I'm pretty sure I was supposed to return from our trip to Europe and say it was great, it was fantastic, and that we had a wonderful time every magical second! I think that's what we are all supposed to do--stifle our true feelings about everything and thus make everyone else think we are having a fabulous life that's much better than theirs, and somehow that's supposed to make us happy. For most people, that behavior begins in high school and basically ends at death. Sadly, I'm bad at it; try as I might to hide it, the truth seeps out. And here in my blog, which I write for myself because your reading of it nets me absolutely nothing, I say what I feel almost all the time. Naturally I hold back a little because I don't want to lose every last one of my old friends who may happen by.
So, Spain was a big bore. It took a whole lot of time and money to get there and find all the same things we have here in America except I couldn't understand a word anyone said. Who knows--maybe the people are more honest there, but I had no way of knowing. And perhaps if Barcelona were just one or two towns away instead of across the ocean on a whole other continent, I'd have liked it better. I certainly wouldn't go there for dinner, though.