Salamanca, Madrid, y ¡Carnaval!

Just a few highlights from the last two weekends, parts of which are censorable anyway ;-)

Salamanca!
Salamanca is my favorite city so far. I hope Brittany is reading this right now and steaming with jealousy. I won’t lie though and say I am quite jealous of my old friend, who was blessed enough to remain there for a whole semester. It’s quaint, not touristy, and sin duda (without a doubt!) a lively little college town. I’m pretty sure this one Spain’s first really nice weekends, so townsfolk were out in droves welcoming home the long lost sun after they reluctantly had a taste of South Bend permacloud life is like. At night the Plaza Mayor smiles with light, providing one of the most beautiful man-made and non-ecclesial sights I’ve yet seen.

Open space = cartwheels and dance moves :-)

To boot, our group was fantastic. We had a great little hostal two blocks from the Plaza. The girls may have had a bigger room, but the gentlemen certainly won the best room prize. We had a balcony which overlooked the street and if you turned just a wee bit, you would see this. Pretty sweet, eh?

High-five for Pontifical Universities!

The night life there was a ton of fun. Everywhere we wanted to go was in relative proximity, including Jacko’s, a bar dedicated to the King of Pop himself. It wasn’t as spectacular as we imagined, but they had a drink called the Thriller which was mighty tasty. Both nights we ended up Leonardo’s, as I found out later, a place often frequented by Brittany and her friends. It’s a popular late-night Bocadillo spot. The great news is that I had the best sandwich of the semester in this place! Rightly dubbed the Plaza Mayor, it had chicken, cheese and onions…or something like that…I don’t quite remember…because it was so long ago! Don’t judge me :-)

This crazy vasco couldn't help us find a churrería, but he sang the FC Barcelona Anthem with me...so we let it slide

The second day (St. Valentine’s!) we walked around the city and soaked in the beauty of the day and the architecture. At the Old University’s main door Pami found the famous frog, which supposedly means she has good luck or something. The best part of our day though was the time leading up to and during lunch. We crossed the Río Tormes over the Puente Romano, a beautiful Roman bridge, enjoying the simplicity and silliness of our company. In the spirit of San Valentin, Gabi and I took this fantastic shot on the bridge, much to the surprise of some old ladies…yea this Gringo’s got moves!

There is...a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and...a time to dance! - Ecclesiastes 3:4 (with a bit of poetic license)

Over the bridge we found a nice little grocer, who sold us all we needed for a fabulous picnic. Our handmade bocadillos didn’t top the ones from the previous night in a culinary respect, but they may have had the edge in the spontaneous community spirit which generated them. Our picnic spot was picturesque: right by the river, at the foot of a church, and surrounded by the most unique trees you’ll ever see. Some were the subject of artists, painted and decorated in all sorts of crazy ways, while the virgin ones that lined the river walkway had the form of hands clasping a glass of wine or brandy from beneath. On top of being an impressive sight, they were the perfect height for climbing--tough enough for a challenge, but quite doable. Pete and I took some cool shots from his camera, which he hasn’t put up on facebook yet, but thankfully I stole someone else’s photos.

They will see us waving from such great heights,
'Come down now,' they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
'Come down now,' but we'll stay...

Salamanca ended equally as well, with Pete and I firing up some cubanos in the Plaza Mayor on our last night, and a safe journey home to Toledo. Although we meant to catch a direct bus back to Madrid to catch the train to Toledo, we got an indirect. It was considerably longer…but so worth it. We trekked through the mid-afternoon countryside of Castilla-León, rife with cattle, hills, and awesome rock formations. That barbarian spark lit in me yet again, my eyes were fixed on this glorious landscape the whole trip. Praise God for such art, which can’t but seize our most romantic yearnings for a wild life--utterly unpredictable, utterly dependent on God’s Providence and the work of our very hands.

