Skip to main content

The Old and the New

With only a little more than a handful of weeks left in Barcelona, I’ve been thinking a lot about the fine line I’ll approach and cross come June. I’ll be leaving someplace ‘different’ and going home, but in many ways I’ll be leaving a home to go someplace ‘different’- different than I remember it, different than it used to be, different than I used to be. I don’t know how many things have changed in that town that never seems to change, but I know they have. I also have no idea how much I’ve changed, and I probably won’t know until much later after I return. Until then I’m here in Barcelona, thinking about the old and the new.

Which was probably the best part of having Rick and Joy visit all last week: exploring a place I’ve only just gotten to know with two people I’ve known forever. It was a non-stop week that was part show-and-tell, part exploration and re-exploration, and part marathon. Much of the week seemed so natural that sometimes I forgot we were in Spain at all, and others I forgot that Rick and Joy haven’t been here the whole time. “Just waiting for the metro in Plaza España with Rick and Joy, just another Wednesday afternoon.” We saw so many impressive, memorable, and stupefyingly beautiful things that it will take a few weeks to sort through everything, to prove that it really all happened. Fresh off the plane at nine in the morning, we took to the streets and started seeing Barcelona. We wandered from site to site, cathedral to cathedral, and café to café con leche. By the end of the day we couldn’t believe how much we’d seen, and by the end of the week we flat-out refused to believe it.

“No, that wasn’t the first day, it couldn’t have been. Really? Well then what did we do Wednesday? Oh yeah…”

My favorite times, as usual, were the meals. We ate well, and we ate often. Three people eating a three-course menu each can cover a lot of culinary ground. Sometimes we ate new things (rabbit, pan de coca, patatas bravas), but many times we just ate sometime we already knew done exceptionally well (roasted pork leg, stew, tuna). There was satisfaction, and there was happiness, but at the end of the meal, as we all sat back in that wine-purple haze, there was something else for me: affirmation. I’ve been talking to my friends about Spain for a long time, but now I could watch people I know and whose opinions I trust lean back and say, “Yes, this is good.” I knew it all along, but it’s still good to hear someone else say it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sol, At Night

On kind of a spur of the moment decision I went to see a movie tonight. It was a British comedy called, “Death at a Funeral.” It was a funny movie, and it was good to get out and do something different. Seeing a movie in Spain differs very little from seeing one in the States- or anywhere, I imagine. The only major difference was probably the assigned seats. Come now, we wouldn’t want people sitting where ever they wanted, willy-nilly. (Note: what’s Spanish for “willy-nilly”?) No matter where you are, though, Friday night movie crowds are good people. They’re not worried about anything, they have the weekend ahead of them, and they all at least have some sense of fun- otherwise, what’s the point of going to see a movie? They’re likely out with a partner or a group of friends, enough to put anybody in a good mood. I waited with my ticket in the lobby among my fellow movie-goers and the smell of popcorn. I had arrived far too early, proving once again that moving to another country doesn

Unnecessary Personal Update #3: I'm Almost Out of Peanut Butter

Before we came to Barcelona, the counselors and instructors showed us a graph. A long, curvy line showed us the ups and downs we could expect while spending almost a year studying abroad. The excitement of arrival, the frustration of having to shop, get around, and find an apartment in another language and culture, the thrill of actually accomplishing those tasks, the unavoidable homesickness, etc. I glanced at it at the time but shuffled it back into the ream of documents we'd been given. 'Don't tell me how I'll feel,' I probably thought, ' I'll tell you , when it happens.' And through all the good times I've had here in Barcelona, I haven't thought much about that graph. But during the not-so-good times, the days when the entire city seemed to be an implacable force motivated only to bedevil me... I thought about that graph. The damned prophet that had seen all of it coming. Yes, there have been ups and downs this year. But even in the

Candlepower

Candlepower- intensity expressed in candles Time passes differently in this reading room, I think to myself. Minutes turn into hours like the wax of the candle turns from a solid into a liquid, running quickly together and building up. I barely noticed when the sunset, and am only just now aware that I had lit the candle at all, let alone that it was my sole source of illumination. I lean over it carefully to blow out the flame that sits on a short nub of wax. Two things happen in that instant. The light in the room blinks out, of course, as the flame is extinguished. Also, as I stand there in the dark with my face above the candle, the last tendrils of smoke drift upward and into my nostrils. Instantly, decades of birthdays flash through my mind, a blur. I’m a child, standing up on a chair at the kitchen table, eyeing the cake my mom has decorated to look like a clown. I’ve just blown out the candles and everyone around the table- all family- is clapping. I’m slightly older, this time