School: just as boring abroad

I wish I could describe to you the immense difficulty of anyone holding my attention for a full two hours, let alone an elderly, balding man telling me in a fast paced, mumbling tone about Lebanon. But it is indescribable. TWO HOURS IS SO LONG. I miss my quick little fifty minute math classes. Luckily I have to take three of them next semester (bleh). Classes are just so different here, for a number of reasons besides the epic lengths. First of all, my UPF classes have about 70-80 students in them. My art history class is half lecture, half discussion, but both Islam history and poetry are pure lecture. At least in poetry we get a break in the middle. The other, most notable difference for me is that when I am in class or walking around campus, I don't know anyone. At Whitman, it was impossible for me to cross campus (or even walk between two classes on the same floor of Olin) without seeing someone I knew and probably wanted to talk to. But here, I'm taking classes with sophomores and juniors who have all the same classes together and who have been in classes together for more than a year. They're all already friends, and not very friendly. Plus they stand around speaking Catalan to each other, so it's not even like I could awkwardly jump into their conversations. I was talking to some of the IES girls who live in residence halls, and they say they haven't even made friends in their dorms, with the exception of a few kids from southern Spain, where people are actually friendly. It doesn't really bother me that much, since I do have friends - just not at UPF, but it feels so weird to go into the cafeteria or sit in the quad and not know a single person around me. I sort of miss Whitman's tight little community, however suffocating it can be. And I'm determined to go to the south.
In other news, I finally figured out the websites for my classes, only to discover that the art history class is the only one that actually uses it. But I did find information about most of my finals, except poetry. By the way, the real professor still hasn't made it to class. I don't know what's wrong, but he probably should've just not been teaching classes at all this semester. We have a different teacher each week now, which is fine but sort of frustrating. They all seem to be pretty smart though.
Also, people take notes in very odd ways here - most people just sit there writing full sentences, and full paragraphs, of what I can only assume is verbatim from the professor's mouth. True, mine are dented by the fact that I don't always catch everything they say, but still, I prefer bullets and short points to paragraphs upon paragraphs. It seems like it would be hard to study from. AND I have noticed several people taking notes in Catalan. This bilingual world is so odd to me. We will conduct class entirely in Spanish, but someone will ask a question in Catalan, and the professor will (usually) respond in Spanish. They can take notes in an entirely different language. I mean, I could probably take notes in English, but there are still a lot of words I don't know the meaning of, and I would get caught up translating and then get way behind in listening.
Everyone is extremely respectful of the professors at UPF, which is an extremely notable difference from my classes at IES. Not in my Spanish class, but in my Latin American lit class - people talk through class (and this is a class of 15-20 people, not 80, so it's very obvious), and openly talk about the things we do being a waste of time. Maybe it's just because I really like that class, but it annoys me. A lot. The worst is this one girl who spends the entire class asking her friends what the professor just said, presumably because she doesn't understand? I don't know. But it kills me to hear them talk, in English, over our professor for the entire class. And they can be really immature - about half the class was groaning in disgust when we watched an interview with Onetti and he had yellow, rotting teeth. Ok, yes, his teeth were gross. Chill out and maybe shut up so we can hear the interview we're supposed to be listening to? Not that I can ever understand the interviews we watch anyway, since everyone important seems to mumble. Anyway I just miss people who respect their professors, even if the class is a waste of time or the professor isn't deserving of their respect, they still usually shut up when class is in session.
OH MAN in poetry the other week, these two girls were talking and the professor asked them to be quiet and they kept talking through her asking them to be quiet - drama. She got really mad and said that she doesn't care if they don't pay attention, she's only talking for the benefit of those who want to hear her, but when they don't listen when she is speaking directly to them it is rude and disrespectful, not because she's a professor but because she's a person. WOW it was intense. I think they were Americans, and had been asking each other about the meaning of something, and therefore didn't understand immediately that she was talking to them. But it was very intense.
Anyway, now that I have figured out the class websites, I have the list of twelve books which are listed as "recommended reading" for two of my classes. I'm assuming I should read them. My poetry class, on the other hand, doesn't have anything listed but in our dossier, at the end of each poet's section, there's a section of recommended reading that lists about ten books for each poet - that's not happening. We've already done four, and have at least four more to do - I don't think I'll be reading eighty books for this class. Maybe I'll pick one that looks good for each poet or something. I really need to start doing this immediately though, because this "no" work until the exam thing is way too easy to get into, and I have completely forgotten that I will actually need to do work for the exam. Especially since I don't learn a ton in class, since I am either a. spacing out and taking distracted notes (Islam) b. feeling like this class is in media res (art history) c. analyzing a specific poem but learning nothing about the poet. In short, I need to catch myself up outside of class a lot. Also I should be writing my midterm for Latin American lit instead of writing blog posts. But which is more fun?