Onto Madrid and Carnaval!
Last Friday my Master-Spanish-Painters class took our second field trip to the Prado, this time to admire the work of Francisco Goya. Goya is great, crazy, yes, but really quite an innovative force as far as the history of art is concerned. I quite enjoyed it. This time we wised up though and stayed after our tour was over to really appreciate the works of these master artists. In both of our tours we were only allowed to see each masterpiece for a few minutes while our professor talked, which was really frustrating, especially for El Greco and Velázquez, whom I love. I’m pretty sure we spent fifteen minutes in front of Velazquez’s Cristo Crucificado. This is one of those paintings that you have to see in real life, Christian or no. The corpus, Christ’s body, although depicted as dead, still retains a dynamic character. Over a dark, neutral background, the brilliance of the body suggests the light given to the world by this act of perfect self-sacrifice. Emily put it well, saying that lack of setting created by the neutral background, suggests, as did St. Thomas Aquinas, that the Prize of the Cross is the merit of all ages, not simply for those contemporaries of Christ. Every moment of time lies on the circle that circumvents this act of the God-Man, faces it, and bows down in adoration before it. Even as we speak, God watches Jesus “breath his last” so that he might always “remember his mercy” towards us whom are imperfect, and thus grant us the grace to persevere in holiness (Luke 23:46, 1:55).

It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon
because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle.
Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. - Luke 23: 44-46

The next night, our Carnaval celebration, was…well…less intellectually stimulating…to say the least. Carnaval is the Spanish equivalent of Mardi Gras…only it lasts several days. This is their holiday to disfrazarse (wear costumes), much like our Halloween, except instead of trick-or-treating Toledo has a city-wide parade and live entertainment (Salsa y Mergengue!) until…actually I have no idea because they were still going when we went home haha. Dressed in my chic gangster threads and a fuzzy bow tie donated to me by a not-so-scandalous (thank goodness!) ‘bunny,’ I thoroughly enjoyed the night. As per usual, Gabi and I danced it up to the Latin rhythms much to the delight of the middle-aged onlookers and our Puerto Rican compañeros. Much to my heart’s delight this latter group gave official recognition to my sangre boricua (Puerto Rican blood) after we rocked Zocodover. You'd be surprised how touching that is to someone like me who has had that chip on his shoulder for about...20 years! ¡Yo soy hijo de Borinquen Y eso nadie va a cambiar! (I'm a son of Borinquen [native for Puerto Rico] and ain't no one gonna change that!).

Ahh! Captain Flan! I'll be walking the plank for sure!


Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya! We call this our "Smile wit yo eyes" photo. Don't worry that's not lipstick on the cheek, just facepaint.

Nice threads gang!

Probably the highlight of night were Connor, Dan, and Pete. They had spent the night in Madrid (where Carnaval is not celebrated) and had purchased some creepy masks to enjoy the night in. Funny thing is that they were the only ones dressed up! Being the hams that they are, they did this crazy thing where they would go up to random people with said creepy masks on and just start saying “Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!” as they would bob back and forth. This carried into Saturday and was absolutely hilarious. When we were catching the bus back to our neighborhood, they incorporated this habit into the Toledano anthem some locals taught us on the bus. We then answered them with the Victory March, which, despite the tonal discrepancies, was a welcome sound to my ears. Singing for 20 minutes certainly makes the bus ride seem shorter, and way more fun.

So yea, that was pretty much my last two weekends. This weekend is sure to hold an adventure! We’re off to Morocco! I hope I get to ride a camel! Prayers for safety please!

Have a happy and fruitful Lent!

Archbishop of the World

Ok, so I haven't blogged in some time, it's midterms week, so that drought should end...eventually. For now all I've got is this:

http://whispersintheloggia.blogspot.com/

He's a great Catholic journalist who puts all sorts of "Catholic News" online. Most notably are his last few articles on the appointment of Archbishop Timothy Dolan to the cathedra of New York. I was supposed to hear him speak at a conference at ND my freshman year, but was sadly impeded. By all accounts, he's the man, so this should bode well for what JPII calls the "Archdiocese of the World." Pretty big gig, eh?

Anyway, he's being installed after Easter, so when I get home from the Continent anyone want to go hear him say Mass at St. Pat's?

I thought so!

Until I actually blog about life, love, and surreal weekend trips...God's peace. Wish me luck on my wicked hard exam tomorrow!

Good quote on God's personal nature from Fr. Robert Barron, one America's premier Catholic scholars/renaissance men.

"If God is just the Force, well then I can tap into it when I feel like it, I can from time to time get in touch with it, but then get on with my life. But--if God, the Creator of all things is a person who is after me--that's more frightening, it's more dangerous...but more thrilling at the end of the day."

