Okay, I'll bore you with another Spain adventure before putting up my newest article - biting political satire! Yeah, babeh. It's hott. Plus, it's nice to actually be writing again. But hey - this is pretty okay, too.
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10 Apr 2008. 8:42pm.
I awaken, full of energy after a good night's rest, albeit populated with strange renaissance visions. I quickly bathe myself in the communal washroom and throw on some clothes.
I stand in the doorway and extend my arm like a poorly-crafted imitation of Augusto Pérez, feel the slight rain trickle onto my outstretched palm, and step out into the street.
It's a good three hours before we plan on meeting to see our first class-designated site, so I begin to walk in that general direction.
While Tarragona has a vibe permeated with a sense of 'chill' and Barcelona also shares some of that laid-back feeling, Madrid is the opposite - it's hustle and bustle, people rushing about at top speed from place to place. Plus, it's really far away from my beloved Mediterranean.
Translation: Madrid is nice, Barcelona better, but Tarragona is home.
After a long, soggy trip down crowded streets, I arrive at the corner we're set to meet at. I wait a bit, and then the profesora appears, ushering me up the street to where the others are waiting.
She introduces me to the other students, who serve as an amazing sampling of the student body of URV. There's Paloma, with the horrible Euro-girl mullet. There are Mercedes and Macarena, the two girls who seem to actually keep their haircolor. There's Carlos, the other token male (an IT student) and Macarena's boyfriend. There are the four bottled blondes, whose features and voices are all so similar that I immediately forget their names.
And then there's Carolina.
She's not the kind of girl I'm usually attracted to, but something about her almost demands my attention. Maybe it's her smile, mischievous and a little sad. Perhaps it's her pale, almost waif-like skin, like that of a porcelain doll. It could be her eyes, a shocking green-blue that seem so melancholic and always on the verge of tears. Whatever it is, I'm drawn to her.
We walk towards the Centro de Ciencias Humanas y Sociales, our first visit of the day. I keep to myself, listening to the others converse, since they are all friends and classmates and I'm an outsider. We arrive, and after jumping through the ridiculous security hoops, we find ourselves inside the biggest library I've ever seen.
Level after level, shelf after shelf, I'm floored by what I see. 27 kilometers of shelf space, most of it filled to the brim. It's a bibliophile's heaven, a book geek's Mecca. We're led through area after area, and it's all I can do to say to the directora, "You all have fun looking, I'm here to read." Yet somehow I restrain myself and continue on the tour.
As we finish, we part until we're to gather again at 5 at the Bibiloteca Real. The girls invite me to come grab some food with them, and I accept. We arrive at a restaurant and find a couple of tables for all of us. Carolina sits down next to me as we begin to peruse the menus.
I continue to keep to myself, until she asks a question (I don't even remember what) and I start to speak. They're all surprised by how well I speak, and suddenly I'm the center of attention, as I explain how I learned Spanish, what prompted me to come to Spain, what I think of Tarragona.
They all begin to open up, and I'm accepted. Now, instead of being the weird American kid whose name no-one can pronounce, I'm one of them. It's a great feeling, to be honest.
We finish our meal and we're off for the Biblioteca. Carolina and I continue to talk, and I try to make her laugh as much as I can. Her laugh is high, invigorating, like the peals of the small church bell.
After jumping through equally aggravating hoops to get it, we finally enter the Biblioteca Real, once the private library of Spain's royal family. It's gorgeous - books and manscripts from the fourteenth century on, all begging to be devoured.
By me, of course.
If the other library was Mecca, this is Jerusalem itself. To put it as a BlueDev-ism, it's a total biblio-gasm.
If only we could have more time to enjoy it. It's beautiful, and it makes me anxious for the day that I'm an old professor, with years and years of collecting until I've got a drool-inducing personal library, one with every great work one can imagine - and I've read almost (if not all) of them.