I miss Barcelona so much already. Isn't that silly? I miss the way the street signs look. I miss practicing my "hombre" and "adeú" and "hasta luego"s. I automatically say "perdon" when I bump into people here, and agree with "vale" or "mmm bueno". I was talking to Hunter about his Amelie poster and could only think to describe it as "fuerte". All of this is silly because I'm in one of the prettiest cities in the world and all I can think about is how long it'll be before I'm in Spain again.
Hunter and I had some pretty inappropriate adventures last night, and I spent all day sleeping and vomiting. But we're cooking dinner soon, being nineteen in Paris. He keeps saying, "What the fuck- we're in Paris right now," and I say, "I know! What the fuck- you live here," and then we try to imagine what our fifteen year old selves would think. The Eiffel Tour looks really small until it's right on top of you, and that's kind of what being in Paris is like: I walk around and forget how impressed I am, until I suddenly remember and feel very small and silly, like duhhh who could forget how massive the Eiffel Tour is, how does one forget to be impressed by Paris? There was a taxi strike yesterday and so my fare was insane to get from the airport, but the driver played classical music as we cruised along the French highways, and that was an alright silver lining. It's cold here and there's a string ensemble in one of my metro stops, which makes everything feel more like Christmas. Speaking of metro stops, Hunter's is the one in Amelie where she leaves the blind man. Isn't that neat?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
my beloved manong and me/we go everywhere together
Tibidabo is cold so close to December. (The art on the church's entryway isn't paint but mosaic- wtf?!)
Went to the Aquarium once (never, ever go there):
befriended a silver fish
did the tourist thing
met 007. (he had pointed to the glass and said, "oh! what is that in english?" and i said, "octopus," and he said, "octopussy? like james bond. i love james bond.")
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
home in a month and a day
i'm pretty bad at writing so here are some pictures:
Someone made a Knox PostSecret about me! (At least, using a picture of me; that's my smile, you see.) This makes me (almost unjustifiably) excited.
Made breakfast and mimosas with Raquel last Friday:
mmm- she loved them
sauteeing some mushrooms and veggies in cheap cava
mhmm precious and delicious
haaaaaahaha, the truest picture i've ever taken
cleaning up after sofia's brutal attack- "what a bitch"
mmhmm, that's about right; right before meeting for an intercambio with jordi, who had us explain the geographical locations of US cities using cocktail olives, and who explained that spain is able to produce duff beer (they're ob-sessed with Los Simpson) by making it "duss beer" with crosses in the s's, though i can't actually find sources that confirm this.
saturday we went to coulliere, france to read poetry at antonio machado's grave. i didn't take pictures of that, but i did of this:
Rachel taking a picture of a pretty building. The village is pretty precioso, or acogedor, a synonym.
a basketball court in the middle of a monestary
woof
Then Rachel and I tried to do some long walk around Monjuic but EVERYONE was there
, so we decided to drink cafe in the Central Park of Barcelona and read the Sunday paper.
Someone made a Knox PostSecret about me! (At least, using a picture of me; that's my smile, you see.) This makes me (almost unjustifiably) excited.
Made breakfast and mimosas with Raquel last Friday:
mmm- she loved them
sauteeing some mushrooms and veggies in cheap cava
mhmm precious and delicious
haaaaaahaha, the truest picture i've ever taken
cleaning up after sofia's brutal attack- "what a bitch"
mmhmm, that's about right; right before meeting for an intercambio with jordi, who had us explain the geographical locations of US cities using cocktail olives, and who explained that spain is able to produce duff beer (they're ob-sessed with Los Simpson) by making it "duss beer" with crosses in the s's, though i can't actually find sources that confirm this.
saturday we went to coulliere, france to read poetry at antonio machado's grave. i didn't take pictures of that, but i did of this:
Rachel taking a picture of a pretty building. The village is pretty precioso, or acogedor, a synonym.
a basketball court in the middle of a monestary
woof
Then Rachel and I tried to do some long walk around Monjuic but EVERYONE was there
, so we decided to drink cafe in the Central Park of Barcelona and read the Sunday paper.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
lisbon
If you're ever in Lisbon you must stay at the Oasis Backpackers Hostel and sign up for the X-Trip with Bruno, the anti-tourism tour guide. You'll see things like:
This building, the Amoreiras, which is infamous not only because it was the first in modern style but also because sex tapes were distributed soon after its completion, of the architect and the wives of politicians and other powerful men. Even though everyone in Lisbon has seen these tapes, the media more or less covered it up since there were so many important people involved.