A Stranger and You Welcomed Me

“Into whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this household.' If a peaceful person 5 lives there, your peace will rest on him; but if not, it will return to you” (Luke 10: 5-6).

The Christian tradition has long been renowned for its commitment to hospitality, to taking in friend or weary stranger in times of need. St. Benedict says it well to his monks, “Humility is to be shown to all arriving or departing guests: by bowing the head or prostrating the whole body on the ground Christ is to be adored in them just as he is received in them” (Rule 53:6). I am proud to say my own family revels in this tradition, starting with my Abuelee who for over forty years has been caring for the poor of El Salvador, and in my own life, the countless parties which have been enjoyed and carried well into the night at my very home…not to mention the countless number of teenage boys who, for at least one night, have called our basement floor their home.

Thus, I have been conditioned not only to open a door of hospitality to friend and neighbor, but also have learned to appreciate it, thanks to the great role models who bless my life. In this one month (that’s right today’s the one month anniversary of arriving in España!!!) I have already gratuitous amounts of hospitality, so much so I can’t help but write it down for my own memory.

I have to start first with my family, La Familia Del Pino Morales. They are really Godsends. I was very nervous coming here (Thanks Brittany!!!) that I wouldn’t like the food (forgetting the mouth is a veritable vacuum cleaner), would suffer intense culture shock, and would struggle outside Notre Dame’s vibrant liturgical life. Well, none of those three have manifested negatively. There’s certainly culture shock, pero no pasa nada…see I’m getting used to it already! I also wish a few more people went to Church, but again no pasa nada.

Back to los Del Pino Morales. They’re cooking expertise and calm demeanor make me feel so welcome and comfortable here…hence why I’m not doing any homework right now hahaha…maybe that’s just a reflection of my work ethic though. Last weekend I went to one of Fernando’s football matches with them…good times. The Señora is quite the fan…and I bet the referees appreciate her enthusiasm oh so much…ha. Let’s just say when the red-shirted arbitro got home he probably looked at a tomato in his kitchen and said “I don’t look like that…do I?” It was a good game though. Fernando’s team won, against the top team in the league no less, although he did get hurt (all better now!), and there were four red cards shown, on top of a montón de amarillos. Concurrently, Silvia was swimming to qualify for nationals. She only came home with three first place trophies…Michael Phelps anyone? Except for the DUI and the pot part of course :-) Needless to say the next day was a day of celebration in the house…culminated by the paella fabulosa which we had for comida…keep the victories coming hermanos!!! Truly though, they treat me as one of their own…evidenced by their relentless picking on me for loving to sleep and eat…and not work hehe.

My next group of welcomers se llaman (are called) La Fraternidad de María Estrella de la Mañana (Fraternity of Mary Star of the Morning). They are a new religious order within the Catholic Church and are in charge of La Sinagoga María Estrella del Mar (Mary Star of the Sea Synagogue). That’s right, it is a synagogue named after Mary and run by a Catholic religious order. It was a synagogue before the Jews of Toledo were expelled, then it was converted into a Church (hence the name) and is now designated as a place of reconciliation for Catholics and Jews. The founder of the order, Hermano Abraham de la Cruz, was born into a Franco-Jewish family, was an atheist, then converted to Catholicism. He is an artist, poet, and I think, a mystic of sorts (don’t quote me on that yet) and straight baller. When Emily, Maeve, and I visited this historic site, we made friends with two of the nuns who invited us to say Vespers with them on Sunday. We took them up on the offer (to their surprise I think) and were welcomed with such open arms. Hugs, smiles, and introductions were exchanged de prisa (hurriedly) as they were about to begin praying. A nice young brother (recently professed as we would find out) showed us where exactly to look in the breviaries, which are even more intimidating in Spanish. It was such a beautiful prayer, they all could sing, and there was such sincerity, such a genuine love of God in their voices. Afterwards several of us went into their sitting room, whose view of Toledo is breathtaking, and chatted for over an hour. Hermano Abraham was visiting for the weekend, so it was a great time to visit.

