Penultimate BCN Post

I am not a very good catholic, which is probably due to the fact that I gave up the church almost twenty years ago, as much for a lack of interest as for the opportunity to sleep late on Sundays and avoid the heavy perfumed air of the Masses (I have allergies). This is also probably the reason I was surprised this morning to find just about every business in my neighborhood closed.

I actually had to do a little bit of research to figure out that the reason is Pentecost, which comemorates, essentially, the birth of the church and the descension of the holy spirit, signifying the objective salvation of mankind, etc. etc. I should note that the one business on my block actually open is the chicken roaster on the corner, and I have never seen it so crowded, with a line out the door. I can only surmise that there's some connection to salvation and to fowl cooked on a spit. I might go for a wing later.

In the meantime I apologize for the recent lack of updates. Between a heavy dose of work, plotting the next stops in my Euro-itinerary and a short trip to Portugal, I have been too busy to write. Actually, I have been writing a lot, creatively, so that in years to come I may say with absolute sincerity that I found inspiration on the sun-toasted streets of Barcelona. Another truth is that, having adapted to the Spanish lifestyle, I haven't really found a single theme to wax clever about; just a bunch of smaller events I will recount here.

"Wait!" you might say, "A trip to Portugal and you haven't anything to say for yourself?" Well, it's hardly Portugal's fault that my surf trip to a small fishing village about 50 miles north of Lisbon proved rainy and windy, with one afternoon of sun and a couple of brief moments of bliss in the ocean during the four days spent marvelling that any culture could eat more pork than the Spanish. Nor is it Portugal's fault that my flight out was delayed a great many hours, forcing my most lasting impression to be of the Lisboa Airport. Ultimately, it was a less-than-thrilling trip, Lisbon itself underwhelming in the shadow of Barcelona's splendor, with rundown buldings prevalent and a language that made me grateful to find Spanish speakers to converse with. The public transport was good. Now let us close the book on Lisbon.

I have also hooked up with a small group of literate expats (a local online group), giving me the opportunity to discuss politics, art and literature at a bar into the late hours over beer and wine. We even comingled with some locals interested in practicing their English, so I had some interesting bilingual conversations about local customs (and prejudices), particularly the relative rudeness of Spaniards vs. those from Latin America (their words, not mine). I am also told that my Spanish improves once I've had a few drinks in me, which could make travel through Germany difficult.

I also received a visit from the one and only, famous to this blog, Roy Dank. His vacation began with a DJ gig in the Ramblas and concluded with a series of cold showers, as our hot water heater went out. Amid sporadic siteseeing, a poorly timed illness and some fine meals out, one highlight was arranging a barbecue on my patio to show Omar and neighbor-friend Raul how we Americans like to play with fire. Though the Catalan sausage, lamb ribs and veal were substituted for burgers and hot dogs, los hombres were fascinated by my grilling techniques, and vowed to embrace the American custom as their own this summer.

But, like I said, most of my time has been spent at work, which will continue to be the case as I move on. In a few days my buddy Max arrives, and a week from tomorrow we are off to travel the east and north. Though unsettled at the moment, I believe our trip will go like this: Prague, Berlin, Hamburg, Amsterdam. Hamburg may be replaced by some unforeseen alternate, as the idea of visiting as many distinct countries as we can seem exciting, and we're anticipating a number of days spent in berlin. But, either way, it should be a good time.

Then Max returns home and I go on to Ireland, with possibly a stop in Scotland if I get my act together. From there I will travel to Seattle to meet my lovely girlfriend (her absense on this trip is the reason I am skipping Paris). She and I will drive down to Portland, then on to Ashland, Oregon, and finally I will conclude my travels, arriving home in San Diego in late July, settling in the SoCal city once again, for a while, to surf and be in a relationship (not necessarily in that order). At least until Hawaii beckons with its sweet siren song and turquoise waves.