ME SIENTO COMO UN BORREGO CONDUCIDOS

I am writing this on the terrace of the hostel I am staying at in Sevilla (a great hostel by the way… Samay) – to the left of me is a group of doce (12) or so travellers all speaking English – American accents dominate though they are clearly outnumbered. Snippets of conversation sharpen into focus… apologistic platitudes regarding “Stateside politics”, how sweaty everyone is and, repeatedly, how difficult it is to find non-touristy places in Europe...

(THIS IS NOT THEIR PIC - but you get the idea) This pack gather, they are drinking muy cervezas, sangrias and have just started on the tequila shots. They are about to be unleashed on Sevilla – they’re off to do a “pub and flamenco tour” where they will drink as many shots and mojitos as they can. I have been beckoned by the two Aussie gals I was chatting to last night. I wince and point to my half-eaten dinner – could they just all hurry up and fuck off already! It’s 11pm.

I don’t bag their drinking – that would be muy hypocritical but for fucks sake they hate the touristiness of Europe and yet they’re doing what they’re doin?

OK, I have now slunk back to my dorm.

Of course, all that’s a perfect segue into the next theme for my blog – “me siento como un Borrego conducidos” or, I feel like a sheep being herded!... the inevitabilities of being a tourist.

The experience of being a tourist is immediately conflicted – on the one hand you want to pioneer (a colonising urge?) to experience something unique, you also want to experience something authentic but you don’t want to miss out on all a place is famous for. Of course, inevitably, all three will/do happen – you can ONLY experience anything uniquely, there is something authentic in every interaction… even in recognising the shallow frivolity… and why avoid the things that are popular because (usually) they are in some way impressive.

We arrive with a to-do list more pressing and more daunting than the ones we have at home... but like the one I have at home I never expect to actually complete it!

BACK TO BARCELONA BABY!

Here are the muy touristico things I did in Barcelona

I went to the Picasso museum – Melanie and I headed off on our cultural adventure… we wandered around and couldn’t find it… did find a great jewellery shop – Melanie went back and purchased matching rings for her sisters (nyaw!). We found a craft market and I bought a trashy ring and choker…. Eventually we found the museo - the most visited museum in Barcelona.

Proof it is muy touristic is this embarrassing interaction with a street performer – don’t wear hot pink – you look like a beckon and the come-a-runnin. sigh.

After queuing for ages we got to the front of the line to discover our museum pass would have let us through without waiting! If you go to Barcelona and are into galleries etc DO buy the pass even if only to avoid queuing!

I was a little disappointed by the museo itself - this is where I first felt me siento como un Borrego conducidos. There was a strict path and it was hard to deviate, too crowded and rushed and frankly his early work, while remarkably and technically impressive, fails to move me. A bit like Shakespeare I guess. Just call me a philistine. In addition there was this nauseating and loud father and daughter duo who really fucked me off – she was desperate to impress him – he lectured knowledgably about art styles and techniques. She kept trying to impress him but missed the mark – hardly surprising she was about 6 – he was a total tool.

We then went for a cuppa that I was far more impressed with – in a really cute cafe. But what’s wrong with this picture? People are smoking – was still taken aback by that in an eating establishment… more impressed with the very cute tea pot and fresh tea… and Melanie’s company of course!

I went to the Casa Batillo – Gaudi and stood outside after my previous being herded experience I didn’t wanna pay $30 for the privilege! (go on, say it, philistine!) It is beautiful on the outside and has the best – and I’m an expert – paving outside… but, really? It was fun watching others watching!

I went to Sagrada Familia and didn’t even do that much. Impressive as it was, everyone I spoke to said it’s disappointing inside because at the moment the ongoing construction really limits what you can see – besides it was a Sunday and muy muy gente were cramming in - baaa.

I went to La Pedrera – Gaudi museo y edificio. Here I was very conflicted – his work is amazing – its organic genius is... spectacular. But I was a sheep – I listened to the audio and did learn (I didn’t know he designed furniture for example) and gain greater appreciation BUT I feel like you can’t get truly transported by what you are seeing while everything is labelled, you are surrounded by hoards and cordoned off.

I just wanted to stroke the curves of his buildings and sit on the steps of the roof terrace and watch. I did do both – briefly…

Of course I sound downright misanthropic and I'm not - I loved watching families interact - kids hide or, alternately look bored and resentful, people looking as disorientated as I was at times...

I seem to be able to either contemplate people or art - not both.

