The Last of Barcelona

There is a lot I need to write about. For one, I’m back in the States. We made the journey safely and without much trouble. I want to get in all the details about what has happened since Venice. To start, let’s rewind, all the way back to the last week we had in Barcelona.

That week, we had Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday in the city. We worked “from home” on Wednesday and Thursday, and from the office on Friday.  Friday afternoon, Hanna and I decided we would go to the Picasso Museum. We ended up convincing Mark and Heather that they, too, wanted to see the works of Picasso and his colleagues. While I admire the work of Picasso, I was more attracted to the works of Rusiñol, whose paintings seem more realistic and, to me, convey more emotion.

This is either a Sex on the Beach or a Tequila Sunrise.

After exploring the growth and transitions of Picasso and his friends, we decided to eat burritos at a place where a Sex on the Beach is apparently a drink order that will cause the waiter to run into the next table. The drink tasted oddly like a Tequila Sunrise, but it was good either way.

From there, we went to the train station where we ran into a few guys who were a bit odd, but hilarious. I was conversing in mostly Spanish with one guy who was explaining that his friend would try to speak English only when drunk. I tried to explain that it took me a drink or two before I’d ease into speaking Spanish, but he didn’t want to believe that for some reason. Another one of the guys first asked my name and then asked if I belonged to the Church. I know the population is largely Catholic, but the question threw me for a loop for a second. It was an interesting train ride until they got off at their stop and we kept going to La Garriga. Apparently, though, Mark decided that he didn’t want to get off the train at our stop and ended up in the next town. Hanna and I were walking down the platform, looking around to see if we had everyone and we saw Mark moving in the train and thought he was moving toward the door. He wasn’t. Hanna flailed her arms and yelled, but by the time Mark finally noticed, the train was in motion and it was too late. The rest of us walked back to the apartment, worried about the fate of the lone professor. About 30 minutes after we’d walked in the front door, though, we heard the buzzer and were happy that Mark had survived and managed to get a taxi ride back to our place of residence. Crisis averted.

This painting was my favorite of Dalí's.

That Saturday, Mark, Heather, Hanna and I took a two-hour train ride to Figueres where the Dalí Museum is located. I will say one thing about Dalí: he was an interesting man and artist. Some appreciate him and his work and others don’t. No one is really wrong in their opinions, but negative comments such as, “How does, like, this stuff become, like, famous?” should not be uttered in a museum dedicated to the artist. (Some study abroad groups prove that rich, blonde girls really don’t use whatever brain they have.)

Hanna and I then departed on the train, which was unfortunately hot. We had the goal to make it to the top of Tibidabo before we left and we knew this would be our last chance. We took the Metro to the right stop, got out, took the trolley to its final stop and then took the Funicular to the top of hill/mountain, which has an amusement park situated upon it. The view was beyond amazing. Barcelona was stretched out before us and it took my breath away. Being our final chance to truly appreciate the city, the moment brought on a few moments where I had teary eyes. I had fallen in love with the city and I knew that our time there was over, and it was an overwhelming mix of emotions. I was glad that I would be seeing my family soon, but I didn’t want to leave the place where I had grown to feel at home. I was really glad, though, that I was able to share everything about the trip with one of my best friends. Without Hanna, it would not have been the same, and we wouldn’t have grown in the ways that we did. (More on this in a future, introspective entry.)

The view of Barcelona from the top of Tibidabo.

After consuming the largest cotton candy serving we’d ever seen, Hanna and I headed back down the hill and toward La Rambla where we had to find a side street to find a bar where Courtney and Stephanie said we could find them. At said bar, we watched Spain’s national fútbol team beat Paraguay for a spot against Germany in the semi-final matches. After we left the bar, the four of us walked around a little before catching the Night Bus back to La Garriga. It was a most fitting final night out in Barcelona.

Villa, the beautiful, goal-scoring man.