Why we don't have groceries

From last week:

(*even though I am only buying groceries today! Yesterday I had pancakes because we had the products necessary for that.)

Tuesday:

Wake up, computer, yoga, copy notes I missed for my Guerra Civil class. Finish up a journal entry, read, make oatmeal, write out list of things to do for the day. Find a Vodafone store very close to us on GoogleMaps. Decide to take a nap before I set out to run errands (everything was closed anyway as people were taking their own naps). Get up, go in search of Vodafone store, it was not there, in fact, nothing was, wound up walking almost to the beach, made the loop back. Decided to go to El Born because I thought I saw a Vodafone store there. It was not, but I found an extremely cool bulk goods store (they actually sell things in big sacks), but was too scared and anxiety ridden to go in. Bought two delicious chocolate croissants, made my library card, (also very scary process, especially because I was sweating the whole time) bought a new teapot, 3 chupa-chups, some fruit, and went home. Again, too nervous to eat. Had plans to go to Brasilian movie (with an actual Brasilian?) but was extremely stupid and juvenile, called her too late. Had subsequent nervous attack, felt like i was going to fail everything forever, called friend to deal with it, went to her apartment in Born, had tea, walked around Barceloneta making our way to the beach, found people she knew. Had very lovely chat with Argentino about how "el arte salva," the conundrums of staying/going, etc. Came home at 1ish..

Wednesday:

Wake up, do necessary things on computer, do yoga, finish the oatmeal, eat jam and bread because there's nothing else, get ready, go to class from 3:30-5. After class, directly go to a conference on womyn in modernism. Leave conference at 7:15 to go to Italian class at 7:30. Get out at 9:30 pm, go eat falafel with Spanish friend from class and ramble around El Raval until it was time to go home. (11:40ish..)

Thursday:

Wake up, computer, yoga, quickly go buy bread so I can make sandwiches with the one tomato we have left, and some moldy Netherlandian cheese. Leave early for class, waste time trying to find Vodafone store. Find it, decide the line is too long, go to class. Get out of class, go back, get a number and stand in line for a while, get phone recharged, call my pareja linguística, and tell her I feel like meeting for churros and chocolate today (cold weather). She suggests a famous churrería in the center, but I have to be around the residence to get ready for a movie later on, so we wind up going to a snack bar and to drink chocolate and eat pastries. I mainly just wanted the hot chocolate. Walk her to the train station by 8:45, go home, attempt to eat salad, but am too nervous. Get ready, attempt to make crazy, wild spirit hair, kind of fail at goal but like end result. Leave a bit too late as was chatting a bit too much with the vasca friend. Get on metro, transfer, walk to movie theater, meet friends, watch movie, walk friend home, miss a perfect opportunity, and walk home past the Sagrada Familia listening to semi-sad music and feeling emotional. Resolve to do better, get home at 1ish and go straight to bed.

Obviously, the main problem is that I have been going to bed at around 3 am, and waking up at around 11:30. Oof. Don't worry-this will change soon. [And, with an early rise sunday for hiking, and monday for an academic interview, it has. Uh, except the rise at 11 today..]

Tough Decisions

It is 15:10. I have just finished eating a bowl of brown rice + green lentils (w/ fresh tomatoes + cucumbers mixed in). I could take a book down to the beach, and find that magical place w/ cement reclining chairs. I could actually try to do something about the mess that is our room/to-do list. I could start doing some work for classes (I do actually have some).  I could go down to the market to buy some fruit. I could go up to the pool and do my hour of the yoga for the day. I could decide on which movie I'd like to go see this weekend. I could seriously consider my email inbox....

Or, I could just take my siesta. Indeed, this is what I often do when I have too many potentials, and nothing me apetece. 

La cara compañera

My roommate and I have started blaming the Barcelona climate for spoiling all of our food. Really, we don't buy that much, and we eat it in a rationally regular fashion, but we have thrown out way too many things. It's a good thing that we don't have a bigger fridge.

*You know it's a dire situation when you'd rather throw away the tupperware than only what's inside of it. 

But really, my roommate (Ana is her name) has saved me, and my relationship to Barcelona. We don't really talk about our feelings so much, (I don't think, surprisingly, that the Spanish do..) but just having her there makes all the difference. 

*After-post addition: the healthiest thing about having a roommate like her is that we have these moments of disasterhood, and if we were alone, I think we would dwell on it and it would spoil our mood. Instead, we laugh about it, and the potentially bad feelings dissolve. For example, today, Ana took out a tupperware of potatoes/beans that her mom prepared for her, tasted it, and realized it was pasado. Then she got out another tupperware, of the same thing, but one that she made, and poured some oil into it...But it turned out that she accidently literally poured in about a cup of evoo. Then she had to siphon it out with a spoon. And then, she picked it up, put it down, and some liquid (with the oil) splashed onto her shirt. I am sure that if this sequence of events happened to either of us, and we were alone, we would have cursed everything to low hell, and been very disgruntled. But together, we laughed, and these little things that could have ruined a day, only added to our amusement.

Good Barcelona Day

I had class here, la Casa Convalescència:

This humble casa is part of the Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau complex, where I later wandered around, and which looks like this. 

Images are borrowed because who knew that one has to carry her camera to class? Only in Barcelona...

And then I walked right to the Sagrada Familia on my way home, because, uh, around these parts it's pretty normal to walk by modernista masterpieces on the way home? 

And then, (!) I came home and was going to put on music and clean up. But---there was music playing outside for an independista/Catalan culture gathering. I went down with a cup of ice-cream, and found the weirdest revolutionary-type event ever:

This is how the Catalans like their independence demonstrations: talk of socialism, calls for independence, pledges to combat sexism, "capitalism is the crisis!"- all with a side of traditional folk dance. 

Now that's a cause I can get down with.

Forget going out to participate in independista marches and celebrations. It's right outside my window. Literally, right outside the window. (Window faces out into a conjunction of a supermarket, real market, library, old people residence, and small plaza. So they're in the plaza.) I would take a picture, but the old people residence terrace blocks my view, but I sure can hear all their calls for freedom, and modern/traditional Catalan music (sometimes mixed together in one song). 

I came home at 7:05 this morning. Even for a Spaniard, that's pretty late. This morning, (uh, later this morning) my roommate said, "Ah, yes, you now live in Barcelona." 

It should come as no surprise that the more my clothes smell like a bar, the happier I am in Barcelona. 

Really though, I have been far too busy and social to be lonely and miserable, which is very healthy and good. But knowing how doleful I like to be, I am missing sulking alone with ice-cream and Grey's Anatomy. Pretty sick, but oh so satisfying...

Be jealous.

Tonight, our argentino neighbor came over with his guitar and his accent. My vasca friend and I were checking out some modern vasco groups, and the songs they sing...in euskera! We had to stop as the argentino started playing to an audience of me, the vasca, my roommate, and her two friends, one from Aragón, and one from Navarra. He was playing some classic Spanish guitar music, and yes, being the good españolas they are, started dancing along. And I mean, some seriously beautiful, this-runs-in-your-blood/how-do-you-move-like-that hip movements and dance steps. To them, it was natural, simple, childish. Later, the girl from Navarra, and the argentino and I bonded over our love for Paco de Lucía and were absolutely shocked that the two girls from Aragón did not know who he was. 

To sum up, argentinian accent + real live Spanish guitar + some good old vasco blood (some bruta, some not) = my new Spanish family. 

All I can say is, "thank you. Thank you very much for providing the humyn connection that I have found here with only one other persyn. 

Que viva la noche, la música, los amigos, y el amor. And something I've been waiting a very long time to say authentically, que viva España.