The Witcoskys are going to Spain!

First of all, let me profusely apologize for having gone five days without writing - I recently learned that my blog has quite the following among members of St. Luke's? Now that I know I have an audience (hey Googins) I will think more about what I'm writing, rather than blathering about my random thoughts. Although apparently those have been garnering interest as well. Plus I love my random thoughts. Also, I have been told to refrain from using the Lord's name in vain. So sorry about that. If I didn't hate emoticons so much, I would include a winky face right here.
NEXT, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW GREAT MY PARENTS ARE. They arrived on Wednesday, and I tried (and failed) to meet them at the airport at 8 am. From the moment they got here, it has been absolutely fantastic, and I don't think I have ever enjoyed their company quite as much as I do here. Not that I don't always enjoy it. Ok, I don't always enjoy it. But most of the time I do. But here, it's a million times better than it has ever been before! We have been having so much fun, and getting along so well, and eating such wonderful food, and it just makes me so so appreciative of my fabulous family and how lucky I am to be here AND that they are able to come visit me. I mean wow. On Wednesday we were able to spend a lot of the day together, when they weren't recovering from jet lag, and we had an incredible dinner of paella after about two hours of drinks and tapas. Herein lies the secret to having so much fun with my parents - we can drink together. It's like a magical recipe for success, as long as Dad keeps both feet (and no hands) on the ground. Ha, I can't wait for them to read this - it will probably be a while. Thursday I had class most of the day, but we were still able to have lunch together and then after class we explored a little more then went to Els Quatre Gats for dinner, where Picasso used to hang out and discuss cubism. After dinner, we went to the Harlem Jazz Club (Mom was very curious, after my rave reviews in past entries), and saw a funk & soul band called Groove Juice that was SO AMAZING I COULDN'T EVEN STAND IT. We walked in, and I said to Mom, "So this is my fabulous life now... I listen to jazz in bars in Spain. Yeah." Mostly kidding. But seriously. How cool am I? Today we had chocolate con churros for breakfast, saw some Gaudi architecture before I went to class, then met back up for a delicious lunch of tapas while we took cover from the rain. Wednesday and Thursday were so beautiful, 70-75 and far too humid, so even though the rain was unfortunate, I was glad the humidity had broken. Afterward we split up for siestas, and then went out for some sangria before perhaps the greatest two hours of my life: dinner at the Huerga household. The apartment was all decorated for guests - candles lit, the fancy place settings, and snacks and drinks in the living room. We had a magnificent, LONG meal in which I talked so much I hardly remembered to eat - having to say everything twice for all parties is quite the chore. But it was so much fun, and everyone loved everyone else, and it was so wonderful to see my Spanish family and my actual family together and laughing and attempting (though often failing) to understand one another. Dad used his excellent Spanish skills to say "muy bien" and "excelente" while eating, and even asked a couple questions! Mom was a little more nervous, but also did very well, and the kids all speak a little English so we got along fine. As long as I was translating. I tried my best but there are some things that are pretty hard to explain - "He asked me if he could tell you what I have told him about you" is one of those gems. That's hard enough in English, actually. Or how do you say (or should you say), "My dad says you give a pretty good stink-eye to your brothers." That's the sort of thing I'd rather not say at all, actually, but I just made it up as I went along, as I do everyday, and it seemed to go pretty well. Afterward Mom & Dad told me how lucky I was to have such a great host family, and Ana told me how much she loved meeting them and how I was so lucky to have such friendly, easy-going parents. She said she instantly felt comfortable around them and thought they were a lot of fun to have over. It was SO SO SO GREAT. I don't feel that I have a vocabulary large enough to express it - it was outstanding, magnificent, divine, fantastic. Or "so so so great." However you like.
Among the other highlights so far:
1. Accidentally convincing Dad we should go to Las Vegas this Christmas to celebrate my 21st birthday.
2. Dad saying "perro grande" to every big dog we saw on the street.
3. Discussing how Bill Schweitzer would be an ideal one-of-my-first-legal-drinks companion (but on second thought, why not ALL of Christcare?!?).
4. Dad saying "Who is Gaudi again?"
5. Dad wearing his Ashland hat. (Pictures to come)
6. DAD ALL THE TIME (sorry Mom, I love you, but you're less entertaining - you know what I mean)
7. Explaining things I hardly thought I knew until I started explaining them.
8. THE GIANT PILE OF REESE'S PEANUT BUTTER CUPS THAT THEY BROUGHT ME
9. Can't deny it; having them pay for things.
10. Asking my mildly inebriated father about the economic crisis and learning about it in (an appropriate amount of) depth for the next 40 minutes.
11. Who am I kidding? Groove Juice. And the fact that my parents are cool enough to like it too.
More to come. This weekend we're going to Girona, a historically Jewish town outside the city, and Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown. Then maybe a flamenco show? And they're off to Mallorca... so sad. But then next weekend we're going to Berlin, where MOM has to do all the translating! It's times like these when I seriously can't believe my life is real.

