plumagación: portmanteau, the act of navigating spain using the birds of fortuity; a highly anticipated travel blog

The other night I did some in-depth travel research by watching L'Auberge Espanole and Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona. And while the second one was completely uninformative and not even a very good film, the first one was absolutely appropriate, following a graduate exchange student at the Universitat de Barcelona in the dirty part of town where the houses overlap. So many beach shots and Gaudí scenery. Plus, I could totally imagine analyzing this movie for one of Prado's classes and [not] writing a [bullshit, surface-skimming, no-content] 2-page paper about the dominating mess motif and the ego's struggle of balancing the whims of the id and the voices of so many superegos.

Sitting on one of the benches at Park Güell (which is featured in my travel book), the protagonist says about crying on the plane to Barcelona, “You think you’re so happy to leave, that you’re so strong. Then the plane takes off and... It’s not easy to just leave like that off into the unknown.” I've been panicking at night lately when I think about packing my room alone, without my big sister to help me. Last night was so perfect, porch-sitting at Noah's. He humored me, playing "Brown Trout Blues" and that song about shaking your fucking hips once in a while. I wish he'd record soon, because I think hearing him would make me miss home less. But Andrew hasn't left town yet, and so I guess summer's not really over, not until my room's clean and my To-Do lists are scratched off.