story, you have to look it up... because I decided I like my version better and therefore I will not be researching the true story.

When we got to the top we took in some incredible views. There are no

words that do justice to the beauty of this place!!! And then reality hit, and we realized Montserrat is inundated with gift shops and other tourist delights. It was really sad actually. We took a trip up to the basilica and the crypt and then headed home for the night.

We climbed back on the tram and headed down the mountain. When the tram dropped us off for the train, there was some minor confusion about which track would take us back to Barcelona.... and when. The train finally came but it was packed. And, of course, within a moment of departure a baby next to me began to wail. Scott and I bursted into laughter.... up until the squeaking started.

Culture and Cocktails

Everyday here in Spain surpasses the last and I find myself realizing that a month simply just isn't enough. But, alas, we are scheduled to leave in a week or so and we had to get movingon our bucket list!

I finally walked over to the Sagrada Familia.

I've almost been here a month without seeing it. I didn't buy a ticket to go inside, let's not get overzealous here, but I did take some awesome pictures! It's an absolute marvel and I very much look forward to checking out the interior. Scott and I grabbed some drinks at an Italian cafe down the streetand we called it a night.

On Wednesday, I treated myself to an extreme shopping trip. My credit card was HOT after Wednesday afternoon but it was definitely worth it. Of course, if I keep eating the way I am, I won't actually fit into anything I bought when I get home. But that's neither here nor there. After shopping, Scott and I ventured up to Camp Nou where FC Barcelona plays. This is like the Yankee Stadium of Spain. It is 18 Euro to get inside so Scott and I just went to the Mega-store instead. The mega store was awesome! It had everything FC Barcelona you could imagine;

from slippers to lunch boxes to coffee mugs. And the prices were what one would expect, too. They ranged from the cost of 1 appendage up to the price of a soul. Needless to say, I didn't walk out with much. Instead, I just took pictures of the nice things.

We decided to hit up a movie that night - Toy Story 3 actually. It was playing in Imax 3-D and it was phenomenal! Great great great movie! Highly recommend it!

Here's a little culture lesson on Spain. We get to the 10:15 movie at about 10:10, I look at the girl behind the counter and I ask her if they sell popcorn. She answers "Yes, but not right now... if you want popcorn you can get it outside." So the movie theater is open, and showing movies, yet the concession stand is closed. Scott and I walk outside. There is literally nothing around the movie theatre except for a habour. I was so disappointed, but decided to just go in and sit down. 2 minutes later, we see a bunch of people walking in with popcorn. This, my friends, is what I like to classify as the "enigma of españa".

And what I mean by that is, whatever makes the most sense - Spain will do the exact opposite.

On Thursday I had a Spanish course exam. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to do very well because I entered the class a week late and never bothered to look over what I missed. Luckily, my NFHS/UConn education didn't fail me and I wound up getting 100% on the test. This was a huge surprise to me! And I didn't let anyone around me forget about it. I kept reminding Scott and Valentina they were in the presence of a genius. It also helps that I was placed, upon request, in a class 3 levels below where I should be....

but the self confidence boost was welcome! We went out for Crèpes and then headed over to the chocolate museum. The museum was super interesting! They had everything made out of chocolate - even The Beatles drum set! I think my most favourite fun chocolate fact comes from one of the displays about the coacoa bean where the information read,

"Mayans used CoaCoa beans as a form of currency. 10 beans was the price for one prostitute." If I were a teacher in Barcelona and I took my kids to the Chocolate museum, I would most definitely create the test question "How many chocolate beans does one prostitute cost?"

¡Cumpleaños Felíz!

After a morning at the beach, Lita asked me if I would like to join her to celebrate her granddaughter's 5th birthday. Ithought it was a perfect day for a birthday party and eagerly accepted! I was also curious to see how the Spaniards throw a party.

At about 4:30 Lita's daughter, Vanessa, "son-in-law" (I put quotations because nobody gets married here...reason number 928347 why I should move here) Miguel, and grandson Gael (pronounced Guy-el) picked us up at Lita's apartment. Miguel and Vanessa are fun and clearly very much in love. Gael is six years old and loves everything that has to do with Toy Story and Spiderman. Lita brought Gael a present because she knew he'd be jealous when his cousin was opening all her presents. They were trading cards of Spain's world cup team. He was so excited to open them they went flying around the car because the windows were down. One flew out the window, tears ensued, and I immediately thought What have I gotten myself into?

The party was at a park a little outside of Barcelona.