I love the Netherlands! Who knew?

SO. Amsterdam was AMAZING. First of all, it is gorgeous and filled with canals, adorable little buildings, and approximately nine billion bicycles. I had no idea how cute it would be! Second, it has amazing food and a lot of variety in cuisines. Third, the people are extremely nice.
Jane and I arrived Friday morning and immediately began the greatest travel itinerary ever: wander around until you get hungry, eat, and repeat as necessary. We had an amazing salad with avocado and without dressing - I was pretty much sold from that moment on - and followed it up with a piece of chocolate cake. And yes, my retelling of this trip will primarily revolve around the food. Jane and I got to catch up and chat all day long, see random sites we knew nothing about, and eat all the time, so it was basically the ideal trip. After our salad/cake/coffee, we wandered around the downtown area and saw some old buildings, the national monument, that famous flower market, a book market, and some other old stuff. We then stopped again for a raspberry tart and more coffee (I had an orange juice, but it had a fly in it. I drank it anyway), more chatting, and then more walking. We accidentally found the red light district, and found ourselves very put off by the women in the windows, and made our way back to the hostel for a nap before we braved the Amsterdam nightlife. We went out to dinner at an Argentinian steak house and had the best meat I have had since leaving the states, along with empanadas, french fries, and Malbec. Outstanding. We explored a little more and made friends with a hilarious bartender whose wife was Scottish (it was very obvious from his accent - also he swore like I have never heard a non-native English speaker swear). Jane tried to learn some Dutch from him, and then he was sort of mock-offended because he thought she was saying Dutch was easy? I don't know. We explained that we meant to do it out of respect, in an effort to learn more about the place we were visiting, and he said (something along the lines of) "You know what's a better way to do that? Learn something about the history of the country before you get there. Better than just saying dankevel [or however you spell it] to your bartenders." It was all in good fun though and he was great, slash the Slovenian at the bar liked us too and bought us drinks (awkward? A little, because he was 40). We found lots of great food on our way home - pizza, more pastries, and Toblerone - and then slept long and hard the next day. OH ps Jane took all the pictures of this weekend, so you'll just have to wait for her to send them to me.
Then on Saturday we got Dutch pancakes for breakfast, went to the Anne Frank house only to decide the line wasn't really worth it, and went to the sex museum instead. It was intense. Then we wandered around downtown again until we found a flea market. From there we slowly made our way towards the Van Gogh museum, stopping anywhere and everywhere that looked pretty (and taking about nine hundred pictures posing in front of canals), and probably eating again - yes, I think we bought some truffles at a chocolate shop. On our way to the van Gogh museum we found another big market, wandered through it as well as through a nice restaurant area, and then finally to the museum itself. Unfortunately all this wandering was incredibly taxing (it's a rough life we lead), so we went a little further to find some lunch, and stumbled upon the fashion district, where we had a very swanky lunch next to someone who I think was famous. He was being interviewed at the table next to us, and then went outside and posed for some pictures in the street, and several people stopped him to say something. Anyway, that was very exciting. We split a delicious sandwich and then had warm croissants with butter and jam... oh it was so good, but the entire weekend we were always full and always conscious of the fact that we were at minimum quadrupling the recommended daily caloric intake. Then on to van Gogh, which was great (slash sooo relevant to my art history class), and back to the hostel for our nap. We are really into the Spanish schedule. For dinner, we got a recommendation for a Thai restaurant from a random hotel we saw that day, and had THE GREATEST MEAL EVER mostly because I have been craving Thai for quite some time. From there we tried to go out to dessert but failed because the cake shop we had seen earlier was closed, so we just talked for another two hours (and literally made the people next to us move over when we were laughing - very loudly - over Tina Fey's Palin impression) and made it back to the hostel. In the morning we got bagels (another scarcity in Spain) and went to the airport, and now I'm back at home where it is warm (unlike FREEZING Amsterdam). Ana had a little afternoon party with all of her siblings (of which she has six) today, and made chocolate con churros for the occasion. OH MY GOD. All thoughts of Amsterdam melted away as I sat at the table, enjoying the warm breeze from the window, dipping churros in delicious chocolate and listening to her brother-in-law argue with her brother about the social security system in Spain. One of her sisters asked me if I would come teach English to her kids for an hour a week, and I said I would love to, so that should start soon (and she'll be paying me! Won't that be fun). So even though Amsterdam was so great that I would seriously consider living there, I'm already so happy to be back in Spain and in general just so contented with life (and gastronomically satisfied) that it wasn't even a downer to leave such a wonderful city. TWO DAYS UNTIL MOM AND DAD ARRIVE! Get excited.

