I can’t help but roll my eyes a little every time I hear someone complain about Catalan. “I literally cannot understand anything they’re saying.” These are the same people that ask for our guided tours to be lead in fluent Spanish. As the only student on this trip who has studied the language for less than a full year, everything sounds like Catalan to me. I’ve actually kind of grown to love the Barcelonian tongue. I appreciate the history and political significance of Catalan, I admire the bilingualism of an entire autonomous community, I would be lying if I said I didn’t slightly enjoy watching some of my classmates struggle with the language, and reading signs advertising “Xips and Saladz” tickles me in a childish way.
At the end of week three we travelled to Madrid, Spain’s capital and home of the first spicy food I had eaten in months. Just around the corner from our hotel sat a tiny taco joint with a line looped down the street daily from 1:30 – Midnight. I don’t know if they were the BEST tacos I’ve ever had, but for a euro per taco, Takos Al Pastor served some pretty mean grub. It was a pleasant change of pace, visiting such a cosmopolitan city. I imagine Madrid is like the NYC of Spain. I could see myself living in Madrid in a way I could never picture moving to Barcelona. From a sociopolitical perspective, however, I don’t think I could live so close to the Spanish royal family as the national unemployment rate continues to skyrocket.
I guess that’s not so different from home though.
My mom and every Spanish news station on cable kept me updated on the political climate in Cheeto Land and the endless embarrassment that is our Cheeto-in-Chief. The more I learn about the Spanish government, the less faith I have that any country exists without major corruption issues.
I can’t wait until the day that women rule the world, governmental corruption are crises of the past, and ALL tacos are only one euro.
Maybe by then I’ll be able to understand a damn guided tour.