Far too long a post, but too much to say.

I feel as though I should write about Barcelona a bit, though this really isn't meant to be a travel blog. I have put some photos up on my flickr site, but none of the Holga shots have been developed yet. These are just tourist photos.

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I'm not lucky enough to say, "generally, when I travel" with any meaning behind it, because most of the trips I've been on have been arranged or at least paid for by someone else, whether it's been studying/traveling abroad or accompanying generous friends in their travels. However, generally when I travel I like to know a bit about the country, know at least enough of the language to show some respect for it, and have a good idea of a few things that I don't want to miss. Arriving in a country which you are more or less arbitrarily visiting to tag along with a friend involves nearly none of those things. In truth (like hopefully most Americans) I know at least enough Spanish to order food or ask for directions. (Understanding those directions, however...) A language that I do not speak, and did not even know existed, is Catalan.

* I should backtrack. Being the sort of person I am, I tend to base the places I want to go on their arts and culture. I am not denying that Spain is rich in culture and history and centuries of fine art, and indeed found all the museums I visited fascinating, probably because of my lack of knowledge. But I've never 'liked' it as much as others, in that most simple gut-reaction-i-must-see-more-of-this kind of way. As a result, I delved more into Northern Europe and Italy, Egypt and a bit of Asia as far as my cultural investigations went. Back to Catalan.



Catalunya (Catalonia to us anglophones) is a semi-autonomous region in Spain. If you are anything like me, you didn't know Spain had semi-autonomous regions. This is a good general basis for understanding how completely unprepared I (and I think we all) were for the specifics of this trip. Yes, they speak Spanish, but as a sort of second language, with the result than in some museums the English text is limited to the entry wall. We saw lots of museums and historical sites, rode a cable car up a small mountain to a castle, ate a great deal of food, filled my socks with sand from the Mediterranean, and generally walked around and explored what I could. I went to a flea market, a food market or two, second-hand shops, grocery stores-- trying to get a taste of what it might be like to live here and not just look at it from your hotel window. El Raval is an interesting neighborhood, though I am sad to say I was too busy eating felafel to have a beloved döner kebab. The terrible events happening in Gaza began while we were abroad, and I have to be honest and say I nearly didn't know. I wasn't keeping up with the news in America and couldn't really understand the news I was hearing, when I came in contact with it. After a few days, though, even I figured it out when the students began protesting. They seemed to have taken over the student hall at a university, and a few days later I saw many young people chained to an Embassy, chanting and being dragged out by policemen, who seemed strangely uninterested in them. I came into contact with this protest on our last full day; a day I had planned to spend purchasing a few last trinkets for folks at home and generally walking about, drinking coffee and enjoying myself. I was immediately shamed and felt a typical shallow, consuming American. The "I'm on vacation" excuse seemed weak.

I found many of the museums to be interesting, both in their content and the way in which that content was presented. I am working on writing more about this and will spare you any additions to this already too lengthy post. One of my New Year's Resolutions, if you want to call them that, is to hone my critical thinking and writing skills which I have let grow a bit too dull. I will be writing about gallery shows and museum shows in Chicago, too. At least until (if) I leave it.