Mi amor: Barcelona

Highlights of the week:
1. I realized Rick Steves is not some lame dude my Grandpa swears by, he actually knows his stuff. For 15 euros a night we stayed at Hostel Malda in a huge room in what appears to be a really freaking old (and therefore sweet!) building.
2. In the midst of being lost, the metro conductor closed the doors so fast that Patrick and I got stuck on the train (Anna might say we left her at the station, this is a bold falsification). The group of Barcelona kids drinking rum and cokes out of plastic bottles behind us thought it was hilarious.
3. I woke up early one morning to explore and get breakfast alone. No one was in the streets. It was so peaceful to walk through the tiny, old, clean alleys in silence. In the States, this peacefulness only exists around 6 in the morning. It was almost 9. Maybe I can be a morning person in Spain.
4. From the ancient-feeling stone alleys of Barrio Gótico to the wide streets on the hill by Parc Güell to the colorful, narrow alleyways to the beach, there wasn't a single place I wouldn't want to live forever.
5. One word: bicycles.
6. I speak Spanish. Barcelona speaks Catalán. Therefore I must speak Catalán.
7. Washing off our feet as we left the beach, an older woman opened up to us. She cried about the power of God but never lost her composure. She opened up to us. Her favorite things in life: coffee, the beach and God.
8. Drinking the cheapest beer in Spain and watching FCB win a game!
9. Pat's pasteurized milk. I had forgotten how much I love that stuff.
10. Collecting beach glass by the water and thinking about how I get to see my Grandma in a week or so. I wasn't happy on the beach-I was content. Much better if you ask me. I wasn't excited about Barcelona like I was about Paris, but I did feel like I had found a potential home.