This is the penultimate day! (I usually use that word to make fun of that word. Doesn’t it sound so much more important than it is? It almost sounds more important than “ultimate” but all it really means is second to last!)

Today I experienced flamenco dancing for the first time. And I’ve largely concluded it’s angry tap dancing. Ha. Angry tap dancing with some finger flair (i.e. finger movements are part of the dance!) and only one type of emotion: intense urgent focus, nearly aggressive. Early on in the performance I couldn’t help but think they must be dancing about catastrophes or the apocalypse. Or failed romances. Those are essentially the same to most of us, right? In fact, when I asked the sweet German lady who sat next to me (whose Spanish was better than mine), the words she was able to pick up from the lyrics were about love, failed romances, and waiting 20 years. I’m pretty certain the performance would have made more sense to me had I known the language.

Either way, I am extremely entertained that flamenco dancing is so, uhm, serious! Have you ever had anyone accuse you of taking yourself too seriously? Well, never fear! There is at least one group of people who take themselves more seriously than you do: flamenco dancers. It’s intense! Makes me wonder what has happened in a group’s history to produce an art form like this. All groups suffer. But only the Spanish have produced flamenco dancing.

The guitar was my favorite part. I love Spanish guitar. Rich and sultry. The singing plus the guitar plus the percussion which the flamenco dancer contributes through tap dancing was what surprised and delighted me. There’s more to flamenco dancing than I had known!

In reading about Franco yesterday I learned that he declared flamenco dancing and bull fighting to be Spanish things. Does that make any sense? A human can not directly create culture. More than anything culture creates us. Anyway, the Catalons (more than any other Spanish group I know of) would not necessarily be on board with all the typical Spanish things. In fact, Catalonia has banned bull fighting and the old bull fighting rings are now used for other purposes. (This is in order not to torment and kill an innocent animal.) The rest of Spain… bull fighting continues!

I also experienced Casa Battlo today and ate at a Georgian restaurant. Gaudi’s work, Casa Battlo, is hard to explain. As much as I understand him better now in that he was trying to mimic nature, elements of his work still remind me of Dr. Seuss. And elements of his work are so playful that they’re almost hard for me to take seriously. I can completely commiserate with the Catalons of his time who were disoriented and distressed by his work. And, at the same time, I was thoroughly inspired by the spirit of this house. It felt playful and playful can feel hopeful. Perhaps I can learn from Gaudi and be more childlike? The audio guide made a very similar mistake to what I think I’m seeing in myself. The Battlo’s were devout Catholics and, in their stunning living room they would either worship (using a Catholic set of symbols which were contained in a wardrobe-like piece of furniture) or enjoy leisure time. The audio guide observed that it is ironic to use the same room for worship as for rest, play. Is it? This makes me think of the counterpoint I raised early in my trip where I observed that I was going to play in Spain while simultaneously my cousin was going to work and serve a church in Egypt. To the best of my understanding, work and play are of equal value in God’s sight. Just like there is no tension between leisure and worship. And, perhaps I have taken parts of adult life too seriously and can not feel fully comfortable with playful elements in aesthetic design. I’ll ponder Gaudi more as I get time…

The Georgian restaurant was a surprise! I had to look up Georgia on a map. It is north east of Turkey. So I ate at a delightful, thoroughly sophisticated middle eastern restaurant which specializes in coriander. The restaurant’s name, Kinza, means coriander. My meal was tremendous; I remember pomegranate seeds resting on top of onion slices on top of an amazingly spiced meat with a lovely sauce. Unique and well-balanced flavors. And then a woman came out and sang! I had no idea I was getting two performances in one night. She was young, small-ish, rather perfectly beautiful, and her voice was truly unforgettable. A rich, sultry voice sang for the four of us in the restaurant. What a gift! I hope she “gets found”. She has a talent!

Below is one moment, like all the rest, in the flamenco show: intense!

Costa Brava means “wild coast”. And it is considered wild due to the rockiness of the coast. (See picture below.)

I traveled with a group of random humans and one handsome tour guide up this coast today. “Catalonia”, I learned, means land of castles. Apparently Catalonia has an unusual number of castles, and according to our tour guide, Xavier, one season of Game of Thrones was filmed here. Further rounding out my knowledge of Catalonia is that it was an independent country for 700 years! I believe from the 9th century to 1714. That significantly explains today’s demands for independence! And this makes me think of Scotland.

I had music for dessert! Meaning, my dessert was a word in Catalon that sounds exactly like “music” in English: it was made of mixed nuts and very sweet wine. These two things came separately. It was pleasant.

