I went back to the Spanish conversation group after it was postponed last week. I'm happy to say there were no feelings of shame and embarrassment this time around. I spoke Spanish freely and didn't blank out. I think it helps when you're a little familiar with the people in the group as well; it's good to break the ice a bit. Plus you don't need to put pressure on yourself in that situation. Just speak. But I like that group because it evolves into an hour of everyone just speaking Spanish organically to each other. It begins with the leader asking people questions, but then it becomes more friendly.
And another thing I like about that session is the fact the language of Spanish is like a mask. We all sound similar when speaking that language, but then when we revert back to English, that's when I can tell where everyone is from. There are a couple British people in there, a German, a Finnish girl and an Italian, plus the leader who is from Sevilla, Spain. Plus, I told Tim about the group and he seemed very interested, partly because he lived in Spain for 10 years and also because there are women to hit on there. Good man.
23/11 - Compared to three years ago, I had a better time in Barcelona because my Spanish has improved. I could communicate. However, Barcelona is in a province of Spain called Catalonia, so the primary language is Catalan, though Spanish is spoken too. They're different languages, and I couldn't understand anything the announcer said at the FC Barcelona game because everything there was in Catalan, even the people sitting around us. It's something that is learned just walking around the city. There are Catalonia flags everywhere, and I saw just a handful of Spain flags all Saturday. That's because Catalonia wants to separate from Spain and become its own country and there's animosity with Catalans and other parts of Spain. So essentially, I've visited Catalonia twice and Spain zero times.
Barcelona is a beautiful city. It has a unique personality when you consider all the narrow passages between large buildings that hide tiny shops and restaurants. We visited the cramped farmers market off La Rambla where there's fresh fruit, vegetables and meat all in one tiny, enclosed space. Then we scoped out Barcelona Cathedral, which is very old and very beautiful.
The Barcelona game was fantastic. There were about 75,000 people in Camp Nou and we had seats in the lower level in one of the corners. Just think about the crowd and fan section at Sacramento Republic FC games and multiply that a million times. We got to see Lionel Messi play, and he broke the La Liga scoring record with a hat trick against Sevilla (three goals in a game). He now has 253 Liga goals during his Barcelona career, so it was cool to be there for that accomplishment. That man is great, and so is his teammate Neymar. It was a joy to watch those guys play. And afterwards we walked through the streets with 70,000 other people and got some pizza and beers.
But Sunday morning things got off to a crap start. I ended up missing my flight back to London because I arrived less than 30 minutes before takeoff, so that means I had to buy a ticket at the airport and figure out a way to get back to Poole from Stansted Airport, which is, I just found out, is north of London, probably 20 miles away. That was about as enjoyable as any of my Business Strategy and Finance lectures. BUT...This abrupt and financially painful change of plan also brought with it an unforeseen trip into Central London, but not before my coach got into a small accident and the driver harassed by the man who definitely came away worse from contact with a large bus. Driving in London in a car is horrendous. Driving a large bus in London is a stress-producing nightmare. But we got to the Victoria coach station a little more than an hour before the next bus for Poole left, so that gave me a little time to get lost in my favorite place in the world. Though the day was a bit expensive, everything turned out just fine.
I've never been in love with a person, but I think I have that feeling with the city of London. Walking around Victoria Station, and later around Parliament and Big Ben, I found myself smiling and I had to stop myself from giggling too loudly so as not to alarm passerby too much. Three years later, I was back where my greatest memories were made. A tingling sensation began at the top of my head and traveled down my body, like the chills, though it was totally separate from the chilly, wet and rainy weather. And when I came within sight of the clocktower at Parliament, and later on Westminster Bridge where I could clearly see the London eye, River Thames and the rest of that familiar city landscape in that area, I felt a feeling of euphoria. Nothing has felt as good as that moment since I came back to the United Kingdom. Standing there for those five minutes with light rain pelting my face looking at the glowing clocktower and other places along the river was three years in the making. It was...glorious, like seeing the sun rise. I felt a bit emotional too. And to complete the experience, I rode the tube back to Victoria Station.
That one hour in Central London was the highlight of the weekend. I have no photos of that because my phone died right when I tried to take a picture, but that's OK. The memory is in my head, and that is the most important part. But really, I'm so incredibly lucky and fortunate to be here and have that experience. I'm also thankful for my great friends who do things like that for me. I'm going to live my life with the purpose of collecting meaningful memories so I'll die one day knowing I lived a great life, and this weekend was an example of that.
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