I went to see some flamenco. If I'm honest I kinda went cos the others in the piso were going... I'd like to see some authentic flamenco but not enough to actually chase it... if it happens it happens was my attitude. Well this is what happened we went to the MOST touristico possible - in Placa Real in a venue that has 3 shows a night - but hey I really liked it. I know there'd be better but I'm hardly an officionado on the art form I just love it's attitude and the music is powerful (when the speakers aren't screeching feedback... but that ade it more real) - the dramatics the hard thumping fucking sexuality and rhythm - the gentle and unually dissonant timbre of the vocals... all in all a great night with great people. It was one of those moments however where I didn't want to see the whole show through the lens of a camera - another danger a tourist constantly confronts... the tension between capturing and experiencing!

I am going to stop for now but there'll be more coming in the next few hours - I hope... some touristico pero no todo

Vivo en Barcelona

Before I launch into touristy visits, the sights and sounds of a fascinating and foreign place let me once more revisit my daily existence in Barcelona. I do so in retrospect and already with sentimental reflection. I am writing this on the train from Valencia to Seville. I actually left Barcelona on Friday, it is now Monday… anyway.

MY LIVING
In the house
Well in one of my early blogs I described my then household…life did move on a little but as I re-immersed myself into a student lifestyle that had seemed so distant it was inevitable that at times I felt frighteningly ancient and at other times rejuvenated (even juvenile!). I was constantly giving sage advice (oh please, how annoying must that have been for the others) on everything from shopping to washing to heartbreak to budgeting and all things ecologica!. Fucken, who’s da mama?

On the other hand I was the one swearing and telling them to lighten up – they were overly concerned about theft and study! I can proudly say in my short time they were all heard – with greater frequency – to say fuck – or more accurately fock, ferk, fook etc! I even taught the gals when/how to drop the c-bomb... I don't think I taught that one to the last addition to the household, Thomas, a most mature and sweet 18yr old French guy – so committed to his girlfriend that he wouldn’t drink mojitos (it was a personal joke between his girlfriend and him).

This is Thomas NOT getting a mojito on his first night when we went to the Gracia Festival... The bar woman was an awesome dancer when mixing drinks or not!

When 3 of the girls left and were replaced with Thomas the house was less musical but more philosophical. We (Johanna, Thomas and I) had long political/philosophical discussions in English (putting me at a clear advantage) peppered with inept – well for me - Espanol.

Cooking was fascinating. As was the kitchen itself. The oven took an hour or so to turn off if/when anyone dared to turn it on! Knives that were as sharp as the chopping board we used them on, no bowls, no zester [ ;)] We had a shelf each in the fridge and very little was shared – though that changed towards the end... hehehe.

Our lives took on a rhythm of sorts between classes and meals and siestas – the need for young people to sleep heaps and heaps is fucking well international!





The Mercado
Going to the mercado was a great source of pleasure. I could watch the daily life of those around me. Discover foods I’d never had before – these odd “squashed” peaches, strange oblong clams - naranjos? (bundled in the middle of the fourth pic), delight in the variety of ready made meals at the deli.
At my favourite “deli” – not sure what they refer to them as in Spain – I bought paella, pollo (chicken)- cooked many ways, espinac – a traditional Catalonian dish of spinach pinenuts and raisins, tripe (!), croquettas, baccalo ensalada, many other varieties of salad, gazpacho, nuts, dried fruit… it was essentially my one-stop-shop… fuck the supermarket next door!

Not that everything was delicious or aesthetically charming... I was quite confronted when I unwrapped the chicken I'd bought and discovered the head still attached. If you're willing to eat em, as I've said before, you've gotta be willing to look em in the eye - dead or alive!

Most importantly, however, it gave me real moments of human interaction unmediated by the capacity of others to speak English (the default language at home) – barely anyone spoke English here. In reflection it is here that I can track some real progress in my language learning – at the beginning it was all mime and pointing… it became short inept sentences. At all times the interactions were peppered with humour and good will. On my last day, getting supplies for the train trip to Valencia (can I recommend gazpacho that you freeze the night before and take with you… and jamon, tomates y queso boccadillos y fruta) I was able to go to three stalls talk and laugh and have NO ENGLISH exchanged, be understood and get what I needed. I was able to tell people where I was from and what I did, where I was going and what I’d done in Barcelona. Clumsily, no doubt, but effectively.


I was touched when the women at the deli I went to most regularly all stopped serving customers and came to say good-bye. Here is a picture I took of them moments before they said goodbye.