I would imagine this would be what any Americ

an parent would do if they lived in a city. I always grew up in the countryside

so all our outdoor parties wer

e in someone's back yard. I suppose I never gave thought to what if you don't have a backyard?

They had balloons strung up on trees, a picnic bench covered in a pink table cloth, a piñata and massive amounts of food. Still looks like an American party to me. In fact, the sign said "Happy Birthday" in English. The children came with their parents and got along very well. Lita's grandchildren were, by far, the cutest. The birthday girl, Aisha, was absolutely adorable. Aisha's little brother, Liam, was my favourite. He was glued to me all day. Not yet two, he grabbed my hand to go everywhere. I, stupidly, took him to go down the slide. I guess he's never been down a slide before...

and he wasn't about to stop now that he'd started. I would lift him on top of the slide, he'd go down, I would catch him on the other side, and he'd scream "más más!" (more more). The first few times I was laughing with him...

after the 4th or 5th round I'd counter his "más, más" with "¿Qué hacen los otros niños? ¡Vamos a ver!" What are the other kids doing? Let's go see! That's when Liam would look at me, his bottom lip would start to protrude and quiver and I'd think shit. So, down the slide we went until the clown came.

The clown was a woman and the kids loved her. Liam wanted me to sit with him so I did and I had to play all the stupid clown games. The clown actually taught me a lot. If you ever need to know "treasure map", "sword fight", "balloon animal" or "face paint" in Spanish, I'm your girl. She took the kids on a treasure hunt, painted their faces, made balloon animals...etc. Of course the kids squeezed their balloon animals too hard and they all popped within minutes. Immediately, the adults were inundated with little monsters with wet faces, snot coming from their noses and mouths agape,

reaching out for whoever will pick them up first.

Liam chose me. My white dress was covered in snot. That stupid clown must've known what was going to happen because as soon as she handed out her balloon animals she was gone. All that was left was a party full of sobbing children.

The party continued on. There was cake, a piñata, presents galore, and crying children. It was like any

other party thrown for a 5 year old. I guess no matter where you live, cars, princesses and balloon animals will always be cool.

The children ran off to the playground and the women started cleaning and fussing over little things, and the dads walked over to the tree in the park and stood in a circle. And started passing around a blunt. Ohhhh I thought to myself here's the difference between Spain and America. I laughed to myself because of how normal it all was. It's like the first few days you go to the beach here you're taken aback by all the topless women. Then a few weeks go by and you don't even notice. Then, one day, you catch yourself thinking, You know, it would be really nice to have no tan lines at all. And you have to stop yourself from taking off your top. That's what it's like here with mar

ijuana. It's legal in Spain. You can walk down the street and smoke it if you'd like; you just can't sell it. So the first few days when you smell it you're very surprised because you'll be some place where you would never expect it; like sitting down to dinner and the table next to you is smoking it. Then a few days pass and you smell it but you're not as alarmed. Then a few weeks pass and you smell it and no one even says anything. Then you're at a 5 year olds birthday party and it's being passed around among the parents and you think is hm. interesting.

All in all, it was a great experience. I was glad Lita invited me. It was a beautiful day and the kids were adorable. Many years from now, Lita will take out the pictures from today and show her grandkids and they will say "Who is that girl in the white dress?" And Lita will take the picture from them, hold it closer to her face and say,

"Ohh yea, that was one of the girls from America...what was her name." And she'll purse her lips and look up at the ceiling and try to remember my name but by then her grandchildren, even Liam, will be onto the next picture and completely disinterested in the girl who took him down the slide all day.

Cooooca cola fanta agua cerveza cold beer?

If I were to make the soundtrack of Barcelona's beach it would go a little something like this.

Track one - The screaming baby

Track two - The Moroccans incessantly walking up and down the beach with coolers screaming "cooooca cola, fanta, agua, cerveza, cold beer?". It starts as a song, morphs into a chant and ends as a question.

Track three - The Chinese women walking around saying "Hola, mesaje! massage? Muy bueno message."

Track four - "Hola, vestido? Vestido."

Track five - Screaming, splashing child

Track six - Tracks 1-5 mixed together in a beat I like to call "you will not rest on the beach."

More or less, the beach is a playground for Moroccans and Chinese women to make a quick buck. They walk up right up to the edge of your towel, kick sand in your face, then scream whatever chant they've created for their product. After you say no, you have peace for approximately 2 minutes and 45 seconds; and then they return.

Each product has it's own tune, and EVERYONE selling that product uses the same melody. For example, three, yes three, men were surrounding my towel trying to sell cold drinks and at the same time, in the same melody, they sparked rage inside my head I didn't know existed with their ridiculous persistence of "Coooooca cola, fanta, agua, cerveza, cold beer?"

The other day, I was dying of thirst. I caved and asked one of the guys how much for a water. Scott shook his head and said, "You're just supporting the cause." The guy looked at me and said, "Uno cincuenta." One fifty for a water, not bad. I look in my purse. I only have 1.30. I tell him I only have 1.30. He shrugged and said okay. I bet I could have gotten him down to a dollar if I wanted to.

You can get anything you want sitting on your towel. Cold drinks, massages, lottery tickets, coconuts, dresses, hena tattoos, they're all accessible without even standing up. What's the one thing you can't get? Peace and quiet.

Laughs

On Thursday night, the night before our class from hell was to end, we all decided to meet up to see the fountainin the center of Barcelona (the one that dances to music), and maybe have adrink or two. We had an entire day of class so it was time to do something fun.

The fountain was a bore. It was nothing you couldn't see in Disney World or anywhere else. I actually think the snowflakes in Rockerfeller are more entertaining. Scott enjoyed it - I was being a little bit of a negative Nancy. Valentina thought it

was the most dreadful thing she'd ever seen so at le

ast someone was on board with me!

We left the fountain and headed out to find a bar. It was me, Scott, Valentina, Laura and Pierre, Laura's friend from... wherever they speak Danish. Pierre is too difficult for us to say so Scott and I just call him "The Great Dane". We were on a tight schedule due to the metro closing earlier during the week, so we sucked it up and went to the nearest bar on Las Ramblas. This is the most expensive,

touristy and downright awful section of Barcelona

but Sangria is Sangria, right? False. We had two of the most disgusting jars of Sangria I've ever tasted in my life! And they were so expensive! But it didn't matter, that night was one of the funniest nights I've ever had. When I got home, my stomach hurt from laughing so hard. Everything we talked about turned into a series of stories or experiences that had us all dying laughing. It was really amazing that 4 people from so far away could be randomly placed in this class together for these two weeks and have the exact same

sense of humour. It was a great night!

We took the late bus home, walked Valentina to her neighbourhood and Scott and I carried on to our respective homes. We walked through a really cool section of

Barcelona with tiny streets and bars. We found a child's big wheel car and tried to get it to work but I wound up ripping the handle bars off it. Scott insisted he could fix it based solely on the fact that he has nieces and nephews. I got

home and passed out - we had class the next day! THE LAST DAY OF THAT HORRIBLE CLASS!

We all felt pretty lousy at class the next day. I showed up 15 minutes late, Valentina was late too. Her boyfriend was coming in that day so she could barely be bothered with class. It was an observational day, so we were sent to observe other Spanish classes and classify the techniques the teacher used and why she used them and blah blah blah. All I know is, at noon we were almost done. We met to talk about wh

at we saw and Jaume, our teacher, walks in with two bottles

of champagne to celebrate our 70 hours of course work finished! We were all hungover from the night before but it turned out, champagne was exactly what we needed!

After class, I immediately felt like I was a bird let out of a cage. I went to the beach and hung out there for a few hours with Laura and The Great Dane. Scott and I trekked it up to Parc Güell, the park designed by Antoni Gaudí. It's absolutely

incredible. The buildings are awesome and the view is even more amazing. It is definitely a work out to get to the top but absolutely worth it.

Scott and I treated ourselves to ice cream and then

headed back for dinner.

Last night, I met up with my friend Daniel for a drink at a bar before I was to meet Valentina and crew out in town. Daniel is from Canada. He's extremely outgoing and friendly. We got to the bar and ordered beers by the bucket. I had to meet up with everyone in a little bit so I drank as quickly as I could and took off. Valentina

said she would come out for ONE drink since Fabio was in town. Fabio only speaks Italian so our table was speaking Spanish, English and Italian. Somehow we got everything across to each other. It was Laura's last night in town so we had a reason to celebrate. 6 jars of Sangria later, we decided to call it a night. Not without hugs and kisses with Laura. :(

Amici

Another awesome day of class has come andgone... I have reached my limit. I am in total goof mode. To the left, I've included a picture of my classwork of an accurate drawing to represent the difference between "por" y "para". We were all laughing at my lack of care, artistry, attention...etc so I had to catch it on film.

