The Church, The Fortress and The Storm

Sunday...  what better day to decide to go to church? Not just any church but Sagrada Familia itself. I finally managed to book  the ticket online and was able to access it without waiting. I attempted to go there on Friday, but the queue of tourists was holding the church in a tangled grip like Anaconda its victims - spending 3 hours in a queue is not my idea of fun. So here I was, on the 'God's day' entering the church. I was raised catholic and I hold very dear memories that are under-towed with bits and pieces of this faith. However, over the years, my love of the world became too unconditional... while the church continues throwing conditions on people's shoulders and casting judgements on people's lives... so I am not sure what I am in terms of faith... though I don't think it really matters that much to have a label for everything.

So, Sagrada Familia... It's still not finished and it won't be for many years to come, though it's still pretty impressive. I must confess, I like it more from the inside. The building looks very imposing when you look at from he outside, however there is so much to take in because every little bit of it is trying to tell a story. Inspecting the facade is like being in a very crowded and busy street... you don't know where to look first, it's an ambush for brain and senses.  However, the inside... felt much calmer... it was like entering into an enchanted forest... I don't quite know how to describe it. It was fairly simple (especially if you compare it with the outside) but so much more powerful.

I never liked churches much... especially because they were meant to be a place you felt closer to God... made to impress you... and made COMPULSORY... which to me seemed quite strange and confusing when I was a child. I did not see a reason why God should care where you pray... but apparently according to the priest it was a big deal. You know, first they tell you God is everywhere and loves you unconditionally, then they tell you have to go to church to communicate with him otherwise he will not love you as much, since you will be a sinner... now that is REALLY confusing for a 7 year old child! They need to get their stories straight.

 Anyway, if I ever felt anything even remotely close to 'godly' or 'supernatural' or 'holly'... it was never when I was closed among thick church walls... it was always outside,  surrounded with people... laughing, dancing... on the hill tops, in the meadows, in the streets, on the bus... in the simplest of places under the most common circumstances.

Sagrada Familia was a little different... it felt supernatural and even holly. The pillars were like tree trunks supporting the swirling sky of light, shapes and colours. I believe it felt that way because the building was an act of passion, act of love.. perhaps it was for God as well, but first of all that building was built for its own sake. That's why Gaudi's work is so good... because it's full of passion, made just for the simple reason of being.

I mingled inside for couple of hours, inspecting every corner... in the end I just set down and stared at the ceiling... without really thinking anything in particular. It was just very pleasant to look at.

When I got out it was already quite late but since this was my last full day, I wasn't going to give up on anything. To save time and energy I took a taxi back to the centre to La Rambla. I walked down the street, almost down to the shore and headed for the Montjuic fortress. I heard the view from there was amazing, though again I went there to give a shape to another bit of the story - Shadow of the Wind.

Montjuic Castle, as I remembered from the book, was supposed to be a dark place with even darker history. I do believe it has a very dark history in the real world, as well. However, making my way up there through green flowery gardens peppered with fountains and sunlight, it was hard to imagine that darkness.

That day, the whole of Barcelona yielded to the sun. Montjuic offered an amazing panorama of the sea, the city and the mountains on the north. I did the only sensible thing... I bought a cup of coffee sat down and watched and listened... the view... the people... old and young, families, couples, friends, lone passersby... tourists and locals... God how  I love doing that! It's a great way to see wonderful things. I don't care what anybody says, people are kind and good (especially when they think no one is watching), I have seen it too many times to remain sceptical.

The storm was approaching from the sea. The seaside turned grim within seconds  while the city glowed in sunshine... the storm did not seem to travel in any closer but it brought gusts of cold wind and I shivered. I got pretty used to the warmth in these few days... and I knew I will have to pay for this when I will have gotten back to Edinburgh. Montjuic was showing its dark side at last... I love storms... they sweep away dust and bring in fresh air (this time meant literally as well as metaphorically). In any case, I decided to return to the hostel... I started to be cold and a long and busy Spanish night out awaited me! 

