The Creation of Men

Where to begin? This week wasn’t so much a week as much as it was a long weekend 3 days on 4 days off Castells Gastronomic Festival Spanish craft beer Venezuelan Pabellon Barbequed lamb Chocolate Krönut Mercé Fireworks Walking the Spanish countryside Hiking the Andorran mountainside Busing back to the Barcelona cityside Adventure comes to those who ask Who aren’t afraid to face the Unknown Who seek answers to questions they didn’t know  And seek solutions to problems they didn’t anticipate Once upon a time… Our story begins… A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… He was an old man who fished alone... The bus stopped. We got off. The night air crept onto our skin. As the bus drove away, we realized that we didn’t know where we were. Foreign city Foreign country Foreign language Looking for the familiar in the strange As we looked strange to their familiar. Great stories are to...

This city is big. Almost too big. The streets look the same and the buildings all run together. That shop looks like this shop And that place looks the same as that one over there. I’ve figured out which way is North but I still haven’t figured out which way to go. The maps show me where things are but I’m still looking for where the city ends and the culture begins. I know it’s here. I’ve heard all about it. Family is important. That much is evident. Friendships abound. That much is obvious. Money is also important but it is not the most important. Time well spent is better than money well earned. The buildings are not built to be higher than the rest. People work hard but not to work harder than the rest. Life slows down while time speeds up. Children play. Couples kiss. Friends laugh. People smile. People frown. Everyone walks. Everyone moves. Some have places to go. Others have sights to see. Still others have nowhere in...

Look around. Do you see it? What does it mean to be American? Is it a legal process? Or maybe a birthright? Maybe it’s the color of one’s skin or the sound of one’s voice. Maybe it’s the way in which we see ourselves when we look in a mirror. Maybe it’s what we tell ourselves to ensure we are and they’re not . What is America? Is it simply a piece of land? Or perhaps another country altogether? Maybe it’s the people who inhabit it. Maybe it’s the people who built and died for it. Maybe it’s those that act most like us. Do you see it? Do you feel it? Are you aware that you’re living in it? Spain may be here and America may be there, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Broken Spanish lends itself to using English. Using English lends itself to not fixing the broken Spanish. Why travel abroad? To see the sights? To eat the food? To do as they do? To expand the Bubble or to burst the Bubble. Nothing more Nothing less...

The time to reflect, to truly reflect, is hard to come by. There’s stories to tell and there’s stories to remember. I have memories to make and lessons to learn. But where? And when? Here and now? Or then and later? How did I find myself here? Serria Eixample Barcelona Cataluyna Spain Europe I’m tourist to say the least and I’m a student to say the most. I butcher their language. I make myself look like a fool and I sound like an idiot. But that's okay. I’m here to learn I'm here to grow I’m here to become the man I’m meant to be So the stories become my routine And the thoughts I once thought are the thoughts that I still think And the place I once read about is the place that I walk about Where am I now? I’m overwhelmed. My brain can’t process all that is happening to me. There’s so much stimulation from all the sights I’ve seen that I can’t seem to take a breath and let my mind catch up with what ...