Bruno, at the palace in Sintra where officials would work, talking about the once magnificent but now charmingly shabby apartments in which the aristocracy lived after the earthquake hundreds of years ago:
The palace of Sintra, built by King Fernando in the nineteenth century as a symbol for how much he loved his wife. The architecture is based off of too many styles to be properly categorized. The rooms are filled with so many original pieces that you can't take pictures, can only marvel at the insides of a nineteenth century royal palace. Bruno said it was a good thing that the morning was so misty and drizzling, because it really added to the whole mysteriousness of the building. We walked the Shower Walk underneath actual showers. On the bus ride up the winding mountain path he said, "On your left, if it wasn't so foggy, you could see a Moorish castle," which is a romatic idea, never in my life knowing what this Moorish castle looks like, amidst the trees and in the foggy mountains of Lisbon, if it even exists. He said, "This forest is really interesting because the King gathered all different types of trees from around the world and they all grew, American and Japanese trees alongside one another. That's one of the beautiful things about Lisbon: you plant any kind of tree and it will flourish." (He's really poetic; the kind of thirty-five year old European man I thought I'd fall in love with. I want to write him a letter that says, "You don't have to build me a palace," because it's an old joke in Lisbon: "When you say you love a girl, she waits for you to build her a palace.")
(more in the collection of "tourist taking pictures of tourists taking pictures of tourists")
alligator gargoyle: did you know that the word "alligator" is derived from the Spanish word "el lagarto", meaning "lizard"?
graffiti on the "wall walk":
Went to "the end of the Earth", a title which Bruno may or may not have made up; he tells pretty stories, even if the accuracy behind them is questionable. (He did tell me the real name, I just can't remember.) He said, "If it wasn't so cloudy, you could see New York City from here. It's not so far away; we are just neighbors with a pool between us; the Atlantic Ocean is the garden we share between our houses."
Can you imagine how it would feel, to think you lived at the end of the earth?
We went to a beautiful and deserted beach, my first ocean:
In Chiado, on our way to "the best gelato place in the world" (definitely the best gelato I've tasted, I'd agree; they swirled my fabulous mixture of coffe and raspberry).
Belem, where we visited a few monuments, like Pasteis de Belem, the famous pastry shop where they sell 20,000 pastels de nata each day, but also less delicious landmarks, like the Tower of Belem, the Discoveries Mark, and the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos.
The last picture I have is this one, of this silly Barcelona-sized building in the middle of Lisbon. Rachel wrote that the difference between the two cities is that Barcelona has low self-esteem and tries to overcompensate, whereas Lisbon's so self-assured that it can afford to be laid-back, unkempt. I like Lisbon a lot.
This building, the Amoreiras, which is infamous not only because it was the first in modern style but also because sex tapes were distributed soon after its completion, of the architect and the wives of politicians and other powerful men. Even though everyone in Lisbon has seen these tapes, the media more or less covered it up since there were so many important people involved.