I almost have a routine!

Six weeks down - which means only ten to go! Christ. That's not at all ok with me.
This week was less exciting than most, mostly because I was coming off my Milano high and getting pumped for Amsterdam, so Barcelona was great... but really feeling like an interim. Classes - mere formalities for the four days I am in Spain. I also had my first test of the semester, in my Spanish class. I finished really quickly, which worries me slash confirms my suspicions that I am awesome at Spanish. Or overly confident. Whatever.
On Wednesday, rather than remember that I had several Skype dates scheduled, I went to MACBA (Contemporary Art Museum... Barcelona... Art) and lost myself for (I kid you not) three hours in only one exhibition - the main collection was all that was open, since they were changing the other exhibits. It was really cool, and I liked a lot of it. I was also weirded out by a lot of it. For instance: the video of a candle burning, then a shot of that burning candle being held to a man's nipple. On loop. There was audio, but I didn't feel the need to pick up the headphones - oddly enough. And a full length film (I watched maybe 30 minutes) which made so little sense that I can't describe it in sentences, only in a series of phrases: people in primary color ponchos, men in leather pants whipping themselves, bearded women, little people, gravel mountains, drugs (that one wasn't involved in the movie itself, but I suspect was involved in the making of it).
That evening, I made some friends come with me to Harlem Jazz Club, where Caracola, a rumba band, was playing. They were really good, but not as fantastic as Meztuca. I really need Meztuca to play again. I'm trying to stalk them, but they appear to not use their website as often as I use the internet. But it was a really good show. Mostly I just want to delve into this wide world of la rumba catalana as much as I can. I also went to Harlem last week with some other people, and saw a REALLY cool jazz group - I can't figure out who, since all the website says is "Red Bull Music Academy All-stars," but they were so cool and the guy on the vibraphone(? - not so good with the terminology here) was INCREDIBLE slash so intense. They all just kept playing, and then randomly (probably not that randomly) soloing, and then one person would set down their instrument and go grab a drink or a different instrument, and then someone else would come over and pick up the one they had left. There were about seven people total, shuffling through who was playing. Then after a break this adorable tiny British woman started singing over recorded tracks - she was pretty good but nothing in comparison to the band. Then they all started slowly coming back up and playing with her - first the drummer, then the guitar player, then she yelled "we need a bass!" and someone came and played that, and there was someone djing over all of this. It was crazy good. AND they drug this random woman out of the crowd and made her rap over the whole thing! It all just seemed so spontaneous - I'm sure it wasn't, but it did look very impressive. So that's the story of last Thursday - then I informed the group I had to go home to watch the VP debate. Which I did, from my bed.
Tuesday night I actually fell asleep, headphones on, clutching my laptop, in front of the debate. I was determined to make it until 3, but I sort of forgot that it only started at 3, and would go until 4:30 or 5... so I was really tired. I didn't have class until 2 the next day though, which was very lucky. Also, to stay awake, I watched Top Gun, which I hadn't seen before, and OH MY GOD it is so great. Yes, I am in Spain.
In other news, I am going to Amsterdam in 9 hours. Very exciting, slash also means I won't be sleeping a lot tonight. But who cares? I'M GOING TO AMSTERDAM! WITH JANE! I am really excited. Mostly for Jane. But I hear the Netherlands are cool too. I'm trying to think if I did anything else cool this week. I really love my art history class. We're doing post-impressionism right now, and I actually know who both Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin are, so I'm feeling more accomplished than the first week. Not a lot. But a little. I seem to remember some educational comic book about van Gogh dreaming that the paints he was buying were food. So I'm taking that to mean he was poor. Which was confirmed in class today! I hope you all know I am (mostly) kidding about my complete lack of art knowledge. I mean, I don't know much. But I do know about van Gogh. Aaaaaaanyway, we're reading Jimenez in my poetry class, and Borges in my Latinamerican lit class, and learning about Lebanon in my Islam history class. I feel very cool right now. Did I mention I went to a jazz club last night?

