Time is On Spain's Side

Fewer hours may lead to greater happiness

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 03/26/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain — Siesta. This infamous Spanish tradition typically falls between 1 and 5 p.m., but depending on the whims of shop or restaurant owners, it could be anywhere from a half-hour break to taking the rest of the night off.

During siesta, most residents of Barcelona sip espresso shots and dine on croissant sandwiches at outdoor cafes, spend time at home with their families, or relax at the beach or in one of the city’s parks.

It’s certainly not the most productive business model, closing shop for most of the afternoon, and very different from the driven American sales ethic. However, it’s clear that overworked Americans could learn something from the Spanish view of leisure.

During a recent field study, my art history class visited the Joan Miro Foundation, a unique modern art museum dedicated to 20th century surrealist Joan Miro, who lived much of his life in Barcelona. Overlooking the city high on Montjuic Hill, the foundation is reached by a tram that funnels visitors to the top.

Unfortunately for our class, after it dropped off my professor, a few classmates and I at the hilltop, loudspeakers at the tram station informed us that it would no longer be running that day. It was only five in the evening, and no explanation was given for the change in schedule. What’s more, the rest of our class was stuck down at the bottom and forced to miss the free museum trip. With a laugh, my professor’s only response was, “That’s Spain for you.” Spaniards are certainly hardworking people, but their reverence for punctuality and clockwork-like efficiency is vastly different than that of the fast-paced hustle propagated by American society.

“Spanish time” runs at its own pace, and it’s a leisurely tempo. Buses, subways and trains stop for the day unexpectedly. The citizens of Barcelona stroll unhurried down their wide sidewalks without any thought of rushing (which can be a real pain when I’m attempting to hurry to class amid throngs of pedestrians).

Eating out in Barcelona is fueled by the same mindset. Traditional meals are not fast food, drive-thru or in-and-outs. Sitting down to eat is a lengthy and dignified affair, starting with tapas (appetizers), salads and Sangria, continuing with paella (seafood and rice dishes) and more Sangria, and finishing with dessert, café or Cava (Catalan champagne). The entire outing can last hours, but in Spain there’s no need to hurry.

Even when it’s not siesta, it’s common to see Spanish workers spending half their time on the job simply standing and staring, taking in the beautiful city around them without any motivation to get the job done. It’s no wonder buildings like La Sagrada Familia take centuries to complete.

As Americans, we grow up in our driven capitalist society, touting our intrepid workforce and high productivity as things we should be proud of. But as we work hard and long, do we really benefit more? Americans work on average between 46 and 50 hours per week. In Spain, the typical work week is much shorter, clocking in at roughly 35 hours.

But the Spanish people seem no less happy than those back in America. They take their time, relax their afternoons away with their family and friends and laugh off the regular breakdowns in public transportation. And they probably deal with much less stress because of it.

Maybe it’s just the sparkling sun in Barcelona or the close proximity to the beaches of the turquoise Mediterranean that lure the Spanish citizens into easy tranquility. But if happiness is the highest measure of life’s success, Americans could certainly learn something from Spain’s carefree attitudes and peaceful perception of time.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/28190

Student activism alive in Europe

Student activism alive at the Sorbonne

A trip to France highlights Cougar inactivity

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 03/12/2009

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PARIS – The riot police were out in force. Dressed in full body armor like baseball catchers, toting batons and tear gas canisters, dozens of them silently stood guard on the street outside the Sorbonne.

Waving cameras and microphones in the faces of campus administrators, the media were crowding the front gates of the famed campus of the University of Paris.

And locked inside were roughly 200 students, blockading the doors and staging an expression of dissent at President Nicholas Sarkozy’s recent plans to cut funding for higher education.

Civil Disobedience is nothing new at the Sorbonne. The campus, located in Paris’ Left Bank and not far from the meandering promenades of the Seine River, was the heart of the May 1968 student protests. This notorious general strike and lock-in, aimed at employment deficits and harsh government crackdowns on leftist groups, nearly forced then-President Charles De Gaulle from power, setting a new precedent for student activists worldwide.

But unlike the calls for freedom of expression that took place here in the ‘60s, I had a front-row view to the spectacle of protest that remains as strong as ever today in Paris.

