An open love letter

I know in my last post I promised that the next one would be Greece-y. I lied. Yes, I went to Athens. Yes, it was amazing, cheap, delicious, beautiful. But I can’t find the inspiration to write an entire post about it, and I don’t want to put my readers through a sub-par post. That’s not to say it wasn’t eventful. Every travel is eventful with the Pruim luck. There were 6 planes, a monocle, artificially-colored gummies, toilet paper trails, and a (nearly) second lost purse. There you have it in a highly abridged nutshell.

Sevilla no me ha dejado.

I couldn’t find the inspiration to write a whole post about Greece because in a few short days I leave my paradise. And this harsh reality has been looming in the back of my mind, creeping to the front with each passing day. Soon I must say many goodbyes (that are hopefully only “see you laters”). This place has given me so many memories that I’m laughing and I’m crying — simultaneously. These four months have been surreal. They have been a vacation wrapped in tranquility with a side of bliss. No gesture is grand enough and no words are strong enough to express my gratitude and adoration of this city, but this post will be an attempt to find some words; this post is an open love letter to you, Sevilla.

Before diving in, two things must be addressed:

1) Mom, Dad, Grandmas, and Grandpas — thank you so much. This experience would not have been possible without your love and support.

2) Warning: cheese (and hopefully a sprinkling of humor) lies ahead.

Things Sevilla has taught me:

• I’m a regular old Magella. This name has come to be known as my alter ego as my friends and I have discovered that I possess a highly acute sense of direction. (I am well aware that I have omitted the “n”. I am the girl version of Magellan, and I believe that Magella has a more feminine vibe to it). Those of you who know me may be laughing. This is not a joke. Sevilla required much walking on many winding streets. Turns out that when it comes to life or death situations (or rather short or dangerously long walking situations), my navigation abilities come out to play. Have no fear, Magella is here.
• Relationships defy language barriers. I have had the most splendid time tripping and stumbling over my words and making a general fool out of myself in the process of forming relationships with Spaniards. Most importantly, I am grateful to have tripped and stumbled over my words with my wonderful host family. It is miraculous that in a matter of four months (and in a second language) I formed such strong bonds with my host mom and 8 year-old host sister that will make leaving Sevilla immensely more difficult. I laughed unabashedly as big Marg told me a story about her see-through yoga pants or her magic hands that cure any ailment. I smirked knowingly as lil Marg rolled her eyes whenever she was told to do a chore. I smiled contentedly as big Marg called me “hija”. I ached earnestly as either one cried over life’s misfortunes. Families do not stop living their lives over the course of four months for a stranger, so this stranger became honorary family. And I am so thankful that my family was so candidly and compatibly sassy (and compassionate).
• I am an orange peeling connoisseur. Seriously, I ate an average of about two oranges a day, I had to learn the most efficient way to peel these bad boys — and that I did. And I know that now you will all be coming to me when you find yourself with a craving for an orange and you don’t want to bother with the tedious task of peeling. It’s okay, I will gladly come to your rescue. It will be a nostalgic moment for me..so no promising that I won’t accidentally cry a little on your orange. Okay I’m kind of embarrassed that this bullet point got so long. But whatever, oranges are an important detail of Sevilla, and love is in the details.
• No pasa nada. This little phrase got me through a lot during my time abroad. No problem. It doesn’t matter. Just go with the flow. I think this is such a wonderful concept. As some of you may know I (used to) get frazzled easily. Ok let’s be real, it’s me..I’m not saying my frazzle tendencies have completely disappeared, but they have diminished quite a bit. It’s unrealistic (especially with my luck and way of life) to expect nothing to go wrong in the course of 4 months. Things went wrong. But they kept mattering less and less. I am fortunate for what I have and I am fortunate that things didn’t go worse. I am in Sevilla, living a dream; if something unfavorable happens, it’s time to wake up and smell the oranges. Sometimes you just have to take a deep breath, relax, and say no pasa nada.
• Spaniards love gummies. Seriously. The phenomenon strikes at any moment, too. It could happen while you’re at the movie theater watching The Theory of Everything when suddenly your 25 year-old Spanish friend pulls out a huge bag of gummies of all different sizes and shapes and colors to enjoy as a movie snack. It could happen while you’re in the airport waiting for your flight when suddenly you look over and notice a 40 year-old man is munching on a bright pink, sugar-coated gummy. It could happen while you’re at a club at 5 in the morning and a bartender is weaving through people, silver platter in hand. What is on that silver platter? You guessed it (or actually hopefully you didn’t guess it because this is just outright bizarre) — gummies. I am legitimately not even exaggerating about that last one. I wish I was, but I couldn’t make that up if I tried. Despite how peculiar it felt at first to watch an old man chow down on neon sugar, I have become more and more desensitized. Spaniards (of all ages) just love gummies and they don’t care who knows it.
• I am less hesitant to speak my mind. (LOL I know you’re probably confused because “wait Rachel, you already spoke your mind”). But en serio, living in another language has given me the freedom and the desire to express myself more clearly and more confidently in my native language. Although, at times, while grappling to master (or rather survive) in a second language, I stumbled in my first language as well. Nevertheless, I believe I will return to the states as a more well-spoken version of myself (in two languages!!)

Okay, that about wraps up the list. I could say so much more, but I suppose I’ll keep those little gems of wisdom for myself. Among the many visitors that friends introduced, one hit the nail on the head when he came here for a few days (despite the fact that those few days were 2 of the maybe 7 total days of bad weather we have had in Sevilla). He said, “you guys really hit the study abroad jackpot with Sevilla.” He could not be more right. Sevilla is the perfect city. Not too big, not too small. Not too touristy, not too exclusive. Not too outworn, not too modern. I could honestly go on forever, but you get the idea. Sevilla – you are wonderful, you are exquisite, you are my favorite place in the world.

I will even miss the old men who only take a break from their pigeon-like gait to blow cigarette smoke in my face and the people that seem to take up the entire width of the sidewalk as they saunter at a glacial pace, failing to make room for you to pass once they see you coming (especially when you’re running). (Deepest apologies for that run-on, but it was much needed). I will even miss the sub-par wifi and faulty printer my program supplied. I will even miss the 35 minute walks back home after nights spent out until 7 am with friends and the measly 4 hours of sleep following those nights spent out. I will even miss the tissue pushers and lottery salesman that line the sidewalks soliciting my business. Because all of these things meant I was in Sevilla; I was home.

Okay, as I near the end of this post, to lighten the mood just a bit here’s a quick list of English phrases I’ve seen on t-shirts that Spaniards wear (that make me giggle):

1. “Simply perfect not less”
2. “Monday” (for context, I saw two separate men wearing this shirt on the same day..it was a Tuesday)
3. “Free in nature”
4. “This is tropical”
5. “I love daisies”
6. “The sun”
7. “Black is my happy color”
8. “Get to rock”
9. “I’m not sorry”

Well, it’s about time I study for finals or pack my suitcases (with tears)..(but more accurately go to my favorite local bar for a glass of vino because I’m not ready for either of those things because I’m still trying to be in denial about leaving). Although (on a positive note) leaving means that my family is coming to Europe very soon and I cannot wait to gallivant around the continent with them. Sevilla, I love your people and your tapas and your palm trees and your river and your magnificently unique charm. I look forward to seeing you again someday. Te quiero.

Abrazos and besos,

Raquel

The Spanish pianist prodigy

I feel it’s only fair that I start with a forewarning: this post may or may not get a little introspective. It may also get a tad cheesy. To spare my readers, I’ll try to just stick to the introspection as 1) we all know the real cheesiness will come with my goodbye post, and 2) we also all know that introspection is a dangerous game and if we sprinkle any form of cheese (no matter how much we all love cheese..and if you’re thinking “no Rachel, actually I don’t like cheese”, I may have just lost some respect for you) on top we are playing with fire, which may very well result in a blazing death for my unsuspecting blog.

Lil Marg making the cave that much more beautiful!

Okay, so I already got off to a terrible start here with my weird combination of run on sentence and mixed metaphor (but my tangent about the cheese was actually quite important, so I felt it warranted a spot in my opening). Moving on..I did something really cool yesterday. I went to a cave in Aracena, which is a region of Huelva, which is an hour or so north of Sevilla. I went to said cave with my host family to watch “un concierto” that they had invited me to. I blindly accepted the invitation, not knowing what was in store. What transpired was a dripping gruta (cavern), a 16 year-old Spanish pianist, and a fierce wave of 4 months worth of emotions bubbling to the surface.

