I welcomed the excuse to ignore that mess and do some touristy things with Danica. Johnathan, Matt, Danica and I went to the Picasso museum on that rainy Sunday -- in fact, the only rainy day we've had here so far (see NYC weather to understand my happiness in full). We waited in what appeared to be an eternal line near the Barrio Gótico to get into the museum, but it went quickly. We took a few pictures...
And before we knew it we were inside. I think the most interesting part of the collection, for me, was Picasso's reinterpretation of "Las Meninas," the famous painting by Velázquez -- I had studied the latter in socio-historical context, but I had no idea the Picasso version even existed. Pretty rewarding to have some basic knowledge of what you're looking at -- makes me a little (teeny bit) excited to take Art Hum when I get back.
A few days later, I went to Montjuïc for the first time with Danica, Maryellen and Johnathan. Perfect day, 70 degrees and utterly cloudless. We decided to take the gondola up to the top and walk down, and the ride up was completely worth the 6 euros.
Looking down over the city from a glass bubble evoked in me a strange sensation of déjà vu, or more appropriately déjà senti (which is apparently a thing that I did not cleverly make up, and that's too bad). Only now, looking at my photos, do I realize that some part of me was recalling my summer excursion to Roosevelt Island via the tram: Suspended in a glass contraption over the East River, I felt terrified, grateful, humbled. The Montjuïc tram was not quite as harrowing but equally beautiful. We arrived at the top, wandered around the castillo, moseyed down.
It was the perfect break from reality -- "reality," really, since reality here seems to operate at a slower, calmer, less-jolting but equally-caffeinated pace.
And before we knew it we were inside. I think the most interesting part of the collection, for me, was Picasso's reinterpretation of "Las Meninas," the famous painting by Velázquez -- I had studied the latter in socio-historical context, but I had no idea the Picasso version even existed. Pretty rewarding to have some basic knowledge of what you're looking at -- makes me a little (teeny bit) excited to take Art Hum when I get back.
A few days later, I went to Montjuïc for the first time with Danica, Maryellen and Johnathan. Perfect day, 70 degrees and utterly cloudless. We decided to take the gondola up to the top and walk down, and the ride up was completely worth the 6 euros.
Looking down over the city from a glass bubble evoked in me a strange sensation of déjà vu, or more appropriately déjà senti (which is apparently a thing that I did not cleverly make up, and that's too bad). Only now, looking at my photos, do I realize that some part of me was recalling my summer excursion to Roosevelt Island via the tram: Suspended in a glass contraption over the East River, I felt terrified, grateful, humbled. The Montjuïc tram was not quite as harrowing but equally beautiful. We arrived at the top, wandered around the castillo, moseyed down.
It was the perfect break from reality -- "reality," really, since reality here seems to operate at a slower, calmer, less-jolting but equally-caffeinated pace.
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