Montserrat

One nice thing about living in Spain is that they take their Christian holidays seriously.  For example, the institute where I work was closed on both Good Friday and on the day after Easter.  Nice.  With the day off on Good Friday, I decided to take a visit to Montserrat.  Montserrat is the site of a Benedictine monk mountain retreat about an hour or so northwest of Barcelona.  Apparently the views there are incredible.  The word Montserrat means "Saw Mountain", probably because the guy who first discovered it told his buddy, "I saw a mountain" and his buddy translated it into Catalan.  Probably something like that.

Now, if you're ever thinking of going to a religious tourist retreat during a national religious holiday, I have some advice for you: don't do it.  The first sign of trouble appeared when I had to fight through the masses to get onto the train at La Plaça Espanya:

Things got way worse when I got to the bottom of the mountain:

There are two primary ways to get to the top of the mountain.  One is a cable car called the Aeri, which can carry only 30 people at a time and goes every 15 minutes.  The other is a train, which holds way more people and is way more efficient.  Guess which one was closed for the holiday?  That's right, good guess.  In a way this is a refreshing contrast to the way things are in the US, where people have to go to work at Walmart on Christmas morning.  Here in Spain, they value their time off.  The price for this refreshing view of life, however, is that it took me 2 hours to make it from the train to the top of the mountain.

Eventually, though, I did make it to the top and the view was incredible:

I also took a picture of all the masses still waiting in line at the bottom of the mountain:

Suckers!  Aside from the view, there were also a bunch of cool-looking buildings and whatnot.

Finally, you win a prize if you can figure out what's going on in the lower left panel of this sign:

La Vila 2

Qué pasa, hombres y mujeres?  I don't have much of anything interesting to say this time.  Lately, I've just been sleeping, running all over the place to take care of my immigration paperwork, and reading a ton of stuff at work.  That's about it.  So, let's talk a bit about where I live.

The town I live in is called Bellaterra, and is about 20 km north-northwest-ish of the center of Barcelona.  I live in a dorm just off the edge of the campus of the Autonomous University of Barcelona, which is where I work.  The dorm I live in is called Vila 2, and is reserved for grad students, teachers, visiting researchers, etc.  It's the old-person dorm, happily nestled amongst a bunch of young-person dorms.  Here are some pictures:

My apartment is at the very end of that long hallway.  I have found that this place can be a little boring on the weekends, so eventually it will be nice to move to Barcelona.  However, it's very nice for getting settled in, as the facility has two restaurants, laundry, a market, cash machines, and hordes of 20-year-old Spanish college girls walking around.  Booya.

He llegado en España, parte dos

After 17 hours of flying, losing my bag, getting drenched, and running all over town with Rosa, I was finally able to relax for a moment and take stock of my new digs.  For the most part, the apartment isn't too bad.

Overall, it's a decent place to start off.  However, there are a couple issues.  First, consider the toilet:

Do you see the problem here?  What you see, my friends, is the disturbing lack of a bidet.  The second issue I found is the closet.  Check it out:

That is 100% of the closet space that exists in my apartment.  Seriously, how is one supposed to become a metrosexual European man with so little room for tight pants and tailored shirts?

Ok, that's enough complaining.  Life is still very good, for two reasons.  First, the view outside my window is awesome.  Second, I'm in Spain.

He llegado en España, parte uno

My flight to Spain left San Francisco early on Tuesday morning and arrived in Barcelona at approximately 10:30 am on Wednesday.  The trip included two very short layovers, one in Boston and one in Dublin.*  This would prove to be problematic, as my duffel bag didn't make one of the connections.**  Thus, my first chance to speak Spanish involved figuring out how to get my bag delivered to my apartment.

After hopping the bus to La Plaça Catalunya, I had to cross the plaza to get on the train to Bellaterra.  Unfortunately, it was raining cats and dogs (perros y gatos, as they may or may not say here).  I made a dash across the plaza but ended up getting soaked anyway.  The train eventually delivered me, wet and shivering, to Bellaterra.  There I met Rosa, the HR manager at the institute where I work.  The first thing she did was give me an umbrella, and then she helped me open a bank account, check into my apartment, and register my address with the local municipality.

After the uncertainty and the rain and the insanity, I was able to return to my apartment and take a breather.

To be continued...




* About a year ago, my brother gave me a bunch of T-shirts that he had accumulated during his world travels.  Whenever I wear one, someone invariably asks me if I have been to the location depicted on the shirt.  It always hurts to see the look of disappointment in their eyes when I have to say, "No, it was my cooler and much more adventurous brother.  Thanks for asking, though."  However, after spending 1.5 hours in the Dublin airport, I can now wear my Dublin T-shirt proudly.

** My bag ended up spending way more time in Dublin than I did.

Moving

I'm going to start this thing off with a highly controversial opinion: moving is a pain in the ass.  I know I may have offended some of you, but I swear it's true.  The primary reason for this fact is that, as humans, we have a tendency to collect things.  And by things, I mean stuff.  Clothes and books and games and useless knick-knacks.  In general, the longer we stay in one place, the worse it gets.

Therefore, the past week or so has consisted of eliminating as many of my possessions as possible.  Sometimes the choices are easy -- nostalgic photos from my childhood, gone.  Other choices are more difficult -- signed poster of Stacee Jaxx, you're staying!  Fortunately, after a great  deal of agonizing, I managed to wittle all of my worldly possessions down to a backpack, a duffle bag, and a few small U-Haul boxes.  Tomorrow, it's off to Spain.

Back in the game

Howdy folks!  As some of you may know, I moved to Barcelona on the 12th of March.  As some of you may also know, in that time I have made approximately zero blog entries about my adventures.  Today that changes, so let the updates begin once again...

P.S. You probably figured this out already, but the first few of these posts are going to be pre-dated until I catch up with the backlog of heart-wrenching adventures I've been on so far.  Think of it this way, it's like I'm talking to you...from the future.