Staying at a friend’s apartment on Rue Saint Jacques, near the more passive Sciences Po University, I got my initial view of French college students. Most of the undergraduates at Sciences Po reminded me of characters from Wes Anderson’s movie, "Rushmore.” Not really the type you would expect to overthrow a government.

But nowhere was the French students’ passion for political involvement more evident than at the Sorbonne. After getting word that a protest was underway, we approached the university amid tell-tale signs. Trucks of riot control officers suiting up. News vans and crowds of spectators. At the university entrance, forcefully barred doors proclaimed there would be no class today. Locals said that the students had locked themselves inside, blockading the doors with tables and chairs.

The riot police seemed content to stand outside and look intimidating, and no student leaders were making any significant calls for rebellion when we arrived. Nevertheless, the event forced me look at today’s American student activists with a fresh perspective.

French students are not alone in their passion for social dissent. While American universities may have lost the spark of past college movements, Barcelona has seen its share.

My first week in Spain, I witnessed a demonstration of more than 50,000 people, many of them students, marching against the recent Israeli offensive in the Gaza Strip and filling the City Center of Plaza Catalunya with fierce shouting and signs.

Healthy social dissent is the lifeblood of any democracy. Where would America be without the Boston Tea Party? College students have always been at the forefront of this freedom of speech, but much of that fire seems to have gone out at American universities today, particularly WSU.

Young Democrats, College Republicans and many more passionate campus groups, armed with infinite colored leaflets, always seemed to deter my route to class on the Glenn Terrell Mall. While I’ll commend those students for their efforts to be active citizens, their leaflets usually end up in the trash, and I wonder if their messages are truly being heard. And those negligible political efforts don’t seem much compared to what I witnessed at the Sorbonne.

Blocking the doors of Todd Hall with tables and chanting slogans of “freedom for education” may be going overboard, but in times of such political and economic stress, American students, regardless of their political leanings, could take a note from our European counterparts and ensure that our voices are heard loud and clear.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/28094

Education Beyond the Books

A recent visit to Morocco brings to light a common humanity

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/25/2009

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MARRAKESH, Morocco – No carefully crafted word or scenic photograph could do it justice. An oasis for the senses, Morocco captures your mind and tugs at your soul.

Islamic prayer calls echo from mosques five times daily, mixing with the beat of African drums. The taste of kebabs, mint tea, honey and other more alien cuisines. The fragrant smell of incense and hashish, mixed with the scent of sweat, donkeys and motorbike exhaust. The sight of orange groves and golden minarets. The feel of the scorching desert sun overhead and dusty streets underfoot.

It is a place of blinding contrast. There is abject poverty in the market alleys and Ferraris parked outside the Royal Gardens. Women covered head-to-toe in traditional Muslim dress, walking with men wearing Gucci jeans. Whole chickens roasted over open flames and eaten by hand, only blocks from KFC.

As a Caucasian American in Arabic Africa, to me, Morocco felt otherworldly. A place far beyond the familiar, marching to a very different drummer. But it’s a beat that is entirely captivating.

My Moroccan education began in the chaotic and crowed alleys of Djemaa el Fna, Africa’s largest marketplace. A giant square at the base of the Koutoubia Mosque, the Djemaa is an anthill of activity.

Wandering among the forceful hustling of orange juice sellers, kebab venders, snake charmers, fortune tellers and black market dealers in everything from fake designer brands to leopard skins, it’s a veritable trial by fire. But one that leaves you wiser on the other side.

Adhan, the Islamic prayer call, rings out over the city every few hours. It’s beautiful when it’s not waking you up at 5 a.m.

Observing a man dismount his bicycle in the middle of the sidewalk, remove his shoes, kneel facing Mecca and begin rigorously giving praise to Allah, I felt fortunate to experience a window into a religion grossly misunderstood by Western society.

Saturday, a bus trip to the Ouzoud waterfalls in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains brought a glimpse of Moroccan life beyond the city walls (www.gomoco.net). Under snow-capped peaks, we passed sheep herders, olive groves, and Berber villages to a place of both astounding natural beauty and wrenching poverty.

The falls themselves are one of the tallest in Africa, sending cascades of water – red with African dirt – into a gorge more than 100 meters deep. But nearby is a collection of vendors and beggars living off a trickle of tourist trade.

On our final day in Marrakesh, Tony – my traveling companion from WSU – and I choose to forgo the 80 Dirham (about $10) cab ride and walk to the airport far on the outskirts of town. Leaving Africa humbly on foot seemed fitting.