His perceptiveness and incredible wisdom more or less pierced our souls throughout the whole conversation (look for more in a reflective post which is still under construction). The softness of his French accent combined with the musicality of the Spanish language held the ears of our hearts captive as he encouraged us forth in life of prayer and service. The other community members present, one of whom was his son (long story) and another of whom entered a Buddhist monastery at 6, offered us bits of advice garnered from the novels of their lives. It was clear that this was group of people who had serious self-knowledge, and what’s more, a serious knowledge of who they truly are and how God calls them daily. This was evidenced by the fact that what should’ve been “awkward silences” were not. Often times you can tell when people feel uncomfortable during silence, they need a distraction, they need to be occupied. However, it was clear that everyone in that room was so aware of God’s presence; they could sit in silence all day and hear God’s voice as clearly as a baby’s cry. Unfortunately we couldn’t stay for dinner, but that just gives a reason to go back! The recipients of dos besos and a shower of blessings, Em, Maeve, and I walked out of that house in awe of what had just happened…in awe of how strangers had become good friends because of a simple invitation, a simple prayer, and a simple conversation.

Some of Hermano Abraham's art. Clockwise: Autoretrato, Corpus Christi, y Silencio

Hospitable encounter number three happened this morning. Yo madrugué (I woke up very early…haha yes, Spanish has a verb for waking up at the crack of dawn) went to the Cathedral to hear a Mass in the Hispano-Mozarb rite. It dates all the way back to some of the earliest Christian people of Spain (ca. 5th Century) and has been kept alive by the city of Toledo since the whole Church went on the Roman Rite. It was pretty awesome. The priests begin by chanting their morning prayer and then Mass begins. The priest had an amazing voice. His chants were quite moving and offered time for some awesome internal prayer. After Mass, I was allowed to walk around the Cathedral for free (usually €7), which was amazing, and something I plan on doing again. Anyhoo, while I was meandering around the main altar (wow…that’s all I have to say) and the choir, I heard a tour guide speaking in English. So I nonchalantly wandered over to hear what he had to say, and walked away well informed. To no seem shady, I walked away from the group, only to meet them later in the Cathedral’s museum/art gallery. One of the women separated from the group and was near me admiring El Greco’s El Expolio. I asked her where they were from and a sweet Southern accent informed me they were from Baton Rouge.

The colors here are a little off, but in the real one Christ's red tunic stands out like crazy

As we continued to talk, she got over her prejudice against Yankees for a minute :-), I found out they were traveling with their parish throughout the Peninsula on a vacation/pilgrimage. Their pastor was with them and was going to be saying a Mass shortly…in English!!! She kindly invited me, and I couldn’t resist hearing the words of the Sacred Liturgy in my native tongue, so I joined them. What’s more is that they were holding the Mass in a chapel usually closed to the public, so I got to see a part of the Cathedral otherwise unknown to me. It was a beautiful Mass. As today’s first reading spoke of man’s need for companionship and the creation of Eve, Fr. David spoke passionately about the intimacy we are called to share with another, not just husband and wife, but all of us—brothers and sisters in Christ. Talk about practicing before you preach. Without knowing too much about my life, I could’ve been a con-artist for all they knew, they opened their community to me and yearned for me to pray with them. At the sign of peace the women opened their arms to me as mothers and the men made their “brother” as one called me. As we were about to part ways, Fr. David me gave me his card and offered his parish to me as a place of repose if I were ever in Baton Rouge. I hope to take them up on that offer one day :-)

All in all, this pilgrimage of a semester has thoroughly convinced me of the great power that a hospitable home or community has to change hearts. To invite a stranger is to invite Christ, for not only does He say, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me” (Matthew 25:35) but also “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20). Thus, for us to extend ourselves and our homes to others brings blessing upon us and to all. What a great reason to have a party!!!

“When you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous" (Luke 14: 13-14)

From Picasso to Fracaso - A Barcelona Tale (note: this got pretty lengthy)

Ok, don’t worry Iberophiles, I didn’t hate Barcelona, nor was the journey a literal fracaso (failure). It was however, an incredibly real two days. I say real because the number of unnerving, frustrating, or slightly maligned experiences was sufficient to remind our group of human frailty and our constant need to surmount the obstacles such frailty can present. It also reminded us how much fun you can have when you smile, laugh, and don’t let things bother you too much.

