Barcelona, I Heart You So Much

After a year and a half spent staring into a 13-inch screen for ten hours a day amidst a pandemic, the gradual crumbling of our fragile democracy, and awareness of every type of social horror, I had a tiredness I could not shake. I could not sleep. My doctor prescribed medication (Trazodone) and melatonin, but I’m all about Team Benadryl. I had to get away. I been talking about going to Barcelona for years and one Saturday just decided to buy my ticket. I had never travelled solo to a place where I knew absolutely nobody before but I figured it could not be worse than the past year and a half.

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I wanted to be in Barcelona, to experience the culture and people, but I also I wanted to stay in a nice hotel. The idea of not making my bed or cleaning filled me with joy. (Turns out the experience of not making your bed or cleaning is incredibly joyful.) Hotel Barcelona 1882 is fantastic and affordable (by US standards) and I highly recommend.

As expected, I felt overwhelmed the first few days and strangely self-conscious. Even though I speak a California-Mexican somewhat eroding Spanish (which I thought would get me by) each time I spoke to someone I felt like the new girl in High School. I assumed everyone judged my Spanish, wondered why I was alone and assumed that I am a friendless isolater. Of course, nobody wasted a second of their Spanish lives thinking about me, and eventually I became humble enough to speak English when necessary.

Although I had planned to go to the Picasso museum, it was often sold out and I eventually realized that I didn’t really want to. I saw his exhibit at LACMA and the audio tour all but screamed that he was a misogynist asshole who alienated all the subjects of his art. Also one piece depicted a rape scene and should have had a trigger warning. I decided that it’s OK to not separate the art from the artist. I won’t judge the work, but it did bring up the question of why we assume arts value because someone told us to.

So I dove into Gaudi who loved Catalonia culture and really created so much in Barcelona. He often worked with recycled materials like glass and no detail was too small for thoughtfulness and focus.

Unlike Picasso or even Dali, Gaudi was a man of ideals. He served the highest calling. Whatever you think of the Catholic faith, La Familia Sagrada seems worthy of God, if there is one.

By LA standards, food in Barcelona is quite cheap. I didn’t always know what was on the menu, but I learned to just take the adventure of pointing at something and take my chances.

I didn’t want to perform comedy, but I needed to make friends. The community welcomed me so generously and I did two shows.

Coming home was rough. After two weeks of travel without losing anything vital like my passport or being robbed, I left my coat in the cab on the way to the airport. Then after arriving at LAX after 14 hours of flying I decided to do something I have never done in my life: take the bus home. I like to believe I was at the hallucinating stage of exhaustion. As I walked off at the bus transfer station, the bus driver called out, “Who left their bag here?” “I don’t know,” I responded. Then I yelled out to the other passengers, “Did someone leave their bag on the bus?” Nobody responded and I got on the next bus. Guess whose backpack was left on the bus?

One hyperventilating cab ride later a lovely tax driver drove me to the bus transfer area where I accosted the police, who could not have less interest in my plight. However, the original bus driver returned with my backpack! The bus driver and the taxi driver both received generous tips, though, no money in the world could be worth dealing with me.

After spending time in a city without homeless people, it felt extra shameful that our society allows people to live unhoused. Barcelona has so many laws on labor, food quality and other things that protect the dignity of life.

On that note, I had a wonderful time and not sure why I came back.