Am I Stoned or is That a Picasso?

Seville faded into the distance and the long train ride to Barcelona was nearly over. I had passed the time by speaking with a Spanish woman I met on the train. Since my Spanish was about as good as her English we sputtered, coughed, and otherwise choked our way through a conversation. A primitive communication system was developed using various hand signals, exaggerated facial expressions, and good old pencil and paper. It was amazing. With time and a little patience we were both able to convey issues that were of deep cultural import, such as "Choo-choo go Barcelona now". I'm still not positive but she was either a school teacher or the Mayor of Madrid. I arrived safely and quickly took stock of the place.


Barcelona was a wonderful city. Its beautiful seaport, open air markets, and twisty gothic quarter are magnificent. The pedestrian walk called Las Ramblas was lined with a variety of living "statues". Men and women dressed as Native Americans, Roman guards, God, the Devil, Michael Jackson, and the like, all standing perfectly still, as if their non-paraplegic frozen musculature was worthy of monetary gain. Las Ramblas also contained a very impressive array of flower shops, jewelry stands, and several open-air pet shops selling exotic animals such as baby emu and odd little chickens (no joke). If you follow the throng of people you flow right down to the water's edge where a massive spire is topped with a statue of Christopher Columbus pointing towards the New World, as if to say, "Hey, I see some people over there we can massacre!" I visited the Segrada Familia, the Gaudi cathedral that has been under construction for a little over 100 years and looks far from being finished. Unfortunately it is heavily scaffolded at the moment which removes quite a bit of the majesty. Undaunted by the construction I climbed the spiral staircase hundreds of feet up the dizzying tower so I could see what it was like to vomit from the top of a Barcelona church; same as anywhere else, I suppose. The Park Guell (another Gaudi creation) was more of highlight in my opinion with cool architecture that looked like it was lifted straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.
Later, I met up with a couple of fun girls (whose names will be withheld to protect the guilty) and we tooled around a bit. Apparently, Barcelona is stocked with giant bricks of hash (note to family members: just add the word "browns" whenever I say hash and you'll feel fine again). The girls got a hold of some, we smoked up in their room without inhaling, then went over to the Picasso museum, because, honestly, where else would you go at that point? The gallery included a lot of his early work, including lesser known paintings of giant bags of Fritos and Hostess cupcakes. Come to think of it I may have just been stoned.