Outside the mercat were signs of a less affluent Barcelona – as is the case everywhere. But I don’t want to leave a falsely idyllic image… I’ll give you the realest I can.


OLE & MY LEARNING
OK so one of my few regrets is forgetting to take any photos of school and the people there. The experience for me oscillated from one of diabolical frustration and self-effacement to moments of victory and … again… mucho humour! It also became the source of friendship and daily ritual. I’ll talk about that in another blog I guess.
I had morning classes which was good, though despite living across the road (literally) I often ran in late.
An error was made and I was put into a class that was not at the beginning – which meant the vocabulary that was assumed … I still don’t have (eg colors) … it also meant I felt like I was drowning from the very first.
Initially I told myself that it was the speed at which they were talking that made it muy difficil, then I told myself it was a good challenge. Esentially ego and pride prevented me doing what I should have… asking to be moved to a lower level. Every other day I “got it”. But the next day “it” evaporated. The pace of the course was very intense – there was never revision or even revisiting previous stuff. Each week new people arrived. Most had been to Spain many times, many had done a year or two of Spanish at high school in their respective countries, all of them had several languages under their belt. Yikes.

But please don’t imagine a quiet demur Lisa (anyone ever seen her?). It was a have-a-crack, fuck-it-up approach I had. I was also often thwarted by my own ambition – when I should have been repeating learnt phrases I was trying to embellish and describe using my really fucked dictionary (eg the word for “gentlemen” which I can’t remember now, was defined as burro, donkey… errors like this caused me much confusion and the class much amusement when I read out my works of Spanish literature in class!) I performed and essentially was saved by my exuberant nature, self-effacing humour and a basic capacity to recognise and predict patterns in language - which is distinctly different from learning how to use and understand language for meaning. I was the quintessential “class clown”
The thing that irritated me somewhat was that the other class "dunce" was also Australian - nice enough but, well, it was pretty clear we were very different. We had heated discussions in Spanglish for the class as he described AFL as a game for poofs – and I called him a homophobic bigot (by adding o to those words ;). I suspect our teacher may have been gay but my compatriot was oblivious. He talked about Tasmania being full of incestuous two-headed freaks (sigh). he had the broadest Australian accent aaaayyyy and pretty much managed to get each class back to how a me mi gustan cerbeza (he loved beer).
HEY A FEW DAYS AFTER I WROTE THIS SOMEONE FACEBOOKED THIS PIC Valerio, Ale and Paola.

But I had a gentle, kind and patient teacher, Ale (alejandro) – (everyone sing along with my companeros de piso and Lady Gaga…. ale, ale - jandro, ale ale - jandro, alejandro, alejandro etc ) who appreciated my humour (or at least pretended to). When I didn’t get something he’d ask everyone else in the class and then get back to me... by which time I sometimes had some idea what was happening. After a week and a half of every other word I said being “Fuck” he taught me how to say it in Espanola – joder! When there were obscure phrases I wanted to learn he happily taught them to me (eg about being a tourist - I feel like a sheep being herded... can't find my Spanish notes to share with you right now... but I will.) He was indulgently amused at my frustration with the muy muy sexist nature of the Spanish language.

In the end I sat the exam – unfortunately tengo fiebre y estoy muy enfermo (I had a fever and was very sick) but determined to finish. I reckon I probably did better than the other Australian guy (who had to puke during the exam after a big night out!), did far worse than everyone else but better than I could have imagined.
I have ended my time in Barcelona with en poco vocabularia y muy mala grammatica but none the less an uncanny capacity to communicate! I was proud to give Ale a scrawled note on a serviette – not sure how much sense it made – but it included reference to hablamos en Ingles “an manzana por la professoro” with a bottle of manzana liquor – I mean what teacher really wants a real apple!

Getting around and getting by

Ok so, so much to say but so busy doing things that I have no time to talk about it. Tonight public transport .... Mañana por la noche voy a tratar de escribir más sobre algunos de los lugares turísticos (thanks Google translate! J)

In Melbourne I am the queen of public transport – it has prepared me well for travel mucho transporto publica internationale. Mi casa es muy cerca de metro staciones - cuatro. 4 stations within 500 metres in every direction! In fact it is quite an easy walk, 15-20 mins, to town. But back to the metro. Trains arrive within 5 minutes – ALWAYS. Why do I live in the only city this does not seem to be the case? Anyways, having said that, there are issues with getting around in Barcelona.

