I Fell In Love With Barcelona and Began to Hate Americans

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Well, I can say that I’ve never been in love with anything…until Friday.

I dunno. Madrid is a great place and I really enjoy being here. But there’s something about Barcelona that made me feel different. I’ll recant most of the trip, in usual chronological fashion, but with a smattering of rant. I was not impressed with the attitudes of other students on this trip. It would suffice to say this will be a long entry.

I woke up at 7:00 a.m. on Friday morning. We were to meet up at Avenida de America at 8, which is about 20 mins on the metro. I had ample time to shower and get there. Since my roommate never uses an alarm clock and seems somewhat irresponsible, I didn’t care what time he got up.

Needless to say, I didn’t understand exactly where we were supposed to meet. I got to the metro stop with 10 mins to spare, although I spent almost 15 searching for the meeting point. I found it, the stragglers came in within another 10 mins, and finally we took a bus to the airport. It’s funny how much people bring on a 3 day trip; only one girl brought a single bag. I like her more for it.

Madrid just opened a new terminal in the airport. Boy, is it nice. It had only been open for 10 days when we arrived, and you could tell. It’s spacious, contemporary art design pleases the eye. There are a lot of curves, so it’s not as Brutalist as many public buildings. I accidentally left my boarding pass by the x-ray machines, as some dickhead Spanish security guard kept pushing me along while I was collecting my change and various pocket contents. So to you, Mr. Airport security, here’s a big glass of Fuck You. Cheers.

Anyway, the flight was fine, and we got into Barcelona at about 1. The flight itself is a little over an hour; we were fortunate, as the last group to go to Barca took a 9 hour bus trip. Score. When we arrived, I was surprised by the palm trees. It had never crossed my mind that they would have palms. I’d say it was about 15 to 20 degrees warmer in Barca than Madrid, which was terrific. The air also didn’t feel like it was going to kill me in 20 years. We took a private bus from the airport to a park, along with a guide pointing things out along the way. She spoke entirely in Castellano, along with the occasional English word.

Warning: Erika rant
At this point, on the bus, Erika reinforced my first impression of her: a Jewish princess who wants to be catered to, and refuses to not get her way. Erika doesn’t seem to hang out with the ISA crowd as much, and even moved out of her homestay into a residencia, which I believe is pretty much a dorm. It’s funny, because we attend the same US university, OSU, and she’s doing a non-OSU approved program and hoping to get transfer credit. I’d laugh if she didn’t get credit. Additionally, she flies to London or wherever instead of going on excursions with us. She does little to break stereotypes.

Anyway, she made several comments that were pretty much deportation-worthy.

As our guide was speaking within the first 30 minutes we’d been in Barcelona, Erika raises her hand and yells, “Um, I don’t understand like any of what you’re saying. Will you speak in English?”

Mind you, we’re in Spain. Our guide probably speaks Catalan, the official language of Catluña and Barcelona, and obviously is speaking to us, and slowly at that, in Castellano. Without saying it, Ms. Jewish Princess made it clear she obviously doesn’t care about learning Spanish. While I have a good grasp of the language, I’m pretty sure I’d at least try to understand in her situation. Other students in the same classes as Erika try to listen, and speak fairly well for their lack of experience. But I mean, who cares if half the students here speak fluent Spanish? I speak English and you should cater to my needs. After 6 weeks of living here, you should be able to understand a slow speaking guide. I wanted to throw her and her bad attitude off the moving bus.

Reason for wanting to punch her number 2: Erika said something about wanting Starbucks, but that it costs like 12 Euros for a cup in Madrid. She has discovered that you cannot, in fact, have your cake and eat it too. What a fucking brain surgeon she is. American products and conveniences cost more when you’re in Europe. Who woulda thunk it? Spanish coffee is by and large better than most American coffee, and I don’t even like coffee. Here’s hoping somebody spits in her Grande Café Latte next week when they hear bitching in English.