The World is Yours... If you want it!

Where was I?

Oh, right... I was high! OK, I was IN high spirits, to be more precise. I think I walked for around 7-8 hours that day. When I got back to the hostel it was around 7pm... In that instant, I would sell my soul for a hot shower. Luckily I did not have to go to such extremes... That would be a really, really poor bargain but as we all know, it's hard to maintain perspective in the heat of the moment. Plus, I am not quite sure who would even want to buy my soul, it's a bit annoying and high maintenance - I would know.

But back to the point. I took a shower (in the cleanest hostel shower room I've ever seen by the way - meaning I was not afraid to touch it) and when I got back to my room I toppled on my bed, powerless.  For  10 whole minutes I stared into space doing nothing. Then, revitalised, I jumped up and crawled to the common area for dinner. People were already gathering up.

Dinner time in the hostel was one of my favourite parts of the day (though I cannot think of a part that wasn't one of my favourite... it was a damn good holiday, what can I say?). What I loved about it was that at the beginning of the evening  we all started out as bunch of strangers... you might have known one or two people from the night before... or there were some people who travelled in a group (surprisingly not that many.... there was a lot of 'lone rangers' like me though) but within an hour... or even minutes the whole scene was transformed what seemed to be amusingly chaotic family gathering.

It always starts with an exchange of basic information like your name, origin, occupation... reasons for travel, etc. Then, you fall in deeper... share your travel mishaps... well, it's really up to you how far you go. Once in while you experience what I call 'the instant click'... the moment you meet  a person and in a matter of seconds... after  just a few sentences, you feel like you knew each other for years... you know each other because you came feel and think in a very similar way despite the fact your life have been completely different. Fascinating isn't it? So, without knowing it, you find yourself in a room full of life stories instead of strangers.

What I found particularly interesting  was that after people asked you why were you here and for how long, the next questions was almost unmistakably:  'Where are you going next?'

I must confess it startled me at first. I was just on holidays... or was I?

It startled me because I was not thinking in those terms... I was not in that beautiful mindset of a wandering traveller! How infuriating! Though it also made me happy... because all those people around me were breathing life into the attitude of perpetual motion - expecting  and accepting change. Perhaps it was because they were young and on the road but I secretly wished it stayed with them their whole life... I wished they would never take anything for granted...never take the situation for definitive, unchangeable. That they would never slip into this fatalistic outlook on life that is like sponger sucking on the roots of our insecurities.

Life is change... nothing but constant change for the better or for worse. Nothing lasts forever and everything... literally EVERYTHING can be changed ( and I am not using 'literally' to emphasise my hypothetical point.. I actually mean LITERALLY). However, this can be hard to realise, especially if you live your life with your head down, never looking up. If you don't look up... if you don't look around... if you don't go out there and see for yourself that there is an infinite number of ways to live, to breath, to love and none of them is the only correct or incorrect one. There are just ways... life is to be experienced not judged.

I sincerely believe we do not live to follow without question, we live to create... Create a whole world for ourselves, especially if what we want doesn't seem to exist yet. Every time someone says I make irrational choices... perhaps even wrong choices because apparently 'that is not how it is done'... I smile to myself.  Just because somebody else can't see the reason behind it, it does not mean there is none. I do my 'irrational choices' precisely because I want change.

Mr Einstein said it is stupid to keep doing the same thing and expect different results... well, of course I got to do things slightly differently then. I suppose, if you haven't been misunderstood at one point of your life than  you have never done anything  truly for yourself.

So remember, change is not impossible and absolutely nothing is definitive... So people, stop pretending to be helpless victims of this mean, mean world and live a little. World is not mean or cruel... those are human 'qualities'. The world is just a mirror of our choices. If you don't like what you see... it's not the world that needs changing.

Life is what you make it. Nothing more and nothing less.

It's so simple, but so easy to forget. 

