La Sagrada Familia (for real this time), My Apartment/La Barceloneta, the Beach

Okay, so I promised to talk about La Sagrada Famila last time - the unfinished and ever-under-construction cathedral that Antoni Gaudi designed. First of all, it's insanely gorgeous, and none of the pictures I took were at all able to capture just how much so. It's impressive, it's grand, and it's different - it's all very unexpected for a cathedral, and I think because of that some greater testament to the greatness of what it's meant to worship. I don't know what Gaudi's religious beliefs were, but he definitely knew from inspiration.

La Sagrada Familia is another tourist haven, and we visitors from other lands waited in line to catch an elevator to (almost) the top of one of the four immensely tall spires. The view was incredible, as one might guess - you could see all the way to the mountains or the sea depending on what direction you were looking in. The amazing part, though, was in the details; the huge nativity that serves as the face of the cathedral; the windows inside; the stained glass. I don't know the architectural terms for the shapes this man intended stone to be carved into, but it was quite incredible.

Afterward, I met a Canadian backpacker and chatted for a few minutes before I went back to the hotel - the day really took it out of me, but I ended up staying up too late anyway. Damn you, jetlag!

But today, I went to see the apartment I'm renting this month, that one in La Barceloneta. The neighborhood is not at all fancy, and maybe it could even be a little shady - I think if I'm coming in late at night, I'll be taking a cab. There was a swastika spray-painted on the concrete of the plaza across the street. I didn't know what to think of that; I still don't. Is there a strong neo-Nazi movement in Barcelona? In this neighborhood? Was it just a bunch of kids being assholes? There was (maybe there still is) a swastika spray-painted (or something) on the sidewalk of the bridge from New Brunswick to Highland Park in New Jersey, where I used to live - and honestly, it's hard to imagine anyone having the balls to act on it in that kind of environment. But I'm in a different place, and I don't know what it means here. I don't know what to think.

My thoughts on this matter are further complicated by the neighborhood itself. It's quite lively, and I don't mean that euphemistically. The streets are narrow, and many of the buildings look like they could use a fresh coat of paint, but there's something like a bustle to it - not a hustle and bustle, mind, but just an energy that I really enjoyed. People live there - there were old people and little kids, and all ages in between. There were lots of smiles, and people talking to each other in ways that are familiar and comforting/comfortable to me. It is not the sanitary, posh, impersonal atmosphere of this hotel, or of other places I've stayed when traveling. In fact, there is nothing at all impersonal about La Barceloneta that I could see. On my way to the apartment, I asked a little old man where the street I was looking for was (as it happened, I was on it). On my way back from my meeting with the landlady, I saw him again, and he smiled at me as I smiled back with a little wave. I made three stops on my way back to the Metro; one at the pharmacy to get some sunscreen (and, since I saw it there, some after-sun spray. It's supposed to prevent peeling and prolong tans. I don't know if it works yet, but it smells nice), one at a children's bookstore where I bought the first Harry Potter book in Spanish (Castillian), and one at this little bodega for a snack.

(By the way, the Spanish? Not really into snacking the way I'm used to. Nary a granola bar or even a bag of trail mix to be found, but about fifteen different kinds of meat and seven different kinds of cheese, displayed next to little bottles of wine, in a store about the size of my bedroom.)

Everyone I met was totally sweet, charming, and helpful - friendly, warm, and welcoming. (Even the toothless old man hanging out and tormenting the Indian clerk at the bodega.) I already felt at home. On top of all that, there are tons of restaurants and little shops all around; the neighborhood has character, and a vibrant pulse that I love.

So why is there a swastika on the concrete of the plaza across the street from my apartment?

The apartment itself is lovely. Tiny, on the first floor, with just a teeny bathroom, a kitchenette, a small living room, and a bedroom. Everything looks brand-new; the exterior of the building looks recently renovated, as does the inside. I think I'll be quite comfortable there.

But what about that goddamn swastika?