Chapters

Ok, so I took a little hiatus- but don't get me wrong, just because the MBA is over- “I Bet Elephants Taste Like Mushrooms” lives on. I began the blog before the MBA and although I never aimed to be labeled an “MBA blogger,” my writing took its natural course and I did, in fact, become the ESADE MBA blogger- or one of them at least.

Now, however- and to my own chagrin- I am no longer an ESADE MBA student. I am not a student at all…I am unemployed. It’s quite a fine line, actually, between playing an active role in the academic system and unemployment.

I do have an MBA though- which is more than what I could have said for myself two years ago. And I plan to forge on in the world, as the same person I have always been- with the same goals and the same dreams and desires…only this time with all the knowledge that the MBA has brought me, somewhere in this brain of mine. Not so bad, right?

So as I sit on my couch in my new home in Rome (yes, I moved to Italy…more on that later)- I am sorting through the millions of emotions whirling around in my heart, while my weary head is working on grasping the fact that my life in Barcelona is actually over. The MBA is over. Everything I lived for the last two years is just a memory- but an amazing memory at that.

As for the time between the actual graduation and now- it’s been a frenzied whirlwind. I spent another few days in Barcelona- doing everything I should have done while I lived there but I was too busy “living there,” like visiting the Picasso museum and taking the two-hour trip out to Montserrat. And then I occupied myself doing everything I loved doing when I was living there “just one last time.” This time though, I dragged my sister along with me. We ate Maoz falafel in Plaça Reial, drank Cava Sangria at Cervezeria Catalana, and spent hours window-shopping while sipping Starbucks on Passeig De Grácia.

And in between doing everything either for the first time or the last time, I ended my memberships, closed my accounts and gave back my keys. I made numerous trips out to the recycling bin and disposed of finance books, old exams and term papers that took months to write but only moments to throw away. I packed my life into my dusty suitcases and donated whatever didn't fit to whoever would take it. I went to dinners and goodbye drinks. I sang karaoke once again with the same group that sang karaoke with me in Beijing last summer. I drank my favorite German beer with my favorite Germans and ate my favorite Indian food at the home of the best cook of the MBA, Saurabh.

I ran around for four days saying goodbye to everything and everyone that I have taken for granted over the last year and a half. Then, on my final night in Barcelona, outside of a bar at about 3:00 a.m., I couldn't take it any longer. The realization that the end had come and gone and it was finally time to move on- hit me like a ton of bricks. The knot in my stomach tightened, my throat closed off mid-sentence and my eyes started burning. While saying not “adios,” but “hasta luego” to a number of friends, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a street challenging my tears, in vain, to stay within their ducts. It could have been the alcohol or possibly the emotional exhaustion- or maybe it simply happened to be the moment that life decided to hit me with the truth- but I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't take any more pictures pretending to smile; I couldn't give any more hugs without feeling my body heaving with tears. I couldn't look into the eyes of any more familiar faces, not knowing when the next time we are together would be, and say goodbye. I just couldn't. So my sister put me in a taxi, I went home, finished packing and ineffectively attempted to sleep. A few hours later- I turned the lights off, took the Spanish SIM card out of my phone- and left Barcelona for one last time. And that was it.

It was a slightly bitter and exceptionally sweet end to one of the best chapters of my life. And even now- contentedly sitting in my beautiful apartment in Rome- commencing a veritable “vita bella”- I am filled with excitement, a bit of sadness and enough nostalgia to last a lifetime.

 And as I mentally close one chapter, I am realizing, above all else, that I am ready for the next. 

Springtime in BCN

It is my experience that when something is ending- whether it be a relationship, or a job, a vacation- the whole thing seems to reach a climax. It’s this illusion of a high point that only makes it difficult to accept that it’s over- and the departure becomes even harder. When something is ending, expectations may or may not have been met- but without fail- nostalgia sets in and the prickly fear of leaving something remarkable behind settles deep in the stomachs of those off to a new beginning. I have found that the greater portion of the people around me have begun to view everything, even the negative, under a rosy glow; the Barcelona sky appears bluer, the same old classes are seemingly more interesting, the nightlife gives the impression of being unparalleled, the food is tastier, our apartments are homier, our relationships are better and the air is cleaner. Basically, in the end, everything always gives the impression of being better than it is. I expected to reach this point and see Barcelona as some sort of utopia- and the life of a student as a kind of paradise.

Instead, unexpectedly- the little things around me seem to be falling apart…it’s as if the universe is telling me that this chapter is over- letting me know that it’s time to move on:

I came home from a trip on Monday, ready for the Barcelona weather to welcome me into its sunny and warm embrace. Instead, the plane landed and I had to check my boarding pass twice to make sure I had gotten onto the correct flight. The ground was covered in snow, the sky was black and enormous flakes were falling from the thundering sky.  By the time I left classes that same day, public transportation had stopped, ESADE closed the building, and I was forced to walk 30 minutes in a blizzard. Photos below.

The following day, my hot water disappeared. There is nothing wrong with the pipes, the heater, the neighbors’ water…the landlord told me to tell the doorman and the doorman sends me back to the landlord. I’ve been showering in the gym for the past week.

Not 24 hours after that, the internet went…and as I went to check out the situation, I saw bugs crawling in and out of the router as the “alarma” light was flashing. Essentially, bugs ate my internet.

I thought that this would be the period of sheer pleasure and joy. I believed that I would begin to feel my comfy roots being violently pulled from the ground. I was enthusiastically anticipating that “rosy glow.” Instead, it seems as though Barcelona is ready to get rid of me and I’m not exactly sure how to take it.

Springtime in bcn...

Maoz and Montjuic

There comes point when a place- a city, a town, a country- transforms from existing merely as a current address to when it becomes a home. Barcelona is home to me now. I don't know when this change took place, but I can pinpoint the moment when I realized it. I was at my family’s house in Miami a few months ago and as time began to drag, I remember thinking to myself, I can’t wait to get home.

And that was that.

Barcelona, in my mind, is now home.

It's the one place on a map that I can point my finger to and say that's where my stuff is, that's where my bed is, its where my current network is to be found. In flight search engines, my local airport is saved as Barcelona and the little flag that comes up next to my name on Skype is the red and yellow banner of Spain. Barcelona is not just where I live anymore. It's a city where the guy at the café on the corner knows what I want before I order it and where the teller at the bank greets me by name. There is nothing scary left about this city- there’s nothing waiting to jump out at me from around the corner and nothing that I have to try for the first time. I have my favorite restaurants, my hairdressers and my own locker at the gym. I know how long it will take to get to almost any point in the city- and I know which bocadillos to stay away from in the school cafeteria. I know my favorite corners in my favorite plazas, where to get the best patatas bravas in the city and who has the cheapest beer. These things don't necessarily make a place a home, but for me- it's the closest I’ve come in a long time.  

Unfortunately, my time here is limited and in about two months, I will have to go off into the world again and find myself a new home.

Therefore, I must keep reminding myself to enjoy it while it lasts- and I can only hope that my next home welcomes me as readily as this city did. Barcelona isn’t a bad place to occupy for a couple of years.  Its not my ideal- but I’m glad I chose it.

In the beginning of my time here, I established a few lists of my favorite places and features the city has to offer. Now, the lists have changed a bit as I have learned to tailor the city to my own needs and desires. Over a year and an entire MBA degree later...the things I love are not the same- but they are plentiful nonetheless.

I love…

-Saturday morning coffee dates on Passeig De Gracia.

-Strolling along Diagonal on beautiful sunny days- reminding me when I’m just about to forget- that Barcelona is pretty cool.

-Falafel runs to Maoz at 3 a.m. on Las Ramblas.

-Discovering the underground, lesser known side of Barcelona’s nightlife with locals.

-Montjuic at night- and the view of Barcelona from Monjuic at night.

-Massimo Dutti. Who knew?

-Terminal 1 at El Prat. I could spend hours there. In fact, I have.

-Window shopping at Rabat on Rosello. Can’t help it. The glare of the jewels gets me everytime.

-The Vueling in-flight magazine, Ling.

-The skyline full of the long white masts of the boats docked at the port.

-Manchego (secco)

-Plaça Reial’s palm trees

-I love that I figured out the bus system after all this time- it may have taken me over a year but I finally worked out a route that swings me right by Starbucks.

The biggest changes I find between the beginning and the end are the differences linking what I loved then and what I love now. I suppose this, in effect, is what makes a place a home- as opposed to a temporary visit or an impermanent residence.

The most glaring example of this change is what I saw when I looked up then, as opposed to what I see when I look up now.