***

Barcelona turned out to be everything but a normal holiday. I needed a little spiritual revival. I was very happy. I felt life... and the raw, wild energy waking up and stirring up a tornado inside me.

I started asking myself again: Where am I going next?

I do not have an answer... but that doesn't  matter... the answers will come when I'm ready to hear them.

That night three different groups of wonderful people tried to lure me out into the streets of Barcelona... I can proudly say I resisted, despite being  insanely tempted!  My soul and body often get into conflict over this... the soul would dance and talk and party all night long while body can barely move... So, I decided (for the long-term benefit) one night in will do me good.

I fell asleep listening to salsa...oh, and I dreamed of dancing.

Flying High

        On the third day, I decided to make my way up to the mountain of Tibidabo framing the north of Barecellona. It’s the highest peak of Catalan coastal range Serra de Collserola and stands guard above the city. Oh, the view was stunning! Although, the main reason why I made it one of my priority places to see was, once and again, the novel.

I did my research on how to get there in the hostel creating a mental map of things in my head because I was determined not to use a map once in the streets. What can I say…? I have a real weakness for wandering around. All I had to do was to find Placa de John Kennedy from where I would take the little blue tram. A straight route would have taken me perhaps 40 minutes but the way I was walking my trajectory was more like flight of a fly - full of loops and turns seemingly for no reason.

You see, I simply walk down a street that seems the most interesting. So I wandered, looking and listening, people watching… Letting it all soak in- the sounds, smells and colours. That should have gotten me lost, but miraculously I found the square at last. I got there just as the blue tram or ‘Tramvia Blau’ was pulling into the stop.

The crowd of tourists also waiting to get on could not diminish my excitement. The sun was shining and my mind was floating in the land of no one, somewhere between reality and… well, my reality. Avenida de Tibidabo was supposed to be home to beautiful Aldaya mansion with its sinister memories and forever buried truths. As the tram set in motion taking us up the steep street lined with pompous dwellings, my mind drew an image of the fountain with a fallen angel hopelessly pointing to the sky somewhere behind one of the high walls separating the mansions from tiresome curiosity of this world.

It was fascinating… setting ideas into the streets and between the walls... almost hearing the sounds of footsteps belonging people who only ever existed on paper.  It was like letting a balloon reach and define its own edges – to the full extend but not enough for it to explode. Although, truth be told, more time I spent in Barcelona, the story… the characters started to retreat into background. They were there; they just let other stories - my little stories of forever lasting present- echo through the streets with them. More often than not I found myself spiralling into capricious territories of my own mind digging up dangerous ides, forgotten jewels…

When I got off the tram, leaving Avenida del Tibidabo and its mansions behind, the funicular carried me to the very top… laying the whole Barcelona down to my feet. Did you ever experience one of those moments of wholeness... as if you were limitless, connected to everything around you in the most profound, sophisticated way… well, that is how I felt that morning, standing on the top of that mountain. The sun hugged my pale skin as a long lost friend with whom it only ever talked on Facebook these days… symphony of sounds impishly danced around my ears successfully escaping any form of command and the wind innocently played around with my hair (though I knew already it will take me an hour to brush this little game of his out once I get back…) I didn’t care much though… It was perfect.   

There was some sort of event – charity event, I suspect- going on that day. My philosophical epiphany dissolved into a laugh on my part as a procession of children and adults drumming and marching in unison made their way around the square. Rhythm swallowed all the other sounds and bounced off the walls like a stray Ping-Pong ball.  As the song culminated, with the last beat hundreds of red heart-shaped balloons were released into the wild, covering the blue sky with little lipstick kisses.

And I smiled to myself… because life is good… beautiful… and not only sometimes.

That day I also went to Park Guel, though I do not have the slightest idea how on earth I managed to find it because I just floated around in high spirits, spinning around in my flowery dress, jumping like a little child from one cobble stone to another… unable to keep myself on the ground… It was a very happy day… full of random encounters with lovely strangers, little discoveries and no worries.