Yesterday I had intriguing conversations with Singaporeans about their country and geopolitics and today I had entertaining conversations with the tour guide on his efforts to divert (and end!) political conversations in his tour groups. The current American political scene is diverting to people from other countries, but does not always lead to the vibe that a tour guide may want. Ha! I watched in concern yesterday as one American sat looking down, very still and silent, around the lunch table, as other Americans and many other nationalities voiced loud disapproval of the previous American president. I changed the topic. (I was sitting across from five Texans. Apparently they did not all share the same views!)

Over dinner tonight I researched the Moors and Franco. I was not able to validate the claims of yesterday’s tour guide that the Moors generally valued freedom of conscience or that they were largely welcomed by the Iberians. I was able to confirm that Franco did force Catholicism on his people. Amazingly, one historian claims Franco’s power over his own people far exceeded the height of power that Hitler or Stalin ever had over their own people.

I sincerely want to know: what governments have valued freedom of conscience and why? This dovetails with the question of how church and state should relate. From the little I’ve gathered, for most of history these two entities (church and state) have been an indivisible unit and suggesting that they should be separate would be illogical to the peoples of that time. I know Queen Elizabeth I valued freedom of conscience at a time when this was not particularly common. I like to think the Moors did but can’t yet validate this claim. It’s not natural for someone to give away power, and for a government to say “believe what you like about the most important things” is a massive giving-away of power. I think this is going to rattle around my brain for a while longer…

I wish to close with an important culinary formula I learned today: rucula = rocket = arugula. Just how many words get applied to the same plant?! I need some reason in the universe… perhaps I ask too late?

I have 10 minutes to write this post!

Experienced Montserrat (the serrated mountains), had a subpar tour guide (which I had to watch my attitude over all day because a quality tour guide is a thing of beauty), and learned the most interesting things on the way to Montserrat when a different tour guide was speaking.

I will share a total of one for now: Barcelona is the only city I’ve ever heard of that actually capitalized financially from hosting the Olympics. I’ve always heard this is such a financial loss! Not for Barcelona. They took their opportunity, in 1992, to simply refurbish old stadiums and the like and then (with the leftover money!) they built up various parts of Barcelona. Example, they took some of the money and imported sand from the Sahara and palm trees from the Caribbean to create the excellent beaches they have now!

I learned fascinating things about Franco and the Moors and will be pondering these things much longer. (Am starting to wonder about “culture wars” and how common the need is to “control culture” throughout human history and exactly how this has tended to play out. What I learned about Franco triggered this thought. The Moors, fascinatingly, seemed to display the opposite tendency.)

Below is the view from the monastery of Montserrat, and a distant view of Montserrat.

I’m sitting at the Maritime Museum, in their gorgeous and unusual cafe, waiting for my feet to “cool off”. Having feet problems and loving travel is an unfortunate combination. But, I saw two gentlemen in wheelchairs today and my heart broke for them, and was filled with gratitude for my problems, small as they are comparatively.

Barcelonetta is what you would expect: commercial, filled with boobs and buts (like all beaches), filled with mediocre food (yep, I’m an elitist when it comes to food), and stunning none the less. Worth a visit! I walked up and down it today. With sunshine like this and humidity like England or the Pacific Northwest (i.e. close to none), a breeze and palm trees and shrubs and other trees and plants of all types, I felt blessed despite the commercialism and the occasional crush of the crowd.

I saw something for the first time ever: a gym, of sorts, in the middle of the beach where young, ripped men could go “prove” themselves to a hopefully watching world. Never seen a gym on a beach before! The same build of gentlemen swarmed all around this gym. Clearly you only come here if you’ve already got the muscle and desired shape to show to the world. I didn’t mind watching…

The Maritime Museum is free on weekends! How lucky! Not that Barcelona does not already have a lot of my money. It does! I’ve been giving it to all the eateries. En Ville is tremendous. 100% gluten free. I ate there last night. At first I thought it was so good that my judgment of My Fucking Restaurant as being in the top 3 of my experience had to be wrong. Then I realized what the profane restaurant offered which En Ville did not: novelty and complexity. The complexity and layers of flavors was far beyond what En Ville offered. I recommend both! But for something new and complex, the answer is My Fucking Restaurant.

Attended mass at The Cathedral this morning. It is offered in Spanish and Catalon only. This time I knew that and came prepared with an app that I hoped could help: Google Translate. The “conversations” feature translates live audio into written text of a different language. Well, it didn’t work. It works if you’re standing several feet away from the phone but not, it appears, if you’re standing ~80 feet away from the phone. Makes sense. It appears that, not for the first time, I want something that the market has not yet developed. I read the book of Micah while the priest delivered his message. Both were beautiful: the sound of the priests voice echoing through the cathedral and the intent of the book of Micah, justice.