Trekking through the desert, down dusty streets and past herds of camels, I contemplated my experiences in Morocco – seeing the Arab and African world up close, living meagerly, haggling for every meal, and immersing ourselves in a place so vastly different from the one we call home. It was an unparalleled cultural education.

The U.S. is at war in two Muslim countries. Our soldiers are dying in distant lands, fighting people who seem foreign and out of touch with our Western reality. We see terrorist attacks on the nightly news and cringe at an entire culture.

Truly capturing Morocco is beyond my skill as a writer. But if there’s one thing I could impart from my journey, it’s that underneath the veil of culture, religion, and dress, the people here are as human as you or me.

Travel brings one indisputable truth: Arab, African, European, American, we are all citizens of humanity. We can recognize our differences – they make life exciting – but we must learn to celebrate this universal union before petty contrasts rip us further apart.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27890

A Look at London Beyond Big Ben

A look at London beyond Big Ben

Searching beyond tourist traps pays off for penny-pinching travelers

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/19/2009

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LONDON – Cloudy skies and misty weather. Rows of green trees in Kensington Gardens. Fish and chips rivaling Ivar’s. Music from The Clash to The Rolling Stones. Drinking songs on the subway and pitchers the size of buckets. If you’re from the Northwest, London is a place you could grow to love.

Stepping off our airport train at Victoria Station, I was immediately struck by comparisons to the Seattle area. From the brisk weather to seagulls circling the River Thames, the place felt just like home.

I came to London to see the tourist sights, dine on authentic fish and chips and take a Beatles picture at Abbey Road. I found a nostalgic similarity to the Northwest, mixed within an ancient city that is constantly evolving.

Beyond the familiar sites of Tower Bridge and Big Ben, I was fortunate to discover a side to London that could never be seen through the windows of a double-decker tour bus. Friendly locals, fresh blood brought to the city by immigrants, and centuries of proud history are pooled to create something fresh, but still distinctly British.

Walking to our hostel in Westminster, we passed tourists photographing smartly dressed guards at Buckingham Palace. It was immediately clear that seeing London’s famed sites was easy – they were everywhere you looked.

Discovering the heart of London took a more Sherlock Holmes-worthy investigation.

Meeting up with a friend-of-a-friend who was studying there, I found myself at The Court. Stepping into the pub to a greeting of careening rock 'n’ roll, rowdy patrons and enormous pitchers, I felt like I was back at The Coug, but with an unmistakably English twist. Not to mention the cheapest beer on tap was Stella Artois, a far cry from Busch Light.

After a few drinks and a happy birthday sing-along with some locals on the subway (“Tube” if you’re a Brit), we returned to our hostel and met the night’s roommate, a Sudanese student – further evidence of the far-reaching migration London has attracted.

The next day was spent among the tourist masses, wandering Trafalgar square, seeing the Rosetta Stone, Egyptian Mummies and other history at the British Museum. We passed St. Paul’s Cathedral, Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and crossed the Tower Bridge to a foreboding castle – the Tower of London.

But that night I was once again reminded that London is a town much more complex than mere postcard sights.

Beginning our Valentine’s night under the lights of Big Ben was amusing, but drinking Newcastle Ale on the steps of Buckingham Palace and serenading the Queen was much more fitting. And testament to London’s rogue style, passersby regarded our antics outside their monarch’s home as nothing out of the ordinary.

Directed by a friend who had spent time in London, Sunday morning was spent in Church. Not one filled with scripture but a weekly congregation of London locals – young and old – looking for fulfillment of an entirely different kind.

Sundays at noon near Camden Town, The Church (www.thechurch.co.uk) is a raucous combination of a bar, comedy show, music, burlesque dancers and all types of merriment. A gathering of locals and visitors from around Europe, it reinforced London’s style of reckless abandon, but somehow mixed it with a classically British refinement, while still putting every fraternity party to shame.

The night’s new roommate: a man from Peru looking for work, more evidence of the city’s renewal.

I saw Big Ben, Parliament, St. Paul’s and Buckingham Palace. I got my picture crossing Abbey Road. But I also saw a London that’s hidden beneath its famous surface. A city full of unmistakable parallels to home, but also one that is constantly evolving, all the while effortlessly maintaining its proudly distinct British character.

Next Week: Morocco...

