It's my second night in Barcelona. It has been my first extended trip - one where I don't have plans to meet anyone I know, join a group of people I'm comfortable with. It dawned on me as I squeezed myself into Singapore Airlines' Airbus, that for the first time in a long time, I was faraway again, alone.
To be fair, I'll be joining a tour group tomorrow, just so I don't have to not speak for two weeks. I originally planned a two week solo retreat to Europe. I'm glad I ended up signing up for Contiki because as it turns out, I didn't have the time to plan my trip. So far, I've dragged my butt up the Museu Nacional Artes de Catalonia, spent an afternoon around Park Guell and marveled at the delicacies of Mercato de la Boqueria. I did a side trip to a little erotic museum across the street, too.
I think if I were to describe Barcelona, it would be like its woman: so much sex. Maybe it's all these Spanish films I've seen depicting women and their propensity towards sex. Maybe it's the way most of what they show everybody leads to that. Maybe because more than the French, in my limited POV, the Catalan women actually exude more sex appeal than any other city I've seen.
Or maybe I see too many youngins trying to hook up with each other. Maybe that's that. Let's see.