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.