It started from the get-go. Several of us from the same neighborhood were meeting to catch a bus to the bus station from which we would head northeast to Madrid, and then even more northeast to Barcelona on an overnight bus. Well we missed the very first one. I also wasn’t able to eat dinner with the fam, so I was smidge frustrated to begin with. (Ok, keep your cool, Javs. It’s gonna be a great weekend. We gave ourselves plenty of time to mess up.) By the time the next bus came and got us to the station our old enemy Señor Tiempo forced us into a sprint to the ticket counter and then to the Madrid bus. -Safely onboard, and friendly faces there waiting for us…and Flannery with a half-baguette craving someone to devour it!-

So far one bump, but not so drastic. I have to put a little censor stamp here and leave out the events partaken during the two hours we had to kill while waiting for the Barcelona bus. I will say though that Spain’s blatant racism did manage to help us find someone willing to neglect his obligation to obey Spanish Blue Laws. Ha. Onto Bus #3, which was long, but easy as pie. The man next to me was very nice and we had a nice little chat before easing comfortably into our respective dream worlds. That would be the last I saw of him though, because during the potty break he agreed to switch with Em, who was also seated with a stranger…who was asleep when the switch was made…I would’ve loved to see her reaction when a 20-year-old Irish girl transformed into a 30-something Nepali (Yes, Nepali as in mountains and monks, not Napolitano, as in Pizza a Tri-flavored ice cream) chef living in Barcelona :-)

So we arrive early in the morning to what I imagine will be the best weekend ever. Apparently our hostal was a smidge outside the city center though, so after a decent Metro ride and short walk we found ourselves at the Aryan Youth Hostal…you can imagine the apprehension sizzling within each of us. White supremacist hostal…oh boy. Thankfully they were dark-skinned Catalanes and more than friendly. They just don’t know how to name their business. They also had something against putting a lock on our bedroom door…riiiight…big lockers though. Thankfully no one else was staying there…

Guided by the intense, highlighter-stained map that our aspiring artist of a hostal owner gave us, we made it to the city center and began a trek of many steps, skips, and obnoxious model (tourist) poses. Throughout our whole trip we found ourselves several times on Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s famous pedestrian avenue which heads to the port. There isn’t a time I can remember where we were exposed to something completely foreign, or even alien. This first time it was the animal vendors who got us. I’m not talking dead, tasty animals…I’m talking pets.

However, what isn’t new to us is sneaking into ritzy hotels…partly to be sneaky, but partly to use their bathrooms. I forgot to add in my Madrid tale the time Emily, Maeve, and I snuck into the Madrid Ritz…very classy. I think they were onto us, but they didn’t say anything. Nor did they say a word in the Barcelona hotel, whose name I forget. They had nice bathrooms though, and cool artsy photos covering whole walls.

Three more awesome stops on Las Ramblas – the Church (Mary, Mother of God in Bethlehem I think) and St. Joseph’s Market…high five for Dulce de Leche Gelato!…and the Lions at the foot of the massive Columbus monuments which marks the end of Ramblas. No bumps here, just pure delight…at least so says the camera ;-)

The Schnozberries taste like Schnozberries!!!

Maeve and Mary Kate = Lucy and Susan riding on Aslan. I'm dinner at the Coloseum and Flannery is one happy little Roman.

After taking some ridiculous photos at the border of the Gothic district, we made our way towards the Picasso Museum. This sweet museum is tucked within the District’s quintessentially narrow European streets. Crazy little shops and cafés, crowned by several stories of apartments, tower over you. Miniature Gardens of Babylon hang from balconies as the cornucopia of colors and styles refresh eyes dulled by the cookie-cutter suburbs whence they come. Finally the museum happens upon you. There’s not too much to report, I think most people know about the guy. The good news is that he was actually a decent ‘normal’ painter, not some really frustrated artist who wanted to stick it to the system…although his 50+ renditions of Velazquez’s Las Meninas suggested to us that he may have been a tad jealous of the famous court painter…but let’s be honest who isn’t…the man could paint.

Next stop – ¡El Templo de La Sagrada Famila! Don’t be cock your head too much at the word Templo, apparently it’s commonly used in Spain to designate a church of particular importance, apart from the official designations of Basilica and Cathedral. So this place is awesome, and so was our tour guide. She actually gave a presentation to the EU Congress about Sagrada Familia…not that they listened because they hate Christianity, but still that’s cool, right? The beauty of Sagrada Familia is actually manages to fuse the beautiful symbolism employed but Sacred Artists and Architects throughout the 2,000 years of the Church and fresh modern art. Most attempts at this fail miserably, but Gaudi, being a strong Catholic Catalán figured it out. His work was a prayer and it shows.

