On traveling, in time and space.
Tag: Spain
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Barcelona, City of Metaphors
Arc de Triomf, Barcelona. I didn’t know what to expect of Barcelona before I arrived. All I knew was that it’s Spain’s second largest city; that it lies somewhere on the western edge of the Mediterranean; that its residents mostly speak Catalan; and that it’s home to one of the world’s most successful football clubs (which is, of course, mès que un club). Granted, this is probably more background info than I would’ve needed to explore the city regardless.
Now that we’ve been here for two days, though, I realize that everything we’ve seen—well, almost everything—resembles someplace else I’ve been. Like the train ride here from Madrid, I keep experiencing déjà vu, seeing sights and features in Barcelona that look as though they’d been transplanted from another of my travels. The Arc de Triomf? You know it’s spelled with a -phe, right? The Passeig de Gràcia? Isn’t that Catalan for “Champs Elysées?” That beautiful wrought balcony—haven’t I seen it in Brussels before…
And on it goes, with almost every passing moment, until I start to wonder: what if Barcelona were a city of mirrors? Or better yet: what if it were a city of metaphors—a record of reminders where I’ve been, a sprawling repository of familiar sights in new settings?
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Cranes in Flight
At the Sagrada Familia, for S. L.
It’s such a strange structure,
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this tower built by the ‘archi-
tect of God,’ that the mixture
and mess of wrought sculpture
defying every law of nature
conceals what’s in the picture
and isn’t—the birds.
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At the Family Table
Dinner (takeout) in Madrid: biang biang noodles. I’ve had a lot on my mind over these past few days in Madrid (and back in Europe). My family and I have truly enjoyed spending time together walking the city and marveling at its urban landscape. In particular, we’ve been especially impressed by its wealth of art and food, and by the striking contrast between its fast-paced traffic and slower-paced rhythms of life. For my part, I’ve been inspired to learn Spanish again—not just because I’d given it up after high school, but also because there’s a wealth of poetry and fiction I’m desperately trying to catch up on.
There’s much that I want to write about these aspects, however rough my ideas and language about them may still be. But over the course of the past few evenings and mornings, I’ve been drawn to something far closer to home: our family meals, and the colorful conversations—in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin—that animate them. Beyond filling my life with laughter, wisdom, and excellent food, our meals have helped me understand the pleasures and challenges of navigating the richness of the world: one whose vibrancy seems to demand even more color from my ever-expanding palette (or, if you prefer, pallet).
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Field Notes: Madrid (I)
Maybe it’s the jet lag, or the dry heat (82 degrees Fahrenheit, 28 degrees Celsius), or the fact that we’re aimlessly wandering the city, but my sister Flo and I are finding it hard to figure out what other city Madrid—or more precisely, the cozy and quirky neighborhood of Malesaña—most resembles. Maybe it’s Bilbao, the first and closest Spanish city I visited back in December, and one of my most beloved places to tour. Or maybe it’s Saint-Gilles in Brussels, in the way the leafy, narrow streets snake up and down unpredictable slopes at sharp angles. Or maybe it’s La Brera in Milan, with every aging building concealing a fashionable boutique, a humble alimentación, or a chic cafe deep behind its facade. Or maybe it’s Jackson Heights in Queens, the bustling micropolis in the larger New York ecosystem where every Hispanophone and Latin American country plants its flag in the form of a restaurant or bodega.
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Between Two Rivers 