(Part of the gigante parade. They're obsessed with dragons here; there's a myth about how Sant Jordi defended the region from them or something; even Gaudí used it as inspiracion for the Casa Batlló.)
There are a lot of creepy men here and this weekend I felt like I was part of a parade too with so many whistles and jeers of "guapa guapa guapa". For some reason it bothers me much more in this city, especially this weekend; I talked to my friend about wanting to get my septum pierced and he said, "That's not a good idea; you'll ruin your face," and I said, "Exactly." Monday morning I didn't wake up to my alarm, took too long in readying myself, got to the metro prepared to be ten minutes late to class when I realized that I had left my pass in my room, tucked inside of my journal. I took this as a sign that I didn't really want to go to my Syntax class, and that I should take time to think instead, because I've been down lately, wondering if I'm supposed to even be here right now or if I should be at home growing up a little bit, and needed to figure it out before I signed up for four months of beginner guitar lessons during my first lesson that afternoon, which is more of a deal than paying for each month, unless I decided to only stay one term here instead of two. Walking around the Barrio Gotico I found a piercing place and walked inside for information. The guy told me that in order to get the "dainty" and straight barbell that I want, I'd have to spend four months with this ridiculous, huge curved one. I took this as a sign to stay here for longer than two months, to spend four months adjusting my fingers to guitar strings and my nose to this ridiculous gauge and myself to this foreign country, and at the end I'll be happier with all of these things and have two months of better times to go. So I went ahead and got it, and have been keeping it tucked away in my nose. It's a good private talisman, and you can bet I'm attaching lots of symbolic meaning to it and paralleling its healing process with my own. Aside from the general preoccupations that come with first piercings, I'm really pleased. Anyway, this is what I look like with my piercing:
(I don't expect to show it off for four months- except to creepy men on the metro as a way of saying "fuck off"- the hoop I have is just so ridiculous.)
In other news, my History professor is also one of the most amazing people I've ever met. Coming here you read about how student-professor relationships here are so different from those at Knox and so you shouldn't expect much interaction, but sitting in his class it's much more like you're sitting in a five year old's room who's telling you how cool all his stuff is; he's just so excited and he wants you to be excited, too, so he loves questions and jokes and tangents, and above all field trips. Yesterday I walked into class a few minutes late and sat through class blankly staring around. He patted me on the shoulder, smiled and said, "Lorena," (I love that he calls me "Lorena"; I thought I'd hate it but I love it) "Lorena, you're sleepy, yeah?" Exhausted. I had an especially hard time focusing because there was an opera being practiced or performed somewhere outside of our windows. He explained that there are free concerts every fifteen days at the University, and then that there are tons of other free concerts around the city, like the one at [some church whose name I can't remember]. He said, "You guys don't know that church? Oh my. Well, what if we leave class thirty minutes early and I'll show you where it is? That counts as a learning experience, right?" So we wandered around the city, popping in and out of buildings so he could explain the differences between Romantic and Gothic architecture; he knows everything- which is only a very small, slight exaggeration- and it's such a privilege to hear him speak. By and by people left to go home for dinner, and on our way to the red line he pointed out good stores to Guillermo, Miguel and me. One pastry shop, Caelum- Latin for "sky", we stand outside for a bit with him telling us how delicious it is, before he says, "You know what, are you in a rush? Do you mind if we go in for a few minutes? I'd like to get some cookies to take home." Standing in front of the wall of treats he says, "What looks good to you? I invite you to cookies; pick what you'd like to try." We ask for his favorite and he makes us each take three, leaving two-a-piece for him and his wife. We walk a little more and he points out historical things, pizzerias that we'll try someday when he takes us out to dinner, takes another detour at the Palau de la Musica to explain a little about modernismo art before we all part ways. Ridiculous, right?
Anyway, you can see that good things are happening all around, it's just my brain's having a hard time adjusting. Last night I had dinner by myself and just stared blankly around while I was chewing, trying not to think, because whenever I did it'd come out in Spanish, but really slow and not productive, like all the sentences I've been forming in conversations lately. A man next to me tried to make small-talk, which is the worst; it's hard to imagine that topics so simple are the hardest to find words for. It's hard for everyday tasks to be so difficult, and for them to be so difficult every day without fail. I had an interview on Tuesday for a job speaking English to two nine year old girls. I got incredibly lost, tried calling the mom a few times, consulted the map a lot before pulling over a stranger and asking her to use my map for me; by the time the mom called me back I told her, "I'm in the Placa J.F. Kennedy," but I think I said it all funny, not with a Catalan accent or something, because she didn't understand me, just asked, "Do you see the playground? Do you see this street?" and I didn't because I was in a different place, and I got so overwhelmed by being so foreign that I can't even walk down the street and I can't even explain that I'm lost that I started bawling in the middle of the street while on the phone with my potential employer. Por favor! But she ended up giving me the job anyway; she's really nice and the kids are funny; the five year old son shyly asked his mom if he could show me his FC Barca uniform but she said no another time. It's just that it's only the beginning of the fourth week and I have so many more to go; my nose, my fingers, my brain, all of me, I'm just adjusting, which takes time. In the meantime, more Edifitorialist pictures:
color/pattern overload
white walls, colored windows
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