During lunch, we passed around different hand gestures from different countries. I can't wait to teach my friends back home how the Mexicans gesture for lazy, and how the Italians flip people off. It's fantastic. We've been silently flipping each other off from across the classroom in several different languages. What's more, I will never be able to sing "shave and a haircut" again in my life. I'll explain that one in person.

After class, we headed to the Pablo Picasso Museum. We spent an hour there. I was nearly clawing at the walls to get outdoors. Valentina was meeting her friend,

Estefano, for

a drink afterwards and invited us along. On our way to meet Estefano, we passed through a plaza where a man was playing a guitar and a woman sang. She had one of the most beautiful voices in the world. Valentina, tired of being indoors all day, grabbed Laura to dance in the plaza. I caught it on film . It was the perfect way to kick off the afternoon.

We finally met Estefano and got to the bar. Estefano is from Valentina's hometown. He speaks Italian, Spanish and a little bit of English.

At our table sat 2 Americans, a Canadian, 2 Italians and a Mexican. In order to convey all messages clearly, we spoke Spanish, a little English and even some Italian. But the real moral of the story is, everyone speaks "drinks".

Wait... what?

I know I've been failing miserably with this blog; not that I'd assume anyone was waiting on pins and needles for me to update it. Yet, I should keep it current because the little details are fading quickly and I don't want to lose them.

When it comes to the night that Spain won the world cup... I have stories of things seen and experienced that are better left to be told in person. No matter what kind of tapestry one can weave with verbs, nouns, adjectives and what-have-yous; written word will never do justice to the night Spain won. Besides, there are variations of the story. There's the basic story (for my mom and colleagues), the better story (for my brother and friends), and the whole story (for myself). They're all true, just the former two lack some minor details. :)

The world was back to normal on Monday and we ground through another 7 hours of methodology, pedagogy, contextualización, etc etc. My friend Laura went to the running of the bulls this weekend in Pamplona and shared some awesome stories. Scott and I had tossed around the idea of going, yet decided it might be a little much and we'd rather be in Barca for the world cup. After hearing Laura's recount of sleeping in the park on top of garbage, I was content with our choice! haha! Scott and I treated ourselves to burgers for lunch and I treated myself to a 5k after school along the Mediterranean.

Today we sat through another grueling 7 hours of "comprensión auditiva" and some other big words put together to make some sort of sense. I chose a seat with the best view out the window. I am constantly staring out that window imagining 1,000,000 other places I'd rather be than in that room.

From day one, I was labeled the weakest link in the class. Self-labeled is the most appropriate explanation. The class only has 5 people. One is Scott. If I'm an overachiever, then he has obsessive compulsive disorder. Siobhan is 45 and ridiculously serious about her work, Laura and Valentina can hide their lack of attention way better than I can - and - there ya have it! I am the weakest link. Our teacher, Jaume, is really good looking but more serious than a heart attack. (I cringe when I write that knowing The Boss died of a heart attack today). He hates any kind of horseplay... and I am constantly off task. He gives me looks that I've thrown to students that I absolutely hate. But I can't help it! I'M IN THAT STUPID ROOM FOR 7 HOURS!!!!

After class today, Valentina, Laura and I decided to hit the beach for a while (see photo). We hopped on the metro straight from class, bought some stupid celebrity magazines and laughed at all the gross topless women around us. The water was perfect! We had to start heading home around 8 because we were starving. On our way back, I started to imitate Jaume. "¿Bueno, pues, y que es la desfuerza aquí?" I said in his monotone voice. I really thought I made a great joke. He must use that word "desfuerza" 7,000 times a class. Laura and Valentina looked at me like I was crazy. "The what?!?!" Valentina said in her conundrum of an Italian-Irish accent. "La desfuerza." I repeated. Laura looked at me and said, "Do you mean, la destreza?"

She was right. I got the word wrong. It doesn't seem like a big deal unless you were in the class. We literally worked on destrezas for 7 hours. What is a destreza? Where do we find it? How do we implement it? It would be the same as if for 7 hours we talked about the NBA draft, all the teams, what each player meant to the draft, what the teams were capable of, who were the coaches, what the teams had done for the community...etc. and 2 hours later I said, "I learned so much about baseball today."

Valentina was laughing so hard she fell down in the sand. "Oh my God, Kat, you really aren't listening!"

So much for dropping all that money on these classes.... maybe I should choose the seat furthest from the window tomorrow.

