Just When You Think You're Safe

Many of you are aware of my feelings for Iceland at the moment. There is no love lost between us and I would venture to say I am approaching a deep level of hatred for that little island. In fact I have big plans to become the Empress of Svalbard someday and when my chance comes I will unleash a full scale attack on Iceland. By that I mean begin a series of strategical paintball battles and color them unhappy. Yes, someday they will pay for the trouble they have caused me.

In case you missed it, the ash cloud of destroyed dreams, after a brief vacation over the Atlantic, has begun to drift over southern Europe. All of Spain, Morocco, and parts of Scotland, Germany, and Italy have closed their airports and the mysterious predictors of the ash movements have said it will soon be moving to Turkey. As of now I'm sticking to my original plan which is to go to London Saturday, from there Istanbul on Wednesday, and from there back to Rome on Friday, just in time for my flight to exotic New Jersey on Saturday. But of course whatever the ash wants, the ash does, so my plans could be completely different depending on whether or not I can perfect my telekinetic powers in order to move the ash to outer space and let the zombie aliens deal with it. I'll keep you posted.

Yes, I'm back Barcelona

Sunday I woke up early, checked out of the hostel, and walked to the Picasso Museum. This is the only picture I could take before getting yelled at in three languages. I hate it when museums ban photography. It was an interesting exhibit although they had a strict people flow policy that made me feel rushed, and I don't like to be rushed. Picasso was an interesting fellow. This is a painting he made as a reaction to Velazquez's princess in "Las Meninas" It's interesting to see how his work went from being very academic to jarring colors and abstract forms. He was either a innovative genius or drank too much Absinthe, probably both.

After that museum I walked over to this gorgeous park which was having a little festival with kids games, a temporary wall for graffiti, food, music, and lots of people. I walked around taking pictures and came across, what else? but an arch, probablt has something to do with triumph if I know Europe.




After the park I booked it back to the hostel to get my bag then walked to the train which took me to the airport. I should have guessed something was wrong when the train has barely any people on it, but leave it to me to be oblivious. I began walking toward security when over the loud speaker I heard the announcement that the entire airport had been shut down due to the volcanic ash. I looked out the glass doors and the sun was shining, so I turned to the nearest airport employee and asked if that was a sick joke. She said no then directed me to the line for my air carrier. I waited in line for an hour and a half to switch my flight to Monday. Then hopped back on the bus to get to the train to get back to the city, because there was no way I was going to spend 24 hours in the airport. I got back to the hosteling hoping ang praying they had an available bed for the night, and as it happens they had had several cancellations because of the volcanic ash. So I put my stuff in another room and headed out to watch the sunset on the fountains in Placa Catalunya. I was handed a flier for a flamenco dancing show. Perhaps because it was Sunday night, I was the only one who showed up for it, so instead of creepily going alone, I went into a nearby restaurant and got a got a drink and dinner and tried not to think about how much I hated Iceland.

Really Iceland? Really?

Iceland sure picked a horrible time to become globally relevant. I was supposed to meet Helen this past weekend in Barcelona, but her flight was canceled so I was forced to go alone. I got there midday on Friday and after a slight delay finding a map and buying a (delightful) chocolate croissant, I finally made it to the hostel which turned out to be this cool backpackers haven with free internet access! I settled into my little Ikea bed and set off in search of the free walking tour that a poster hung up in the lounge displayed. Only about 5 people showed up for the tour which was sweet and more intimate. We walked around the Gothic quarter of Barcelona seeing such sad places as where Franco had rebels shot, and a building that was made with Jewish gravestones when the Moors exiled them all. But we also saw some funky stuff like a portrait of the founder of Catalonia: William the Hairy, and the patron saint: George (both supposed slayers of Dragons), various buildings designed by Gaudi (but really you'd be hard pressed to find a building not designed by Gaudi within three feet of where ever you happen to be standing in Barcelona), and we ended the tour at a bar on the Port with a free glass of beer.
After the beer three of us decided to sign up for the paella and sangria cooking lesson that was going to begin just then because we got a discount and the guide said the seafood would be fresh, most tourist traps all have frozen seafood in their incredibly over priced paella. So we joined three other tourists and we all watched as the chef chopped the ingredients and took turns stirring it on the giant pan (and yes, in my book that counts as cooking my own paella). Then the bar tender called us aside and gave us all the ingredients to make our own sangria. It was delicious. Just look: