story of the day: and then they taped me to the table from no hablo español. This post is written by my friend Mira Jacob, who is near the end of an amazing 6 months living in Barcelona with her family, one they've enjoyed to the hilt. This post shares an experience when she didn't follow her gut, resulting in her first inclination that maybe she was finally ready to return home to the United States after all.
Bless her heart.
"Which is how I ended up in an office in the far reaches of Poble Nou last week. For those who don’t know, Poble Nou is one of the newer neighborhoods in Barcelona (its Catalan translation is literally 'new village'), and as such it has bigger blocks than the rest of the city. I had walked about 7 of these blocks and was actually a bit desperate with pain when I stepped into the office, which is maybe why I didn’t notice some important things (like the reception area painting of Egyptian symbols floating in a cosmic soup, or the phalanx of shelved Buddhas meditating under green and blue lights, or the fact that the 'she' mentioned by my friend was actually a 'he' in a white lab coat who didn’t speak a lick of English)." (read more)
(Seriously, go read that one. And if you have any idea what it actually is that Mira endured, I'd love to know.)