When I first got here, I loved the drive to school- glancing up and seeing the curves of Gaudi’s designs and the bright blue of the sky that never seemed to darken. Now, the buildings are old news and the weather proved susceptible to nature’s follies. These days, I love looking up in the middle of class and seeing the faces of my classmates. Whether they’re smiling, deep in thought, deep in gchat conversation, rolling their eyes, or even sleeping (you know who you are…), it is their faces that have been the glue between me and this city- making it my home. It is the faces of these people that make me smile to myself knowing that they are in my life- even if its only for another few months.

O! Say Can You See...

A year ago, I may have lamented about being stuck in Spain during Thanksgiving- with a 7:30 wake up call, classes all day and not so much as a suggestion of a cornucopia.  What makes it harder though, is the thought of my fellow Americans at home with their four-day weekends, the company of their entire families and a table full of enough food to feed a small country. Today, however, during my second Thanksgiving in Spain as an ESADE student- I'm surprised to find myself with only a shy hint of homesickness. Instead of longing for traditions of the past, I have a new tradition in which to partake.

After class, I will be picking up the ingredients for the creamed spinach I plan to cook for 40 students at our second annual Thanksgiving feast. Being that the MBA lasts only 18 months, it’s infrequent that we have the opportunity to create traditions. This year, we're not starting something new- we're not trying something out that hasn’t been done before. This year, our Thanksgiving celebration will bring with it a familiar quality- Manu with his famous Sangria, Felix busily basting (or whatever it is you do with poultry) the turkey and Vicky with her fabulous all-American apple pie. Thanksgiving in b-school is a new tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. And for that reason, I welcome it into my repertoire of unforgettable pastimes- into my MBA memory bank.

When I was little, after sitting around the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family for hours- full bellied and nearly ready for our early evening naps, we were all acutely aware of the fact that there was something to be done to signify the conclusion of the feast. Every individual- from Nana Annie to eccentric aunt Liss, would stand up on their chairs, place their hands over their hearts- and sing “The Star Spangled Banner” at the tops of their lungs. Being that the only person in the room that could actually carry a tune was my sister, it wasn't a pretty sight. However, our feigned patriotism stands out for me as the symbol of Thanksgiving in my home.

The Witkin clan chorus is family tradition that began at some point with my grandpa’s odd outburst of song, and will continue throughout the generations to come (on my part, at least).

As I got older and didn't live at home anymore- my mom never failed to fly me in for the Thanksgiving festivities. And each year, we continued the singing ritual. In later years, my parents divorced and although our Thanksgiving dinners took place in two different locations, at two different times- we still sang “The Star Spangled Banner” with gusto. And although, as the years have passed, we have suffered the loss of loved ones and welcomed new additions to the family, the custom holds strong and the neighbors can still hear our wailing from down the street.

At some point in the last decade, in addition to our singing, we somehow managed to add another tradition to the mix. I don’t remember exactly when it began or from whom we adapted it- but it is still maintained among family members on Thanksgiving regardless of how far apart we may be.

Now, after all the food and the subsequent singing, we go around the table and ,one-by-one, give thanks for everything good in our lives- everything we appreciate, everything we recognize as a blessing. We were never necessarily patriots, nor are we religious- but I was brought up to "Carpe Diem"- and to appreciate all that I have. Maybe this tradition began because amongst the wine, turkey, tofurky, the chatter, the airport runs, the days and days of shopping and cooking and preparation- Thanksgiving loses its meaning- that is: the day of thanks- the secular type.

I was thinking...if I stand up on my chair at dinner and attempt to hit the high notes shrieking “…and the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air…”, my classmates might finally consider me certifiably crazy. Therefore, I am simply going to stick with giving thanks.

We have about four months left in the MBA, so it seems that now is as good a time as any to define what I am grateful for. Last year, when our first Thanksgiving together came upon us- each friend filled the voids left by family members back home carving the turkey and mashing the potatoes. At that time, this year’s Thanksgiving felt like a lifetime away. Now it’s here and is most probably the last thanksgiving I will ever spend in Spain. That said, I know I have plenty to give thanks for:

I am thankful to Ray, my GMAT tutor, without whom I never would have rocked the math section and therefore, probably wouldn't be doing an MBA.

I am thankful to Mary, the career services dynamo who interviewed me 2 years ago. Not only did meeting her make me hands-down choose ESADE, but she let me in. She had faith that this artsy, creative non-business person would actually be able to succeed in an MBA.

I am thankful to my mom and stepdad Peter, who have given me all the opportunities in the world. They are the ones who pushed me to do an MBA and they are the ones who pay my credit card bill when I realize I have no money left in my Caja Madrid account because the stupid Euro has skyrocked.