Going down into a metro station is like voluntarily strolling down the throat of a panting dog – an old Labrador with halitosis. Gusts of hot, fetid air that seem to be deprived of oxygen greet you when you enter any station. Most women carry fans … the men just stand close to them and/or sweat!

When changing lines at some stations – like Passeig de Gracia – involves plumbing the depths of the earth and trekking an endless tunnel. Everyone sweats, everyone has a mild creeping anxiety – is there enough air – and everyone walks more quickly as a result. For fucks sake how do those who experience claustrophobia cope? These photos were taken approx in the middle facing each direction.

Also the ever-present issue of theft. I once witnessed a pick-pocketing event but it happened so fast ... and then 2 of the girls I live with were mugged on their way home from the station. Mugged, no, bag snatch yes. But I have only been made aware of theft - never violence and frankly I feel safe. There's more obvious "bait" around for the would-be bag snatcher. Muy muy chicas - blonde, joven y obviously touristes. Besides I'm creful without being paranoid - of course that's not just an issue on P.T

On the upside catching a lot of PT has meant I have seen some astonishing buskers in the same fetid tunnels. I mean how often can you listen to a harp or Andeluvian pipes at Flinders Street?

There are many buses here too – I have had no need to explore the options here but the seem frequent. Not really sure. I do know there’s a night but given the metro runs til midnight during the week and all night Saturdays and til 2am Fridays, Ive only needed to cab it once or twice oh that reminds me…

I am quite likely to die in Barcelona – certainly I feel that way each time I get into a cab. The fuckers drive on the wrong side of the road – keep in mind I am occasionally intoxicated when in a cab so I seriously have to stop myself from yelling “stop, you’re on the wrong fucking side of the road!” This effects me indirectly too. I walk on the wrong side of the footpath. I get swamped by a sea of people walking the wrong way, I block the wrong side of the escalator and I might in fact die cos some frustrated Catalunyan wants to push me under a car for getting in their way. For that matter they mightn’t need to push … I frequently have to stop myself from walking in front of cars COS THEY’RE DRIVING ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE FUCKING ROAD!

Anyways I should also mention my attempts to book regional trains on my EURAIL pass. DO NOT BUY EURAIL PASSES – they are expensive and then you have to pay large booking fees for your seat – if there is one cos they restrict the number of available seats on each train… but despite that let me tell you about the booking process. I first went to the regional railway station to get timetable so I could plan my travels around Spain – it took dos horas and cuatro queues… TO GET TIMETABLES!

It was funny though, after standing for half an hour in one queue I could see that the guy who was about to serve me was muy frustrated – totally over it! SO I went up all perky “Beunos dias blah blah blah.” Immediately his eyes lit up and he gesticulated wildly gabbing on… obviously bitching about having to deal with foreigners - blah blah, Japoneses, blah blah Americanos, blah blah Alemanias” before I butted in with “y Australiano.” I shared a small smile before the language barriers shat him again.

When I went back to book my tickets – this Saturday I catch the train to Valencia por dias dos, Seville tres, Madrid tres before catching an overnight to Paris, yeehaa - I had a pretty good idea what would be involved. I went prepared practicing how to say “I have been learning Spanish for 2 weeks and can only speak a little, please speak slowly.” When I got to the front of each queue I’d say my line they’d smile/smirk a lot, nod and be quite kind.

The last place I had to wait used one of those ticket machines… my number was ochenta y seis (86) and they were calling cinco (5). I sat and waited chatted to many travellers – bought some nail polish and painted my nails… then went up and said my line, reserved my tickets and went home pretty fucken pleased with myself! Done.

It was only an hour or so after getting home that I realised what I’d actually said was “tiene aprendiendo Española dos semanas y habla en poco, habo lento por favor" …. You have been learning Spanish for 2 weeks and only speak a little, I will speak slowly!