Went to the beach today :)

¡Viva España!

I can't believe what luck I've been having! Spain beat Germany?! Amazing!

Tonight was one of those nights where you consider yourself the luckiest person on the face of the earth. Scott and I left from Joanic, our metro stop, at about 7:40 to meet up with Laura at school. We picked up Laura, and headed off to Las Ramblas to get Valentina and get to a bar ASAP to pick up the game. After finding Valentina (have you ever spoken to a girl from Italy who picked up an Irish accent on a cell phone?!), we headed to the closest bar. We were S.O.L. Every single bar with a TV was packed. What were we thinking?! Showing up to the biggest game Spain has ever seen about 10 minutes before the start... come on.

We wound our way through the streets trying to find ANY bar with a TV visible. Laura was asking all shop keepers for directions but everywhere we went was full. We found a bar hidden away in an alcove but on our way in, three blonde boys looked at us and shook their heads "no". "No room?" I said. "Nah," he answered, "and it's about 50 degrees." Shit, I thought while sweating through my shirt 50 degrees is fantastic. It took me a minute to realize he had a New Zealand accent and was speaking in terms of Celsius, which would make it well over 100 F. He looked nice enough, "We're looking for a bar," I said, "wanna join?" "Sure thing!" they answered.

After speaking during our hunt, we realized they didn't speak a lick of Spanish. Upon realizing they were with 4 Spanish teachers they reacted as if they found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. "Yea," said Laura, "you hit the jackpot kids".

We wound our way through a million streets until we stumbled upon the tiniest bar with just the right amount of space left in front of the TV before it hit capacity. We jammed ourselves in the doorway, ordered our beers, and were watching within the first 15 minutes. There were no seats but we were just as content to stand in the heat. One of the New Zealanders, Edward, kept asking me for "soccer" terms in Spanish. Such as, "Come on!" and "Let's go!" I taught him "¡Venga!", the most common term for "Come on man!" and he repeated it incessantly through out the first half. "Venga! venga! venga!" was always in my ear. But I had to laugh because all the locals were getting a kick out of it. I taught him "¡Vamos!" for the second half but just as quickly grew tired of that.

We were all having a great time. They ate up Valentina and her Irish-Italian accent. Edward would frequently tease her "What was it like growing up in Ireland?" and Valentina would instantly burst into a laugh. We were enjoying ourselves but always conscious of the looming game. Germany was chosen to win and we were nervous. Even throughout the "¡Vengas!" and the laughs these initiated, we were all a little on edge... until the goal. When the goal came the bar erupted. People were hugging, high-fiving; the street was as loud as a stadium - and all was well within the country.

The game ended and we exited the bar to find ourselves at the Irish bar in town - Flaghertys. There were still a few Germany stragglers but, for the most part, it was Spanish fans and we had a seat among them. At our table sat 2 Americans, 3 New Zealanders (Kiwis), an Italian and a Canadian... and we all sat in harmony talking about our previous and current travels and the funny anecdotes we picked up among them. Our most controversial, yet hilarious, conversation was when I accidently said the word "bathing suit". I knew this name wasn't widely accepted throughout the world but I never thought it would create the rise out of the Kiwis that it did. They were doubled over in laughter. "Bathing suit!?", said Damien, "What the hell is a bathing suit!" Turns out, Kiwis call them "toggs" or "boardies". In turn, we laughed at them for such STUPID names for a bathing suit. This lead to the discussion of sandals vs. flip-flops (which they call thongs) and I had to open their eyes to the fact if they asked me to see my "thongs", I would immediately refer to underwear and become offended. This led to the conversation of the "awkward turkey" in the room and I put that video up on facebook.... it was a moment that made us all universal.

Eventually, the 12 am metro closure became a reality and we started walking with our Kiwis to the metro. That's when we stumbled upon some of the celebrations (see video) that were unlike any others I've ever seen before. It was like the Puerto Rican day parade on steroids. People on each others shoulders, half naked, chanting through the streets; while the apartments up above threw buckets of water on the celebration. It was unreal. Spain had never gone this far in the World Cup and they were so proud. We were in the middle of it all but knew we had a deadline approaching.

Scott and I took the Kiwis to the metro and let them sneak through the turn tables on our pass. The Kiwis were hippies and had no place to stay, let alone any money to spend on a metro. We separated at our stops with a few high fives, kisses on the cheeks and memories to last a life time. It was one of those moments when you realized just exactly why you took yourself out of your element to travel to a foreign country... and why it was so important to do exactly that.