Before entering The Cathedral, I read about it some. It was built between 1200 and 1400 but, the intricate facade it has now, which is surely what you’ll notice more than anything else on initial encounter, was not added until the late 1800s. I was annoyed by that. I had an ~1880s interpretation of the medieval viewpoint, not the actual medieval viewpoint. This was one the other reason why one of my Spanish friends had told me she preferred the Basilica to the Cathedral: the first has remained largely authentic. I looked up York Minster as a comparison. I experienced that structure a couple years ago. And thankfully, every significant drop of it is real/authentic. This is a helpful reminder to myself to continue to get the history on things so I’m not significantly misjudging. For example, I observed that most faces carved around the front door of The Cathedral looked the same. Originally I thought “this is the sort of face folks from the 1300s thought was beautiful” because of course we have no idea what Peter looked like and equally it’s excruciatingly doubtful that all 12 of the disciples looked the same (unless Jesus took the same approach that Queen Elizabeth I took which was to hire her ladies in waiting based on beauty. I think not.) But then, I realized, this was what late 1800s men thought was beautiful. If you look at the individuals carved into York Minster, they are not only not all the same, but some are actually different heights, and some are kind of unattractive!

Gonna go check out the musem now. I am returning to SantAugustina this evening for dinner to recover from the mediocre food I had on the beach. It is guaranteed to work. I am looking forward to this! And to some ships!

Fascinating fact from the Maritime Museum: at least 80% of goods sold and purchased today are transported by sea for at least part of their journey. It appears containers, and later container ships, have revolutionized our world. By creating and playing a game of tetris, we’ve become more efficient. I am fascinated by this! Would love to study this more.

On a sadder note – I actually cried in the museum – the galley rowers (the men who sat in the lower part of a galley ship and rowed in unison to propel the boat) were chained to their seats! They rowed, slept, ate, and pooped and urinated from that position. They were chained until the trip was complete. Most would not live longer than two years. I hate galley ships. (And yes, I realize I’m hating something from the past.)

I have finally run out of steam! Today, I finished the last of five days of work so now my actual vacation starts and Barcelona awaits!

One native Barcelonan told me her favorite historical church is Santa Maria del Mar because the acoustics are so good. Perhaps the richness of the sound I heard in Santa Maria is unusual for a cathedral/basilica! I had wondered. If I opened the doors to my balcony and had Inspector Gadget arms I could touch Santa Maria. It’s probably only 10 feet away.

My new Italian friend, GianLuca, swears that if you cook pasta right, i.e. al dente, it’s healthier. I’m not convinced. He’s a very biased source.

I was going to read more about Antoni Gaudi, who appears to be a one-of-a-kind human, but my eyes are closing again. Without my approval. Here’s a fun term I ran into on the Wikipedia page on Gaudi: hyperbolic paraboloid. Yep, I don’t really know what that means! But, I’m visiting two of his works tomorrow and Sagrada Familia Thursday, so will read about him between those and share what sense of this man I can find; he may never make sense to me, so I hope at least to catch some of his inspiration! (He is like Sherlock! Never married. His work was his life. While I am passionate, I yet do not understand this. My philosophy: have your cake and eat it too! Also, I wish to point out that I just compared a real man to a fictional one. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle deserves some credit for having created such a “reality”.)

Above is a pleasant view I had on my way to an entirely gluten free pizza restaurant. Pizza was good! Service was mediocre. Bed is calling.

I am sitting at My Fucking Restaurant. Now, let me be clear about one thing. I don’t cuss. The times I do are when I’m quoting someone. And, at some point in the universe’ history, an aspiring restaurant owner in Barcelona, Spain said what can I name my restaurant that would be unforgettable? Well, he chose the granddaddy of cuss words. The one word which at least one British historian has said is all that the English have contributed to history: the F word. (I might differ with him. I can think of a lot of things like the industrial revolution, the spread of democracy, globalization, rule of law, etc etc etc. But that’s a post for another day.)

That said, I came here because I’m gluten free! This restaurant is 100% gluten free and I can’t say what a relief it is to not have to think and, if I may add, to not feel excluded. Unfortunately, history is unkind. Five years ago it decided “you shall be dairy free also!”. So, I still had to think a little. But not much.