As this 16 year-old boy seamlessly and beautifully moved his hands across the keys and Clair de Lune filled up this cavernous gem in the south of Spain, how could I not sit back and let my emotions and memories and experiences from these past four months absolutely just take me over. This is life.

Life is stopping mid-run in the most secluded and beautiful corner of your new home to just sit and revel in both the charm and lessons it has graced you with. Life is befriending and spending unforgettable nights with Brits in Barcelona and Uruguayans in Brussels and Scots in Paris. Life is missing a plane to Germany and subsequently stumbling upon a hotel pool in Barcelona. Life is (nearly) missing a plane back to Sevilla and emptying out your wallet for the most expensive cab ride you will ever board to make it back to your beautiful home. Life is losing your wallet and then walking through the Anne Frank house and remembering how lucky you actually are.

Life is meeting people whose favorite band is Nickelback (come on, not everyone you meet in Europe will be hip and nifty) and meeting people who will make saying goodbye so incredibly difficult. As I sat in this cave with these people I have known for less than four months listening to this music that this magic boy was producing (seriously, he was magical..I don’t know how his hands were moving the way that they were), I was reminded how remarkable all of this has been. I was given the privilege of getting to know a second mother in a second language and developing the relationship to the point of countless political policy conversations, lessons about the human body, and overdramatic stories about yoga class that could only be recounted through physical imitation.

Feria is coming, Feria is coming!

I have been fortunate, I have been humbled, I have been enriched. I have learned so much, and contrary to popular belief, much of this learning did not occur in the classroom. I can’t measure my fun or joy or experiences in social media because all of these things happen when I am not focused on social media. I can more easily communicate with others after having had to find unique ways to say different things in any language other than English.

Okay, now I’m reigning it in because this is starting to sound like a goodbye post (and I spy some cheese sneaking its way into the post), and IT IS NOT TIME TO SAY GOODBYE and I’ll be damned if I don’t live these last three weeks up to the fullest — no early goodbyes allowed. I’ll leave it on this note: traveling does something to a person. You learn more about yourself, you learn more about others, you master getting through an airport security line in ± 3.7 minutes. But most importantly, you realize that laughter is a universal language, that sadness is relatable across all cultures, and that kindness is welcomed in any place in the world from Schwandorf (with a population of about 37) to Paris (with a population of…a much bigger number).

Feria (a large fair celebrated in Sevilla) is right around the corner along with a certain out-of-country trip. So, my next post will most likely be less cheesy and more Greecey (and fun..hopefully!) Thanks for grinning and bearing my introspection; as always my loyal readers are so appreciated.

Un abrazo,

Rachel (who is apparently more reflective than one may have thought)

The amaaaazing tale of planes, trains, and automobile (buses)

My oh my has it been a while! I greatly apologize to my loyal readers for being MIA, but the good news is I’m back in the blog game and ready to give a full update of my most recent antics. And let me tell you (yes I know, I use this phrase a lot, but I like to consider it an endearing Rachelism), I have quite an abundant story bank to draw from (come on, it’s me.) Since my last post, I have happily danced through a whirlwind of visitors and travels and overall euphoria.

Being touristy at Alcázar with Katie

First and foremost, shout out to Kfleg for paying me a visit and taking a glimpse into my new life. Your company was oh so appreciated, and I am so glad I got to show you my paradise.

Now, when I said whirlwind, I meant a highly intense hurricane of event after event that caused a certain level of stress, but ended with a certain level of joy. A few days after Katie left, my spring break began — the most epic spring break I have heretofore experienced. And when I say epic, I mean a week and a half of travels for *extreme travelers* (read: *frugal college students trying to pinch a penny*) that consisted of some nights without real lodging and a total of about 3.7 hours of sleep per night. My treacherous journey began Wednesday when my friends and I set out to Munich (on a flight with a layover in Barcelona…I think you know where this is going). Of course, we missed our connecting flight and had to stay overnight in Barcelona (in a hotel near the airport and nowhere near the city). Spoiler alert: the theme of this post is transportation snafus (but sharing countless fits of extreme belly laughter with friends regardless).

Clearly Jackson hadn’t the faintest idea about the smoky cockpit incident either.