She also argued with me that a lot of people go to Barcelona to learn how to speak Spanish. Obviously, I’m a moron and was wrong. Let’s put this into perspective:

How long we’ve spoken Spanish:
Me: 7 years
Her: 6 weeks

But what do I know? I mean, the official language in Cataluña, the province which contains Barcelona, isn’t Catalan, is it? I mean, they don’t want to become an independent country for reasons including, but not limited to, the language difference? There’s no similarities to Quebec there, right? I mean, Castellano, our idea of Spanish, isn’t only the second most used language in the region, right? Oh wait, yeah, that’s right….I have 3 years of advanced Spanish college courses under my belt, all of which I’ve gotten As or A-s. This bitch is taking courses I took when I was 15 or 16. There’s a reason Europeans don’t love Americans: she is from Beachwood, Ohio and probably can’t stand the way poor people don’t help themselves.

As it turned out, she neither stayed at our hotel nor went on our planned sightseeing. She has a friend who is studying in Barcelona with whom she stayed. How unfortunate for my anger and increasing desire to say bad things about her.

/End rant

Aside form that, I immediately fell in love with Barcelona. I try not to throw around L-bombs too often these days, but I felt it there. The vistas are astounding. Barcelona is situated between mountains on one side, the Mediterranean Sea, the Atlantic Ocean, and a river. I was thinking about how I’d have to find a woman in Barcelona so that I could move there. In the park, we had a terrific view of the sea and the beach. It was like a warm day in April in Ohio. Days like that always make me think of Easter Sunday and taking pictures with my family in the front yard. I’m not sure why. That’s just my idea of a perfect day in Spring.

But the party had to end. We took the bus to the hotel and checked in around 3:30 or 4 p.m. Erika parted from us (my heart sunk). Hotel Aranea, our home for 2 nights, is a 4 star place. I guess that’s what $9250 in program fees gets you.

The hotel was great though. The beds were firm, the rooms clean, and the bathroom sparkling. Too bad I have to share every one with my roommate; we are the only 2 guys between Winter 1 and 2. Ugh. I have to suffer through his schnozz and it’s sound effects even in other cities.

I also am embarrassed to admit I have yet to understand how to use a bidet. I tried the one at the hotel; I just kinda let the water run over my crack and asshole (sorry for being explicit). I felt really stupid squatting there. Do you just wipe with the towel then? That seems quite unsanitary. Do you fill the bowl and dunk? I have to read up on this. I am not as cultured as I’d like to seem. Needless to say, I finished up with good ole TP, as I didn’t want shit water running down my jeans.

Crystal, Terran, and I walked down to the beach instead of sleeping like everyone else. I have nothing but time to sleep in Madrid. The walk was about 30 minutes, albeit roundabout, but the beach was beautiful. Barcelona’s beach is only about 15 years old, as they cleared out some of the port for the Olympics in order to have a beach. It’s nice. I walked there in only a T-shirt and jeans and wasn’t cold.

Of course, I am still me. Crystal was taking my picture on the beach and the tide splashed up on my right foot. So, I’ll share the picture, about 0.5 seconds before my ankle and foot were engulfed in Mediterranean waters. I liked talking to both of them on the way there and back. Terran is a very amiable girl, and Crystal reminds me of myself in some ways. She is one of the few to fully embrace the Spanish culture.

I did get some great pictures, though. We walked back, me with my wet foot, and went on a foot tour with another guide, Isabella I believe was her name. She was very knowledgeable about architecture and history, but spoke in English. That was a downer for me. I actually get irritated by Speaking English. It’s weird.

We learned about Modernism, and the influence of said movement on Barcelona. If you walk down a street in Barcelona, you’ll see the corners are cut at 45 degree angles. This is to improve the visibility around corners, which I think is cool. Apparently other cities have copied this, including San Francisco.
We got to see building designed by Gaudi, a recurring theme, and then 4 Gats, the small restaurant Picasso frequented. It was cool to see something like that. We continued on to Catedral Barcelona and an adjacent building which contained inner walls from Roman Barcelona. This was all part of the barrio gótico in the city. Barcelona has been built over again several times, each time on top of the old city. The Roman walls were cool to see, and the cathedral was immense. They don’t spare any expense in Spain on their churches. That’s for sure. I got some good pictures, although some didn’t come out in the cathedral. Oh well.