¡Holy Sh!t!

I'm anxiously waiting for 7:30 to roll around so Scott, Valentina, Laura and I can head to the bar to watch the game. I have an hour to wait and I can't shower because the cleaning lady is working on the bathroom so I thought I'd share the highlight of the day... when everyone got pooped on.

It's another flawless day in Barcelona. 90 degrees and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. After the four hours in class, we all decided to head to Plaza Catalunya and eat lunch outside. We stopped at the local market, bought some lunch and headed out to spend the next hour and 1/2 in the sun. Plaza Catalunya is known for its excessive amount of pigeons and today was no exception. "Please take a picture of me feeding the pigeons!" I begged Scott. He was hesitant, "They freak me out."

"After lunch?!" I continued.

"Fine."

Valentina, Laura, Scott, Siobhan and I sat on a bench and had lunch. When it was time to go back I reminded Scott of our agreement, "You promised!"

Reluctantly, he took my newly purchased camera and stood apart from the swarm as I threw crackers at the animals. Valentina and Laura stood with him, amazed at how easily I was entertained. "Okay!" Scott said, "That's enough, it's getting gross." He was right. They were flying up and around us and it was straight out of a Hitchcock film. "Fiiiine..." Scott and I haven't seen each other in quite some time, but it's amazing how we always fall back into the routine of an almost father-daughter relationship.

I was watching the birds, walking toward Scott and the girls when I heard it. I immediately went into a panic. The scream sounded as if a mother had lost her baby, or a woman's purse was just snatched. It took me a second to register that "woman's" scream came from Scott, and as soon as my eyes found him, they watched as my camera flew into the air, hit the stone ground and bounced along the surface twice. I looked back to Scott, horrified as to why he would throw my camera. He was waving his hand around as if it were on fire! Laura was spinning in circles trying to see if "it" was on her back. "Did it get me? I think it's on my back!" Valentina was laughing while trying to stop Laura to see her back. "Yea, it got you," Valentina said in her Italian accent.

"What happened?!" I asked, but before Scott answered, I saw it. Scott's hand was covered in bird poop. "You got POOPED ON?!" I was laughing so hard I barely got it out. "Me too..." said Laura. Valentina was furiously rubbing a towelette on the back of Laura's shirt. (see picture) "Oh no!" I said, while checking myself to make sure I wasn't hit. Just about as Valentina had fixed Laura, she put her hand down to her purse and directly into a spot of poop that hit her purse, "OH GOD!, it hit me too!" I was laughing so hard while watching Scott angrily pour water all over his hands I didn't even have time to digest Valentina's poor luck.

I was doubled over from laughter which just pissed Scott off more, "YOU were the only one who wanted to see the birds and you are the only one who didn't get pooped on!" Between laughs I said, "I'm not laughing at that! I'm laughing at your scream! It was like a little girl!" Valentina burst into laughter. Oddly enough, her Italian accent has a hint of an Irish brogue. Laughing, she added, "I didn't realize it was you screaming!," which in turned fueled my fit of laughter.

I was laughing so hard Scott threatened to touch me with his poop-hand if I didn't stop. In fact, he chased me up the school steps with his out-stretched poop-hand. It didn't help, it just made me laugh harder. We were all laughing, but they all assured me that Karma was coming for me.

We're off to the game now - I hope you all keep your fingers crossed for Spain. We're going to this Irish place called Flagherty's. Valentina has a love for all things Irish. Her face lit up when we mentioned it. Hopefully Karma won't come at the bar... I'd hate to get pooped on by a drunk Irishman...

¿A qué hora cierra el metro?

After school today, we took a trip through Spain's gothic quarters. (See picture) It's exactly what you expect Spain to look like. Small, winding streets with only foot traffic (with the exception of the crazed locals on mopeds searching for a shortcut). There were so many amazing shops I was almost glad I left my Amex at the apartment. Some of the buildings were from the roman empire, others built in the 14th century, others the 16th. It was charming and interesting all at the same time. By the end of the trip, we had been walking for an hour and a half and my feet were not well equipped in my sandals. I was getting pretty tired.

We returned to our apartments and I rested up, determined to keep my promise to Scott that we'd venture out tonight. We decided to head to Barceloneta, the "boardwalk" of Barcelona. We were leaving around 10 and I had a few minutes to hang out with Lita and Ana (a pompous 17 year old Polish girl living here too) to watch the Uruguay vs. Nederlands game. Ana is horrifically irritating to be around. She always makes snide remarks about Americans and Lita always rolls her eyes because Ana is being so rude. She can't help it though.... she's Polish, and we all know they aren't that bright.