The world is open and there are many possibilities... and that is the most amazing thing about it. 

Following Shadows and Lifting Spirits

Shaking frame of my bed woke me up around 7:30. One of the girls climbed up on the top bunk bed and, I realised, turned on the air conditioning. It was only when I felt the cold air made it's way to my lungs that I realised how hot it was in the room. The sheet and blanket were crinkled at my feet. Well, body knows what it needs even when mind is asleep. I must confess it was nice to lay on a bed uncovered without shivering after few a moments and cuddling under a blanket. It reminded me of hot summers in Slovakia when I used to wake up in the attic room, just under the roof window. That room did not let us sleep too long during summer, if you stayed there too long past sunrise it would boil you alive... It seems like it was a life time ago.

I got up and searched my bags in the dark. Some of the people in the room were still asleep. At the moment we are 4 girls and a boy. Two girls are from Sweden and one from China. She is traveling alone like me though she keeps to herself. Not that I was being particularly social. I was still enjoying the fact of being alone... having time to look around, contemplate... Still sleepy I marched through the reception to the bathroom. I really wanted to wear a dress... I don't have that many opportunities of wearing them without freezing my but off... But the forecast said it was going to be a showery day. I hoped it would be wrong, but then I remembered I am no longer in Scotland so the weather forecast actually can be right (and it was). 

I stole myself a vintage table in the corner of the hostel terrace to have my breakfast. There is not much of a view from there as it's surrounded by walls of close-by buildings but it was nice to sit outside. The air smelled like holidays.

I decided to plan my day at least a little bit. I was meeting a friend of mine later on so I decided to stick to the city centre... which turned out to be not so small of an area to cover at all... Sometimes, I forget how small Edinburgh actually is...

The main reason why I decided to come to Barcelona is... drumroll.... a story! 

Surprise, surprise! 

To my defence it's not just any story, it's one of my favourites... though it's not just the story.. it's a lot of little details working in unison... the writing style, choice of words, settings, pacing of the story and, most of all, amazing characters. Plus, it has a Cemetery of Forgotten Books in it... A labyrinth of all books that were worth saving or protecting... What a wonderful idea!  

Of course, I'm talking about The Shadow of the Wind from Carlos Ruiz Zafon. The story takes place in Barcelona... and now that I walk around the city, the story is perfect for it. They belong together.

I decided to start with a little tour of the places and streets from the book... first on order was the Gaudi's Casa Batllo. I love Gaudi's work, whether in painting, sculpture or architecture. That man was a genius. The colours, the shapes, the light (I love how he uses the light)... it's surreal, a dream... no sharp edges and colours, colours colours!!! I am not sure if we were allowed but I put my hands on everything in that house. It begs you to touch it... it's designed to be touched.  I came there early in the morning so I had the opportunity to enjoy it in peace, without hundreds of tourists tugging m and pushing me around. If you have a thing for surrealism and like to see it materialised, you should definitely go and see it. although the entry fee is a bit of a downer (20.30 Euros)... Again intelligent me, I left my student card in Edinburgh. Why would I take it with me? Nooooo need, right? You see, I did not forget it, that would not be so bad, I actually, intentionally took it out of my purse along with other thingies supposedly useless outside UK.

I also visited the streets of supposed locations of the home of the Sempere's bookshop homes of other characters and - my favourite - the hiding place of the Cemetery of forgotten books. Truth be told that street looked really dodgy and abandoned, but I guess that's appropriate... Imagine if there really was such thing as this cemetery! Secret refugee camp for rejected, band or abandoned books hiding under the city. I sincerely hope there is such a place... not necessarily in Barcelona but somewhere in the world.

