Merce

This weekend was Merce, a huge festival in Barcelona. In the past, the celebrations usually last for a week but because of the economic crisis, Merce was shortened to four days, Thursday the 22nd to Sunday the 25th. There´s a lot to do, both traditional activitives and performances, and everything is free. In general, music and concerts were concentrated in the Old Quarter or Barrio Gotic, theatrical performances in Montjuic and dance shows in the Parque de la Cuitadella. I never made it to Montjuic and overall, I think I did very little, but it was a wonderful experience. I´m still amazed by the idea of a city party, totally free, that is for everyone to enjoy. I don´t think we have anything that can compare in the United States. There are huge outdoor concerts and county fairs, but these things aren´t free and they aren´t created with the intention of bringing together an entire city in celebration. That is something that Spain does well. And everything was crowded.

On Thursday, Aimee, Raluca and I went to our free soccer game, somewhere on the outskirts of Barcelona at the end of Linea 5 (my train line). We had great seats, close to the ground behind one of the goals, but even better than that we were right next to the cheering section, which carried on songs and chants for the entire game and never sat down. We tried to catch some of the words and we learned that a shrill whistle is used for negative things, like a bad call by a ref, and its okay to flip off the other team´s goalie. It wasn´t a Barça match (like Knox would get us seats in Camp Nou), but it was RCD Espanyol, apparently the oldest (or one of the oldest) futbol teams in Spain and the first to have all their players be of Spanish origin. They played Getafe, a small Madrid team, and won 1-0 in overtime. Coming back, we went to Plaça de Sant Jaume and Av. de la Catedral to catch the concerts there. One was world music, the other was flamenco. Aimee and I attempted to follow the dancers around us at the flamenco concert, with varying results (I can´t dance, Aimee can). Friday I went back to Pl. de Sant Juame for the muestra de dragones y bestias de fuego. A parade of homemade dragons and demons paraded through the crowds at Jaume, exiting from the Government Building of Barcelona. The dragons spouted flames from fireworks attached to their horns, mouths and talons. Between dragons were small drumline groups, and if I were a child in Barcelona, I would aspire to be a drumliner, they were so cool. Afterwords, we treked out to the Parque de la Cuitadella for El Lago de los Cisnes (Swan Lake). It was basic ballet, but it took place (in parts) on a pond in the park and in the monument surrounding the main fountain.

Saturday was rainy, so I didn´t venture out for the gigantes in the morning. That night I met Areanna, Erik and Natalia for the exhibicion pirotecnica en la playa. It was good fireworks display and we managed to get close enough that each boom was deafening. It began to rain again at the very end, so we escaped to a pizza place toward the end of Barceloneta and split a pizza and vino tinto. Sunday I went out early for the castelles y sardanas, the two events I had really been looking forward to, back in the Pl. de Sant Jaume and Av. de la Catedral with Aimee and Areanna. Castelles didn´t go so well, because we were too far away to see well, standing in the direct sunlight and I almost passed out from dehydration. We managed to see a little, people stacking themselves two or three stories high, with small children scrambling to the top, before we escaped to some shade. The sardana is a traditional Catalunyan dance, in which dancers form a circle, hold hands, and dance in a very measured way. Aimee and I again tried to follow along, and it was a little easier than flamenco, because its slower paced and repetative. It reminded me of Israeli folk dancing at camp. That night I went with Laura and Kevin to the Pl. Espanya for the fireworks and music show. This was definietly more impressive than the fireworks at the beach, because the display was timed to the music (mostly American pop and classics) and went on for a good fourty minutes. From there we returned to Parque de la Cuitadella because Laura wanted to see Swan Lake, but we walked, which took about an hour (less, if we had been paying attention to where we were going).

The last part of my adventure was getting on the wrong nitbus. We had assumed that the metro would stay open later for Merce festivities, but this wasn´t true at all, so after Swan Lake we headed to Pl. Catalunya, the central location for every nitbus. I´d used the nitbus a few times, so I was sure I knew what I was doing. However, we ended up on the opposite end of Pl. Catalunya from where I catch my nitbus (N3 Collblanc to Torre Melinda), so I got on the N3 going the opposite way (to Montcada). I didn´t realize I was on the wrong bus because it was so full I couldn´t look out the window and see which streets we were on. I can tell the correct route because it´s the same one that my regular bus takes. When the bus had finally cleared out, I realized I was very far from home. We were about to get on some kind of highway or expressway. I got off there and ran across the street to the N3 station going in the other direction and waited about 20 minutes, at 2 in the morning, completely alone, for my bus to come. I wasn´t feeling afraid so much as stupid, because I should have figured out sooner that I was on the wrong bus. By the end of the night, it had taken me an extra hour to get home.

There´s a lot coming up in the next couple of weeks. Tonight is the beginning of Rosh Hashana, and unfortunately, I completely dropped the ball with that. I was hoping to find a group of students to celebrate with, and Toni did manage to locate a group that seems geared toward youth and welcomes international students, but I didn´t have enough time to contact them about services. Hopefully, I can join them for a Shabbat service in the next two months. I have been to church, but that was bizarre experience for me and probably my only instance of culture shock. I think it´s because I understand what´s happening and the traditions and technically the words are the same, but its a different language and people behave differently. One of these days I´ll go to mass at one of the huge old churches in the Gothic Quarter. Tomorrow, we´re going to see a play and Friday is my birthday (don´t ask me what I´m doing, Aimee is planning the whole thing and will probably only tell me what metro stop to meet at). Next week, on the 6th, we head off to our excursion in the Pyrennes. In the middle of that is Yom Kippur on the 8th and I´m considering fasting (not completely fasting, Mom. Smaller meals kind of fasting). When I return, it will be to an almost empty house. For the past couple of weeks, besides mi madre espanyola, there is her son, his wife, their dog, and the Frenchman. The Frenchman (as I call him) is a student in another group for Europeans (probably Erasmus, which is a big one, although I haven´t asked). We get along alright and he spends most of his time on the internet. But when I get back from the mountains, everyone will have left and it will be me and mi madre. Hopefully by then I won´t be so timida, shy, as she calls me. I try to talk, but I can´t always find the words I´m looking for and I end up saying nothing. My biggest fear is that I´ll return from Spain with only marginally better Spanish. I can keep up in my classes but its the regular conversations with others that still stump me. I need to be menos timida y mas fuerte.