Hasta manana mi amigo/as

Spanish time – the past (pasado?), present (presente) and future (futuro)

The title probably has little to do with the CONTENT of this blog (well I guess given it isn’t actually written yet… so who can say!). It is a mind play on several levels for myself:

1. I am starting to learn to use (clumsily and amusingly) the different tenses in Espanol – I can now have had a past and have a future
2. … but in reality when you’re in tourist mode it’s the most present you are ever likely to be. The past is somewhat muted and distant and everything else manana, manana (pronounced manyana - means tomorrow)
3. Yet just now I made the alarming realisation that my time in Barcelona is 2/3 over, eeks!
4. Also, in my mind, I am documenting and recounting so, sooo much... but it evaporates before it hits the blog – the tension of time, experience and documenting is ultimately insurmountable – already heady magic moments seem ordinary and cliché while new daily triumphs supercede…

But for now let me take you back into my recent past -

I’ll start with my first outing with Ana – the German girl who moved in when I did… that is if I can find my random iPhone scribbles.
We took a train into Catalunya and just started walking, randomly taking turns down side streets. She was taking pictures of graffiti while I took pictures of people and their dogs and concrete paving.
We eventually chose to sit at one of two outside tables at a small café in a windy (as in curvey not blowy) paved side street. We talked and then fell into comfortable silence while she sketched, drinking her café, and I wrote, drinking my te con leche. –We did this just for a wee while until we started gabbing on again.

ANA-THER EXCURSION
Random wanderings in old streets given ambience by smokers, passionate embraces and a family bickering. We look everywhere, unselfconsciously staring – touristing other people’s lives. On our aimless, gobsmacked mission, we eventually stop.



Sitting at a café we awkwardly attempt to place our meagre order – un café y un te con leche – our accents assault my ears but gift us a smile from the camerero. We sit, we talk, we laugh - we stop. We drink in everything even before our order has arrived.

The sound of the pavements being hosed and the cadence of foreign languages in flight, pour down the sides of balconies an accompaniment to the ivy. I watched a man meticulously hose down the pavement from one end of the small street to the other. It took us at least 20 minutes. I sat in concentrated shock and awe – a drought still too close for me to be comfortable with what I was witnessing.

Wrought iron balustrades failed to imprison distant jazz escaping an unknown balcony … it clashed in triumphant discord with the rumble of mopeds passing and an imagined child practicing piano. Violent colours of haphazardly hung washing became part of the romantic fresco palleted before me.

Where was I? I may never really know.

Es extrano lo que se observa en una ciudad extranjera…. Or… it’s bizarre what you notice in a foreign city!

STEPPING OUT ONTO NEW TERRAIN







One of the first things I observado when I first arrived was the footpaths. It was the detail in them not the condition of them! They’re as neglected as they are at home but in many places they are patterned. It also came to become a visual representation of me stepping out into a new world… As you can see I have been many places… in fact if you saw my blog on La Rambla you would have seem a pic then too.

MY KINDA TOWN





Mucho, mucho perros! I have to encantada (love) a town that has so many dogs! EVERYWHERE people are walking their mutts – often odd looking bitzas but you can’t walk 50 metres without seeing them. They are allowed in shops! Once I saw one in a panaderia (bakery) and a tapas bar. It makes me happy! This is un poco sample...

EVEN HERE THE OBVIOUS IS PUBLICLY DECLARED

Turns out Singapore ain’t the only place that has instructions for the citizens that state the bleeding obvious – no translation needed.

AN EXPRESSIVE PEOPLE
Before I arrived I had an impression of the Spanish as expressive people… what I didn’t realise is some of it is expressed through body art. They are far more adorned than we are – it is not uncommon for people to have several large pieces on show. The tattoo artists in Catalunya (in and around Barcelona) are famous but don’t do turistes (damn!).
I will put more photos up later but the work on this woman was SPECTACULAR – the best I’ve ever seen by far. Es Charlie Chaplin, Dali y Picasso. WOW!!!



SPEAKING OF WOW
One of the things I am surprised about is that even the meaningless utterances we make, are made with an accent – not sure why I’m surprise.... aaaayyyy?

THE CHALLENGES (and joys) OF BEING ILLITERATE, INNUMERATE AND RENDERED MUTE!

Some of you may know this – others not – but when I was in Melbourne I started learning Spanish. But to say the least I was remedial – the class dunce (and clown, the obvious deflection from not having done homework etc).

I arrived here in Barcelona with a pseudo arrogance borne of being a native-speaker of the colonising language – English. Well fuck me, but hardly anyone but tourists speak English here!

This is a blessing I reckon. I have to stiltedly struggle as my 2 words multiply to 10 to 20 to really really animated mime and much pointing and laughing. Muy comico!

What is unexpected is when I have communicated required purchases I find it mu disconcertante that I then fluster around with my money, sometimes handing it over in fistfuls while condescending shopkeepers count it back to me both slowly and LOUDLY! A universal reaction. When so many nations use the same currency, why have the 5E and 20E notes so similar – and I now see why we got rid of 1 and 2 cent pieces!

