Barcelona

I stepped off the train from Madrid at 5:00 pm. As I exited the Arc de Triomf stop, I was bathed in the warm light of a beautiful afternoon.

 The weather changed the following day and I found myself, once again, caught in the rain on the way to La Sagrada Familia. This time, we waited in the shelter of a pharmacy as the downpour telling jokes and stories from past adventures and the evening prior.

Searching for the best views of the city, I headed north with a roommate to Tibidabo after a brief jaunt through Gaudi's Park Guell. The clouds cleared just as we left the park and the heat taunted us, having dressed for cooler temperatures,  over the next hour as we made our way towards the peak.

Notice the slant.

Easy ride in the opposite direction.

We took a shuttle for the final uphill stretch, the road winding serpentine past large houses turned commercial. Moments before the shuttle arrived, local police had explained that Tibidabo was inaccessible. The funicular wasn't running. After our two hour hike North, we had to see for ourselves.

With overcast views of the entire city at our backs and an ominous layer of dense fog obscuring the peak, we approached the empty funicular station. Not far from the bottom of the track, three cars reminiscent of VW buses approached at a crawling pace.

Just too funicular for anyone else to ride.

The two funicular(s?) run in synchronicity, simultaneously reaching the single split in track halfway through their trip that allows them to pass.

As we ascended, I accepted that the views I'd hoped for would remain beyond my reach.

We were met with dense fog and cold winds once on Tibidabo and as we walked through the gates, the funicular unapologetically began its trip back down.

The place seemed better suited for a B-list horror film than a fun summer afternoon.

The church and amusement park rides, alike, sat solitary underneath their shrouds of grey, ignorant of the bustling city that lay below. As I rolled down my sleeves and longed for a jacket, I forgot that I'd been cursing the sun just an hour prior.

The wind blew incessantly, pouring fog across the empty streets.

We walked through the park equally fascinated, frustrated, and amused by our own meteorological misfortune and surroundings.

So you want to see him?

The weather stayed wet and grey until the morning I left for Marseille. I had been deceived by the city's radiant welcome, but the energy and pulse of Barcelona's clubs rejuvenated and exhausted us every evening; the flashing lights compensated for the drab colors during the day.

Despite the weather, having navigation issues that are unparalleled by any other place in the world I've been, and a variety of humorous and terrifying mishaps, I can't wait to go back someday. With a handful of Canadian hostel mates, I had some of the best nights (mornings) of my life, that is, until I realized I was saying, "eh?"

Madrid

I finished Less Than Zero on the flight over from DC. IAD to FRA. FRA to MAD.

Arriving in Frankfurt, the immediateness of my situation became increasingly apparent. I kept my iPod off, though I found distraction in another coke-dusted story of Bret Easton-Ellis. In the airport, I put down my Kindle just long enough to help translate for a frantic Chinese family. They checked their stroller at the gate and it was sent to their connecting flight instead of left out for pick up; try communicating that through charades. I now have a place to stay in Naples, should I ever need it.

It was the imminent arrival of the unknown. My imminent arrival in a foreign country. Time that I failed to recognize I needed. Time away from family and friends. Time away from the comfort of home and my bed.

Enter Madrid. My first stop.

Home for a bit.

Time for change.

As I collected my pack, I thought of the unknown that laid ahead of me. A new city. A different language. No plans, but I was finally detached. Disconnected. Liberated.

There are restrictions wherever you look.

Dream big, even if you're living small.

Though I brought almost all new music to listen to during the trip, I decided I wanted to immerse myself in the sounds and energy of the city, and I succeeded. What I accomplished by doing so, I'm still unsure of.

Despite the spontaneity of my trip, I managed to cover both classical and modern art museums, an afternoon among roses, getting caught in the rain, a football game in the Real Madrid stadium, and most importantly, the sobering perspective granted by traveling alone in a new place.

Beauty, everywhere.

Do you know where to look?

It was time for me to learn to be on my own, to let go, and to get in touch with getting lost.

As I left La Retiro, Madrid froze. A city stopped and a boy in motion. The skies shut down and the clouds opened up. As people hid under overhangs and in bars, I continued forward, letting each step remind me of where I was, and that it didn't matter where I was going.

Get caught in the rain; it's probably been far too long.

(By the way, some of you may be happy to know my jeans received a much needed rinse during that walk back.)