So, needless to say, our accidental night in Barcelona was one of the best nights of the trips. We enjoyed a comped hotel and dinner buffet, good company, and typical 20-something shenanigans. And so, the next morning we were off (again) to Munich. I enjoyed a deep sleep for the whole flight and awoke as we were landing to a frantic Luci explaining that we had only flown for 5 minutes and were back in Barcelona. Something about a smoky cockpit? I appreciated the precaution, but at this point we contemplated calling it quits and camping out in Barcelona for the next week. Clearly the travel gods were not in favor of our journey to Germany. After some more waiting, we were off (again..again) to Munich! By this point we had missed the train that would take us from Munich to a castle in Neuschwanstein, but hey – no pasa nada. My crew and I are young, flexible, and in Europe; rolling with the punches is what we do best.

MUNICH:

Munich was wonderful, sublime, captivating. We enjoyed the sights, the smells, and of course the beer halls. The beauty of the beer halls is the communal style of the seating. This means that Martin had the opportunity to annoy multiple people! After pretending to take the menu from the guy sitting across from him about 12 times and attempting to engage in playful banter with the waiter (which was not received well due to obvious language and cultural barriers), Martin had effectively given us sore abs from our ensuing laughter, and the beer hall was ready to say goodbye to us…for the night (we happily returned the next night..to the waiter’s dismay).

Go ahead, be mesmerized by Munich’s beauty

PRAGUE:

So, we awoke early Saturday morning, and arrived to the train station groggy and out of it (as proven by the infamous banana sneeze..I’m not naming names, but just heed my warning that sneezing while eating a banana never ends well).  We found our train to Prague, which was due into the train station at 2:30 pm. I think you know where this is going. Soon after boarding the train, we learned that the tracks were undergoing construction, so after about an hour we would have to get off the train, board a bus, drive around the tracks under construction, and get back on the train. Naturally, the bus driver dilly-dallied and we missed our connecting train from Schwandorf to Prague.

Schwandorf is easy on the eyes

This left us with nothing to do but twiddle our thumbs for three hours in Schwandorf, Germany..a city with a population of about 37 (okay okay..142,918 as of 2011..yes I looked it up and have absolutely no shame). Believe it or not, our unexpected layover in Schwandorf was a subtle front runner for greatest moments of the trip. We sat outside a cafe enjoying our ice coffees (notice I said ice and not iced; think root beer float, but instead of root beer, coffee..aka heaven). For the next three hours we reveled in the joy of good friends, genuine laughter, and appreciation of Europe’s hidden gems.

I couldn’t explain the hot dog incident without including a picture..that would have just been rude.

8 pm rolled around and we finally arrived at our hostel in Prague. We had little more than 24 hours in Prague, so we had every intention of taking advantage of every last minute. We began the quest of 24 hour tourism with the delicious delicacies Prague had to offer. It was in this moment, eating our decked-out sausages, that we began to notice there was something off about the way Jackson eats. This theory was confirmed the next day when we had to stop and sit in the street as Jackson finished his mustard-slathered hot dog because he was incapable of walking and eating a hot dog simultaneously (in his defense that’s some strenuous work..and there was A LOT of mustard..and he only had one napkin..). I’m not about to lie to you here, I think the sight of the the hot dog break was the highlight of Prague for each of us. Trust me, this is not belittling Prague in the slightest. Prague was one of the most beautiful places I have seen in Europe, and I wish I had more than a day to explore all it had to offer. I also must say Prague was a wonderland because it is home to Sassmaster Nicole. Nicole’s sass was born on this leg of the trip, and we all know I both love and respect a little sass, so this was such a beautiful moment. Nicole, I better see some of that sass again despite the fact that we have left its motherland.

Come Sunday night, we ventured down the street from our hostel to the last supper (in Prague) where Martin proceeded to order two large entrees. Frankly I’m proud of ma boy considering the food was amaaaazing and the price was a steal. Following the feast, we made our way to the bus station to catch our 11 pm bus to Budapest.

BUDAPEST:

You heard that right. 11 pm bus to Budapest. Due into Budapest at 5:45 am. I told you we were smart about this trip. Well..so maybe frugal would be a better word choice, as our bodies and sleep schedules were not too pleased with our “smart” planning. The sleep on the bus was minimal and what can only be described as the sensation you get when you feel a sneeze coming, but suddenly it disappears and it won’t come back and it leaves you with nothing but empty disappointment. We arrived at the Budapest bus station dazed and confused. After (somewhat) aimlessly dragging our suitcases across the cobblestoned streets of Budapest for nearly an hour and a half, we found our Airbnb, where we were greeted by our adorable 4’9″ host, Ibolya (also known as Felicia). She made us some of the best eggs that have ever graced our taste buds, and we proceeded to treat ourselves to a (much needed) four(ish) hour nap.