It was not too difficult to resurcet the story in my mind and spill it into the streets for which it was created...even with the considerable number of tourists wandering about. Some areas are overwhelmingly crowded and this is not even the peak season. I wonder how it looks during the summer... though, I am not too keen about finding out. Crowds of people make me feel tired and sad.... except if there is food involved... like at the Mercat de la Boqueria, which has become one of my favourite places in Barcelona even before I set foot in it... one look was enough.

The innumerable winding allies of this outdoor market were hugged from both sides with stands obediently kneeling under the mountains of exotic fruit, vegetables, fish, meet, spices, sweets and treats. Mingling odours were tickling my nose, bright colours enslaving my eyes... For a moment, my ears were saved from the noise of traffic by resonating voices of vendors selling their goods accompanied by clinking and clanking of cooking process and a distant echo of a street musician...

If lived here I would spent half of my time here and the other half cooking. I spent ages wandering around and treating my tastebuds to some new flavours before going back to my Shadow of the Wind exploration quest. 

After about 5 hours of tireless wandering, I had a crisis of enthusiasm... now it seems natural, but at that time I was not really aware of how long I've been going around. Suddenly everything seemed really annoying - especially being alone because I had no one to complain to. When I was about to give it up, I looked up and found myself in a random old narrow street. Right opposite me, on an old crumbled wall was a simplistic painting of a tree. Next to it a short line written in big white letters read: 'Wake up! Matrix has you!'

I couldn't do anything but start laughing... an inside joke between the universe and me. A nice reminder indeed. It's sad how many people go through their lives without ever waking up... I don't wanna be one of them. I took a  deep breath and went to find myself a a coffee-serving refuge. I restocked my energy supplies. You know how it is, satisfied body, satisfied soul. 

When I stepped again into the streets I put the map in my backpack and left my expedition to pure chance. I mingled into deeper and deeper into the Gothic quarter and La Ribera loosing myself in narrow allies silently guarded by never-ending procession of balconies. In one of the small squares, I discovered a film crew shooting a scene for a movie from what appeared to be early 20th century period... Unfortunately I couldn't take pictures but I stayed a for a while watching them at work, absolutely fascinated by the amount of work and obsession with the littlest detail went into that scene. 

I got back to the hostel completely exhausted. I took a shower and a short nap before going to dinner which was prepared every night from scratch by the hotsel staff for a few euros and so far has been always delicious. Even better than the food is the atmosphere as random travellers gather at a common table... I love listening to peoples stories, so obviously I subject everybody I meet to a thorough interview. This is by far the most pleasant hostel I've ever stayed in. The whole day ended with a lovely pub crawl and a lot of dancing till early early morning... which obviously completely incapacitated me for the next day so my the 2nd day of my quest... does not even deserve to called a quest... the best thing about it was the food and coffee... But I have learned my lesson, so the next night... no actually I learned nothing... I totally went out again. People here are so happy, and active and friendly... and the party goes on and on... Nice... I like this city more than I thought I would 

A few points to point out:

- there is a disturbingly hight number of pharmacies in this city... on every corner... like Starbucks in US

- there is also a high number of candy shops... but that's not so much disturbing.. that's just plain awesome

- where ever you go, there is nowhere to hide from relentless foreign 'street vendors' trying to sell you beer, water or an umbrella... it's amusing and sometimes a little annoying but then everybody needs a job... I bet I annoy people all the time :D 

- it's good that I only have a hand luggage otherwise I would spend all my rent and utilities money on clothes, chocolate and ice-cream

- the weather is making fun of me... again... the rain chased me here all the way from Scotland... at least the temperature is reasonable... the weather is supposed to go back to AMAZING on Tuesday, cause I leave on Monday evening.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Roaring Monsters and First Impressions

Wooohoooo! Made it all the way the hostel in one piece! 

It took me a while but I managed. Actually, it wasn't even that difficult... I don't know what's happening to me but I have never been so peaceful and calm in my entire life... especially when going somewhere new. I am excited and happy but before it used to be more of a 'timed bomb' type of excitement... Now it's simply... I don't know how to describe it... maybe it doesn't need to be described, important is that it feels DAMN good.