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27820

Barcelona Boasts Art and Architecture

Barcelona boasts art and architecture

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/12/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain – Traditionally Roman Catholic, the Spanish people are adamant about Sunday being considered a day of rest. Accordingly, mine are usually spent sprawled on Saint Sebastia beach, recovering from the previous night’s exploits at absinthe bars or Irish pubs.

But in a city of unparalleled architecture and world-class museums, I decided this one should be more productive. Armed with my Metro pass, camera and a comfortable pair of Nikes, I set off to see 2,000 years of art and history before sunset.

Christopher Columbus landed in Barcelona after discovering the new world. I thought it would be fitting to begin my artistic voyage at the sculpture built in his honor. Located at the bottom of La Rambla boulevard and towering over the city’s marina, the inspiring figure of Columbus points toward the sea, surrounded by a host of stone angels and marble lions.

Following La Rambla, I maneuvered the eccentric avenue’s human labyrinth of performers, pickpockets, street vendors and drug dealers to my next destination, the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona (http://www.macba.cat).

Unfortunately, the modern art museum was closed but the steps of the building’s plaza are renowned as one of the finest skateboarding spots in the world. I spent most of my adolescence on a skate deck, so I was content to snack on fresh bakery bread and watch the local riders.

Crossing the city center, Plaza Catalunya, I walked further into the city. At the brilliantly blue-tiled Casa Batllo, I admired its skeleton awnings, reptilian scale roof and lance smokestack, designed by architect Antoni Gaudi to evoke St. George slaying the dragon.

Four blocks further I found Casa Mila, also designed by Gaudi. An enormous apartment of seemingly melting stone and wrought iron balconies, the building seems out of place beyond the pages of Dr. Seuss.

Hopping on the metro, I returned to Plaza Catalunya, diving into the narrow streets and hidden alleys of Barri Gotic, the Gothic Quarter. Barcelona’s oldest neighborhood, it's home to a soaring medieval cathedral, built within the ruins of the old Roman wall and aqueduct.

Hidden on a shady avenue nearby, I found more than 3,000 works by arguably the most famous artist of all time: Pablo Picasso. At a price of 6 Euros for students, the Barcelona Museu Picasso (www.museupicasso.bcn.es) holds an impressive collection stretching from the artist’s childhood to his final cubist periods.

Back at the marina, I entered a museum starkly different from Picasso’s. Free with my international student ID, the Museu d’Historia de Catalunya (www.en.mhcat.net) celebrates the story of Catalonia. From Stone Age settlements and Roman Empire conquest, to the rise of the Catalonian Empire and the Spanish Civil War, the museum provides an in-depth history of a nation, one now longing to be independent from Spain.

After refueling with a falafel lunch, I crossed the green lawns of La Ciutadella park and strolled beneath the giant Romanesque arch of the Arc De Triomf, boarding the metro toward Parc Guell.

Planned as an elegant neighborhood mimicking nature, the funding for Parc Guell ran dry before Gaudi could complete it. Today, it’s a sprawling park of stone columns, ornate sculptures and fanciful buildings, all covered in vibrantly colored mosaics.

The sun had set when I reached La Sagrada Familia (www.sagradafamilia.cat). Illuminated by floodlights and set against a backdrop of cranes, it’s an impressive sight. Gaudi’s masterwork is the crown jewel of Barcelona, despite being decades from completion.

Begun in 1882 and projected to be finished around 2026, The Temple of the Holy Family is an artistic and architectural triumph. Captivating the city’s skyline, every foot of the temple’s towers (18 of them when completed) are adorned with symbolic sculpture, stirring evidence of the artist’s genius. Unequaled in its scale and splendor, it was a fitting monument to end my day.

Next stop: London.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27743

A Hurricane in Montserrat

Staggering winds change plan

Historic art tour postponed due to unforeseeable weather

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/05/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain – It was one of the worst storms in recent Spanish history, unleashing hurricane force winds on Barcelona, killing more than 10 people in northern Spain and southern France and causing billions (of euros) in damages.

And we were stranded at a train station, 50 kilometers outside the city, high in the mountains of Catalonia.

The morning had started peacefully enough. Though heavy winds were rocking our apartment building, my friends and I had no intention of canceling our trip outside the city to the Benedictine Abbey of Santa Maria de Montserrat (www.abadiamontserrat.net).