Scott and I got down to Barceloneta through the metro and had some sangria by the beach. It was a gorgeous night and we were really enjoying ourselves. That is, until we realized the metros stop at 12 am and it was 11:45. We sure as hell weren't walking so we asked for the check. The check came on Spanish time (about 8 minutes later) and we had 7 minutes to get to the subway stop. Not nearly enough. We saw a bunch of Spaniards sprinting and we made the snap judgement they must be sprinting toward the metro... and we were right! We flew passed people taking strolls, laughing all the way to the subway, knowing we were cutting it close. We got to the station at 11:58. I grabbed my metro card, shoved it in the turntable and took off running through the station. It was 100 degrees and we were dying. We ran down the steps (of course every station has about a million) and down a tunnel then down a few more steps. That's when we heard it. The hiss of a subway train having just stopped at the station. We took off in a full sprint, we could see the train now. Down a few more stairs, through the platform, just in time to.... touch the doors as the closed. Damn it. Were we really walking?! All the way back?! It would be like from the battery up to Hell's Kitchen. No way. We stood there looking at each other for a second, contemplating what we should do. A taxi maybe? We decided to stick it out and see if MAYBE, just maybe, one more would come. 8 minutes later our waiting paid off... and we laughed, sweaty and tired, as we got on the subway and rode it all the way home.

Last night was a little taste of Barcelona but I am anxiously waiting for tonight... when Spain plays Germany in the World Cup. I know Spain's chances aren't exactly phenomenal but I have faith; and what's more, I'm in Spain and I have a reason to celebrate :)

Dedicated to my brother, Joey...

I have to write this with my older brother in mind, because he apparently knows me better than I know myself.

Last week, Joey and I met over beers and burgers in order to send me off in the proper, American way. We got to talking about how I really planned to spend my time over here in Barcelona. This was my most commonly fielded question in the weeks proceeding departure... I already have a few degrees so people were curious just how I'd be spending the upcoming weeks. I told him I signed up for a few classes on various linguistic, cultural and pedagogical concepts but that I had zero intentions of actually "trying" in these classes. What was the point? They don't count toward another degree nor do they offer financial gratification so it really didn't matter what I do.

He looked at me and smiled. "You'll try," he said, "You won't be able to not try." He was referring to my role in our family. The good student. Joey was never a good student, but is an upstanding son. He rarely bent the rules, talks back, or makes waves. I am the exact opposite. A loose cannon with outstanding grades. Ying and yang.

"No," I shook my head, "Really. There's no point. This time, I'm going to enjoy myself."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This morning, Scott and I met outside my apartment at 8am. I had a restless night of sleep. With jet lag, the time change, and 9834754 degree weather, I was up every 4 hours. I even heard Lita come back from going out dancing at 3:30am. Scott and I took the metro from my apartment down toward school. We were 30 minutes early for class (typical Scott) so we took our time with café con leche before class. We got to class at 9 and received our schedule. Class from 9-1:00 every morning, break until 2:30, class from 2:30-5:30 every night.

Joder.

This class is centered on methodology and pedagogy of second language acquisition. It is about as fun as it sounds. Our teacher, Geni, (pronounced Hen-y) is contradicting yet has some good ideas. Besides Scott and I, there are 3 other people in the class. One is from Canada, another from Ireland and the third, Valentina, is from Italy. Valentina is great. Scott and i hung out with her after class today and she seems very sweet.

Anyway, the whole reason why this is dedicated to my brother is because as tempted as I was to sleep past my alarm, and even more tempted to stay in the park we found during lunch (see picture), I returned to class and diligently took notes, listened carefully and participated with gusto. I have pages of notes from only today. So much for not trying.

I greatly underestimated the investment these classes would take. Upon hour 6 of class, Scott and I were both doing the falling-asleep-in-our-seats-head-bob. My back hurt, I was grumpy, class was horrifically boring, it was 100 degrees; I could go on and on but the reality of it all is that I am in Barcelona, and 7 hours of class was nothing a walk through Las Ramblas and a drink with Scott and Valentina didn't fix.

When I got home, Lita asked me to help her carry some old furniture down the stairs. I am completely convinced the 4'11", 90 lbs Spaniard was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the giant American girl to move this furniture... but that's neither here nor there. I like her, she's fun, and she makes amazing food. And what's better than that?

