We arrived there by bus… all 11 hours of it. It was a lovely ride, with a fair share of creepy people, and cute kids making rhymes in French. Emilie and I caught up, drew pictures, played blind pig, and I tried not to laugh too loudly so as not to draw attention from the creepers whose presences you can just FEEL when you’re in Spain. Which is a shame, b/c it’s a pretty cool country, and in retrospect I think I had my creeper radar on too high a setting, being such a savvy lady as I am. But you can never be too careful.
Anyway.
We got into Barcelona at the bus station, Emilie used her mad Spanish skillz to hail a cab, and we hopped in. Our cabbie proceeded to – out of goodwill, I’m certain – scare the living daylights out of us with is tales of delinquents who loiter near our hostel, located just off of Las Ramblas, one I would later not hesitate to call one of the more seedy streets I’ve EVER visited. But it ended up we were scared for nothing, as it was just like, party people and probably the occasional creeper, but Emilie and I had bought hats at H&M in order to give us a true don’t-mess-with-me edge.
We get into our 20-person room, I pass out on a mattress on the floor and Emilie is kept awake by sounds of drunken revelry within the room, as well as by a young gent outside who took it upon himself apparently to serenade the entire square with an acappella version of “(ooo wooo woo) I Wanna be Like You” from the classic Disney Cartoon musical (one that I could never watch too much b/c I thought the end was too sad) THE JUNGLE BOOK.
Maybe I do wanna walk like you, talk like you do.
In brief, we woke up the next day, got an ice cream (top notch in the Barca) and proceeded to get lost in the winding labyrinthine streets of Barcelona’s Barrio Gotika trying to find the Picasso museum. It was very Auberge Espagnole (that movie did a good job of capturing the Barca vibe…walking around I was like, yes – I feel it. Not the same for like, when I visited Boston and tried to be in my own version of Good Will Hunting…though don’t get me wrong, good will hunting is an excellent movie). We eventually met some baby art students outside the Picasso Museum, and we proceeded to spend about an hour or two longer than them inside this Picasso museum. We are art students of life!
I only sortof understand how Picasso went from Point A to Point B, but I get cubism now for the most part, and it’s cool! Emilie and I liked his bajillion versions of some painting from the Prado (one that we SAW in person later….we also saw an old slutty frat boy from our U of P days in the same museum – on a weekend sojurn from some fancy NY-See-how-important-I-am finance job to visit his lady on her semester abroad in Madrid … how ‘bout them apples!?).
Emilie opened my eyes to one particular red dude that Pablo had painted, and we thought we were pretty funny the rest of the trip when we were trying to recreate live in person how Picasso painted him. Live Cubism! Example 1:
Example 2:
So yeah, Picasso was a little bit of a slut (his prostitute pictures were like, who Master P, you are a perv), but he was a funny guy. Some of his sketches – particularly of dogs – were just funny. Him an his friends had a real fun thing going at the 3 Cats Café, where they’d all hang outs and think of new and pervy ways to be funny and talented. V. excusable, even encouragable! Girls didn’t seem to be invited though to his fun cafe time – ‘cept as girlfriends – so like, no fun.
Enough about Senor P.
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