[Update:] Oh my god I had to edit and say that Ana is the best cook EVER. We had baked salmon with potatoes and roasted tomatoes, and asparagus and mushrooms. And then pomegranate and yogurt for dessert. Ugggggh food baby.

I ate a bunny today.

We had rabbit for dinner the last two nights. It actually tasted pretty good. Also we had croquetas tonight which are definitely in my top ten foods list. Not a lot to share, except that I ate bunny (which is the sole reason for this post), and that the weather is fantastic. I can't even talk about it. It's around 75 and sunny, with a little breeze, all day. October is like a whole new month here. My classes at UPF are still a bit confusing, but I'm getting a handle on them. And I'm going to Amsterdam with Jane this weekend! Then Mom and Dad come next Wednesday. Life just looks pretty great right now.

Gelato, pesto, duomo

So I went to Milan this weekend! Before I tell the story of my arrival, please keep in mind that I am normally a MUCH smarter traveler than I was last Friday, and I sincerely regret several choices that I made. But everything worked out in the end - just not as well as it could have.
I left Friday night. For some reason which I can't remember, I chose a flight that left Barcelona at 9:30 pm and arrived in Milan at 11:10. It was probably cheapest. Here is the first thing I won't be doing again: arriving late at night and alone. I seriously underestimated how long it would take me to get to the airport, and couldn't take the train as I had planned (73 cents) and had to take a taxi (22 euros) which would get me there on time. I got to the airport and checked in about 10 minutes before check-in closed for my flight. There was no line in security and I found my gate quickly, but shortly after I was patting myself on the back for (expensively) pulling off my last-minute arrival, I found out that my flight was delayed. We ended up leaving Barcelona at 10:15, and arriving in Milan at 11:45. I flew into Malpensa, which is the "main international airport" but which is also located about 30 minutes outside the city. So I took a bus to Central station, and arrived there around 12:40. I knew to take bus 90 to Hostel Amirai, but unfortunately couldn't find any buses and assumed they had stopped running - the metro was closed, so I figured that was a safe assumption (the buses actually run until 2 am). So I found a taxi (with relative ease), jumped in, and realized I don't remember a single word of Italian (unless he had some fettucine on him to which I could refer in a sentence fragment). So I said "Via Carlo Goldoni" and "eighty four?" hoping he knew more English numbers than I knew Italian numbers. He did, and we started off - with the meter STARTING at 6 euros. I grabbed my wallet to make sure I had... no. No money. I had 30 euros in cash at the beginning of the day, had meant to go to the ATM but forgot, and then the cab + bus had drained it. Thing I will not be doing ever again #2: Leave for a trip without PLENTY of cash. I tried to ask if we could stop at an ATM on the way with a mix of Spanish and English (spoken with my fake Italian accent) - it went something like "Podemos parar... stop... en un banco? Bance? Banca? ATM? No euros." Suffice it to say I was very eloquent. He understood completely and stopped at an ATM where... my card didn't work. I came out muttering "How the hell is this happening" and then told him in Spanish (which by this time he had conceded to understanding) that my card didn't work, but my friend was at the hostel and would have money so that I could pay him. He didn't seem too pissed off, in fact he seemed quite understanding, and we were off again. At the hostel, I ran inside only to have no idea where it was. I had directions: "first floor, door on the right" but I have no idea which is the first floor (in Spain there is often a 0 floor and a P floor before the first), and there is no marking whatsoever. I go to what turns out to be the second floor, where there's another hostel, and ask. He tells me downstairs... so I try the door on the right. It's open, and I poke my head into the darkness and say "Hola?" before realizing that I am NOT in Spain and that I have no idea what one says to timidly inquire into a dark room in Italy. "Bona cera?" was the best I could muster. No one answers. I run back up and down the building, listening to the aggravated honks of my taxi driver, then back to this same open door. I ring the bell (novel idea), which I now see says "Amirai BBM" in tiny letters, and a small, frightened nun comes running out, obviously from bed. She lets me in and I continue in my half-Spanish, half-English, completely ignorant pattern of speech, trying to explain that my friend is here. She says yes, she's here, but