visions of days gone by

some pics for your viewing pleasure...dia del diada (september 11th), dancing dancing dancing, las guapas

The Catalanes like their pop

The Susannas Pyromusical at Placa Espanya EL Canto Del Loco

Oh Catalunya, with your stripes so bright, red and gold, and that pop...the endless fireworks every other night. Barca won yet another game, the end of one of the countless festivals, yet another holiday, so and so had, did, created something and the fireworks and firecrackers go off. And then there's the pop pop, the pop rock that is, that plays on every radio station and discotheque, that I have grown to love so much. The same songs over and over that everyone sings along to, from children to grandmothers, men and women. Pop Rock in Spain has no discreptions, no age barriers and no shame. Everyone listens to it and everyone knows every single word. And so, in celebration to that I decided to go to a free concert of Canto del Loco, one of the biggest pop rock bands in Spain. They are on every top 40 radio station and 10 of their songs are the 40. I know just about every song now and have become a follower. We are talking Shakira style folks but better, many of you might be laughing right now, but I have fallen into the pop trap.
The concert was chaotic, more people than I have ever seen in my life, almost all of bcn was there and here I was lost among 15 years olds crying and screaming out, "Dani, Dani, Dani!" My friend Susanna and I could only handle 4 songs and we left, somber to the fact that perhaps we have outgrown this, but I'd like to admit I haven't. I loved being there and feeling my heart race to the songs I bellow out every morning, exhuberating.
After the concert, we went to yet another crowd infested plaza, known as Placa Espanya where a century old building crowns Montjuic and the city celebrated the closing of Festa la Merce, the patron saint of Barcelona. The grand US of A has nothing to compare with the firework displays of Catalunya. The show lasted about 45 minutes coupled with beautiful jazz and big band songs. I was a child, mouth agap and eyes wide open to the spectacle of fire bursting into a million colors. This city is the epitomy of celebration, ladden with every festival you can imagine that includes disorganization and huge risks that endanger human life, but perhaps that's what makes it so enthralling and why everyone actually lives to be so old. They live. Have I found the secret to being forever young? Pop folks, all you need is pop.

Rain in bcn=Chaos

my roomies and i

This is Susanna and Sergi; this is us at Sant Pol's Festa Major, taking a break from all the dancing. Susanna and Sergi have to be two of the most informed Barceloneans I know. You can ask them just about anything and they either know it or find out. As an added bonus,I consider Susanna one of my greatest friends here. She is worth gold.

The rain pattering on my window this morning is taking me back to last week's storm and I can't help but jump out of my bed and write about that "memorable" experience. Weeks before, while having a clara somewhere on a terrace in the stifling humid heat, Susanna informed me that when it rains in bcn, everything falls apart. I nodded and said, "I bet," with little interest. "Everything" she repeated, "the metros stop running, the streets flood, the electricity goes out, wait, you'll see." I have learned that Susanna is never wrong when it comes to what she knows about this city. She was born here, she's curious, she finds things out, so when it comes to a warning, I should listen. And then it rained. No, it thunderstormed non-stop and I went to sleep, dreaming about sugar plums and fairies. The next morning, I had to be up at 6am to go to work, out by the airport. I woke up to a dark dark sky, as if forecasting the destiny of that day. I pattered my way to the kitchen to make my coffee and yougurt with papaya and honey, when I suddenly found myself in a small tide pool. In my kitchen. The kitchen was completely flooded. It was too early to care. I made my coffee and left the water.

7am, I headed to the metro station. The closest entrance was shut, it was flooded. The train was late, the tracks at another station were flooded. The metro I had to transfer to wasn't running, it was flooded. I opted for Renfe, the train train, I had to be outside of bcn, near the airport in less than half an hour. One of the stations was closed, the power had gone out so the train simply didn't stop there. Mind you, a train full of wet stressed out men and women in suits trying to get to work. No fun. On the way to my next class, after the chaotic morning I had experienced, I found myself facing the same issues. Everything seemed to have gone wrong, the city was falling apart and it was only the first day of rain...they forecasted four days of storms! And then life slapped me on the face.

In one of the stations, as I'm trying to find the quickest way to work, taxi, bus anything, I hear a voice breaking in English and I see a grandfather and his grandson trying to make words out in Spanish to the lady in the ticket booth. I stopped and asked if they needed help translating. The grandson, relieved, quickly replied, "Please." And the grandfather, tears in his eyes, tells me he just got in with his grandson from England, for the first time to bcn, and they stole his wallet in the train. He was devasted. My heart tore into a million pieces to see this man, humble, trying to show his grandson a new place and some heartless creature out there had stolen his travelling money. I tried to console him with the fact that he still had his passport which was the most important part and we spoke to a security guard who told him what to do. But that old man's voice, his anger and sadness, ate me alive and it no longer mattered that I was late, that everything in bcn runs on threads. This man had probably saved up months for this and in a second it was gone. Just like that something can get taken away from you, especially if you're not watching. And if I have learned something, it is to always be aware of the beauty and danger. not to miss out on that that surrounds me. And that when it rains in bcn, nothing works.

The rain has started again with thunder and all. Luckily, it's Saturday and I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want to. This is the romance of living abroad, nothing is easy, but it always makes a good story.

bcn at it's best via blogs

Part I
What more can a girl ask for? A buddy, a perfect day at the beach, a warm cafe con leche, perfect frizz-fee hair thanks to the magic of the salt in that wonderful world of the ocean, a toasted croissant and tongue to lick it all up. This is my favorite thing to do on Sundays. Go to the beach with whoever says they will, on this lucky day, Carolina, a friend from Columbia, agreed. Once the day clouded over I grabbed her and took her to an ancient cafe in Portal Des Angeles in el Gotico to sit in the nook of the upstairs floor and drink coffee with me and chat about living in bcn. We both arrived at the same time to this enchanting city. We both are looking for life. She's getting her doctorate's degree in Law which is no small feat and me, well, what am I doing here? Oh yeah, living. She wanted to take a "pretty" picture, she asked me to pose nicely. I don't think she knows me that well yet. If you tell me to pose nicely, I'll stick my tongue out and laugh in the eyes of decency. And here's where part two begins...living in bcn. You've seen some of my stories via email and thanks to my ever inspiring friend Lisa, I have finally decided to post a blog so you can get pictures, weekly stories and more. Write your comments, share the blog, or simply don't read it. It is up to you. All I mean to do is entertain, ceaselessly and to have you be part of my life which began with a simple cry the day I was born. Have fun with it and live large, there is nothing better than laughing in the face of reality...I promise to write more soon. Next up, rain in bcn=chaos. Don't think I'm kidding.