Bruno, at the palace in Sintra where officials would work, talking about the once magnificent but now charmingly shabby apartments in which the aristocracy lived after the earthquake hundreds of years ago:
The palace of Sintra, built by King Fernando in the nineteenth century as a symbol for how much he loved his wife. The architecture is based off of too many styles to be properly categorized. The rooms are filled with so many original pieces that you can't take pictures, can only marvel at the insides of a nineteenth century royal palace. Bruno said it was a good thing that the morning was so misty and drizzling, because it really added to the whole mysteriousness of the building. We walked the Shower Walk underneath actual showers. On the bus ride up the winding mountain path he said, "On your left, if it wasn't so foggy, you could see a Moorish castle," which is a romatic idea, never in my life knowing what this Moorish castle looks like, amidst the trees and in the foggy mountains of Lisbon, if it even exists. He said, "This forest is really interesting because the King gathered all different types of trees from around the world and they all grew, American and Japanese trees alongside one another. That's one of the beautiful things about Lisbon: you plant any kind of tree and it will flourish." (He's really poetic; the kind of thirty-five year old European man I thought I'd fall in love with. I want to write him a letter that says, "You don't have to build me a palace," because it's an old joke in Lisbon: "When you say you love a girl, she waits for you to build her a palace.")
(more in the collection of "tourist taking pictures of tourists taking pictures of tourists")
alligator gargoyle: did you know that the word "alligator" is derived from the Spanish word "el lagarto", meaning "lizard"?
graffiti on the "wall walk":
Went to "the end of the Earth", a title which Bruno may or may not have made up; he tells pretty stories, even if the accuracy behind them is questionable. (He did tell me the real name, I just can't remember.) He said, "If it wasn't so cloudy, you could see New York City from here. It's not so far away; we are just neighbors with a pool between us; the Atlantic Ocean is the garden we share between our houses."
Can you imagine how it would feel, to think you lived at the end of the earth?
We went to a beautiful and deserted beach, my first ocean:
In Chiado, on our way to "the best gelato place in the world" (definitely the best gelato I've tasted, I'd agree; they swirled my fabulous mixture of coffe and raspberry).
Belem, where we visited a few monuments, like Pasteis de Belem, the famous pastry shop where they sell 20,000 pastels de nata each day, but also less delicious landmarks, like the Tower of Belem, the Discoveries Mark, and the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos.
The last picture I have is this one, of this silly Barcelona-sized building in the middle of Lisbon. Rachel wrote that the difference between the two cities is that Barcelona has low self-esteem and tries to overcompensate, whereas Lisbon's so self-assured that it can afford to be laid-back, unkempt. I like Lisbon a lot.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
happy
Went to The Quiet Man pub last night where everyone was tattooed and pierced, dressed like witches or skeletons, dancing to rockabilly. Decided that I needed to be a little intoxicated to flail around, went to the bar with Rachel where the bartender tried to sell me a beer for six euro, was deciding on which shitty import to buy (no Moritz Epidor or Voll Damms- only Heinekens, bleh) when all the girls frantically rushed us out of the door, yelling that people were fighting; Grace was horrified, had stood atop her chair convinced that they were seeing a man get beaten to death. But they forgot my purse, so Rachel and I went back in to get it and everyone was tranquilo, bopping around, no blood splatters or roughed up men. Weird. Couldn't keep up on Las Ramblas with the fast and sober walking group so we decided to just lag behind, use the bathroom at Maximum Gelato (where every single ice cream scooper is attractive; one told me my eyes are "very beautiful" once and all his coworkers laughed; they recognized me, prancing in all tipsy and Spanish-speaking, asking to use their bathroom even though they were closed- what a strange thing, to be a regular at a gelato shop on Las Ramblas; every time I walk down Las Ramblas I decide I hate Barcelona- it's the most awful street in the world, I think, so touristy and crowded and filled with freaks, like the man who dresses as a flower and stands in a giant pot and who makes kissing noises at you when you pass). I convinced Rachel to go back to the bar with me and we danced for two hours, a portion of that with a cute Peruvian girl who had two friends named David, which I was unreasonably confused by at the time and so I kept pointing from one to the other when we were introduced, asking, "And his name? And his name?" Rachel and I sobered up by walking down the Rambla de Catalunya speaking in "So I Says" voices- I haven't lost mine after all! It was just hiding itself, embarrassed by that first night we went to a bar here and I started using it and everyone felt really uncomfortable. That's another thing that's kind of a bummer here- the things I take pleasure in make nearly everyone else uncomfortable, like dancing to rockabilly with Spanish hipsters or saying ridiculous things in Bostonian accents. Ate cookies on a bench, saying, "What the fuck? I'm eating cookies on a bench in Barcelona, drunk at three-thirty in the morning, after spending two hours dancing to rockabilly in an Irish pub with a Peruvian girl, and can't stop speaking in this voice." And then we listed various "What the fuck?" moments so far- "I spent forty-two euro buying drinks for Molly's birthday- what the fuck?", "I ate two entire jars of Nutella because I hate this city so much- what the fuck?" Maybe none of this sounds like a good time at all, but it was one of the first nights that I just went around and did things that I wanted to do, and I felt so normal, having fun, having a friend. The other night I was supposed to see Agora at a theater where all the movies are played in their original version and subtitled, but the tickets were sold out and Clare just wanted to go to bed, and so I walked to the theater by my house and watched the movie alone and in Spanish- it was really nice. I'm doing things- this is really nice.