Thanks Budapest, so do you.

We *started* our day (started is surrounded by asterisks as we technically started our day with Ibolya’s magical eggs) with a walking tour and continued the day with langos (fried dough with sour cream..which resulted in absolute slovenliness for some..again I won’t name names), innumerable cough drops, and nighttime run-ins with Brits (as per usual).

We spent all day Tuesday simply wandering around the city and exploring (admittedly our stomachs did much of the exploring). We have come to learn that this is the best way to get a true vibe for a place and come to appreciate it. Our flights were at 6:30 am the next morning, so obviously we didn’t pay for a place to stay that night, and instead opted to bring our suitcases to a bar and camp out there for the majority of the night. If you haven’t rolled a pink suitcase down a cobble-stone street in Budapest at 2 in the morning, you haven’t really lived. The Budapest airport is where da crew parted ways, so bae (Melissa, obvi) and I could enjoy our romantic getaway in Paris and they could return to Seville (and most likely sleep forever). After navigating our way toward the Ryanair section of the airport, which can only be described as a high school field house of sorts, we were en route to Paris.

PARIS:

Paris was stunning and beautiful (and frigid) and the quintessential page out of a grandiose storybook. After the three hour commute between the airport and our hostel (during which Melissa was pushed to the ground by an androgynous character in the ticket line for the metro), we were beyond exhausted.

Yes…that is it.

Luckily the exhaustion was (slightly) squandered as we enjoyed the excitement of being in the city of light. We wandered through the Louvre, indulged in crepes, walked through the Luxembourg gardens, watched the Eiffel Tower twinkle, and then wobbled back to our hostel that night. (Wobbled is the only fitting verb, as our weary feet were aching with fatigue (and satisfaction!) after our eventful day.)

The next day, we were well-rested and ready to fulfill our duty as full-fledged tourists. We visited Saint Chapelle and Notre Dame and walked down Champs-Elysses. Obviously, nothing is ever as simple as a laundry list when it comes to my blog (or more accurately my stories in general).

Saint Chapelle, stay beautiful.

The line for Saint Chapelle included walking through security, where I set off the metal detector. Naturally, the security guard waved his electric wand over my body. Unnaturally, he finished the wand search by bopping my head with the wand. Even more unnaturally, the wand beeped when he bopped my head. He did the same for Melissa. Her head did not beep. He bopped my head again. It beeped again. So, despite the fact that we had just learned that I’m a robot or have a chip in my head or something, they let us through to see the marvel of the stained glass. Shout out to you mom and dad for never telling me the truth about my genetic makeup.

During our wait for Notre Dame, we witnessed a girl pull a 2/3 eaten Nutella crepe out of her backpack and finish eating it. I have two major qualms with this atrocity: 1) why are you buying a crepe and not finishing that edible treasure in one sitting? 2) I am very concerned that the entire inner lining of your backpack is now coated with chocolate-hazlenut spread. Why ya gotta put your backpack through such an ordeal?

Okay okay, I apologize for my (lovable?) tangents..moving on. That night we found our way to a fondue restaurant in our neighborhood. The restaurant had outstanding food and a wonderfully unique vibe, but the best part about the establishment was that it introduced us to Allykat, our dearest Scottish friends.

Melted cheese and bread is always a winner in my heart.

Ally (Allister) and Kathy had traveled in from Scotland for the weekend to celebrate Kathy’s 39th birthday (we still don’t believe she was 39..if I can look and act like Kathy when I’m 39, it means that I will have found the magic elixir of youth.) We chatted with them throughout the entire meal, and I was informed by Kathy that I am the spitting image of Emma Stone. This brings the tally of people who think I look like Emma Stone up to two, so clearly the resemblance is uncanny. Mom, dad, did you leave me in the dark yet again about my true bloodline? At least I know now that I’m Emma Stone’s long-lost robot twin.

