Le quiero
What am I looking for in Barcelona? The answer is vague at best, and I suspect the real answer is not readuly accessible yet.
When I decided to take a trip out of the UK, my first choice was Berlin. However, at the time I was ready to book a flight, Barcelona was a better option, cost-wise, than Berlin. So, at the set out, I was not heading to Barca.
I borrowed a Spanish language book from the town library. The smattering of Spanish I learned at Guelph were refreshed. The Spanish words felt smooth on my tounge. It was, an still is a pleasure to speak the language. Patrick had kindly lend a guide book to Barcelona. I skimmed it, not really making a concrete plan of what to do and where to go. The night before I'm du to fly, my plan was still very much open. Sagrada Familia. La Ramblas. Montjuic. They were just venues, random. It fels strange not to impose a structure upon the days that I'm going to spend in Barca. I'm quite used to make plans for trips. Even for going to a car boot sales. I'm perturbed by the lack of intention.
During the flight, I took the guidebok yet again. I managed to read more leisurely. There was no pressure to systhesise anything from the book. The more that I read, the more I'm endeared to this city. The old and new, expansion, preserving historical root. These phrases used to describe Barca have more romantic appeal than can be said about Lboro.
Perhaps, this romantic appeal also tugs at my heart as I'm writing this piece. My mind replayed the song 'Dambaan' from time to time. It seemed like an apt song to bring to Barca. I hope Barca will help me find a way to deal with the lingering longing. Forcing it into a recognisable shape. So that I can give it a name. And, perhaps say out aloud, le quiero.
When I decided to take a trip out of the UK, my first choice was Berlin. However, at the time I was ready to book a flight, Barcelona was a better option, cost-wise, than Berlin. So, at the set out, I was not heading to Barca.
I borrowed a Spanish language book from the town library. The smattering of Spanish I learned at Guelph were refreshed. The Spanish words felt smooth on my tounge. It was, an still is a pleasure to speak the language. Patrick had kindly lend a guide book to Barcelona. I skimmed it, not really making a concrete plan of what to do and where to go. The night before I'm du to fly, my plan was still very much open. Sagrada Familia. La Ramblas. Montjuic. They were just venues, random. It fels strange not to impose a structure upon the days that I'm going to spend in Barca. I'm quite used to make plans for trips. Even for going to a car boot sales. I'm perturbed by the lack of intention.
During the flight, I took the guidebok yet again. I managed to read more leisurely. There was no pressure to systhesise anything from the book. The more that I read, the more I'm endeared to this city. The old and new, expansion, preserving historical root. These phrases used to describe Barca have more romantic appeal than can be said about Lboro.
Perhaps, this romantic appeal also tugs at my heart as I'm writing this piece. My mind replayed the song 'Dambaan' from time to time. It seemed like an apt song to bring to Barca. I hope Barca will help me find a way to deal with the lingering longing. Forcing it into a recognisable shape. So that I can give it a name. And, perhaps say out aloud, le quiero.
Comments