Many were complaining about how long the foot tour was lasting. I guess it could have been shorter, but it’s not like we were seeing worthless stuff. I talked to the guide a bit in Spanish, asking about local food and politics. Some of the girls in our group wanted paella badly, but the guide told me paella isn’t a specialty in Barcelona. Even so, they were dead set and said we should go to this one area by the shoreline. I think Crystal and I were the only two who didn’t really want to go; I wanted seafood if I could get it, and she definitely didn’t want to be with the group. She knew they would plan poorly, and that they did.

The restaurant was a debacle. We walked down this street near the shoreline, a bad idea because prices were sure to be higher in such an area. Eventually, we stopped at a restaurant with reasonable prices. This is about the last thing that was reasonable that night.

Warning: Anti-American Rant
So we got to the restaurant and sat upstairs, all 9 of us. The menu was in 5 languages, which helped our lesser-informed friends. Typically, in a Spanish restaurant, the menu del dia is your best bet for saving money. My compatriots were thinking they could order the menu del dia and split it to save money. God forbid anyone should spend more than 10 E on dinner in Barcelona. I’m sorry, but they’re retarded. Spain isn’t the US. You can’t get your tapas Biggie-sized for 99 cents more.

The menu del dia consists of 2 dishes and a dessert; for example, I had the menu del dia for myself, and ordered mussels, veal (mistakenly, I thought it was going to be scallops, it said escallope, now I’m the retard) and ice cream. The restaurant was fairly nice, probably polo and khakis nice, and my dinner cost 16.50 E. That’s not bad. I’m not a big veal guy, but this was pretty good, and the mussels were fresh. Not a big wine guy, but the wine was good. Everything was good.

Except my company.

So paella at this restaurant is for 2 people. Ok. But the first platter isn’t. My fellows students couldn’t figure out that you just don’t split dinners. It was hell. Someone orders and extra soup, this person didn’t get what they thought was included…ugh. More reason to hate Americans. Me, Crystal and someone else did not split, but 6 people did.

When it came time to pay, they left off 2 bottles of wine and an appetizer they accidentally brought and let us keep. The bill was still 116 E for 9 people. Somehow, 6 people thought they were only going to pay like 8.50 E…I’m an English major, but that doesn’t come close. That’s only like 50 E. I don’t believe my meal cost 25. That left nearly 70 for 3 people to cover. Not quite right. Crystal told someone off who was complaining, saying she’d pay the 8 E they didn’t think they owed. She’s very reasonable. Eventually, we decided to split the bill 9 ways, about 13.50 a piece. That didn’t bother me or Crystal a bit. Out came like 6 or 7 credit cards (Spain doesn’t split the bill typically, so everyone had to write what they wanted charged to which card). I paid in cash, which I seem to prefer.

During dinner, Kate made a statement which summed up my view of the group on the weekend: “When we’re with our group we speak so much Spanish.” I like Kate, but she was so off base, I didn’t feel like arguing. I tried, but immediately realized it was kinda pointless.

We never speak Spanish with our ISA group. Crystal speaks Spanish extremely well and usually is a little away from the group. I think she and I are on the same level. I don’t feel like everyone else is. Other people who were here last semester are decent as well. When I come back home from spending time with the ISA group, I think and talk slower. It’s because of the glut of English spoken. Maybe her view is different from mine, because she lacks the Spanish background, but Kate couldn’t have been more wrong. I wish everything was always in Spanish. It’s the only way to immerse yourself in the culture.

/End Anti-American rant

I went out with Leisl and Jill for a little while Friday night. We couldn’t find any place cool to go, so we had one beer at some shitty small bar. We talked about some of the stuff we did, and gossiped about people on the trip. Apparently, Leisl doesn’t like Kate. Kate’s nice, so I don’t agree with that. They agreed with me, however, that there are no guys here. I’m seriously the only thing close to a normal guy. That’s almost scary. Josh is too hippy/undirected, and Ari is kinda of a California liberal artsy type. I guess that means I get center stage.

We packed it in around 2, which was disappointing. Barcelona has great night life, but we couldn’t seem to find it. Even so, I was still feeling puppy love for the city. I love the angled street corners, the metro cars are wider, and streets just feel more open to walk on. I didn’t feel like I was in anyone’s way in Barcelona. They have the ocean, the sea, great weather, and 300 days of sunshine per year.

I want to live there. Did I mention that?

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