The fall

Barcelona stuck with me. Like middle school all over again I had fantasies of us together, me walking down the city streets, riding the metro, living the chic Barcelona life. I can´t quite say what captivated me. I think Barcelona reminded me vaguely of Portland, although even better because, well, it was in Spain (only later would I find out that´s a contrversial statement, but more on that later. . .). After spending barely a weekend there I was infatuated. The weather wasn´t even good yet (it was late March), and I didn´t even go to the beach. In fact, the most fun thing I did (besides to see La Sagrada Familia--but let´s face it, cultural fun doesn´t count) was go to a quiz night at a British Pub. Fun, yes. But enough to fall in love?

I think the thing of it was, in Barcelona I felt independent. It was a good feeling, like when I got my first car in high school, and I knew I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, even if it was just to go drive in any direction because I felt like it. Although I regret the environmental consequences of this now the sentiment remains. Freedom is a powerful thing. And I suppose any place that made me feel like it was in my reach was worthy of my love.

So I fell in love with Barcelona. I knew I wanted to live there. For a while, I thought. Not forever. But I knew that when I looked back on my life it was something I wanted to see, my time in Barcelona. So like any other smitten woman I began making big plans.