A day trip to the Dali Museum in Figueres turned into more than I'd thought it would be. Missing the bus resulted in a long wait at the train station with a book that had a cover to spark conversation with a stranger. Who, mind you, just happened to have been on a strikingly similar path that I'm on right now, but with an entirely different future. A half-Indian, previous philosophy major with a year's experience working for an attorney. Realizing the job was not the right fit, he ended up pursuing music in Seville for 2-3 years, after which deciding that bills needed to paid. Became a psychotherapist with 3 day weeks, 4 day weekends, living in Spain. He admits himself that he never thought he could build a life like this - a dream you'd never think could be realized. Needless to say I am getting some meditation lessons out of this, in exchange for some Indian Dance.
I arrive at the museum an hour late, grinning the entire 15 minute zig-zag walk over. Running around the nooks and crannies of Dali's masterpiece, I finally find my group (phoneless and moneyless, mind you) and revel in his works. The versality and ballsy-ness of his style got to me. Hands down the best museum I've been to thusfar. Granted, I know no more about art than the infant growing in my sister's womb (woop woop!), but this, I knew I liked. A lot. He took risks and didn't run - he sprinted with them. And most importantly? He didn't give a rat's butt what people thought of him. Rest in peace, you genius. It worked.
Later that day, the FCB game. Utterly amazing. The energy in the place was electric, and I could feel the blood of the fans and the sprinting players pumping through me somehow. I am not a sports person by any definition, but I've never felt so into a game. I guess that's part of the reason people watch - to feel like you're a part of something bigger, with the same end goal (or should I say GOL!!) in sight. Until of course the 5 year old in front of you shushes you for being an obnoxious American. Oops?
Impromptu day trip to Tarragona on Sunday was beautiful. I find it strange that I take absolutely no interest in learning about history or language until it's slapped down in front of my face. As soon as I laid my eyes on the ruins, I wanted to know when they were built, why in that specific location, what each compartment was. The same goes for Spanish, and even Gujarati and English. I want to learn more each day, despite the fact that I would have rather watched grass grow than sit through Spanish class in high school. It could be the country and the endless good weather, or it could be finally getting on a normal sleep cycle, but it's probably a combination.
I finished off the weekend with a great conversation over dinner with our senora. We talked about remembering how grateful we are to have these opportunities to travel, and to see so much of the world at so young. Our families, our health, our buena suerte. How she loves having these two crazy girls in her house, and sometimes just knowing we're there makes her feel happy.
From now on, weekends will be like this. Jam-packed and documented, so I won't forget the smaller details that make the bigger picture.
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