Delusions of Glamour: The Time I Went to Spain and Told Lies to My Boyfriend

Ch. 13: Dear AJ--Barcelona and the World's Biggest Party in Cordoba

Mallorca, Malaga, Sevilla, Cordoba

Dear my handsome friend who won't call me back, 

I began April with a spring break trip to Barcelona and Mallorca with my sister, her best friend Natalie, and Meike, the German exchange student who lived with my family for a year when I was twelve. I had high hopes for Barcelona, hearing repeatedly how cool and artsy it is. I was not disappointed. There are random art installations all over the city and a really young, open-minded vibe.

We saw the Gaudi architecture masterpieces, Parc Guell and Sagrada Familia,. That man was a genius, on psychedelics or both. His work looks like fairies attacked it with fanciful glee, it’s playful and weird, even cartoonish in places. For example, there are fruit sculptures on top of the Sagrada Familia spires! It’s refreshing to see something silly after months touring the sobering Spanish sites, the serious cathedrals and art museums.

Also saw the Picasso museum and Dali museum and had incredible dinners before flying to Mallorca, a flight for which I had not brought my passport, because I assumed Mallorca was still Spain so whatever. Meike was all stressed they wouldn’t let me on the plane, but I wasn’t really concerned. To the point that she asked me, “Don’t you ever worry about anything?” I thought about it a minute. “No, I really don’t.” It’s the truth, as most of you know. Well, sometimes I worry that I don’t worry enough, but that’s just self-defeating so I stop and the worry process has concluded and took all of 30 seconds. Back to Spain.

So we arrive in Mallorca, the less famous, less crazy island next to Ibiza, and it’s just gorgeous. Exotic palm trees, beautiful beaches, the works. As pretty as it was, our whole Mallorcan experience can be wrapped up in one word: finca. A finca, for those of you who don’t know, generally means a large house in the country. But isn’t it just the funniest word in the whole world? We didn’t stay in a finca, however, oh no. We stayed in an apartment-share, hostel type situation that Meike found on the Internet. Basically, we had two rooms in a five bedroom apartment. Our roommates were a Croatian couple, an English man, and Marcus.

Oh, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. Marcus was an Austrian man (so imagine everything I say about him in an accent like Arnold Schwarzenegger) that at all times wore a beanie on his head, spectacles on his face, and a gym pass around his neck. Marcus loooved us four girls. He wanted to hang out with us whenever we got home and kept inviting us to a finca he knew about where there was a barbeque and a good time. So we start saying what a funny word finca is, and that Natalie and I could open our own finca. “Natalie, you think-a we should open a finca?” etc, etc.

For most of the week, we were unsure what his occupation could be that he lived in an apartment-share in Mallorca, sitting around in his beanie talking about fincas. At first it seemed he did something with stocks or trading, as he was always on his laptop. He did something with stocks all right, he was an astrologer for stock brokers, as in, he recommended when they should buy and sell based on what the stars said. He proceeded to show us his fancy computer programs that helped him read when Jupiter was in Mars and whatnot. Then he wanted to give us all astrological readings.

He said Meike was a perfectionist, but that there was a secret underneath her demeanor. We were all trying hard not to crack up, but because Natalie snorts when she laughs it was pretty much impossible. Finally, he gives me my astrological reading. He looks for a long time, like he sees something really interesting. Looking at me, back at the computer screen. Then finally: “Wow, the main thing I see is that you are really masculine.” Masculine?! Wahhhhhh!!!!! He said some nice things, like I was clear-headed and able to solve problems, but because I had so much masculinity. Wahhh!