The abbey, first built in 1025 AD, is more than 4,000 feet up in the Montserrat, or Serrated Mountains. Reached now either by a meandering tram or a set of cable cars, it has been a popular Christian pilgrimage site for centuries.

Home to La Morenta, or the black virgin, a 12th century sculpture of the Virgin Mary that is regarded as the patron of Catalonia, the site is revered by the Spanish people as one of the holiest places in Europe. The monastery itself has even been rumored to be the hiding place of the Holy Grail.

The wind was nearly blowing us over as we boarded our train, but being naively bold Americans, we had no intention of letting a little breeze stop our expedition.

After an hour’s ride, we stepped off the train at the base of Montserrat to see cable car lines swinging wildly in the howling wind, quickly dashing our hopes of a ride to the top. Not only were the cable cars closed, but the tram tracks had recently been buried by rock slides.

Our hopes of a Saturday spent walking through the centuries-old abbey may have been dashed, but unwilling to go home, we decided to indulge our vagabond sides and simply follow the train to the end of the line.

But first, lunch. The café was tucked away behind the train station. Standing guard outside was a pair of dogs that seemed fully capable of eating American travelers, and the shack itself could have easily been part of the set for “Hostel.” Despite the place’s appearance, the bocadillos, (sandwiches with Iberian ham, eggs, cheese and tomato spread) were delicious and the owners were extraordinarily welcoming.

We boarded the train once more, heading northwest into the mountains. Exploring the hamlets of Sant Vicenc de Castellet and Castellbell i el Vilar, we discovered an aqueduct built by the Romans and investigated the crumbling ruins of a Spanish plantation, while quenching our thirst with cheap Estrella beer at every local bar we passed.

The afternoon found us tiredly returning to the train station, only to find a uniformed conductor shaking his head. No more trains, the storm had blown trees down over the tracks. No more buses running either.

The Spanish transportation system is impeccable. But here, far outside Barcelona in a tiny town where our English stood out like a sore thumb, we were completely marooned.

So we did the only logical thing, we started walking. An hour of trekking later and one town over, we followed signs to another train station that supposedly led to the city. But things still weren’t looking good. The station was deserted, just a maze of empty tracks and walls of wild graffiti.

Of all the people we could have met in a deserted train station, in a wind storm, in the mountains of Catalonia, “Lefty” was the last one I would have imagined.

“I’m from New Hampshire, how are you guys doing?” were the first words I heard the man say as he came around the corner and spotted us sprawled and looking lost next to the tracks.

“Lefty,” as he introduced himself, had come to Spain from the states almost five years ago. He worked as a jazz musician in Barcelona for a while before he moved to the peace and quiet of the village, where he said he made an honest living as a “gardener.”

Lucky for us, “Lefty” knew the only taxi driver in town.

Two hours and 70 euros later, we were back in Barcelona, toasting to our adventure and watching the sun fall below the stormy horizon of the Mediterranean.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27642

The Speech Heard Around the World

The Speech Heard Around the World

Europeans react favorably to Obama's inaugural message

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 01/29/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain – Elevator rides in my apartment building can be awkward. The machine is ancient and it would probably be faster to take the six flights of stairs.

My Spanish neighbors are very nice and exceptionally courteous, but when they’re crammed into the elevator with my roommates and me, I can’t help but wonder if they only regard us as those loud Americans who are always playing music and filling up the recycling bin with wine and beer bottles.

But the day before Barack Obama’s inauguration was different.

Returning from class, one of my roommates and I stepped into the tiny elevator with an older Spanish gentleman we had never met. Dressed in a fine gray suit and tie, he could have easily come from any corporate boardroom in the city. Hearing us speaking English, he asked in slow, polite Spanish if we were from England. No, we replied; “Estados Unidos.” Upon hearing our nationality, the man did something highly uncharacteristic of a somber Spanish professional. He raised his fist in a clear sign of victory and said one triumphant word: “Obama!” We couldn’t help but smile and respond in kind. The man went on to excitedly tell us, in a mix of Spanish and English, that he would be closely watching the inauguration the next day.

The following day I found that, to my dismay, my first political science class coincided with Obama’s oath of office. I seriously contemplated skipping, but as it was the first day of a class in a foreign country I thought better of it.

Three metro stops later, I walked into my classroom to find CNN.com projected broadly onto the wall, and my professor eagerly beaming up at an image of the packed National Mall on the screen.

