Like always, we are going to travel back in time… this time to Friday, September 16th. Yes, that was pretty much a month ago. Like I said, lots going on.
Anyway, I had to go to the police station to get my NIE (número de identificación de extranjero, Foreigner Identification Number) and was expecting a rather arduous weight. This meant showing up at the police station at 7:30 for it to allow people in at 8:30 for it to open around 9 or 10. Three cheers for bureaucracy. I brought a book with me to pass the time, but was joined by some hungover EAP California kids. We played MASH to pass the time (ah, middle school sleepovers) and I married David Hasslehoff.
When I finished up everything around noon, I went back to my piso, took a nap, and then cleaned. Plans for the evening fell through, which resulted in whining in the apartment like a five-year-old who lost their favorite toy. This made me quite determined on Saturday to go on an adventure. Where to, you ask? Tibidabo.
Tibidabo is possibly the happiest place in Barcelona. It’s the Disneyland of Barcelona, except with a panoramic view of the entire city and an immensely beautiful temple. A note to my future husband, I would like to be proposed to here, please.
Half of the adventure was getting there and none of it was as I planned. In the end, I ended up taking a bus to Plaça Catalunya, walking to Plaça Universitària, taking a bus to the base of Avinguda Tibidabo, taking a tramvia (trolley) up Avinguda Tibidabo, and then taking a funicular (sort of like a cable car, except more enclosed) up to the summit. Tickets for the tramvia and funicular were not included in my metro pass and ended up adding to €8, but it was worth it a thousand times over ago.
Tramvia Blau, built in 1901
Going up the hill...
The funicular
There were little children dashing around with face paint, calling for their parents, and licking popsicle droplets off their fingers. Couples held hands, parents chased after children, and laughter and squeals of joy wafted through the cool, summit breeze.
Tibidabo is the oldest amusement park in Barcelona. The temple, Temple Expiatori de Sagrat Cor, began construction in 1902 and finished in 1961. The amusement park was built during the same time and still has some of the original rides from the turn of the 20th century. Now, it is six stories of endless fun (there’s even a little rollercoaster!) built into the side of the 512 meter mountain in the Serra de Collserola.
I ended up spending about two hours up there, but I easily could have spent all day. All I really wanted to see was the view and the temple, and neither disappointed. I’ve been blessed to see a number of views of the city already—from La Pedrera or the Arena de Barcelona—but this was definitely the best yet… I am unsure if anything can top it… literally. Seeing the entire city stretch out before me was a humbling reminder that I’ve seen so little of the city.
I walked around for awhile, smiling at the gleeful atmosphere. The happiness was palpable and contagious, yet just meters away stood a very solemn temple. The view behind the temple was equally amazing. It seemed as though the city rolled up the hill and then came to an abrupt stop, for behind the temple were only kilometers of rolling green hills.
The stone steps to the temple stretched higher and higher until I reached the sanctuary. It was quite beautiful, with mosaics, gorgeous paintings, and angel’s breath everywhere.
Fact: I hate crying. Yet churches here make me a weepy mess. I’ve just always associated church with family, having gone to the same church my entire life and being used to sitting in the pews with my family. But here I was, all aloney on my owny, in the happiest freaking place in all of Barcelona, nearly crying. Pathetic. But true. Sigh.
Nonetheless, it really was a great day. I will always look back on Tibidabo with the utmost fondness. And I will probably return.
I went home in the quickest way possible—funicular, tramvia, ferrocarril (sort of trains, but underground, but not a subway), metro, went to the grocery store, and then had two friends over for dinner. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we ended up being late for a concert at our church, but because of “Spanish time,” we were just fine.
Next up on the night’s schedule was bar-hopping in the Barrio Gótico. Now, sometimes the Gòtic can be a little sketchy at night. For hundreds of years, this area was surrounded by a wall and so the streets are like a labyrinth—narrow, serpentine, and occasionally poorly lit. Because of this, there is a tendency for drug dealers and other shady creatures to lurk about here, but the Gòtic is such an interesting, colorful place that it can’t be ignored. As always in a city, one must be careful and aware.
