The Second Time Around

When I came to Barcelona the first time, I was 20 years old, my Dad had recently passed away, and I felt like there was an entire world out there ahead of me. I decided to do something different, and planned a trip across the pond with Barcelona being my first stop. I absolutely fell in love with the city--it's churches, it's narrow and dark streets, it's tapas, it's understated beaches, it's funky modern art (that is featured in almost more places than you'd like), and just about everything my eager self could experience. I continued to travel over the next few weeks, and nothing I experienced gave me the same feeling that Barcelona did.


If you can't catch a sunset, you can always opt for the sunrise... The beach in Barcelona.

I began my second venture into the city by catching a sunrise on the beach, which was made all the more easy by staying in Barceloneta--the sort of fishing district of the city full of old-timers. I then spent the next couple of days visiting the same sights and reminiscing a little bit (Is there an age or some kind of defining moment that permits somebody to reminisce? I don't really feel like I'm old enough...). I walked the city and road the subway to almost everything I had been to before: La Sagrada Familia, La Padrera, Parc Guell, the beaches, and of course, the absolutely ridiculous shrimp statue that resides along the waterfront between Barceloneta and La Rambla (Barcelona's main and unavoidable boulevard full of "gifted" performers).

From Left to Right: L-Antoni Gaudi's unfinished tribute to the Sacred Family, La Sagrada Familia. It's still the most impressive cathedral I have ever seen, and it almost makes me want to go to church. M-The chimey's of La Padrera, another of Gaudi's mystifying works. R-Parc Guell, yet another one of Gaudi's productions, initially a privately owned park that was eventually opened up to the public.

I took in some new things too, like the nighttime music/fountain show at Montjuic (It sounds really cheesy, but damn, if there is anything more romantic than watching the sun set from above the city with a huge museum in the background, a fountain in front of you, and Madonna blaring over the speakers then I want to know about it--whether you're alone or not), and continued my fascination with world futbol by taking in an FC Barcelona game (Thanks George!). I made friends with the guy that worked at the Burrito joint down the street, and found a comfortable watering hole [read: tapas joint] complete with surly AND nice servers. All in all, everything that I experienced didn't lack any of the emotions I've experienced in my prior 6 months of travel, and it wasn't all that different than the first time I came here, but at the same time was.


I was privelaged enough to almost perfectly capture the closest thing to a goal that I saw during the FC Barcelona v. Getafe football match.

So what did I learn from going back? I'm still trying to figure it out. The city has remained pretty much the same, but my experiences this time around were different. I knew how to speak Spanish (even though the population prefers to speak in their native Catalan tongue), I wasn't with my buddy Thomas, and I've grown up--though I still like to visit the occasional club, my daily routine was a lot different this time. Plus, you'd think that seeing so many things would skew my fondness for Barcelona, but I don't think it really did or has. It's always going to be the first place I ever traveled abroad, and even if it happens to suck each and every time I go back, I'm still going to have those memories. And I will constantly be reminded of what was probably the most important period of growth in my entire life every time I think of the city.

Now, it's off to Istanbul and Turkey...


Dear Uncle Gary, Finally, here is another picture of me. I have decided that I will not cut my hair until I get home. Mostly because I will probably never let it grow long again in my entire life, or at least until a supersweet midlife crisis. But also, because I am afraid of getting my haircut in all of the countries that I will visit. Love, Cullen

There Were No Rabbits

As I write this my fingers stick from lemon juice and wreak of seafood. It’s probably because I just finished up a little tapas session in Sevilla, though it could be a result of saving three elderly women who were coming out of Easter Mass from being hit by a produce truck that happened to also be carrying shrimp. Really, it’s a result of whichever cause you prefer. Anyway, I’ve been here for just a couple of days now, but it already feels too long. I’m not sure exactly why--the sky has few clouds, it’s about 70 degrees, and everybody around me seems to be in a pretty good mood. On the other hand, my short stint here didn’t really start on the right foot...



I hopped aboard another night bus in Porto headed for Sevilla in hopes of catching a glimpse of the world-renown Semana Santa Processions held throughout the week, before Easter Sunday. I can’t claim to have ever been religious, but the devotion of others--and their beliefs--have always and will always be something that interests me, particularly the way they express it. I kind of figured that the buses in Europe wouldn’t be as swank as the ones in Argentina, or even Brazil, or even Bolivia, but oh well; it was a more affordable and straightforward option than anything else I had. The first part of the trip was going alright until we stopped somewhere in Portugal--I believe Lisbon--and were told that we had to change buses in order to go to Sevilla. I’m kind of used to things like this happening despite the fact that you ask in advance if you have to do such a thing, but this time ended up being a little different. I grabbed my bag and tossed it into the compartment under the bus, and headed for a seat in the bus. Only the bus driver was standing in front of the door arguing with a girl over not allowing her to bring her backpack on board. From what I could decipher (thankfully they were speaking in Spanish), he wasn’t giving her any kind of reason as to why she couldn’t bring it on board, except that she couldn’t. All the while, everybody and their mother was hustling on board with their bags--the bus driver paying no attention. I kind of felt like the guy was just being a jerk to the girl, so I figured I’d ask him if I could bring my bag on. I know I pretty much asked for it, but the guy decided to turn his power trip on me, cussing me out in Spanish and telling me that if I didn’t put my backpack under the bus I couldn’t get on. I asked him to give me a reason as to why, and he kept yelling “NO SE PUEDE!!! [You can’t]” I, being the pretty persistent kid that I am, continued on by asking him where in the regulations of his bus company did it say that I was not allowed to bring a bag on board. He kept yelling, but I noticed that the girl he was yelling at earlier had gotten on with her bag. It was at this point where I gave up my argument and put my other bag under the bus and told him that if anything happened to my stuff, he would be paying for it. Oddly enough, he seemed to calm down as a result--though I still had to put my bag under. It was ridiculous, and I was so riled up that I didn’t sleep much for the rest of the night. That, in a nutshell, is how I arrived to Sevilla.

Thankfully, I was able to check in early when I got here, and slept off a little bit of my frustration. The situation has made me continually think a bit about some of the other things I need to work on, like not letting people get to me so much. At the same time, is it a bad thing to let it bother you that people are power tripping on others that seem to be ‘smaller’ than them? If you have the answer, or at least an idea, I’d love to know.

As I said before, the city itself is beautiful. There are tons of parks, water fountains, an unbelievable cathedral--a true architectural marvel, and the Alcazar--a spectacular palace occupied by both Spanish and Islamic royalty for centuries. In short, there are tons of things to keep you busy and entertained. Plus, Sevilla is supposed to be the Tapas capital of the free world.

Unfortunately, sometimes it’s the little things that make the difference between feeling at ease, or feeling uneasy. It was hard for me to get into the Easter Processions, because of this:

I have a lot of respect for religion, and the beliefs of others, but I shivered when I saw these guys come out with pointy hoods and robes. Though I tried, I couldn't really shake my prior associations between pointy hoods, robes, and the KKK...

Plus, the tapas would have tasted better if most of the bars hadn’t limited their restaurant menus to raciones--portions larger than tapas--as a result of all the tourists in town (This means you have to order more of one item, which means you get less variety, which therefore means that you ultimately don’t enjoy the point of tapas). And more importantly, I was limited from one of the things that I enjoy most: eating.

Oh well, so my time in Sevilla wasn’t as sweet as I had hoped. Sometimes [read: Most of the times] you just have to roll with the punches and keep on moving. That’s the benefit of seeing so many things in such a short period of time. There is always something to look forward to, and some new adventure right around the corner. Though, I suppose that can be applied to almost any place in life... If you choose.