You Can't Go Home Again

As you may remember,ember, searching for an apartment in Barcelona really, really sucks. It's entirely possible that piso-hunting sucks just as much in other cities/countries/continents, if not more, but I wouldn't know anything about that. What I do know is that the agencies that control 80% of the apartments available for rent in this city seem to have converted what should be a simple, even-pleasant process into all-out warfare. I'll explain: these agencies have established the precedent that anyone looking for a half-way decent apartment needs to a) demonstrate that they have tons of money and a "respectable" job (whatever the Hell that is) b) have a Spanish bank account and c) be more than 30 years old. All of this means that for a foreign student, any agency-owned apartment is impossible to secure and because the other, independent renters know this, they use that leverage to fuck you from the front and from behind (to translate a popular Spanish proverb). What do I mean? We found some apartments that not only weren't furnished at all, but also had no washer or refrigerator. When we asked the owner of said apartment if he would mind installing those fundamental tools for health and survival, he slyly told us that he would be able to find someone who wouldn't mind moving into a flat without them. That's the way it is, I guess.



So after weeks of hunting for apartments that would house everyone I'm currently living with, it became clear that finding a piso with room for seven people was not only impossible, but laughable. Not only that, but it came out in a "house meeting" that only Andrea and myself were really gung-ho about the whole concept about moving in the first place. That makes sense: we two have, by far, the shittiest rooms in the whole flat, with no natural sunlight or ventilation. So it goes: Andrea and I embarked on a quest to find a piso for just the two of us. And even that nearly drove us completely out of our minds. Without internet or a phone line at our apartment (which is still the case), we spent ludicrous sums of money calling renters on the phone and buying overpriced food at cafes in exchange for their wi-fi services. It was almost as bad as the first time I had to find an apartment in this city, if not for the fact that I speak much better Spanish now and Andrea did most of the talking anyway.



But thankfully, I can now put all of that nasty business behind me. After finding so many perfect apartments only to find out that the renter wanted us to sign a contract to live there for five years (no, I'm not joking) we finally found a great apartment being rented by a person with *gasp* some standards of decency! Not only that, but the apartment is reasonably priced, extremely well furnished and decorated, has two huge bedrooms and - best of all - I get to live in the one with a balcony(!). It was almost enough to bring tears to my and Andrea's eyes when the 30-something owner told us it was ours whenever we wanted it. Of course, this is a bitter-sweet moment: when I told Magalee about it she almost broke down in tears immediately (and she's usually not that emotional). It does feel like such a shame to fracture our perfectly-balanced household, especially now that Alejandro, the crazy Chilean man (who has officially adopted me as his son) is living there. But as much as I hate ruining the L'Auberge Espagnole-like situation we have there, it will be great to explore a new side of the city. My new neighborhood, El Raval is actually where the protagonist lives in L'Auberge Espagnole, and it's just as dominated by immigrant Pakistanis and heady night-life spots as my current neighborhood is dominated by aging Catalans and supermarkets. Which one is the "real" Barcelona is up for debate, but getting a chance to compare the two seems like the best solution to my previous housing problems.

Since We Last Spoke...

Time has just been flying by. It seems like just the other day when this trip, and by extension, this blog, were an exciting novelty for me. Every experience was new, and every day promised a new glimpse into the strange and multi-layered world of Barcelona, which to my American eyes, might as well have been Mars. Having spent more than twice as much time here as I did in Mexico, I can say that Barcelona is my home. And along with all the positive things that entails (comfort with city's labyrinthine streets, hometown pride, etc.) it also means that it doesn't surprise me like before, and doesn't inspire me to document my experiences within it like I felt compelled to before on this blog. Not only that, but time became scarcer and scarcer. Far from the glorified vacation of studying in Morelia, the life of foreign student in Barcelona is difficult and I read Spanish novels at about one-eighth the speed that I can in English. Add to that a job teaching English to kids twice a week, an internship at an Alt-weekly newspaper, and, lest I forget, a serious relationship, and I started to feel the hours in my shrinking. I settled into the routine of a student trying to keep his grades up, this blog started to feel routine too. Instead of looking forward to posting my next update, I began to dread blogging as if it were just one more item an my never-ending checklist of "Things I have to get done." Eventually, it began to drop off the list completely.




Meanwhile, things were changing. My relationship with Cristina got ever-more serious, and I started to worry increasingly about my post-college plans. I started to consider the possibility of getting a job in Barcelona and to continue my travels in Europe before settling down with a long-term career in the United States. The heady rush of being in a new, exotic locale gave way to feelings of homesickness and disillusionment about never seeing some of my old American friends again. The Christmas break, our traditional season for reuniting, made me feel their absence more than ever, and since all of my friends in Barcelona (American or otherwise) went home to their respective families as well. As you can see by the pictures, my family came to me, but seeing the city through their eyes - more or less as a tourist - made me question just how I knew about this place, and how capable I would be at living here.



But the most dramatic change is happening right now: after my apartment had no hot water for two weeks (preventing me from having my family stay with me there and forcing us to rent an costly hotel) made me realize what my roommate Andrea had long said: that we have to leave and find an apartment with a sane owner who will provide healthy living conditions. However, although everyone in the apartment had originally expressed the desire to come with us, it now appears that only Andrea and I are certain that we will leave. Alejandro, our relatively new Chilean roommate, is tentatively coming along with us to look at new apartments, but Magalie, Pablo and Ruth have all decided to stay. Thus ends the seemingly perfect family that we had all come to form over the past few months, and although we all saw it coming, it's a rather sad moment. Magalie's decision to stay, in particular, took me by surprise - she had been one of the most adamant about finding a new apartment for all of us to move to. And while I plan on visiting her and the others, living with them and feeling their warm kindness and support is something I'll miss dearly. It feels like yet another sign that, whether I like or not, my life is leading me in a new direction.