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Published: August 30th 2009
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Tourists Abound!
Visitors flock to Gaudí's Park Güell. After getting the last seat on two different flights, I arrived in Barcelona on Sunday. My baggage didn't quite make it, but I didn't expect to make it myself let alone my bag, so no big loss. My Dad got here a couple hours later and together we took the train into the city.
We headed to our simple but gorgeous hotel. One it's most attractive features is that it is right in the middle of Las Ramblas, the main tourist/strolling boulevard ... and right across the street from one of the largest markets. Food. What a great idea. 😊 I'm eating a lot of American food here, but don't judge me, it's counts as foreign food to me now.
There are so many tourists here, it's ridiculous. Barcelona is the #10 most visited city in the world. As far as countries go, Spain pulls up as #2 after France. The entire week I've been looking for people who are actually from Barcelona with little to no avail. I have met quiet a few other interesting characters however. Like Oscar, from Mexico via California. Oscar is working one of the boutiques in the metro and sold me a bag
More Gaudí
Casa Batlló on the Passeig de Gracia. I'm convinced that Gaudí is unofficially the third patron saint of Barcelona. after mine broke three times in a row. Because of my new African social skills, I stayed and talked with him for awhile. He told me I reminded him of his daughter who is working for the World Bank. I eventually said I had to take off and meet my Dad, to which he responded by giving me a free scarf from the store and inviting my father and me to coffee the next day.
The others it wasn't so much my African social skills as much as my African clothing that attracted them. Wearing the popular "wax" print cloth on the Moll (pier), I got the attention of the many West African men selling counterfeit purses and sunglasses. They called out to me in French and English saying, "My sister, that's a pretty complet." (Complet more or less means outfit.) Some others quickly found me one night in the Gothic Quarter and in French asked me where I got my clothing. When I told them, two men the group quickly came forward, one from Senegal, another from Guinea, and started speaking to me in Pular. The Guinean's family lives in a village about 50 km away from me.
FC Barcelona - Join Us!
Outside Camp Nou, Barça's stadium. If you haven't noticed already, I am a little hypersensitive to immigration here. Flying in from Guinea and Morocco, it's unavoidable. All anyone talks about is how they want to get out of Africa and go to Europe. Well here I am, seeing the results of the people that made it. Of course, I'm only here for a week, and hanging out on Las Ramblas and the Moll is hardly representative, but all the West African men I met were either selling drugs or counterfeit items hastily arranged on rice sacks. My father pointed out the only African women he saw were the one's that approached him when he was out late at night. Almost every souvenir shop I went into was run by someone from India (where I got free souvenirs). Almost every sandwich place was run by a Moroccan (where I got discounts).
Politics aside, life is good here. I've fallen in love with the metro system. For some reason underground trains always make me happy. In the couple days that I've been here I've already memorized the map, transfer points, and know which stations to try to avoid. I'm a dork, I know.
Writing
Okupa y Resiste
"Occupy and Resist" saying hello to the tourists at Park Güell, overlooking the city. all this and being here just makes me want to watch
L'aurberge espagnol. .... and I just found it online. Adios.
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