Apparently, this sudden appearance of my inner peace made all the other tourists feel like it's not my first time here... as I was calmly giving out advice on where to buy tickets, when to get of the bus, etc... not because I actually knew all this or was at all prepared...  All the information was around one way or another... I think if you decide not to be stressed everything just becomes easy. In any case, it's very pleasant and amusing when people see me as if I knew it all... especially, without finding me annoying... cause, let's face it, I can be an incredibly annoying know-it-all at times. 

That is the end of the heroic part of the story. Part number two is dedicated to my legendary inexplicable carelessness... I got off the airport shuttle at La Placa de Catalunya. It took me while to figure out on which side of the square I was and which one of the many streets was 'my' street but I managed... After a 20 minute walk I finally found my hostel... or was supposed to. Instead I was standing in front of a heavy ancient wooden door capable of accommodating a person 4 times taller than me. It seemed to belong to some sort of distinguished Architectural company - or at least that seems to be an image they were going for. I truly couldn't care less... my stomach was having a symphonic orchestra concerto since I left the airport. I was in desperate need of food and shelter. 

Despite all this I was not even remotely stressed, as I mentioned, I am am having an episode of inner peace... I stood there staring at the number on the door - 226. Seeing the number, I knew almost instantly what the problem was... I know my brain far too well. Though to save myself some walking - in case my brain was playing tricks on me, cause that also happens quite a lot-  I called a friend in Scotland using my slovak number to check the address of the hostel online (because why on earth would I have such useless information with me, right? ... I do have moments of genius but mostly I am clueless).

IN case you care to know... which  you probably don't but anyway... the correct number was of course 266. So I walked some more and, hallelujah, I arrived!

I love this hostel... even despite it's name (which is The Hipstel... the idea of it is that they are hipster hip... but yeah... anyway... since when are hipster hip? event the word 'hip' is not hip...). The building is old but renovated... it has a nice 'art nouveau' touch to it... And the staff is awesome! The minute I walked in I was flooded with more information I could possibly process... about everything: the food, drink and dance... I was invited to parties, breakfast, dinners... I was also assured there are some salsa options available in hostel pub crawl outings. I feel like I am staying at a friends house not a hostel... Well, the girls in my room seem a little quiet but then I just arrived, they deserve a chance.

I check in, put clean sheets on my bed to be and 'unpacked' - if I can call 'unzipping my suitcase and making a mess of it' unpacking) took a few Euros and headed straight out. Not to party... just to get a feel of the city and to quiet down the roaring monster in my stomach... cause apparently the dinner in the hostel was sooooo good nothing was leftover for late-comers like myself. So first, I bought myself amazing highly nutritious and healthy dinner - if you are guessing ice-cream, you are 100% right!      

As I walked down the streets, summer breeze comforting my skin, -which is still slightly in heat-shock (and I came here at 8PM... it's supposed to be cooler now)- I soaked in the life  around me. Because everything WAS alive... in a very relaxed manner. 

I know I've been here only a few hours and saw next to nothing, but a feeling is peaking out inside me and boy I think it's love! I look around and I like what I see, what I smell... and I love the fact that I came here in early autumn. The leaves are sliding through the air like falling is nothing but a luxury leisure cruise. Autumn gives every place a character... not that Barcelona needs any extra help.   

Sweet Escape

Here I am again... above the clouds. Tickling excitement making itself at home in my belly. Well, it was about time. I was turning into a traveler who doesn't travel... and a writer who doesn't write. An appalling thought. How could I let this happen? 

Well, sometimes, one gets caught up in an idea and when this idea is simply wonderful it is very difficult to give it up. Plus I have a weakness for ideas and incredible stories. Once they are in my head, I really want them to come to existence... I do my best to make them happen. It's that simple. The problem was that this particular story, the idea of it grew so powerful that it crushed me. 

