Spring Break : Barcelona

Hunter, putting up two blogs on the same day - impossible, you say?

To pick up the story again:
Kevin came to Paris on Monday, and we spent a few days wandering together before flying down to Barcelona for the last four days of Spring Break.

From Park Guell, on top of a hill above the city:


I was expecting my Spanish to emerge from its cramped dormant state (after 6 years of cultuvation, only to be put away and supplanted with Italian!) but in Barcelona everyone's speaking Catalan so I never knew what the hell was going on anyway. The Catalan dialect seemed as different from Spanish as Italian. But I was still able to sort out enough Spanish to get by.

Some interesting Catalan words:
- "with" (Spanish: "con," Catalan: "amb")
- "only" (Spanish: "solo," Catalan: "suelto")
- "beach" (Spanish: "playa," Catalan: "platja")
- "milk" (Spanish: "leche," Catalan: "llet")


It was 70-75 degrees the whole time. Maybe half a dozen clouds in the sky for the whole weekend. It was an unreal place, more relaxed than Florence and Paris, but not immediately similar to the southern Spain I lived in during high school. The hostel was fabulous. It's called the Sant Jordi Diagonal - centrally located and very homey. Recommended. A good place to finish "The English Patient," also recommended.


It took us an hour or so of walking (down the central street Passeig de Gracia and then down La Rambla, the big pedestrian street) to find older Barcelona. The Barri Gotic neighborhood is small and thick in ways unlike the rest of the sprawl, and the Barceloneta neighborhood by the water is charming low-key residential. This, and also several Starbucks downtown (dare I sound excited?) offering the simple pleasure, unheard of in Italy, of walking with a hot drink.


Parc Guell, a tiny portion of which is pictured above, is Gaudi's grand architectural and landscaping project on the hill near Vallcarca, and it was fun to climb up to see the view with Kevin. We had an easy few days together, eating tapas when we could (although this gets expensive for small-time travelers like us) and checking out the young life. In the parks, lots of guitars, drums, martial arts and capoeira, and more juggling than I imagine I'd see in Italy all spring.

Paris felt like traveling. Barcelona felt like a vacation.


Much of the beach area was under construction, but can you really complain?? It was a really fun place: the sunny ease of southern California combined with the old-world compactness and the deeper histories of Europe.

Can't say the week was especially relaxing, though. I think it took us all by surprise how much we enjoyed coming back to something familiar. Where's the fun sensation of traveling, after all, if you're not departing from somewhere meaningful? The whole story of travel is always, in some form, about the return as well.

See you soon (especially Dad and Libby - so excited),

Love, Hunter.

Spring Break : Paris

Hey everyone,

So I'm finishing up my first week back in Florence. Imagined the return might provide some time to coast since we had four midterms last week, but we're back in it deep again. Villa life is in many ways a comfort, though, after some barebones meals and less-than-great accomodations over Spring Break. We came back to Florence thankful for clean beds, familiar scenery and friends reliably close-by. Funny, how most of us
now refer to it as coming home.


Left on an overnight train to Paris an hour after Psychology class on Thursday evening. Ten days to ourselves, starting with some travel with the ever-reliable Eden Schiffman on an overnight train. Not especially comfortable to sleep suspended in the air on a narrow foam pad rocking around on an iron frame, but we slept the best we could to get ready for a busy week. At Bercy station we parted, Eden going to meet his girlfriend and spend a few days in the Latin Quarter. I found my way to Friends Hostel up near Montmarte (a dank impersonal dorm-style place, not especially recommended) and then explored the neighborhood.

Montmarte is the highest point in Paris, and if you get off the main streets nearby full of bad discount clothing stores you find yourself in a quieter neighborhood of flower shops, cafes, and bakeries -- even an old colorful carousel. Amelie, we imagine, lives nearby. It's a lovely slice of the old city.


By the end of Saturday my intrepid spirit had completely outworn my legs and feet. Walked down from Montmarte to Île de la Cité and Notre Dame, then up along the river and sat on the grounds of the Louvre near the pyramid. Then walked through the Tuilieries to the Hôtel des Invalides, then to the Tour Eiffel. After taking a break to read another solid 50 pages of "The English Patient" and watching the families stroll by, I fixed my eye on the tall dark Tour Montparnasse in the distance and set off toward the horizon. Near the tower, an hour later, I found the lovely Cimetiére du Montparnasse, where Sartre and Emile Durkheim are buried. This was the first place that day where I felt I could really rest -- how relaxed can one be while guarding a backpack around the Eiffel Tower? Later, I visited the Luxembourg Gardens, the Panthéon, and crossed the river once more and walked to the Opera House. Finally, I headed back to the hostel. I am one, after all, who wants to feel like I know where I am. And this grand circuit helped me fall asleep that night.

Didn't make it back right away, however, because I bumped into fellow Villains Laura Larson and Lynsey Weston in the Metro. We went out to dinner in the Latin Quarter, and of course I had a better time with them than I would have eating out of a grocery bag back on the dark Boulevard de la Chapelle.


The rest of my Paris trip was wonderful. Many museums in Paris are free on the first Sunday of the month, so Lynsey and Laura and I visited the Musée d’Orsay and the Louvre. We also climbed the Arc du Triomphe and from the top admired the sharp symmetry in the layout of downtown Paris. Had a few treats, such as hot chocolate at Angelina's cafe near the Louvre, but overall lived economically and got to know Paris from the street merchants and the families in the parks rather than from grand hotel doormen or the staff at Louis Vuitton. Explored some of the smaller cracks in-between the icons, and as a result I feel like I'm walking away with something more special. The sight-bus equivalent wouldn't have felt real enough to me, I don't think.


I was happy to realize that a city of such cultural importance might not be too overwhelming for me, after all. Who am I, I had thought, compared to what a city like Paris represents in the minds of my friends and in my culture? I had been wondering on the overnight train if I might not be knocked over completely and submerged in something deeper, more beautiful, and more profound than myself (I later reminded myself that, ideally, this is why we travel at all). But by the end of my stay in Paris, I knew I could stand my own ground in this new place. I began to feel the city lived inside me, not just the other way around. It must mean I've found something of Paris of personal importance, even if it was quick and temporary. It'll mean something next time, too.

Off to Barcelona -- Love, Hunter.