Went to sleep at 4:30 and woke up at 8:30 with a greasy face and no voice. Oh my.
Went to sleep at 4:30 and woke up at 8:30 with a greasy face and no voice. Oh my.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
So Manong Willie was telling me about how he and Ate Lisa live in a two-story house in Barcelona, and I was all like, "Oh no, this is obviously just part of this whole language barrier thing, there are no such thing as houses in Barcelona- to begin with, there aren't any two-story buildings at all." But they actually live in a two-story house in the middle of the city! Ate Lisa's employer is like suuuper loaded. They gave her a coat but it was too small for her so she gave it to me. It's pretty nice; it looks like this:
I mean it's kind of too small for me, too, but whatever. They live in the house for free (I mean, with some major trade-offs, the most obvious including Ate's long work days, Manong's inability to find a job in such a large and competitive city, and having to leave their six and ten year old daughters behind in the Philippines and only seeing them maybe once a year). I'm free to stay there on the weekends, and to have lunch on the weekdays (OMG of rice and pork adobo and all sorts of goooooood things, I'm so excited). It's so ridiculously nice, and Manong was surprised that my house- that every house- isn't like this in the States. The American dream, though, I guess:
Just the entry-way is impressive, compared to all the other apartments I've been in (never an actual house- wtf!), even contending with my pretty University or whatever, with the stained glass and the tiles being just a fragment, a small introduction to grandeur.
Neoclassical paintings, old photos, antique furniture, a fireplace (can you imagine? in the middle of Barcelona!). And yesterday morning I dressed in my silly, high-waisted pants on a whim, and so I was perfectly ready to sit amongst the knickknacks, like the chandeliers and various (slave depicting?) figurines.
Then I went to History and we toured one of the upstairs rooms; I don't really know what it was used for, but it's decorated with lots of historical depictions:
Then I went to see Urtain at the Teatro Romeo. SO GOOD. I haven't seen a professional production in years, and was surprised at how surprised I was at the quality of the acting. Anyway, Urtain's life was really sad.
Okay, I should do more things. Spanish rockabilly DJ tomorrow night! Lisbon in a week. Food with the family. Barca game on Sunday, I think. Intercambio tomorrow afternoon. Things things things.
I mean it's kind of too small for me, too, but whatever. They live in the house for free (I mean, with some major trade-offs, the most obvious including Ate's long work days, Manong's inability to find a job in such a large and competitive city, and having to leave their six and ten year old daughters behind in the Philippines and only seeing them maybe once a year). I'm free to stay there on the weekends, and to have lunch on the weekdays (OMG of rice and pork adobo and all sorts of goooooood things, I'm so excited). It's so ridiculously nice, and Manong was surprised that my house- that every house- isn't like this in the States. The American dream, though, I guess:
Just the entry-way is impressive, compared to all the other apartments I've been in (never an actual house- wtf!), even contending with my pretty University or whatever, with the stained glass and the tiles being just a fragment, a small introduction to grandeur.
Neoclassical paintings, old photos, antique furniture, a fireplace (can you imagine? in the middle of Barcelona!). And yesterday morning I dressed in my silly, high-waisted pants on a whim, and so I was perfectly ready to sit amongst the knickknacks, like the chandeliers and various (slave depicting?) figurines.
Then I went to History and we toured one of the upstairs rooms; I don't really know what it was used for, but it's decorated with lots of historical depictions:
Then I went to see Urtain at the Teatro Romeo. SO GOOD. I haven't seen a professional production in years, and was surprised at how surprised I was at the quality of the acting. Anyway, Urtain's life was really sad.
Okay, I should do more things. Spanish rockabilly DJ tomorrow night! Lisbon in a week. Food with the family. Barca game on Sunday, I think. Intercambio tomorrow afternoon. Things things things.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I'm all brain-dead lately and I don't know why. I think I've been speaking English too much, walking around a lot; maybe it's just that being in a constant state of indecision is exhausting. The more I think about getting a Richter grant the sillier it seems. Barcelona is like one big stand-still.
My cousin, Manong Willie, randomly called me yesterday. I guess Uncle Bong finally called him and gave him my number. He wanted to meet up that day, took me to a Filipino restaurant and then to our cousin's house to meet some more fam, eat roasted chestnuts and drink Fanta, sing some kareoke- you know, the usual. Lani (I hope that's her name) is my second cousin, maybe (Willie and I have this really ridiculous language barrier to overcome that we pretty much didn't, so I don't really know how she and her husband are related to us); she speaks Spanish pretty well so we did a weird hybrid of English and Spanish, and her husband, Reyno, was pretty fluent in English, but it depresses me that I can't understand Willie. I imagine that another reason for being so brain-dead is that my inability to communicate due to language barriers has now increased two-fold. Ughh.
But Willie walked me to school afterwards. Went to the library with Prim, who gained us special access to look at old books. Ridiculous! I got to casually flip through Hartmann Schedel's Liber Chronicarum, written on lamb's skin in 1493- you know, no big deal. There were two copies of 16th century editions of Dante's Inferno, one that had been successfully hidden from the church during the Inquisition and one that was censured (like the scratching out of the word "Divine" before "Comedy", and other sacrilege and blasphemies). And a first edition Lope de Vega, and a text book (huge! with dimensions close to 1.5 ft x 1 ft x .5 ft) of Roman law, with professor's comments surrounding the text, with student's notes surrounding the comments, all tiny and perfectly scrawled, with hands with huge middle fingers pointing to the very important lines, and with the occasional 12th century daydreamin' doodle of a crown in the margins. The holes left by centuries of book worms were cute.
My cousin, Manong Willie, randomly called me yesterday. I guess Uncle Bong finally called him and gave him my number. He wanted to meet up that day, took me to a Filipino restaurant and then to our cousin's house to meet some more fam, eat roasted chestnuts and drink Fanta, sing some kareoke- you know, the usual. Lani (I hope that's her name) is my second cousin, maybe (Willie and I have this really ridiculous language barrier to overcome that we pretty much didn't, so I don't really know how she and her husband are related to us); she speaks Spanish pretty well so we did a weird hybrid of English and Spanish, and her husband, Reyno, was pretty fluent in English, but it depresses me that I can't understand Willie. I imagine that another reason for being so brain-dead is that my inability to communicate due to language barriers has now increased two-fold. Ughh.