Allykat, Melissa, and I were enjoying each other’s company too much to part after dinner, so we hit the town to ring in Kath’s birthday together. While out on the town, we encountered both Bellatrix (who cackled and had no concern for personal space) and Dobby (who wore thick glasses, stood at 4’5″ and spoke broken English) in the same local bar (I’m telling you, Europe is just the land of doppelgängers). We parted ways with our Scottish friends to catch some shut eye before our last day in Paris (and of our trip!!!)

We spent our last day wandering around Montmartre and Saint-Germain-de-Prés appreciating the vibes of each respective area, and enjoying every last second of our Parisian adventure. We eventually found our way back to our sketchy airport two hours outside of Paris and were back home in Seville by 1 am to our exhausted bodies’ delight.

Oo la la

This trip was strenuous. It was stressful. And in spite of it all, it was stupendous. Through each trip, it becomes more and more clear that the best way to enjoy a new place is not necessarily by mindlessly hopping from landmark to landmark, but rather by getting a feel for the city by wandering around with good friends in tow. And frankly, each travel snafu was a blessing in disguise. It gave me the opportunity to appreciate not only some new cities in new ways, but also to appreciate what great friends I have made and their ability to make me laugh like a loon in seemingly undesirable situations.

I’m not even going to bother apologizing for the length of this one because I condensed six cities (and countless anecdotes) into one post, so I’m giving myself a pat on the back. And now I give you a pat on the back if you made it this far without giving up on me.

Yours truly,

Giggly Girl (aka Rachel)

Barcelona: the seahorse farmer and English breakfast tea

As you may or may not know, I spent the last weekend in Barcelona. My oh MY I know — it has been quite the month of travels for me! Needless to say, airport procedure is now second nature to me..though I still dread the inevitable baby that WILL be crying for the entire flight on every flight I board. My reason for going to Barcelona was Abroadfest (essentially a three-day party for students abroad) that I had bought a ticket for with friends from IU months in advance. The reason I loved Barcelona was NOT for Abroadfest. Okay..I feel the need to reiterate that point..the reason I loved Barcelona was in spite of Abroadfest. I thought the event would be something akin to Lollapalooza. It was not. But thank you “Abroadfest” for getting me to Barcelona and teaching me a lot about myself.

Here’s a picture of a cool gothic church.

So, I guess I better elaborate. For this post, the importance does not lie within the big picture, but rather the little details. Okay, let’s be real, this is the case for most of my blog posts. But that’s the beauty of my time abroad; the best moments come from the seemingly most insignificant events. We arrived late Thursday night, settled into our hostel, and soon headed out to the first Abroadfest event at some club. Within about an hour of being there and noticing the growing crowd, Melissa and I realized we were much too tired and much too irritable to tolerate the scene (call us old, call us boring, or what have you..it had been a long day!), so we headed back to the hostel and turned in for the night. We rose early Friday to enjoy a free 3-hour walking tour with dearest Billie, a spunky Irish woman who gave a comprehensive and upbeat history of the Gothic barrio. The tour did not end up being free as I tipped dearest Billie 5 euros, of which she deserved every last centivo. We ate good food (duh, it’s Spain), walked through a pretty park (Parc de Ciutadella) where we ran into a few friends studying in Barcelona from IU (studying abroad has really shown me what a small world it is), and headed back to the hostel to get ready for night two. This time we had our game face on; we were prepared to have fun. While enjoying a few drinks in the common area of our hostel before heading out, we had the pleasure of meeting a handful of Argentinians. As a general pattern, it seems we have a knack for seeking out the Spanish-speaking strangers. This might sound silly as we were still in Spain after all, but believe it or not, Spanish speakers in a hostel in Barcelona are few and far between. After treating our ears to the lilt of their Argentinian accents and some rich conversation, it was time for us to part ways so Melissa, Kelsie and I could head to da club. All I need to say now is that Melissa and I were again not about the club on Friday. After walking in, witnessing the blaring EDM music, girls with unnecessarily skimpy clothes, and bros’ tunnel vision for the girls with the skimpiest clothes, we headed back out after about 5 minutes. I still consider the night a success, as Melissa and I spent the 45-minute walk back in deep conversation evaluating what we actually consider a good time and realizing that being abroad has taught us that said good time involves meaningful conversations with new people rather than what we had just walked away from.

Just taking advantage of the undeniable photo op in Parc Ciutadella

This brings us to Saturday (also known as the day of the delirious descanso, leopard man, Mr. Caricature, the Moroccan Gods, and English breakfast tea). We walked from our hostel in the Gothic quarter to Sagrada Familia and then to Parc Güell. Those who have an extensive knowledge of the layout of Barcelona, feel free to drop your jaws now. After fighting through the trenches (and by trenches I mean 90 degree angle streets..ok ok maybe 45) and finally arriving at Parc Güell, we took a quick (delirious) break and proceeded to head inside. The park was a beautifully unique area boasting Guadí’s talents. Aside from its beauty, we found other things within the park to amuse us as well. Other things include (but are not limited to):

1. Watching a grown man have another grown man draw an (inaccurate) caricature for him (seriously, if you have never watched a caricature drawing unfold, please do so..we were laughing for about five minutes straight at the sheer awkwardness of the situation).

2. Observing a “street performer” (I put this in quotes, because I don’t even think he was looking for money..I think he was legitimately just enjoying his Saturday on some weird concoction of hard drugs.) Leopard man cannot be described in words, so my lackluster description of his tight leopard outfit, guitar playing, meowing, hissing, panting, and cackling will simply and unfortunately have to do.

Oh hey there Leopard Man. The view behind you isn’t too bad either.

After having walked a total of about 14 miles, our stomachs were growling, so we found a glorious little hole in the wall restaurant that sold bocadillos (sandwiches) with some Moroccan flair. We proceeded to make friends with the waiter and chef (befriending strangers is arguably the best part about traveling) and enjoy some great (and spicy..and cheap) food, and we hopped onto the metro back to our hostel (our poor little feet could only handle so much). As we prepared for the final night of Abroadfest, our anxiety about the impending club began to grow. I believe all three of us were silently suffering an internal struggle pitting our extreme desire not to attend this event against our wallets that were telling us we had already paid for this event, so we were going to go and we were going to enjoy it. Thankfully, I recalled a lesson I had learned from a psychology/philosophy class I took all the way back freshman year (ages ago, I know). This lesson of logic was called the “sunk cost fallacy”. The money was gone, there was no getting it back, and we knew our time would be better spent anywhere else, so luckily our desire not to go won out. This was our best decision of the weekend. We wandered around until we found a bar, and soon after we befriended some Brits (apparently we also have a knack for finding British people as well). A few hours, some English breakfast tea, nuggets and pizza, and some lengthy, meaningful conversations later, we found ourselves walking back to our hostel at 6:15 in the morning, beyond satisfied with how we had just spent our night. I went to bed that night, again having learned even more about myself, pleased with what I’ve been learning not only during this trip, but during my time abroad in general.

Naturally delicious juice found in Mercado Boqueria, the most charming little market.

Following our three-hour *nap* after our later arrival back to the hostel, we woke up at 9:30 to check out of the hostel. As our flight back to Sevilla wasn’t until 9 pm, we had all of Sunday to continue exploring this beautiful city. Considering the eventful (this word always comes in clutch for me..it’s just the perfect mix of vague and explanatory) past few days, we used this day as one for relaxation. We took advantage of the beautiful weather and laid on the beach for the majority of the day. After some light walking around (really just walking around Barcelona and observing its beauty is a sufficient way to spend time), we headed back to the hostel to pick up our bags. While getting our bags, we ran into the lady we had been noticing lurking around our hostel all weekend. A woman of about 80 years who we would come to learn was once a seahorse farmer (I kid you not..I really cannot make this kind of thing up). So yeah, shout-out to you Melissa and Kelsie for suddenly being too entranced with your phones and leaving me to hold unwavering eye-contact with Ms. Seahorse Farmer as she recounted to me her life story, which ran the gamut from attending school in Hawaii, watching the police shoot a dog during Hurricane Katrina (honestly I’m still confused about that anecdote), and having a huge seahorse aquarium in her kitchen that was corrupted by evil jellyfish who brought a grisly end to the lives of the innocent seahorses.

Ok, this (finally) brings us to the end of the tale of Barcelona. Believe it or not, this was an abridged version (sorry..when I tell a story, I tell a story). But long story short, I got a lot out of this weekend — despite the sunk cost of Abroadfest. I am increasingly growing a better understanding of what truly makes me happy and what matters to me in life throughout each experience I encounter abroad. Here’s to the unknown, to the undiscovered, and to the amazing little details. And here’s to the joy in discovering them with good friends and new friends, all of whom are making my abroad experience unforgettable.

Abrazos,

Rachel