“You speak the Spanish of a Latin American..”
…is what Daila told me one day, as I bumbled through my distinctly non-catalunyan, non-spanish spanish.
So I will try harder to blend in.
I cannot believe I almost didn’t go to Spain. It turned out to be the most refreshing turn of events I had since my ACL reconstruction surgery in December, and it nearly didn’t happen because of how I went about executing the preparation for the trip.
Due to some communication mishaps, some poor last-minute decision making, followed by some even poorer luck, I arrived in Barcelona without having made contact with anyone I was meeting, with no extra money after buying passage a mere day before and furthermore without access to the funds in my stolen wallet that had been filched in Hollywood the night before leaving. I exited the airport and my fears were confirmed: The euro mobiles..er, cell phones, weren’t being answered and I was gonna have to sleep in the airport for a week before catching my return flight back. Alas, I only waited two hours. But it sure felt like a long time. And this is what I did:
The first thing I saw when I woke up.
Then we went here.
I got to check out a ton of rock and eat delicious food. Well, it was normal food but just tasted better over there. Oliana is a huge concentration of steep, long routes. Here’s the DG on the warm up:
And Daila lowering off her gigantic, overhung project, “Fish eyes, 8c,” which she later sent.
Molly, the cat from America who lives in Catalunya.
Our last night in beautiful Montserrat with Jae and Jordi: