I do not like to fly.
Somewhere in the middle of takeoff from Philadelphia, as thoughts of what to do in the event my plane crashes during the next 30 seconds flash through my mind, it hits me that this trip is for an entire year. As we climb up over the Atlantic I realize that worrying about a crash onto the runway was silly - what I really should have been worrying about was how to fend off a shark attack if I somehow were to survive a sudden plunge into the ocean below.
Finally though, we reach cruising altitude and I have time to think about the days, weeks and months ahead. During that time, as I journey around the world, seasons will change, there will be a presidential election at home, there will probably at least one political controversy that Americans will follow religiously, and my little sister will grow an inch - at least.
Despite my worries about the plane making it in one piece I arrive safely in Barcelona. One reason I like this city is because it forces you to forget your woes. It is a place where the people and culture seem to be always "on". During the day, when the streets are layered with vendors, tourists, and locals strolling off to a cafe or work, a vibrant sound fills the air. It is the sound of commerce coming out of the stores and mixing with street performers who are found in almost every nook and cranny.
Barcelona finally goes to sleeps at 6:00 am when the clubbing crowd retires and heads home over the freshly washed streets. For this crowd, the evenings festivities might very well have started ten hours earlier in a tapas bar, before migrating to a pub in preparation for a night at the disco.
The display of the city's diverse lifestyle is everywhere. The beaches showcase the Catalonian bronze beauty and some streets have a circus-like atmosphere, with performers everywhere. Other streets are more somber serving as home to the squatters whose appearance seems to mirror that of the mangy pigeons that abound.
In the park, wild parrots squawk so loudly that they have probably disturbed the only white gorilla in captivity more than a few times. Perhaps they are trying to keep "Snowflake" from dwelling on the fact that he has been living in captivity at the Barcelona Zoo for almost 40 years.
One walk down the winding streets and Barcelona reminds an onlooker that this city is unique and very European. For me, it is the smell that reminds me that I am in Europe. I believe that most European countries have a distinct smell based on a common set of variables. For example, In Italy the smell is dominated by the aroma of the food being prepared in the restaurants. In Germany, it's the sweet air from a pastry shop.
Unfortunately, on some days - especially hot days - the sweet smell of the local cuisine is often overwhelmed by the more powerful stew of foul odors which is dominated by the smell of dried pigeon dung carried on a base of diesel and moped exhaust.
Walking about in Barcelona takes skill. People herd through the narrow corridors and streets leaving little room to navigate. When the crowds are out, the narrow streets become an obstacle course that meanders like a drunken river. The dried pigeon dung that seems to be everywhere, causes pedestrian feet to unconsciously slide left or right, as if on ice-skates. A minor misstep can easily result in a crash landing onto the ground and a fresh dose of "perfume de Barcelona".
As you take in the scene the difference between the local and visiting cultures become apparent. Catalonians separate from the Spanish not only by speaking their own language but also by wearing different clothing and hair styles. Mullets and rat tails are worn with separatist pride.
On any given day in Barcelona, there are tourists from all over Europe and America in town and they add their own quirks and differences to the personality potpourri. A conversation overheard between an American couple from Connecticut and a tapas bar tender reveals some stereotypical American cultural differences.
Couple from Connecticut (Loudly asking for the bar tender’s attention): "Are these Sardines, they’re supposed to be Sardines but I think you people call them something different. Are these sardines cured in oil or salt?"
Bartender: "They’re cured and oil and lightly salted," (Pause)
Couple from Connecticut: "I only want the cured in oil"
Other people come in and the bartender attends to their needs.
Couple from Connecticut:"Excuse me, we would like the white fish instead." (they continue to look over the menu and the bartender waits) "Honey, what do you want to drink? What do you have to drink here?"
Bartender: describes the drinks.
Couple from Connecticut:"I want water."
Bartender: gets a bottle of water out.
Couple from Connecticut:"No, I don’t drink from plastic. I need a glass bottle. How about giving us a new place mat."
The bartender attends to other costumers and comes back to ask the couple if they decided yet as they continue to discuss. The couple orders and the bartender asks again if that is all they wanted.
Couple from Connecticut:"Is the fish $2.95?" (he asks as he reads the price off of the menu) "Well, I’m going to have the eggplant instead and a glass bottle of water. Can you look for one?"
Bartender:"There might be one at the very bottom of the refrigerator but I don’t think there is," (the bartender says finally showing some frustration in her face as other customers arrive.
Couple from Connecticut:"Can you look for it?"
After a few days my daily routine here begins with a walk down a the hill that slopes through Barcelona on La Rambias, a grand street. From the top of La Rambias the mass of moving people seem the blend into an undulating current of brown, black, and blond. The thoroughfare narrows and intersects with multiple minor streets that cut canyons through neighborhoods. I try to take a different route each day on my way to the tapas bar I know better than any other location in Barcelona.
Taller Tapas is the tapas bar I visited my first night in Barcelona. The tapas are tasty and range from sautéed mushrooms to cuttle fish. The atmosphere is warm and clean. But, the reason I think about this bar with the frequency of breathe and return to it as if it is my job in Barcelona is because of Susanna. Her familiar greeting always includes a smile that reveals the beauty of antiquity which is gift from her Italian genes.
Friends are made easily when traveling. I meet people every day and night that are great fun. Most people become more open when traveling. Acquaintances see the good aspects of each other and their own personal limitations become less relevant as they try to make friends with strangers. It is an interaction that does not last. But, it is this human interaction that I seek most in my travels. It makes us greater than who we are.
Travel tips:
1. If you forget a towel, and you use a shirt to dry off, 100% cotton works best. Blends, especially anything with spandex, leave you dripping.
2. Try to get a room that does not exit out to a common room where a chain smoking old man with rotten teeth, and who, apparently, scares elementary school children at work all day long, hangs out and watches TV.
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