That Barcelona is impossibly beautiful is undeniable, but still I am waiting for it to sweep me off my feet.
“I think I’ll just walk around” he said. “This city mesmerizes me.”
“That’s a good way to be,” I replied, and wished that I felt it too.
The longer I spend here though, the more unsteady my feet and I am rapidly falling head over them. The impossibility of the beauty in this city I can see now, it is built on the money of tourism–streets are washed in the night and swept in the day–and I don’t even mind. It shimmers, shines, sparkles, like some precious jewel worn in the sun. But at the end of the day my mind isn’t always here, it’s reaching back to the southwest, it’s wandering the desert. With a project I’m working on about the Canyon I have in part brought this on myself, then again, the end of days is coming for my traveling time, and I have to begin thinking about my working world again.
India and Nepal are like a dream now. I blinked, landed in Barcelona, and they’re a memory.