But Willie walked me to school afterwards. Went to the library with Prim, who gained us special access to look at old books. Ridiculous! I got to casually flip through Hartmann Schedel's Liber Chronicarum, written on lamb's skin in 1493- you know, no big deal. There were two copies of 16th century editions of Dante's Inferno, one that had been successfully hidden from the church during the Inquisition and one that was censured (like the scratching out of the word "Divine" before "Comedy", and other sacrilege and blasphemies). And a first edition Lope de Vega, and a text book (huge! with dimensions close to 1.5 ft x 1 ft x .5 ft) of Roman law, with professor's comments surrounding the text, with student's notes surrounding the comments, all tiny and perfectly scrawled, with hands with huge middle fingers pointing to the very important lines, and with the occasional 12th century daydreamin' doodle of a crown in the margins. The holes left by centuries of book worms were cute.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I KEEP FORGETTING MY CAMERA WHENEVER WE DO COOL THINGS! A few weeks ago we visited the coastal cities of Lloret and Tossa- the cities themselves weren't very great, kitschy tourist pits, but the boat ride from Lloret to Tossa was so pretty, and sitting on the hills, looking at the overlapping residences against the uninhabited mountains and the sea, it was hard to process I'm at school right now. This weekend we went to Figueres, very near the border of France, to visit the Dali museum. What a weirdo! The building was painted burgendy with golden nobby things spaced in a design that kind of looked like insulation seeping out of walls, and there were giant eggs lining the roof. Some of the art was interesting, most wasn't, and the gift shop was really overpriced. But I'd really like to visit his home in Cadaques, and his wife's castle in some city pretty close to Barcelona. We also visited an unusual monastery built in the mountains instead of the plains that was far away from rivers and only had wells and cisterns for water, and that had terraces only good for grape-growing/wine-making. It was built there because Rome was being constantly attacked and so they moved some of the most important relics away from the city and to places that could be well-guarded, and so this mountain- and sea-surrounded monastery held the remains of Saint Peter (Saint Paul?). The poor people of the surrounding villages who couldn't afford a doctor would travel and pray near the bones, because they performed miracles, you know.
Anyway, we came home and were early for our reservation at a pizzaria, so we went to a bar. I drank a Voll Damm (hands down my favorite beer here, reminds me of home and how good Boulevard is- although a few nights ago I tried a Moritz Epidor, which was really interesting and fruity and also had an alcohol content of 7.2%, so I couldn't even finish it because I was starting to get pretty wasted) and then went to the pizzaria and had some wine, and got a little drunk on the college's money. I've been so indignant lately because Knox costs a fortune and never knew why- it's not that great of a school and certainly doesn't have the prestige usually associated with such a price tag- but recently realized that it's because they give so much of that goddamned money away to students for "research", like when they gave some girl and her friends money to go to Amsterdam for interviews, and so they spent a week high out of their minds and forgot to do the majority of their work. WHAT THE FUCK. Or at least these are stories that I've heard, whatever. But then I had the genius idea of applying for a grant myself, to see if I can stay here without going to school (duhh I hate school) and do things like volunteer at social centers and learn Catalan and find cool second-hand stores and "integrate with the community". This would be awesommeee and convincing the Director for sponsorship and the Dean for funds is my current project. Oh yah and homework too barf.
Anyway, I made a calendar of my last (six) weeks here, and have posted sticky notes on it to remind myself which days I should visit what. It's unusually organized of me. Today's list includes two markets and a cafe, and I will accomplish at least one market and the cafe. Having said that, I should put on more clothes than underwear and a Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt, and I should clean my room, put on my face, do some stuff. Bye-bye! (Everyone says that here, like it's an English phrase people older than 3 use, and they say it with a really earnest emphasis; being here is so funny sometimes.)
Anyway, we came home and were early for our reservation at a pizzaria, so we went to a bar. I drank a Voll Damm (hands down my favorite beer here, reminds me of home and how good Boulevard is- although a few nights ago I tried a Moritz Epidor, which was really interesting and fruity and also had an alcohol content of 7.2%, so I couldn't even finish it because I was starting to get pretty wasted) and then went to the pizzaria and had some wine, and got a little drunk on the college's money. I've been so indignant lately because Knox costs a fortune and never knew why- it's not that great of a school and certainly doesn't have the prestige usually associated with such a price tag- but recently realized that it's because they give so much of that goddamned money away to students for "research", like when they gave some girl and her friends money to go to Amsterdam for interviews, and so they spent a week high out of their minds and forgot to do the majority of their work. WHAT THE FUCK. Or at least these are stories that I've heard, whatever. But then I had the genius idea of applying for a grant myself, to see if I can stay here without going to school (duhh I hate school) and do things like volunteer at social centers and learn Catalan and find cool second-hand stores and "integrate with the community". This would be awesommeee and convincing the Director for sponsorship and the Dean for funds is my current project. Oh yah and homework too barf.
