She gave me the chickenpox when I was younger. Our younger siblings destroyed my Barbie play house when I was about three. Once we both moved to the States, we saw each other once in a blue moon. And now, Cassie and I were walking the streets of Barcelona at their biggest fiesta of the year. Mercé 2011 celebrates the patron saint of the Catalan city on the Mediterranean and amounts to all night concerts, bustling lively streets and sangria.
My 5 hour bus ride started pleasant as I talked to a widely traveled Canadian. However, as we sat a younger man behind us began to drink. About two hours later and a bottle of something he joined the conversation. At first he was pleasant. Then we hit a lull in conversation and I sat back to get in a little nap before getting to Barcelona. Next thing I knew, he was stroking the back of my arm through the gap between seats. He popped his head in and bluntly I said to him “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be stroking my arm”. He stopped and I was pretty proud of myself, a little strong-independent-woman moment.
I got to Barcelona at 9 and Cassie, her friend Katie and I found each other pretty quickly, dropped off my bag and hit the streets. There was mood lighting, music and grinning people everywhere. There’s another Arc de Triomphe. A lovely park with one of the most extravagantly lit fountains I have ever witnessed and a quaint charm that seems misplaced in a major metropolis. We found a flamenco concert and watched the dancers stomp their feet like angry tap dancers to the emotional music. Tapas were had with some seafood I had never encountered. I wish I knew what it was because I would like some more.
Saturday we woke to rain. A sprinkle and a pour, we roamed the streets briefly saw the Sagrada Familia before grabbing some empanadas and heading to the beach. It was calm and overcast but ready for tourists, which is very different from the relaxed coast of Montpellier. After about six straight hours of walking we treated ourselves to some of the richest gelato and went back for a repose. After some much needed sitting and the making of homemade sangria (recipe to follow), we hit the town once again. Saturday night we returned for tapas, saw a live jazz band, an indie band and we finished the night dancing for an hour to I don’t even know what; some sort of folk, local pop rock. Barcelona surely knows how to party and I must say my American butt can’t quite keep up.
On Sunday, Cassie and I took it easy and made plans for her to come run the marathon in Montpellier October 16th. I’m very excited for her and glad that, after not seeing each other for about three years, it’s like I saw her yesterday. Barcelona was a magnificent, gaudy and almost kitchy maze of plazas and streets but never felt uncomfortably like a ‘big city’. The food was amazing. I returned to Montpellier tired, stinky and one jar of dulce de leche richer. And now, it is time for my Applied Sociology class.
SCIENTIFIC SANGRIA
1 bottle cheap red wine
1 sliced orange and its juice
7 splashes of Sprite
some 9 slices melon
exactly 1.5 tablespoons of cinnamon
12 ice cubes
A giant bowl
A giant bowl
1 beat up plastic water bottle (easier to take on the streets). First mix all ingredients in a giant bowl. You're supposed to let everything "simmer" for up to 24 hours, but one does the trick. Makes sure to squeeze the orange good and then slice.
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| Waiting out the rain |
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