she paid for herself and not for you. She points me towards the room. I say, great! Do you take credit? No. Just cash. I mutter to myself again and swear to punish myself with some sort of "always carry cash" related forehand branding, then say, "I have to go talk to my friend. One moment." So I go into the room looking for Gaby before I realize that there are four sleeping people, and they all look the same in the dark. I try to explain this predicament to the dear tiny nun, and she tells me which is Gaby. I wake up Gaby, who sits straight up and hugs me, and then say, "Hi! I love you! Question. Can I borrow some money to pay for my cab?" Finally I run back down and pay the impatient cab driver a whopping 15 euros (he left the meter running while he waited for payment - understandable I suppose but WOW), then look for the woman to explain that my card didn't work in the ATM and I have no cash. She is really sweet and tells me it's fine and that I can pay in the morning. Exhausted and realizing that I royally screwed myself over tonight, I finally went to bed - unable to sleep because of the snoring Canadian in the room.
Gaby woke me in the morning and we headed off to see the Last Supper! Unfortunately Gaby had printed the wrong thing to get in, and the woman who at first seemed accommodating ended up basically throwing us out and not letting us see the painting which we had made an appointment and pre-paid 8 euros a piece to see. This was the first "Italians are rude" experience of the day, but it wouldn't be the last. So we went to get some coffee and talked for HOURS since we hadn't really hung out since last summer-ish (PS Gaby I LOVE you and it was the best day EVER). Then we wandered around until we happened upon La Scala, which is the opera house, and the cathedral, which is the second largest in Italy. We walked into the square and I was pretty much floored by the duomo - I don't even know what to say to describe it. Also! Great anecdote - my converter works most of the time, but for some reason refuses to charge my camera's batteries. So there is no photographic proof that I was ever in Milan. But other people have taken lovely pictures of it! As seen here. I really just have no concept of how to describe how incredible it is. Next we had some lunch (I had fusille with meat sauce), some gelato (raspberry and lemon), and wandered around a lot more. We found the fashion district and ogled at all the couture, tried to find some canals but ended up just wandering around the south of Milan, and then had dinner (pesto gnocchi) and more gelato (cinnamon and chocolate - the cinnamon was literally the greatest thing my mouth has ever experienced). Rude Italian #2 gave Gaby change as if she had paid with a 5, when she had in fact paid with a 10, and despite her several protests refused to hear her out. But the gelato was so good he almost didn't ruin the evening. We had plans to wander some more and then have a second dinner (how do you say no to more Italian food? You don't.) but instead we were really tired and it was pretty cold out so we curled up in bed in our hostel and talked more. Basically the entire day was just talking and talking and talking, with Milan as a lovely backdrop. It was great to talk to Gaby, not only because I hadn't seen her in so long but also because I haven't had anyone to talk to who actually knows me since David was here. So that was great, and we got to reminisce about St. Mary's stuff (like WHO WAS MY LOCKER PARTNER SENIOR YEAR? someone please answer this for me) and fill each other in on new stuff, and basically it was just the greatest day I have had since I left the states. We also met some Spaniards in the hostel and they told me that I speak Spanish very well - I was really excited about that.
The next morning I had a flight at 11:50 (Thing #3 not to do: leave early when I have no reason to be back in Barcelona!), so Gaby and I got up and went to the train station for some food and some people watching, then went our separate ways as she boarded a train back to Florence and I got on a bus back to the airport. No troubles this time though, I was through security an hour before boarding and we left on time.
So that was my weekend! It left me with the following thoughts:
1. Sometimes Italians are rude.
2. It is better to be crazy anal than lazy when it comes to traveling. Thank you, Dad.
3. Italian food is the greatest thing ever... but I was still very happy to come home to homemade paella and flan.
4. Gaby is an amazing human being, and I love and miss my friends from home.
5. Seriously. Be crazy anal when it comes to traveling. This was so stupid and SO avoidable.

Parentally-directed postscript: Please, lecture me via email or skype, rather than in the comment box.