Anyway, I made a calendar of my last (six) weeks here, and have posted sticky notes on it to remind myself which days I should visit what. It's unusually organized of me. Today's list includes two markets and a cafe, and I will accomplish at least one market and the cafe. Having said that, I should put on more clothes than underwear and a Sonic the Hedgehog t-shirt, and I should clean my room, put on my face, do some stuff. Bye-bye! (Everyone says that here, like it's an English phrase people older than 3 use, and they say it with a really earnest emphasis; being here is so funny sometimes.)
Monday, October 19, 2009
Today was a good day, but I think it's because I woke up singing this song to myself and because I drank some very warm Earl Grey in my autumnally-chilled room. The brisk air would've felt marvelous if I had remembered that my black cardigan is a summer sweater, and if it hadn't been gray and dreary all day, and so the day was exaggeratedly cold and downcast. I've been in a funky mood, but today I felt good and so aprovechaba del día ("I made the most of the day"- for some reason every time I go to say "to take advantage of" while speaking English it always wants to come out as the Spanish verbo "aprovechar") and I almost finished the play we're reading in Contemporary Theater (umm, or probably should've finished reading a few weeks ago, but who can tell what our basic class assignments are- language barrier, blahblah), Los intereses creados by Jacinto Benavente. Reading some English synopses online, the translation is Bonds of Interest, and I've heard of that! So it's kind of cool to read it in the original language, and while in its patria, homeland. Here's part of my translations for today, the song Silvia recites when Leandro, her desperate lover, uses the just-audible melody to describe his sadness at the thought of losing her:
Soul of silence, that I revere,
your silence belongs to the ineffable voice
of those who die loving in silence,
of those who become silent, dying of love,
of those who, loving us so in life,
perhaps did not know of their love to express!
Like, real profound translation, right? Anyway, the profesora, Maria Josefa, said that the lyrics were especially impactful because such romantic poems weren't typical of the period, so they really stood out. The history behind the play is very interesting, and Maria Josefa is very interesting, too, as well as animated, and last Thursday she took everyone out to a Japanese dinner (we were supposed to go to a play but there was a shooting in El Raval! which is out of place in this city but enough to make us choose another part of the city for art-enjoying).
Anyway, the University of Barcelona was founded in the 15th century, so there are some parts that are ridiculous! necessarily so, to keep up with a tradition of apperances or whatever, but still, here are some pictures:
lots of muslim-influenced arches- though i could be mixing that up, seeing as i don't actually learn anything in history of art like i'd hoped, because the teacher's older than death, i told my sister last night, and only makes vague references to art in general between deep breathes and long (and most probably made-up) reflections about his life or musings of life post-sex, you know, that activity that gets one really dirty and that he used to really enjoy but now just leaves him tired when he even thinks about it or about the five women he's ever seen naked in his life- ohmygodtoomuchinformationthisisaclassaboutart!
up the stairs to the dean's office!
umm, dean breitborde wishes, okay?
second floor corridor leading to the library, overlooking patios like this
where i sit and do my homework sometimes, or sometimes i sit in our secret garden-esque garden, like i did today
(notice the lavender peaking through)
although you can see the tops of tall buildings peeking from behind the trees and are still reminded of the dense city.