We ended up at a bar called the Harlem Jazz Club, which did not play jazz music, but instead Portuguese reggae. It was quite fun and we all marveled at the awesome couples who made salsa dancing look extremely easy. Next stop was a new wave/jive bar called Manchester’s. We pretty much fell in love with the place, doing the twist to our heart’s content and laughing with the zealous and enthusiastic DJ. After this, everyone was quite tired except for me and one of my other friends, so we met up with my roommate at the bar he works at and then went to Mary’s Place, a nearby club where I can get into free with dearest Abel.
I got home, showered, went to bed, and then woke up three hours later for church. I pounded coffee before the sermon and then insisted upon having coffee during our weekly Café Sunday session. I had planned on our group going to a little café on a street nearby my house called Carrer de Castillejos. You literally have to take escalators/stairs up the street because it’s so steep!
However, there was no food at the café, so we walked off quickly in search of something else. It started sprinkling at this point, but we settled into a café on the corner of Carrer de Cartagena, Avinguda Gaudí, and Carrer de San Antoni Maria Clare. We had an exuberant waiter who seemed quite happy to speak English with us, even when we were perfectly capable of understand his Spanish. This happens a lot. Sometimes it’s frustrating, but one just has to take it with a smile and respond in Spanish until they get the point… because it’s easier to understand Spanish than English here.
Which brings us to Monday. September 19. At this point, I had been in Spain for just a few days over a month and I was right on track emotionally. For the first month, everything was great and exciting—I saw lots of new things, played tourist, and was moving so fast that I did not have time to stop and miss home. However, one month in: I have my piso, my classes, and a routine, which means breathing time. Month two is usually pretty hard apparently, as is month three because this is a time of adjustment. The good thing is that it will pick back up. There are highs and lows—it’s an emotional rollercoaster.
Monday was a low. I didn’t do my homework and instead ate cereal straight from the box. Pathetic. However, by Wednesday, I had learned some new coping skills. I have discovered that when I’m in a bluesy mood, I like to cook… especially comfort food, which usually means soup. So that Wednesday the 21st, I made a soup with garlic, onion, carrots, potatoes, star pasta, and love while I read my favorite Spanish book La Sombra del Viento—definitely an improvement from cereal, I believe. Roomie Abel was rather bluesy that night as well and so I stayed up talking with him. Well, more like listening.
I’m usually a talker, but Spain has taught me how to be a good listener. When it’s tricky to articulate myself, I usually keep my thoughts to myself instead of voicing them. It’s not something I do purposefully, it just works out that way—I rarely dominate conversations here unless I’m with a bunch of strangers who suddenly realize I’m from California and began to fire questions at me: Why are you here? When did you arrive? How long will you be here? Do you like it? What have you seen?
But listening is a good skill to have, so I’m glad it’s something I’m acquiring. As promised, a few pictures of my piso!
Entryway
Hallway... my room is the first on the left and next is the kitchen
My room!
Bookshelf <3
My corkboard... on the left are all the places I've been and in the middle is my Spanish bucket list
Kitchen
Living room
The heart and soul of the piso... the terrace (la terraza)
Bomb homemade crepes: with banana and Nutella, Nutella and dulce de leche, and apple compote with brie cheese! Mmmmmm!
Roomie love!!!
I included a picture of Abel and I before we stuffed ourselves with the most delicious crepes ever on Thursday before the Mercè. What’s the Mercè, you ask? Basically, it is the best weekend ever in Barcelona. But that’s a story for another post. J
Courtney!!! Ran into your dad at Safeway and he told me about your blog. Called Kathleen and she sent me the link. Love your writing, love your voice. You have talent for sure. Glad all is well and hoping I see you over Christmas.
ReplyDeleteJulie Banks