I lost my free will to a story... how about that?

Luckily, 'the curse' was broken a few months ago. I had a lightbulb moment and magically reclaimed my soul from a devil of my own creation. I am not angry about wasting time with it... you know, this was a hell of lesson, so it might have been just a side effect of my cunning talent for educating! It was a subconsciously self-inflected deviously designed lesson which can only mean I am a genius even beyond the point of my own awareness... Although this kind of geniality is a bit dodgy. Not being aware of something is a nice way to say 'ignorant'... and ignorant is a fancy way of saying stupid... It's a vicious circle. 

I am babbling on about things that don't really make sense to anyone but me... One of my bad habits... or let's jutt say - a habit-  to be vague when sharing private matters, because that way I can share without actually sharing anything. I do that a lot... not only in writing, I don't think people realise how little they actually know about me... not that I do it on purpose... It's some sort of communication disease, I am unable to express myself briefly and to the point.... God, if I keep this up, my novels will make people want to shoot themselves. It makes my writing an unreadable mess. Though, when I am  accused of this openly, I just blame it on my deep philosophical inclinations. Philosophers can be hard to understand and it's never their fault. 

The point is, I am here, I'm happy, and I am on my way to Barcelona. But you have probably guessed that already from the title of this blog. I was meaning to give it much more meaningful or even witty title, but it's hard to name a story if you don't know about what it's going to be just yet. 

It could be anything... and I love that feeling! The taste of endless possibilities in intoxicating. It's my personal drug. 

Since I am spending my entire flight writing this, you have also probably guessed that I am traveling alone. It's quite amusing how shocking this was to people, when I mentioned it. Unimaginable. In fact, the first question raised (in 95% of cases) after being informed of my trip was : 'Who are you going with?' 

I know it's nice to travel with somebody, and I have nothing against it. However, traveling alone has its irreplaceable charms... at least to me... it smells of adventure.  

Stepping all alone into the the unfamiliar pulls you out of you comfort zone and pushes you of the cliff into the sea of 'monsters' without caring whether you know to swim or whether the fall may kill ya. Friends and family are a magical thing... with them, we transport with us a sense of security, sense of familiar. A shield against the unknown. People don't like feeling all alone in the world... no one does, not even me. But what I came to realise over the years is that, firstly, feeling of loneliness has very little to do with physical distance. Secondly, loneliness - or lack of it- is a choice. 

And I made my choice.

Suddenly setting off into the sunset by myself isn't all that scary. To the contrary , it's marvellously exhilarating!

Although, this might not be a general rule, I don't know... I have a nice collection of idiosyncrasies, so maybe it's just me. You see, I love people... the awesome ones in my life and in general... We are a fascinating species. but I also like being by myself time to time. I need time to recharge batteries, collect pieces of myself that scattered all over the place like a ripped bag of marbles... Everyday life is like... not-always-professionally-mastered cocktail of actions and emotions, it's easy to loose sight of what the hell is going on. In a way, this is my leave of absence... escape from the madness.

Plus, I already told you I have a weakness for stories, especially those that involve a quest. I love creating, narrating and plotting them... making them happen. I trust my imagination, I enjoy it... but I am only one person. What is one person against the world? Universe is full of crazy wonderful possibilities and twists that have never ever crossed my mind. 

It's good to be in charge of your own life, but it's also good to give the world a chance to surprise you. So, I let go of the nagging urge to be in control and just go with it... This time it took me to Barcelona.

Being on your own in a foreign country makes you PAY ATTENTION to... well, to everything! People, sounds, odours... It makes you not only look but also see. So, I don't mind if people think I am a bit strange. I am OK with it. Strangeness never killed anybody...

People around me have been chatting in Spanish all flight... I don't understand a word... well maybe a word... It's been a long time since I've been in a country of which language I did not speak. This is going to be fun... I can feel it... and hear it :D

Oh we are landing, need to turn this off... the flight attendant is giving me dirty look.