On the other hand the spectacular joy of communicating with the newsagent about what "horas su tienda abierta? " (hours is his shop open… though this was written with the help of google translate which I did not have) or how to cook these amazing looking clams … I’ll post a picture in another blog… is quite indescribable.



Indeed my first victory was – eventually – purchasing super glue - if you look closely at the pic you'll see i accidently bought solvent... which I'd have known had I read the ENglish! I was rapt when I eventually successfully purchased superglue! There was also some difficulty communication my need for a fold up shopping bag. Bonus it folds up into a strawberry! While I was there I discovered my name was also the brand name for sanitary pads here. I had wondered why my teacher had a slightly amused smirk at my name! I hope I get see some cheesy ads for them too!

BY THE WAY DID I FORGET TO MENTION….
When I arrived at my first class I discovered I’d been put in level 2 – WTF!!! They all knew some Spanish – I sat there like a stunned mullet!
They’re all MULTI-lingual – everyone speaks English (competently!) and their first language in my class that’s German, French, Swedish and Swiss. Many speak smatterings of other languages… all of them have basic Spanish!!!
If I strain I kinda get whats happening (and that’s improving!) but the lag is a good 5 minutes and – as always – I try to do things differently. SO rather than just repetande the sentence fragments learnt, I want to embellish (clumsily) with description.
Anyways this week Ash arrived – another oz probs at the same level. .. his first words to me? Ohh maaate – this is fucken hard shit aaaayyy!!
My housemates – who have more Spanish than me but are in lower level classes (!!!) giggle at my inability to retain language they know I know. EG today I said thank-you as I arrived home.
The other day I tried to ban myself speaking English (it’s the default language at home) … I lasted til 2pm. I was largely silent (which had its virtues for some I’m sure ) mimed a lot and made people laugh – but it was a good challenge I plan to revisit.
I actually suspect if I learn any Spanish I will speak it with a German/Dutch accent (my current housemates) … But hey, at least I can roll my r’s!

Anyways adios amiga/os!

Hoping to do another blog after my siesta and my deberes (homework)

Early jaunts, haunts and head taunts

OMG ... I've been here a week already... so much to tell ya... here's a tidbit

LA RAMBLA RAMBLE
On my first Sunday night in Barcelona I went out to La Rambla - well you gotta, right?

Why? It's just a really long, very busy mall with muy touristy market stalls, the irritatingly shrill whistle of men selling fake bird call thingies.
As I walk along, my head rings with paranoid thoughts about bag snatching - everything you read E-V-E-R-Y T-H-I-N-G harps on about bag snatching and pickpocketing in Barcelona - esp in tourist zones (eg La Rambla)...



There were many, many street performers of the "statue" variety. The costumes and concepts for this kind of street art are far more elaborate in Barcelona BUT the skill at statueing/miming is far weaker - not sustained.



Eventually I sat on the edge of a garden bed and watched - ahhh much more like it. Observed bickering families, a group of teenage boys posing and greeting each other - they are far more physically affectionate than our "lads", touching and kissing (as well as complicated handshake rituals that seem more universal)... there was a little girl so intent on climbing a statue she just kept wiping the bird shit from her hands onto the side of her pants... until her mum realised what she was doing. Sun-blistered tourists, tottering twenty-something uni students on high heels... bored stall keepers. Then, to interrupt the pleasant art of people watching...
" blah blah blah (in Espanol) when not understood...
you beautiful lady, sexy woman - you talk to me I am Simon (oh crap!). We be friends come do coffee (much resistance and suspicion - rightly I still believe) ...."
The conversation skeetered on - me repelling thinking "oh fuck now I'm the target of one of the tourist con-jobs up there with purse snatching" - eventually when I made it very clear he started trying to keep going but incorporating his girlfriend - we just be friends - he offers to walk me to the Metro (like fuck!) ... then he says he has to go to meet his girlfriend after uni...
Okay - suuure, it's the European hols AND it's a SUNDAY night at 8:30pm. SImon says ca-ca, Lisa says good riddance
On the way out of La Rambla I bought 3 herb plants (mint, sage and basil) partly for cooking but mainly to put some "life into my room" ... for less then 4 Euros!


RANDOM THOUGHT -
When everyone around you is speaking foreign languages its amazing how sure you are that they're, for some reason, talking about you. What is more telling is how negative they are being - back to therapy for me, me thinks ;)