Aye - ¡que pobrecita!

Joder.

Exhaustion nearly made me sick in Valencia. We waited for our flight in an impeccably clean airport. True to Barcelona tradition, our gate was full of people dressed to impress. I immediately felt inferior. Scott and I were so tired we were basically communicating in grunts at this time; peppered with a few, "I'm sooo tired." We got lazy quickly and our Spanish turned into Spanglish and finally English.

Being on Spanish time is taking some getting used to. For example, for a 10:55 flight we started boarding at 10:49. Scott and I joked that the plane would be the size of a private jet, possibly with two prop engines. We weren't far off. As soon as I sat down, I passed out. We got to Barcelona and I was instantly relieved. Almost there...

False.

I promise I am not exaggerating when I say that from Valencia, we took a plane, a bus, a train, a subway and then walked a to our apartments. And, of course, it was 987927343 degrees. The bus took us to a train station. Apparently one train comes every couple hours because we were so packed on this train my nose is permanently damaged from the BO and I was sure I'd be pick-pocketed clean. I took all my euro and my month-metro pass out of my purse and stuffed them in my bra. It seemed like a great idea at the time... but so do most ideas. There was luggage everywhere, and people sitting, standing, breathing everywhere near us. At this point, we had been up for 26 hours straight and we were becoming delirious.

We got off and had to switch to the metro. I have a 25 lbs backpack on and a 55 lb suitcase behind me. Scott has two suitcases. We were faced with several sets of stairs and we walked into the metro. At first, we found the fact that there were no escalators comical. Scott and I have never had the best of luck. Pretty soon, the comedy wore off and we were downright dreading the rest of the trip. Up a flight, down a flight, up two flights, onto a metro, get off the metro, up a flight, down a flight, connect to the next metro. By the end I was dragging my suitcase down the stairs, hitting every single step with a giant BANG. Believe me, this earned me some awesome looks from the locals. When my suitcase got stuck in the turn-table at the next stop, I contemplated giving up leaving it... until some local guy grabbed it with both hands and tossed it over for me. I gave him a sheepish smile. What a tourist. We got to the last stop, La Sagrada Familia, and we were almost home free...

As we walked toward the exit, we could see there was a flight of stairs, going UP, just around the corner. Maybe about 15 steps in total. "Joder," I said to Scott. (The most local way of cursing the steps). He laughed in disbelief. As we rounded the corner, we both stopped short. It wasn't just 15 steps. It was 15 steps to a landing... that lead to about another 25 steps. I looked at Scott and burst into a fit of laughter. All I could say was "No way. Nooo way." He laid into the steps with force but I took a different approach. We were going on 29 hours without sleep now and I had had it. I tried to drag my suitcase up but this was obviously expending the most energy. So I had to lift the suitcase, one step at a time, up all 40 steps. About half way through Scott already reached the top and I was giggling like a crazy person. I looked up, realized I was never going to make it, and stood there laughing and crying all at the same time - very crazy. That's when some local woman came up behind me and said, "Ay! Que pobrecita!" (Oh you poor little thing!) Grabbed my suitcase, and brought it up the stairs. She probably thought I was a psycho because I was crying while thanking her HAHA! Even retelling the story makes me laugh. Scott and I got to our apartments, met everyone we're living with and literally passed out.

It's 10pm here and the woman in my apartment, Lita, is stepping out the door to go dancing. She's a character. I just woke up for a 4 hour nap to field a phone call from Scott who is desperately trying to find an adapter to fit his computer. Tragic. I'm going to give the sleeping another go - we have an early class in the morning. Hopefully tomorrow we'll be able to enjoy this beautiful city. A hellish trip here certainly won't ruin the next month! Besitos!

Man Purses? I'll go with it...

After a relatively easy flight from JFK, Scott and I find ourselves twiddling our thumbs here in the Valencia Airport. We have a 4 hour lay-over... for a 40 minute flight. Oof.

Our exhaustion has put us in an even sillier mood than usual; and the people watching becomes hilarious. We haven't been in Spain in a few years, but the memories come rushing back as we look at the bad hair, worse clothes and the newest addition to horrific fashion choices... the male purse. Yes. All the men here are wearing purses. At first I thought it was a fluke; two separate men wearing very feminine bags across their shoulders. But as the time ticked passed, we realized it was the NORM. We have been keeping count. 8 so far. I have money on the fact that Scott will return with one...