Apart from its dedication to the Holy Family, it is also dedicated to the Rosary. Inside there is a Rosary Chapel, or at least one half of it…the other was conveniently bombed by Atheist Commies before the war. The best part of it is this mini-statue. As a general theme of the Templo is turning our hearts towards Truth, every non-Jesus or Mary looks at either a Jesus or a Mary…so cool. This figure immortalizes the man who bombed the shrine, but instead of him condemned, Gaudi placed him alongside and rejecting a bomb-offering demon, choosing instead the vision of the Blessed Mother. St. Louis du Monfort’s motto, “To Jesus through Mary” rings sweetly this victory of forgiveness over spitefulness.

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free ~ John 8:32

Moreover, Each of the three main sides is to depict a set of mysteries (JPII’s Luminous were not in place when the Church was started…in the 1800s!). The Joyful and Sorrowful are the only ones finished. The Joyful side, the one Gaudi finished in his life time is outrageous. I can’t even begin to describe it. Unfortunately, as Laura, our guide pointed out, the man who took over to do the Sorrowful side scrapped Gaudi’s ideas and did his own things, which is way more mod, and frankly pretty ugly. Supposedly the block figures are to represent the starkness of death, but they’re just not appealing and scream way more “Look at me” than “Think/Pray about what I mean.” Oh well, the Glorious side is being done according to Gaudi’s beautiful Candy-Land-esque design. I suppose that makes it sound cheesy, but the idea is to convey the notion that Heavenly life compared to this one, is what a colorful image is to a black and white one (a la the Wizard of Oz, CS Lewis, Augustine, Plato, yea the list goes on…). K, I could go on forever about SF. Mass should start being said in about 2 years. The Church itself isn’t slotted to be finished until 2045…fat chance if they’re even done then.

Kk, so far this sounds boring, right? Everything has gone as planned…psshhh…We’re foreigners, something’s gotta go awry. We went back to Ramblas for dinner and found “Brasil” a nice looking place with cheap Paella and tapas…hiyo! Unfortunately our server had the geniality of a badger and the mathematical ability of…a crook? Our order wasn’t that hard to take: 8 paellas and 1 beefsteak; 3 sangrias, 4 waters, and 2 beers…somehow he made it difficult. Then instead of letting each person choose their own two tapas, he very uncordially said he’d take care of that…which I didn’t mind so much, being the piggish eater I am. So the food was great. I had never had octopus, but found it quite scrumptious. They made the rice nice and wet like it were straight from Aba’s arrocero…¡que rico! But then the bill came, €92…not bad. But wait, in pen right below it, it says €108…where did that €16 come from. Politely we ask about the extra charge…oh…there’s a €1 service charge per person…and clearly 92 + 9 = 108…yea not so much. So we inform him of his math error and well apparently the Catalanes are very defensive of their alternate system of arithmetic. We didn’t back down though. Mostly because he was trying to argue with us in English and we with him in Spanish…so no one was really saying what they wanted. Eventually we won. On the way out I decided to prepare our English-speaking neighbors for their inevitable encounter with bad math, and I guess that upset him. I got yelled at the whole way out of the restaurant, but it’s ok, I neither got food poisoning nor paid more than I ought.

[Note more than 36 hours have elapsed since I have touched this entry…and I feel like it’s too long already…so here’s the condensed version]

After dinner – delicious gelato at a place two doors down, and then they felt like giving us free samples of everything…so awesome. Then we walked and walked until we found…gasp!...the beach!!! It was somewhat chilly, but the sheer thrill of dipping one’s feet into Mediterranean waters generated enough heat and excitement to maintain homeostasis. Although the beach was a bit rocky, I can’t complain…cuz it was a beach…and you know they say beaches like that are really good for your feet because they exfoliate…and for once ‘they’ were right. The feets are a lot nicer now. We stayed for a while trying to capture some cool night photos…I think Emily was the only patient enough to get any though.

Yep...that's a beach!!!

