Barcelona, the city of everything

by Yaroslava Tymoshchuk (Ukraine)

I didn't expect to find Spain

On my first day out of work — in its usual office sense — I planned to get up at twelve as I like, but instead I woke up at six in the morning, which never happens to me in an adequate state. I didn't know what to do with the freedom that suddenly fell on me, and I felt like a slave after he was given freedom — didn't know what to do with it. However, no one can help a person if s/he does not want to help himself/herself — I helped myself with tickets to Barcelona. Before the trip, of course, I also worried, as if it was my favorite sport: planned several types of routes in case there is no subway, if there is no bus, if earthquake happens, if the airport is besieged. I wrote out a list of places to see, though knew how to feel the city doesn’t mean to stand in a queue of tourists to the church, but anyway I was afraid to miss something. All of these plans were put into a notebook called "Barcelona". I have been looking for the perfect swimsuit during a month — just black, without glitter and inscriptions, and it probably materialized from my dreams, so that some unknown force led me into an “everything for half the price” shop of unknown origin. Barcelona turned out to be even better than in Woody Allen's film, pouring into my soul every drop of hedonism from contemplating how locals go after working day to have a glass of wine. Even the sea in Barcelona strikes as an unlimited alcoholic cocktail, it is as loud and expressive as the locals. In this way, they are quite similar to Ukrainians: with their habits to talk loudly on the phone, not too vigilant to conceal something from other people's ears. If the Ukrainians did not have to work so much, they would have even more similarities with the southern peoples, with our gravitas to carnivalism. Eating pizza, in which the layer of hamon was larger than the thickness of the dough, and the mountain lined with greenery, looked like a picture. I met a Venezuelan Ivanka who hummed at me in Spanish thinking that I understood everything — and I really understood. I thought that Barcelona was a sex city, because on ascending to Mount Tibidabo, I wanted to see the church, which is Gaudi's most famous creation, but could not see it from above, but instead I looked at the penis building. I watched sunbathing topless women, and a couple of men on the streets held hands and kissed each other on the shoulder — freedom and love were poured in the air. At the airport, on the way home, I saw someone smashed a bottle of sangria; maroon streams ran down the white tiles, and it seemed that it was not wine, but my tears. I wrote down in the same notebook what I know about life, living almost up to the age of 29. I know that the best way to learn a foreign language (it is not written in the manuals) is to have a lover who is a native speaker. I know that there is no need to be afraid of being fired. I know the best botox is an injection of inner peace, because I was treated to a cocktail at a bar this summer at the disco, even though I wasn’t able to wash my hair for four days. I know that grammatical rules are not the most important in order to understand a person. The life can be planned, but not to be afraid when something goes off the list. The perfect swimsuit does not necessarily cost all the money. Following the example of Spanish ladies you can do without it at all. The most precious phrase I've heard this summer sounds “just relax babe” — let it be my invisible heart tattoo. It was the first time since school when I had summer vacations, but the advantage of adulthood is that a piece on "How I spent my summer holidays" does not have to be checked by a teacher, so you shouldn’t be afraid of bad marks for misbehavior.