There is a reason, Diego, the front line person asked, when I walked in, do you have a reservation? There was no room left! (I didn’t know this place was a gem.) There never is. I asked. People aren’t here for the profanity. This restaurant is easily in the top three restaurants I’ve ever eaten at. If you come to Barcelona, come here, but first, make a reservation. I simply sat at the bar (although others got turned away from the bar later!) and enjoyed conversation with three Canadian ladies who also found out the hard way that you should make a reservation.

One aperol (with a smokey, fruity flavor), a bread (with smokey butter and intense large salt pieces), one steak plus garlic aioli (amazingly, the least flavorful/memorable dish of them all), one Zucchini Cannelloni with Indian Chicken Curry (tremendous lime aftertaste, or something, I’m no food critic), and one “Bravas” Surprise later (chickpea replacement of potato – this was the most impressive dish), and yet another cocktail, and the meal was complete. They’re letting me sit here, typing away, while I recover from the happiness.

The three Canadian ladies are from BC, British Columbia, and just finished walking across Spain for two weeks, ending up in Barcelona. I forget how many miles a day… I did have two drinks. They’re in their 50s and 60s. Delightful.

Traveling solo is a bit like freshman year of college. If you meet others like yourself, everyone thinks you’re best buds right away! Not because you are, but because novelty is a large force and so is desperation. It’s a lovely adventure overall. Can’t be compared to any other adventure, not even that freshman year in college because that year involves homework while traveling involves huge visual sensation (typically put as “the sights”) with no other responsibilities whatsoever.

Gotta walk home now! Do you think of home the way I do? It’s wherever I slept last night. El Born. I don’t even know what that means. I should look that up…

Oh, I’m barefoot. It was too hot to leave socks and tennis shoes on. I’m the American making sure to violate social customs while I’m here. Leaving a good impression on the world! Diego likes me.

Sometimes the best things can’t be planned. Serendipity.

I will get back to that serendipity in just a sec. I have a massive correction to make. I am not staying in the Gothic Quarter. I am in El Born, the neighborhood next to the Gothic Quarter which looks an awful lot like the Gothic Quarter!

That said, I came around the world to meet two life-giving souls from my own country: Olivia and Stacy. Standing outside Vinya del Senyor with the basilica to my back, I was curious to experience the tremendous wine and tapas offered by a place so strongly recommended by my colleague, Gianluca (a handsome, deeply personable Italian whose name is pronounced “Johnluca”, or something like that – he helped me say his name more correctly multiple times).

Olivia, who is is hard to miss – easily six feet tall, elegant, blond, casually dressed, and with easy mannerisms and confidence – was standing a few feet away, also alone. We were each waiting for a table to open up in the open air outside the bar.

And It was dark, meaning the Spaniards are just now coming out to play, and an accordion player was to my right, playing simple tunes that ironically make me think of Italy.

Next thing I knew, Olivia was chatting with a woman above the bar who was hanging out of the balcony, and then that woman (Stacy) was downstairs and they had invited me to the table they just got sat at. Why not?! Olivia is soaking in glamor, the kind of look and feel that puts someone in the movies and into legend. Stacy is soaking in ADHD. I recognize it as someone who has a best friend with that challenge and gift. Stacy, like my best friend, has ideas coming out of every pour of her body and soul and they just won’t stop! A firehose of life and feeling.

The warmth with which these two woman from Colorado invited me into their table, and friendship, was memorable. Olivia, going into psychology, asked deeply heartfelt and probing questions and listened carefully. Stacy, exiting pharmacology and entering business, shared personal story after personal story. Each member of this trio is well-educated, American, filled with life, and yet fundamentally different. Olivia, who started out in neuroscience and considered being a doctor, is polyamorous. Stacy is also polyamorous and adds to that bisexual. Olivia also works as a stripper and is moved by the similarities between that industry and psychology. I was moved by the comparisons she was able to make! The primary of which was that the people she serves in either context are primarily looking for relationship, connection, or even very simply human touch. She was a wealth of fascinating perspective. I like to think I’m wealth of fascinating perspective, but I am monogamous, currently single, and have never set foot in a strip club.

Stacy was raised Catholic and wants nothing to do with the faith. But I think as we all shared our stories, the most basic fundamentals were the same: a desire to feel life at its fullest, its maximum, and a desire for peace and health. If I had more time I would attempt to tease out where we diverged and converged and why and possibly, most importantly, who these woman were and what joy they brought to my soul. Suffice it to say I am violating the most fundamental rule of creative writing: show, don’t tell. But it’s nearly midnight, I need to go to bed, and I’m honoring my commitment of one post per day, no matter how poorly written it is. (Dear Gods of Writing: please forgive me. I don’t like it either!)