Paige en Sevilla – We speak Catalan

Barcelona is a big city to conquer in one weekend. I went with a girl from my program and another, the French girl whom we met in Cádiz, to a concert. We arrived just on time, like true concert-goers, two hours late and just as the band was coming on stage. WhoMadeWho put on a great show, creating a different vibe in this intimate venue (which pleasantly reminded me of San Francisco’s Warfield) than at South Pop. My friends and I made our way to the front row and at the end of the show, the guitarist reached out and shook my hand; I like to think he remembered us from Isla Christina, since we saw them after that show and told them how amazing their performance had been.

Friday was rainy, but we began our day with a free walking tour led by a Swedish man living in Barna (not Barça, he warned us—that’s the fútbol team) for the last six years. He took us to the Ramblas, a street filled with shops, famous for being famous; a mural that Franco installed as a middle-finger-esque gesture to the Catalans (Franco despised Barcelona, so he built an incredibly ugly building in the middle of the old town center, on which he placed another artistic battle: a mural created by Picasso mimicking (more like making fun of) the style of Juan Miró); he took us to city hall and the parliament, explaining the Catalan Independence flag and pointed out the many statues of Saint George killing dragons (the dragon is a symbol of religion, so this Saint was admired for defeating religions outside of Christianity); we walked down the Avenue, after which Picasso’s first cubist work was named: The Brothel of the Avenue.

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