“This is a global politics class,” he said in shaky English. “I thought it would only be appropriate to watch this today, as it is so important to our world.” We devoted the entire class period to watching and discussing the opening addresses, oath of office, and the poetry readings afterward. I was thankful I didn’t stay in my apartment to watch it on my laptop.

During the presidential campaigns, John McCain criticized Obama for being a “celebrity” in Europe and overseas. He argued that his popularity outside the U.S. had no real bearing on his ability to be commander-in-chief, and that it was merely a trend.

Looking at this historic American event with a Spanish set of eyes, I strongly disagree. After experiencing the inauguration from a European perspective, from talking to countless Spanish bartenders, professors, my neighbors and many more about Obama, I can truly say that today I am proud of my country. And for once, so is Europe.

The Bush administration spent eight years degrading America’s image abroad. While the expectations set for Obama may be impossibly high, his election to our nation’s highest office has already produced a heady victory for our country and its international relations.

What’s more, the hope and excitement in a new America that Obama has sparked in the citizens of foreign countries is a triumph for me, and every other American living abroad.

To see the unbridled elation in that Spanish gentleman’s eyes when he mentioned my country’s new president gave me hope for a brighter future in America, Europe and the rest of the world.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27492

The Language Barrier

Facing big changes while in Barcelona

WSU junior struggles with language barrier

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 01/22/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain — Located on the Mediterranean Sea in northeastern Spain, this city of roughly three million people is famous for its sprawling boulevards, picturesque beaches, historic art and architecture, and as the capital of the autonomous region of Catalonia.

And for a little more than a week, it has been my new home.

Waiting at the Metro stop this morning, I went over ideas in my head for this first study abroad opinion column. Should it be about my tortuously long red-eye flight from Sea-Tac to Spain? Or the incredibly ornate architecture of Antoni Gaudi and famous works of Picasso I've seen around the city? The nightclubs and discothèques that never sleep? Or maybe the flawless ease of the city’s public transportation system?

As my Metro train arrived at La Barceloneta station, I headed off to my first class of the day. A group of Spanish children sitting next to me presented the perfect topic, a problem that has continually plagued me since day one in Europe.

The second I sat down, the kids began pointing and chattering. My blue North Face jacket was about the same as wearing a neon sign that read “Americano.” Suspicious of being laughed at by a gang of 12-year-olds, I attempted to listen in on the conservation. Only a few phrases later, I was left in the wake of the swiftness of Spanish conversation. Stepping off the Metro, I wished I had paid more attention in my high school Spanish class.

The language barrier. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded of the gap created by my stumbling Spanish and the rapid-fire pace at which the locals speak their language. No other obstacle has been more hindering or stressful since my arrival.

Many Spaniards speak English, but odds are those fluent in English are not waiting your table, filling your drinks or driving you around. And just when I feel I’ve got a grasp on a few relevant Spanish phrases, the citizens of Barcelona throw me a curveball: Catalan.

Barcelona was long the capital of the independent state of Catalonia, and the locals here are as proud of their traditional language as Cougars are of crimson and gray (at least when our sports teams are winning).

The “Freedom for Catalonia” graffiti found around the city and the fierce rivalry between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid “football” teams are clear examples of the citizens of Barcelona’s desire for an independent state of Catalonia.

Unfortunately for me, their reverence for Catalan as well as Spanish has made communication all the more difficult. Whether it’s ordering meals at a tapas restaurant or directing a cab driver to my favorite nightclub, my sluggish Spanish and the abundance of Catalan-infused language has proved to be quite a challenge.

Nonetheless, it’s a challenge I’m eager to overcome. Moving halfway across the world, from small town Pullman to an enormous city, and experiencing a different culture and language, all while maintaining a full-time university schedule may be difficult.

However, the beaches of the Mediterranean are just outside my apartment door, the beer may be expensive but it's better than Busch Light, and the sun is shining. I'll trade falling on ice every time I walk to class for a frustrating language barrier any day.

So tune in Pullman, as I keep you updated on my travels through Europe on a college student’s budget. I have trips planned and European Football games to attend, beaches to enjoy and many encounters with the culture, art and cuisine to experience.

And maybe with some luck, and the help of my beginner Spanish class, I’ll eventually be able to communicate with the locals beyond “hola,” “gracias” and “adios.”

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27448