My puritan work ethic continues to be corrupted by Catalan culture! Esta buena. I set out this morning with intentions to be at the library by 9:00; yesterday I found (based upon Kira’s recommendation) a great spot with tables full of university students tapping away on their laptops. As I walked up the Ramblas toward the Metro, however, the outdoor tables and chairs were again set up after yesterday’s pouring, blowing rain. A not-so-quick detour for a sunny café-con-leche and croissant.



Onward to la biblioteca. But a quick stop to buy a new French press – yes, my cheap Chinese one already shattered when I accidentally tapped it a bit too hard on the granite countertop. (Don’t let “granite” conjure up visions of your large, remodeled, western kitchen. This one measures about 7’x7’. And I am squatting in this apartment with 2 twenty-somethings, one of whom works long hours and the other who is a guy [no offense to my guy friends out there, but you know], so don’t be thinking “kitchen couture.”)



Anyway, I passed by a fabulous market, with outdoor stalls selling all kinds of coffee-making supplies and an indoor section brimming with fresh fish, fruits and vegetables, nuts and cheeses and meats. Truly lovely. I got figs and manzanas that I could use for quick sustenance later, after my hours of writing. However, as I approached the library, it looked dark and unoccupied. Inexplicable, as the hours on the door seemed to indicate it should be open. Although the days of the week were not in Espanol. (My lack of understanding of the Catalan language renders me somewhat deaf and dumb, to use an outdated and politically incorrect phrase that well describes my state in that when people speak I cannot understand, and I cannot communicate very well in return.) But, since I never really have any definite plans tied to any kind of time frame (what a luxury!!!), I ambled off down the Traveserra de Gracia, found one of the ubiquitous benches in the sun, and paused to reformulate the day. I had, from Kira, the address of another library back in my neighborhood, so I identified a close Metro station and strolled along. When I came across a long queue of other-than-Spanish/Catalan speaking people, I looked up and realized I was standing next to Gaudi’s Casa Mila (Google it for pics, as I didn’t have my camera). Rather reminiscent of fungus – in a good, foresty way. And more of his architecture down the Passeig, as well as other strange buildings (Modernisme, the guide book tells me). Serendipity!

But my research partners who are reading this will be happy to know I finally made it to the other library, where I was deep into the composition of an amazing paragraph on collaborative inquiry, when pop music disturbed my quiet retreat. Someone’s cell phone, I think. As it went on, I wondered why the librarian wasn’t jumping up to shush someone. Then the lights began flashing. Ah, yes, 2:00. The two-hour, oh-so-sane lunch reprieve. We really should pay attention to this. So, despite my intentions to eat only figs and an apple, the beach beckoned. And, once there, a lovely restaurant with a view of the many surfers taking advantage of the remnants of yesterday’s storm called to me. Totally overpriced, as all lovely view restaurants are. But the sopa de pescado was delicious, the vino tinto smooth, and who can resist un postre (dessert)! By the end of April I will be of reduced means and eating only the rice I purchased, with such good intentions, earlier this week.

Here's a pic of my roomies -- they treat me quite nicely. Jose and I try to communicate, and Esther knows 4 or 5 languages, so at the end of the day she can answer all my questions.

And here is just a nice picture