So, what made you come to Barcelona?

It's a question I often get ask, and one that I find impossible to answer.  It's a long story you see. One that began as a youth with dreams of white sandy beaches and dark hair beauties in red flower dresses, me, and a dog.  Where these images came from - I can't tell you.  As a child, I was lucky enough to visit many cities and countries in the world, but we never spent any significant time in Spain  My sister said we came to Barcelona once in the early eighties, but there were no rooms available, so we headed back to France. I don't remember, so I'm not sure if that counts as a visit.  Perhaps it's the British blood that drew me to the country, but my old man was more of a Francophile and a lover of the Greek islands than the Iberian peninsula, so I don´t think that explains it.

As I grew older, the visions of white sandy beaches, dark hair beauties and a dog faded as the everyday life of an American teenager became more of a concern (making friends, passing exams, and partying) and I didn't give much thought of Spain until after graduating from high-school I learned an old friend from when we were ten and living in England had moved to Madrid.  What a life - I thought, only contemplating it for a second as I had my own plans - two years at a community college followed by two more at a four year university where I'd get a degree in something that'd lead to a good job that paid lots of money.  It didn't quiet work out that way, and by the time my mid-twenties arrived, I was living in Los Angeles and working in technology, making a living.  I had a great group of friends and my family around me, but still something was missing, so to clear my mind I took a trip.  I thought about my old friend in Madrid, but heard Barcelona had a beach, so I went there instead.    

It was a far cry from the white sandy ones of my dreams: brown with shards of broken shells embedded in its rocky grains, las playas of Barcelona were nothing but the dredged up sand from the sea bed that were sardine packed by two in the afternoon.  But I didn't care.  It was like no other city I had ever seen.  The buildings were twisting and melting works of art, the parks had carved stone statues of the gods and the streets buzzed with life.  I met people of all ages from all over the world and partied till the crack of dawn and not once did anyone ask me what I did.  I had forgotten that there was so much more to life than earning enough money to buy a big house and a nice car, and I returned home refreshed and pensive.


Back in L.A.: I took stock of where I was.  In two years I was to turn thirty.  I still had my friends and family; although many were marrying or settling down, while those of us who hadn't were becoming jaded to the Hollywood scene.  Professionally, I had found my niche in on-line advertising as an account manager for a major search engine and earned high praise from my boss and a decent salary.  Still, there was this nagging feeling that I was destined to be that rung in American society that managed to get by as long as they worked hard and never fell behind on their credit card/mortgage/car/insurance/utility payments, or lost their job in a downsizing.  The thought of spending my entire adulthood worrying about getting fired, while paying off things I needed to buy and not enjoying life made me realize: there had to be another option, so I came to Barcelona.  That was over six years ago, and other than a six month stint in Cadiz, I've been by the brown rocky beaches ever since.  As for the dark hair Spanish beauty and the dog?  She's a blond from Andalucia and in three years.

So now that I've told you, tell me: What made you come to Barcelona?

Barcelona in October

October's coming to an end and I'm a little sad to see it go. It tends to be my favorite month in the city. The heat and humidity of summer is gone and the rains of September have finished, for the most part. The weather's perfect: warm enough to still sit out side during the day but usually with a breeze; at night a light jacket or a sweater suffices. There's this lazy haze in the air and it just seems everything's moving at half speed from the people to the cars to your brain. Walking around the different neighborhoods, you see the way the sun hits the buildings and brings out all the different shades of colors, giving them an almost painting-like feel. It's easy to understand why photographers and painters choose the month to capture the city. It also ends with Halloween which is getting bigger and bigger where every year. One of the more interesting parties is taking place in El Borne.

The Best Cure for Homesickness

I envy my friends from the U.K. or elsewhere in Europe. Normally, it's just a few hours to fly back home where they can spend a long weekend visiting family and friends. In fact, if I were to change one thing about Spain it'd geographical and shrink the Atlantic, but I can't, so it's usually a fourteen hour trip back to the west coast every one or two years.

Why do I wish home was closer? Well of course, it'd be to see friends and family with more regularity and catch up. Also, I think no matter how integrated a person is in their adoptive land, there are still things they miss from home - a favorite restaurant, dish or even a smell. In my case, it's In-and-Out, corn beef hash and a freshly cut lawn.  More than anything it feels good to be home.

But being back also reminds me why I chose to live in Spain. Every second commercial is for a pill with depression and penile dysfunction being the most common, making me wonder what's causing people to be so sad and impotent. Ten days vacation is the average and it's to be taken throughout the year.  Drinks with friends have to be short and sweet now that we're sensible adults and don't drink drive. You need a car to go everywhere and there are more of them making traffic horrendous.  Even customs - like tipping - seem strange and hypocritical when it's now up to two bucks a beer and still nothing at McDonalds.

All these grievances or situations don't appear in Spain. By law pharmaceutical advertisements are regulated, meaning there are less ailments in need of a pill.  There's at least a month of holidays, plus local fiestas and bridge-days; the day before or after a public holiday depending on when the weekend is. Drinks with friends last until the end of the conversation thanks to public transportation and a car is to be rented for weekend excursions, saving on the monthly cost of payments, insurance, gas and parking/speeding tickets. Sure Spanish service is slow and surly but at least there's not a twenty percent surcharge in the form of a tip and the tax is included in the price on the menu.

Basically, every time I come back from the states, my decision to come to Spain feels vindicated. Is it paradise? No, but neither is Fiji during hurricane season. Is it the country I imagined? No, but that's not bad necessarily either. Do I enjoy every day? No, but I doubt there's anywhere that I will given my temperament. Is it better than the alternative? Yes, in my opinion, but I'm an aging slacker.

The Savage Waters of the Mediterranean

Next event in Barcelona is the World Surfing Championships

Are They Really that Happy?

As I mentioned a while ago, Barcelona was ranked recently as the third happiest city in the world by Forbes magazine. Is it true?  Well, it depends.

I don't know if it's similar in other major cities in Spain, having only lived in Cadiz for a bit, but there really does seem to be two Barcelonas. The one of foreigners and the one of locals. 

Ask an expat, and in general they'll say they love the place for all these reasons. After all they came to Barcelona for a reason, usually the weather. If they're one of the chosen few, they'll be working from home for a European company or for themselves, often in technology or as a small business owner, earning a decent salary.  Even English teachers generally earn enough working twenty hours a week to live and travel.

Ask a local, and they'll say it's the best and complain how expensive it's gotten over time. Each year their salaries are stretched a little bit more, barely keeping up with inflation. Meanwhile, they're expected to work harder and put in longer hours. The cost of housing has sky-rocketed, but the only new buildings are half a million each with a view of the sea or a hotel.

Review - Courting the Bull

Sorry for not posting much lately. I've had some pending matters that have required my undivided attention but not so much so it stopped me from reading Courting the Bull - An anthology of expatriate literature in Spain.

For anyone interested in what Spanish life is like, I recommend buying this book.  Plus, you'll be supporting your fellow expats.  Broken down into three sections, the first is a collection of essays describing different experiences and the reasons the writers chose Spain as their adoptive home.

Next comes some short stories with Mediterranean Lady Seeks A Friend, a noir-ish tale of scams before the euro being my favorite. I just wish it were a bit longer. Hector a tale of a working-joe is another standout. But they're all entertaining and offer a diverse view-point.

Finally, there's some poetry. I have to admit, I'm not a big fan which speaks more for me than the art form, but I found myself pleasantly surprised by how the writers were able to capture Spain and the life here.

So there you have it. Buy the book.