Forget going out to participate in independista marches and celebrations. It's right outside my window. Literally, right outside the window. (Window faces out into a conjunction of a supermarket, real market, library, old people residence, and small plaza. So they're in the plaza.) I would take a picture, but the old people residence terrace blocks my view, but I sure can hear all their calls for freedom, and modern/traditional Catalan music (sometimes mixed together in one song). 

I came home at 7:05 this morning. Even for a Spaniard, that's pretty late. This morning, (uh, later this morning) my roommate said, "Ah, yes, you now live in Barcelona." 

It should come as no surprise that the more my clothes smell like a bar, the happier I am in Barcelona. 

Really though, I have been far too busy and social to be lonely and miserable, which is very healthy and good. But knowing how doleful I like to be, I am missing sulking alone with ice-cream and Grey's Anatomy. Pretty sick, but oh so satisfying...

Be jealous.

Tonight, our argentino neighbor came over with his guitar and his accent. My vasca friend and I were checking out some modern vasco groups, and the songs they sing...in euskera! We had to stop as the argentino started playing to an audience of me, the vasca, my roommate, and her two friends, one from Aragón, and one from Navarra. He was playing some classic Spanish guitar music, and yes, being the good españolas they are, started dancing along. And I mean, some seriously beautiful, this-runs-in-your-blood/how-do-you-move-like-that hip movements and dance steps. To them, it was natural, simple, childish. Later, the girl from Navarra, and the argentino and I bonded over our love for Paco de Lucía and were absolutely shocked that the two girls from Aragón did not know who he was. 

To sum up, argentinian accent + real live Spanish guitar + some good old vasco blood (some bruta, some not) = my new Spanish family. 

All I can say is, "thank you. Thank you very much for providing the humyn connection that I have found here with only one other persyn. 

Que viva la noche, la música, los amigos, y el amor. And something I've been waiting a very long time to say authentically, que viva España. 

Italian Godchild

Adrienne asks, "what exactly is an Italiano godchild?"

Behold:

Yes, his name: Domiciano. The name of a cruel Roman emperor, but this boy is anything but. Or is he? 

Domi, our ferocious little bambino italiano, loves, loves, love the cats. And riding on tractors. And helping out on the farm. And setting the table. That is definitely his thing. 

He doesn't like most music that was played, and made funny faces at it, and if I may wax a bit poetical here, during those times, we said nothing to each other, but communicated everything that ever was and will be in this starry world. 

I don't really know what else to say. Except that he's perfect. And that I was gushing like a teenage-girl-meeting-her-favorite-rock-star when I finally got the courage to ask dear Domi for this foto. 

I seriously cannot wait to see how this kid grows up. I really hope he never stops playing with the cats. And keeps studying el castellano.

Piemonte

Ah, Italy: yellow houses, green trees, and bikes!

Although my camera did stop functioning the second day of my trip, I was able to snap about five pictures. I was unfortunately, however, unable to capture the castle behind the vineyard, and the other castle to the left of the nocciola (hazelnut) plantation. What, don't you have at least two castles in your daily sight? How very non-Italian of you!

Capturing this picture made the lack of other ones bearable. Yes, those are hanging pumpkins. And yes, you will never appreciate the weight of a heavy pumpkin if you just buy them at the market and take them home with you. One must fit them up with string, properly shlep them around from place to place, and then hoist them up to the banister to be hanged. 

Apparently, hanging pumpkins allows them to avoid contact with any other surface, thereby permitting them to avoid humidity and you know, rot! This is a fancy Brasilian trick. Thank you Wanessa!

Piemonte is a breathtaking region. Lush, rolling green hills, with a very fine mist settling in the morning and afternoon. This lights up the valley and gives everything a diaphanous glow. It is magic, and you should probably visit soon.

No limpiamos si no ganamos!

Walking back from class today, I stumbled head-on into a march/demonstration of people in the janitorial industry demanding higher wages. I couldn't take a picture because my hand was occupied by a papaya gelato cone. And that really says everything about privilege one ever needs to know. 

Ostia

Apparently the Parcs i Jardins division decided today that they should trim what few trees there are around here. Being a rational, reasonable person such as myself, I understand that you may want to cut away some twigs here and there, you know, the ones that poke people in the eye when they step out on their balcony. But as evidenced by the picture, nearly half of the top of the tree has been cut down. Fantastic! Very well! Let's just decrease the amount of shade and oxygen producing plants we have even further! (And of course, release some more carbon dioxide back into the atmosphere.) 

Thanks Barcelona, thanks. I love you too. 

Seriously, why did no one ever suggest that maybe I would like to visit this place before committing to staying here for an entire year?