From there some wise folk went off to sleep and the rest went out to find Melissa’s friend Dave (fellow Connecticutians) and his posse at the “Dow Jones Bar” wherein drink prices fluctuate according to supply and demand…pretty snazzy! We were there for a while having a good time, but the metro stopped at two and we didn’t want to toy with a bus system we had no idea to navigate, so we left. Poor choice. We could find neither a metro stop, nor the right bus stop…nor our way back. After being shut down by a less than amiable bus driver, laughed at by a local, then finally humble enough to call Dave at the bar, we found our way back in. Unfortunately the bar was just about to close and one of the bartenders was breaking a bottle of vodka to threaten someone with as we were walking in…uh oh! We got out nice and quick.

After finally settling on a bus stop, we somehow made it home, although our proprietor was less than enthused for us to come home so late, but oh well :-) We tried our best to be quiet as some were already asleep in the room, but that was highly unsuccessful.

After a reinvigorating five hours of sleep we awoke to try our luck in Barca’s streets again. Upon arriving to the gates of the Metro, some locals unwittingly showed us a quite cost-efficient way to use the system. Instead of one person walking through per ticket swipe, why not two? It’s mischievous sure, but why not try if the locals do it. It worked the first time, well why not try three…gulp. Thankfully I was not a part of this oh so inconspicuous group of poor travelers. The first two made it through quite easily, as we had seen previously. However, the amiable Dan Maloof soon bore the brunt of Barcelona’s frugality. The two panels which had part like the Sea of Reeds for his predecessors crashed in on him as waves of water over Egyptian chariots…funny that he’s actually part Arabic too. I laughed. Then, to add to his shame, I saw that the doors in the aisle next to him were for one reason or another malfunctioning, thus wide open for anyone’s use. So I nonchalantly walked through, giving him a sinister little smirk as I eased by him. His reaction, his bruise, the whole event was such a scene from a movie. I’ll have to use it one day…if I ever make a movie…in a Barcelona metro.

Then the group split. The girls went to Park Guell, Gaudi’s masterpiece of a park, and Dan and I went to the Nou Camp—FC Barcelona’s stadium!!! It was pretty awesome to see it in person. Sadly we couldn’t go in without unloading a Euro or two, and it’s way out there in the city so it took us a lot longer than we thought. We tried to meet the girls at the Park, but no dice, as time was a factor. Instead we waited for them and split a tasty little baguette.

Tot el camp! [clap-clap-clap] és un clam [clap-clap-clap] som la gent blaugrana!!!

Then it started to rain, which put a damper in some of our plans. We still braved the journey to Montjuic – the site of the 1992 Olympics!!! Seeing the torch was most impressive, especially when Mary Kate recounted to me how it was lit. For those of you who forget or were too young, that year one Spain’s best athletes was an archer…so he stood in the middle of the Estadio Olimpico…and shot a flaming arrow into the center of the torch…pretty awesome. Google video it…it’s fantastic.

Nastia Liuken, Lebron James, Michael Johnson, Kobe Bryant, and Mia Hamm

Mass at the Cathedral was our next stop, and boy was it moving…here’s why. The Churches in Barcelona aren’t the prettiest. They’re certainly nice, but they all have this weird black stuff all over the ceilings and on the pillars…oh…that’s because the communists bombed and set them ablaze during the fighting at the beginning of the 20th century and in the Civil War. Many a priest, brother, and nun were martyred defending those Churches…defending their faith. It’s sad that the two sides of the war had to be communism and fascism, because naturally the Church would side with the fascists who not only wouldn’t bomb them, but offered them considerable protection…a decision which has created a serious backlash against the Church in our day. Sorry they didn’t want to get bombed…

Anyway, just looking up and seeing the residue of hate and ignorance was quite inspiring for this young Catholic. It reminded me of the constant need not only for forgiveness, but also for evangelization: spreading the message of love that transcends politics and ideologies. Gaudi’s statue of the would-be bomber looking towards Our Lady of the Rosary suddenly meant so much more to me. There was a realization that something like that could happen in our own day. How would I react? Would I lash out in irrational violence, would I cower in fear, or could I actually stand for love and truth in the name of God and Church? I have no idea. Hopefully that day will never come, but should it, God willing I’ll be ready.

Dinner after was tasty…but marred by a sneaky Catalán who thought stealing Melissa’s purse would be a good idea. Jerk. Thankfully she composed herself well and we got her in contact with her credit card company to cancel everything. Luckily, her passport was packed elsewhere. So no big losses, but trying to find the police station was no easy task…nor was finding the other station the man referred us to. The cop on duty wasn’t that helpful either. He just sat there nodding as Melissa told her story. He wasn’t going to do anything. He even said “If they’re good thieves they’ve already changed, so I can’t help you.” I appreciate the honesty, but at least try and cheer the girl up. Not the best moment to end your Barcelona trip on :-(

After that was a Metro ride to the bus station and an overnight ride home. After a nice chat about faith and all sorts of things with Flannery, we both eased back into our seats to get some rest.

All in all it was a crazy little two days. To say our moods could be charted on a sin-curve is an understatement. All weekend we oscillated between sheer silliness and utter frustration. I suppose that made for a very realistic trip though. We shouldn’t expect the best of times wherever we go…and sadly we can’t always expect to meet the nicest people. Seeing as no sneaky waiter, indifferent bus driver, or greedy pickpocket found a way to ruin our weekend, I’d say we’re in for a great semester. We have a Spirit of joy which cannot be quelled.

An Entrepreneurial Spark

So I have no intention to switch into Mendoza (the Business school), but I do think I could make a pretty penny over here in Spain as a sandwich artisan. That’s right, a sandwich artisan. Sandwich making is neither for…the mild-hearted (I wonder how many people expected me to say ‘men’ there…it was tempting, I’m not gonna lie) nor the stoic. It requires both courage and passion to find the perfect combination of meats, cheeses, and veggies...and that’s only if you’re feeling tame.

As much as I love my Spanish cooking in all its paella-founded glory, I must say they receive quite low marks in the sandwich-making category. Their only contribution to this art is the bocadillo—a baguette with one meat (usually cold), occasionally some cheese, and rarely toasted. Really? That’s the best you can do, Spain? Yesterday at Fund (Foond) lunch, I, an amateur sandwichista at best, had the impulse to take one of the many pieces of bread they offer (I swear Jesus is back there miracling bread; they serve us so much!), dipped it in my primo concoction of oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper, then added a piece of their amazing Chicken Teriyaki. Bada bing-the best sandwich I’ve had since I’ve been here.

Don’t take me for a boaster (although it was so delish I made another after dessert), I’ve had better sandwiches, but not in Spain. Therefore, I am entertaining the notion of founding my own sandwich shop here in (not so) Sunny Spain. These hand-crafted gifts of love will involve some degree of creativity and certainly temperature contrasts, fundamental to the perfect sandwich. Interesting how well hot and cold complement each other, eh? Warm apple pie and ice cream? Toasted bread and cold cuts? Although warm all around works, too. The sandwich after all is one of the most heartwarming, besides convenient, meals that exist. Toasted baguette with lightly battered chicken, bacon, and swiss (← 5 pts. if you can name this sandwich)…money in my bank.

Who here thinks Villarina’s/Biksbees/Panera belongs in Spain? This guy. Who here thinks he should run said goldmine? Yea, me too.

Musical Recommendations

This has nothing to do with Spain, but with art, so in that sense it's infinitely more applicable to all our lives. I personally think you would all benefit from checking out these two sets of artists:

1) Harlem Shakes - Most of you know this my brother José's band, but for those of you who don't...well my bro is in a Brooklyn-based quintet...and they're pretty much awesome. Check out the Myspace for tunes and show listings: http://www.myspace.com/harlemshakes

Keep an eye out for Technicolor Health, their debut album...coming soon!

2) Arms - The solo project (I think?) of Shakes guitarist Todd Goldstein yields a wonderful collection of tunes. Check him out at myspace.com/armsongs

For a preview check this viedo out, cuz it's awesome!

Arms - Kids Aflame

Music is a beautiful language is it not?

Come, let us sing joyfully to the LORD; cry out to the rock of our salvation.
Let us greet him with a song of praise, joyfully sing out our psalms. - Ps. 95: 1-2

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Hello hello family and friends, thought I'd try something new! I'm not a polished poet by any standard...my one success was a sonnet I wrote in AP English criticizing certain prominent American politicians...what a monster Mrs. Hartsburg has created!!!

Well, I just wanted to say hello and give a huge thanks to the lovely Kim Stoddard for taking the photo used here, for it is certainly the saving grace of the poem...thanks also to the magnanimous Ryan Caulfield for allowing her the use of his camera. Also, to make reading easier, click on the photo to open the full image...or maybe you're better off not ;-)

--Coming Soon!-- From Picasso to Fracaso - A Barcelona Tale

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