(October 26-29, 2011)
I love it here. I would live here. Barcelona's an interesting combination of New York and Los Angeles, with a European twist. It's a vibrant and dynamic city, and not in the travel-books, vague kind of feel-good way. It's filled with things that are colorful, wavy, art-nuevo, gothic, miscellaneous. Things that should be mutually exclusive but aren't, like the people. Old and partying. Young and working. Fast speakers and slow thinkers. Cool and weird shtuff everywhere. (Sagrada Familia, the inappropriately shaped rainbow skyscraper, random blocks of reddish brown stone not-so-carefully stacked on top of each other, and have I made my point yet)
All in all, this trip was pretty inspiring. After a visit to the piacasso museum (Keen: I didn't know Picasso was a Benjamin Button situation. I get it now. He started off classical and ended up as a baby), we passed by a Vespa rental. The guy there made fun of us Amurricans, insisting there was no way we could learn how to ride in one day.
Keen: Why aren't you going faster?
Me: The rental guy told me not to, or I'd get arrested and die.
Keen: No one tells Joyce Pak what to do.
It was a mental victory--a small one, but even the childish thought that I could do whatever I wanted gave me reserve that I could go wherever I wanted in life.
The city's meant to be discovered through speeding around dangerously in a Vespa, anyway.