far too much writing, far too many photos Monday, April 19, 2004 After an hour of working away at that last entry, I bolted to a different, more sedate cybercafé. Two 30ish hispanic women entered the first one shortly before my exit, bringing the place to near-capacity. After several further minutes of obscenity-packed shouting among the young males, one of the Pakistani owners decided the women didn't need to be subjected to that, ordering the boys to zip it. Which reduced constant high-spirited swearing to frequent outbursts punctuated by seconds of quiet. ("¡Coño, me muero!" "Bueno, ¡qué te maten, mamón!" Silence. "¡Joder! ¡Cabrón!") ["Fuck, I'm dead!" "Good, may they kill you, cocksucker!" Silence. "Fuck! You bastard!"] By the time I stepped back out into the street from the second cyberjoint, darkness had fallen, Saturday night was well underway. Pedestrian traffic on Barcelona's backstreet version of major thoroughfares had grown from a trickle to a flood, locals mixing with overabundant tourists, everyone out looking for a good time. I'd spent much of the previous evening with a friend not seen in just over two years, pausing first at a crowded tapas joint before settling into a restaurant for a couple of hours of chow/conversation. A smart, interesting guy I first met in intensive Spanish classes in Madrid 3-1/2 years ago -- Belgian, now studying for his master's in Barcelona. Got home late, Barcelona's Friday night street party just cranking up as I turned off the light, slightly before 2. Groups of revelers six floors down woke me up at both 5 and 6 a.m., singing in various languages with loud, ragged enthusiasm. There is a strange sense of dislocation I experience over here, at once exhilarating and bittersweet -- various languages audible everywhere, signage idioms changing depending on the city. Some folks speak to me in Spanish, others go directly to English after assessing me with a fast glance. Some are patient, friendly, others curt, uninterested. There are many ways in which I feel far more at home here than on the far side of the Atlantic, others in which I am clearly foreign, drifting through styles of daily life rooted in many centuries of history and culture. Far from unique, probably experienced by many millions of people. I, however, am not them. But I blabber. Saturday morning: pulled myself out of bed at an excessively reasonable hour, intending to get my butt to Güell Park, up in the hills to Barcelona's north, before the Saturday hordes showed up. That was my intention. My body had other plans, refusing to move quickly, wanting espresso, a croissant, blah blah blah. Factor in Metro ride followed by long uphill slog to the park (a ten minute walk, according to the guidebook I glanced at -- HA!!), by the time I walked in the park entrance, busses were unloading large groups of other furriners. By the time I stepped out of the small Gaudí museum (Gaudí's house in earlier years), the tourism flood gates had been opened -- so many people that after a short walk around the grounds, I got out of there. Don't know exactly why, but I found myself not happy with being in the middle of great mobs of tourists this weekend, and so generally avoided big lines, big crowds. [continued in next entry] ************* Detail, overlook wall at Güell Park, Barcelona Madrid, te quiero. rws 9:08 AM [+] BLATHERINGS August 2001 September 2001 October 2001 November 2001 December 2001 January 2002 February 2002 March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 June 2009 July 2009 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS Travels: London '01 Pamplona Italy '03 U.K. '03 Sevilla Casablanca Stoke-on-Trent Barcelona Québec/Ottawa Boston/Lisbon/Madrid Italy '04 Montréal La Sierra Events: Madrid -- arrival 9/11 Emergency Room I Holidays 2001 Holidays 2002 Holidays 2003 Holidays 2004 Holidays 2005 A neighbor's passing Madrid -- March 11 bombings   and aftermath Emergency Room II Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon Madrid -- Royal Wedding The DELE exam GONE, a novel: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF JOE ROCCO, a novella: -- Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 BURBANK SHRUGGED, a screenplay: -- Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 Short stories: Murphy's Wife Another Autumn La Queja de Una   Hermanastra Muy Conocida Autobiography -- Personal History -- Hormones On Parade -- Accidents, Random Mishaps,     Personal Problems .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT People/Weblogs: dooce foxvox fudge it fear not rebekka bookslut 802online idle words madhaiku wockerjabby grow-a-brain rebel market letting me be out and about kung fu grippe fanatical apathy baghdad burning wfuv's music blog kexp's music blog mimi smartypants between the miles just a hippie gypsy the impossible cool tomato can brushes vermont homestead sugar mountain farm Good Clean Fun: gizmodo futurismic postsecret dave barry human clock mcsweeney's spaceweather book-a-minute internet archive self-portrait day my cat hates you out of context quotes surrealist compliment   generator strindberg and helium Makin' Musical Whoopee: last fm stereo8 pandora soma fm .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . ABOUT RWS/CONTACT This page and all its contents copyright © 2001-2011 by runswithscissors unless otherwise noted. runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done. 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