After Secret Garden sitting I went to the new building to buy machine-dispensed hot chocolate, because it's a few centavos cheaper than in other maquinas on campus. But as I sat sipping, I realized how angry I'd be if I were in America being charged American dollars for such a thimble-full:
I mean, everyone knows how small my hands are. But the cups are fashionista enough, so. So. So I just went to the bathroom and decided that people would probably be interested to see what Spanish (and other mostly European) students scrawl all over bathroom stalls on pretentious college campuses:
Nope, no difference really, your typical "anti-patriarcapitalismo" represented. Sat in the library for a bit afterwards; in lieu of pictures of the towers of old manuscripts and neoclassical paintings that surround me while I study, here's just a little close-up of the old books locked up alongside me
I'm trying to be better at living life. Making plans to do things. I'm also making plans, I'm pretty sure, to only stay here for one term instead of two. With the six months looming ahead I've had more leeway to push things off until tomorrow, until tomorrow, and, truth be told, Barcelona's not that great of a city to just sit around in while putting things off. It's really pretty, there are a lot of buildings to be admired, but it's hard to make the transition from tourist to resident in even six months, without knowing the unofficial official language and only having a decent grasp of the official official language. So I definitely need to start aprovechando everything here, muy pronto.
Soul of silence, that I revere,
your silence belongs to the ineffable voice
of those who die loving in silence,
of those who become silent, dying of love,
of those who, loving us so in life,
perhaps did not know of their love to express!
Like, real profound translation, right? Anyway, the profesora, Maria Josefa, said that the lyrics were especially impactful because such romantic poems weren't typical of the period, so they really stood out. The history behind the play is very interesting, and Maria Josefa is very interesting, too, as well as animated, and last Thursday she took everyone out to a Japanese dinner (we were supposed to go to a play but there was a shooting in El Raval! which is out of place in this city but enough to make us choose another part of the city for art-enjoying).
Anyway, the University of Barcelona was founded in the 15th century, so there are some parts that are ridiculous! necessarily so, to keep up with a tradition of apperances or whatever, but still, here are some pictures:
lots of muslim-influenced arches- though i could be mixing that up, seeing as i don't actually learn anything in history of art like i'd hoped, because the teacher's older than death, i told my sister last night, and only makes vague references to art in general between deep breathes and long (and most probably made-up) reflections about his life or musings of life post-sex, you know, that activity that gets one really dirty and that he used to really enjoy but now just leaves him tired when he even thinks about it or about the five women he's ever seen naked in his life- ohmygodtoomuchinformationthisisaclassaboutart!
up the stairs to the dean's office!
umm, dean breitborde wishes, okay?
second floor corridor leading to the library, overlooking patios like this
where i sit and do my homework sometimes, or sometimes i sit in our secret garden-esque garden, like i did today
(notice the lavender peaking through)
although you can see the tops of tall buildings peeking from behind the trees and are still reminded of the dense city.
After Secret Garden sitting I went to the new building to buy machine-dispensed hot chocolate, because it's a few centavos cheaper than in other maquinas on campus. But as I sat sipping, I realized how angry I'd be if I were in America being charged American dollars for such a thimble-full:
I mean, everyone knows how small my hands are. But the cups are fashionista enough, so. So. So I just went to the bathroom and decided that people would probably be interested to see what Spanish (and other mostly European) students scrawl all over bathroom stalls on pretentious college campuses:
Nope, no difference really, your typical "anti-patriarcapitalismo" represented. Sat in the library for a bit afterwards; in lieu of pictures of the towers of old manuscripts and neoclassical paintings that surround me while I study, here's just a little close-up of the old books locked up alongside me
I'm trying to be better at living life. Making plans to do things. I'm also making plans, I'm pretty sure, to only stay here for one term instead of two. With the six months looming ahead I've had more leeway to push things off until tomorrow, until tomorrow, and, truth be told, Barcelona's not that great of a city to just sit around in while putting things off. It's really pretty, there are a lot of buildings to be admired, but it's hard to make the transition from tourist to resident in even six months, without knowing the unofficial official language and only having a decent grasp of the official official language. So I definitely need to start aprovechando everything here, muy pronto.
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