Lola I met outside Santa Maria del Mar, on Catalonian Day (today!). She was friendly and easy and down to earth. Her clothes were rumpled and she was slightly overweight (or entirely sexy by medieval standards). She’s a photographer for the Catalonian government (among many other odd jobs, such as being a waitress at the outdoor cafe we were sitting at). She translated my order for breakfast to the waitress (overcoming language problems) and informed me repeatedly that my waitress was “not smart”. Don’t tip her. She’s not fast. She also runs a Facebook page with many followers dedicated to Barcelona Travel Tips. How lucky! We quickly became buds. She learned English through Harry Potter. And your TV shows, she said. (That means she’s probably seen more American shows than I have.) “Lola” is short for her full Catalonian name which is just too hard to say so she gave up half way through. Fun fact: when she’s speaking with Italians and they can’t understand her, she switches to Catalon and they understand right away! Catalon wasn’t an option in Duolingo (I looked!) so I came prepared with a total of one word I can remember: maleta! (Suitcase). Turns out one word isn’t very helpful… especially for ordering food.

She had warned me, sitting under the rising sun between the high walls of the Gothic Quarter, that at any moment she may have to race off. She was preparing her camera. She was to photograph a high-ranking official in the Bascilica sitting twenty feet away from us in an upcoming service (surely related to Catalon Day). I finished half of my eggs and, sure enough, she whisked her rumpled, confident, fun self out of her chair… and I don’t think I’ll ever see her again. She disappeared into the Santa Maria del Mar. I finished my coffee.

There are more tattoos here than I remember back home. And definitely a lot more smoking. I’m not thrilled with the second hand smoke I’m getting.

I attended an international service at Santa Maria del Mar, assuming “international” meant in some way translation would be offered to non-Spanish seaking folk. Nope! The service only suported Catalan and Spanish. We’ll see if The Cathedral can help monolinguals like myself next Sunday. I had really been looking forward to worshiping with them so this was sad. But, it couldn’t help but conjour up centuries of services (in my mind) in which the content was delivered in a language the worshippers did not know. How does God look on this? How is that worshipper supposed to grow? Are they satisifed? I was not. However, the music was gorgeous and moving. Do distant, vaulted ceilings such as that which cathedrals tends to have contribute to this? And if so, did the architects of cathedrals do this intentioanlly?

Trees are everywhere. Like what I remember in Madrid. I think greenery does for me what a drug does for others. Such happiness. I’m hoping to decorate my house in like manner. Filled with live beings changing shape over time and cleaning the air and living a life of simplicity, but, most importantly, creating a look which can be created no other way.

That’s off topic…

New words! Pisco (a type of brandy) and lascar (an Indian sailor).

Ohh, Pretty Peter. You won’t be able to hear about him because my eyes are closing again. It’s practically bed time. He was my enjoyable British waiter at a seafood “whole-in-the-wall” who doesn’t know that I found out his name was Peter or that I think he’s pretty.

Gaudi is a star in Barcelona. I hope to read more about him. He is intriguing to me. His La Sagrada Familia is not finished and has obtained the dubious award of “longest currently-running constructuction project on earth.” He always knew his cathedral would not be finished before his death. When asked, he once responsed “Don’t you worry. My client is in no hurry. God has all the time in the world.”

And, finally, a word I relarned: salubrious. What a delightful word! Salubrious means favorable, restorative, and/or leading to health. May my sleep be salubrious, and yours too!