Barcelona

I went to Barcelona this week. I wanted to see the sun. I thought I was going to bring a friend, but then ended up going solo. Traveling that way was exciting. I felt free, open to things...I had sprawling time to think my thoughts, see my legs walking beneath me, absorb my book and do everything (everything) at my own pace. (No offense, Xavier, but that was divine). I chatted at length with some boys from New Zealand who were also staying in my little place of residence. They were 25. I wondered how on earth it happened that I am 28 years old. The gap between me and them (even if only three years) was ample, owing to plenty of different things. But really, it felt like a personal scandal that I was suddenly old without even being aware of it. Traveling alone (as is the case for most unaccompanied women) also made me a prime target for the Latin men of Spain to make their passes, in the form of kissing noises. I am confounded by this sort of thing, I wish I knew how to say 'dog' in Spanish and then I would have told them they had confused me for one. I am fascinated to think that they occasionally succeed empoying that method.

Barcelona:










(also has a velib system. bikes for all in europe. yes.)


(please note the large, black creature.)









I climbed up to this castle (above), which is positioned so that the city spans below - from the Mediterranean Sea to the mountains on the other side, with Barcelona smashed between, and I found such a lovely little creature:



I was admiring her and her siblings, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a menacing movement. Their fierce father (ostensibly) was sauntering toward me aggressively, ready to strike. He was something. One eye. Both ears mauled. Puffy. Combative. He scaled the fence separating my adoring hand and his babies in one leap and was about to come further when I retreated in total surrender. I lacked the wits to get his photo because I was running.