Back into Touristland

After four months of living in France with French families, it is strange to find myself a tourist again. It was a bit surreal arriving in Spain a few days ago and losing my ability to understand what is going on around me: I never spoke much Spanish, and the last time I used it was in Mexico and Guatemala five years ago. French has triumphed--it has successfully pushed all Spanish out of my brain completely. At the train station I couldn't even remember the word for tomorrow! Because I associate Spanish with Mexico and Central/South America, I've had images of dusty cowboy frontiers in my head since I arrived.

Language makes a huge difference. In France, when I have a coffee in a cafe or when I shop at the market, I can and do have conversations with people. In Spain I am cut off from everything but the English speaking tourist world. I find myself seeking out French speakers when I sit in the hostel lobby, or when I'm wandering the boulevards. English speakers are a last resort; last night I shared a room with a group of French people and their American friend; it was a great night of sangria and English/French conversation. Sunday night in Barcelona turned out to be not too bad--at 2am we found a red-lit bar with bazouki-fusion music and a tired waitress.

Barcelona is beautiful. My first day of wandering about, I litterally stopped in my tracks and nearly exclaimed, 'Gaudi!' Barcelona is studded with his works, including the candyland hallucination Parc Güell. I spent forever just sketching and marvelling, watching people and listening to the musicians in a mosaic-covered cavern.

It's been fabulously sunny lately, and I spent one afternoon watching the skaters ramp along the square in front of the MAC BA and CCCB, two art contemporary art and culture galleries. MAC BA had an exhibit of Rodney Graham's work, and if anyone can explain why his work is so revered, please explain it to me, because I find him thoroughly boring. (NB: he was born in Abottsford!) John Baldessari's work, however, cracks me up. I also enjoyed öyvind Fahlström's 'Mao-Hope March', Eleanor Antin's '100 Boots', and Miralda's 'Pas mal,' and 'Pas mal de tout.' The CCCB had a show called Atopia, on the city and the civilian. There were some wonderful works there, including the whimsical if somehow disturbing sculptures by Erwin Wurm, especially 'Squirt', and the plainly bizarre sculptures of Evan Penny. I also really enjoyed Nuno Cara's photography series, 'Room with a View'.

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and there was a slow procession up the main street of a sculpture of Jesus on a donkey. At La Sagrada Família, mass was in progress outside, and the park facing it was overrun with families. It was a good picture day.

Thanks to the forces of colonisation, I'll be back en francais by the end of the week (more of less). Until then, I'll be getting a sunburn and buying postcards whilts bungling the Spanish language...