I’m thankful to all my friends here at school, who made the MBA what it is- who made the tough parts bearable and the good parts even better. These are the people whose faces I see every morning on the bus when the sun has not yet risen and the faces looking at me from across the room with the same tired eyes or knowing grins.

I am thankful to Papa Louie who began the singing tradition, and who I miss more and more each year.

Most of all, I have to give one more shout-out to my mom who worked her ass off to  make every thanksgiving of my childhood and early adulthood extraordinary. We should all be lucky enough to have a mom like mine.

Happy Places

Last week was a bad week. It was a week where the glass is half empty- whichever way you look at it. It was a week where you question all your life’s choices and are fearful that maybe its too late to mend your mistakes. It was a week where you put on your iTunes and the shuffle function only seems to find the songs that remind you of the tragic losses of your life.

Last week was a week where it takes three cabs to find the one driver who allows you to enter with the 5 euro coffee you just paid for. It was a week where there were frequent reminders that the life you once had has continued without you. It was a week where you want to be there and not here- a week where you would rather be anywhere but here.

Last week was a week where you are so wrapped up in your own loneliness that you hide from the people who could help fill the empty space around you- a week where the supermarket is out of the one thing you are craving and the flights you want to take have all gone up three times their original prices.

It was week where your maid doesn't show up, and no matter how many times you read a question, you still cant figure out the formula to apply.

Last week, I ripped my favorite jeans right in the crotch and I couldn't get a hold of my best friend on text, email, phone or Skype. Last week, I questioned everything I have now and missed everything I once had. I wondered what I am really doing here and where I am going once it’s over.

 I’ve heard people refer to their “happy places." These “happy places” being mental shelters from an emotional storm. People who have happy places shift their consciousness to somewhere else when faced with stress or disagreeable circumstances.

I don't have a happy place. Although, I wish I did. I live everything so intensely that my lack of a happy place is often my worst enemy. If I’m hurt or angry or sad or stressed- the emotion consumes me. I see red and only red. I recognize this weakness and for years, have tried to talk myself out of it- or “into” a happy place. “Go to your happy place” does not work for me. At least not in my mind.

Then, on the other hand, I do have happy moments. Moments that exist in the physical sense of a place- a location, in one’s company- or the like.

After my week- I managed to find a few happy places of my own.

Saturday night was Barcelona’s “La Nit dels Museus.” It is one night a year where Barcelona opens up its museums, free of charge, to the public from 7:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. I figured that as long as I am here, I may as well infuse my culture-starved soul with some knowledge unrelated to the MBA.

It wasn't easy to stop skulking around my apartment after 24 hours of ice-cream pints and pint-sized tears- but I managed to strip myself of my sweatpants, brush my hair and throw on a brave face in order to tackle the outside world.

The sun was setting, which always manages to stun me in Barcelona. There is something about the light here- the soft pinks that serve as a backdrop to the bowed exteriors of deliberately warped Gaudi structures. I pulled up to Monjuic and regardless of the many times as I have visited it, this time it was more beautiful than ever. The fountain was gracefully spilling over to the rhythm of the music playing in the background- and the fountain’s lights served to illuminate Plaza España. As I looked up, I recognized that maybe everything else was starting to look up as well.

I spent the next four hours hopping from museum to museum. I visited the Caixa Forum’s architecture exhibit, the Archaeology museum, and later, I navigated the anthropology museum’s tour of the world. I visited MNAC (National Museum of Art of Catalonia) and spent most of my time in the Renaissance and Baroque periods.

I had not forgotten how much I love art- I could never forget that. But I did forget how much I need it, and how, for a significant period of my life, canvases and oil, bronze figurines, sketches on hidden walls and stone chiseled into the most beautiful shapes were like my air. And then after my week of doubt and difficulty- I finally realized how standing still for a few moments in front of the colors and shapes, etched hundreds of years ago, onto portions of stretched cloth can fill me with a calm serenity. And I thought about what an idiot I had been to not take advantage of all this- at my fingertips…I had almost forgotten my air- forgotten to breathe.

So I walked around the museum, smiling at the paintings I recognized and studying the ones I had never seen- but understanding and identifying the styles used and the stories from which they came. It was a weird sensation. Art was my air and instead of breathing it in, I started to feel choked- as tears rose…and I realized in opposition to the sadness I have been feeling recently, this sudden outburst was nothing more than tears of happiness. In a way- even for a few seconds- I felt at peace.

Then, after my museum experience, I found my happy place #2. I stopped between museum visits (I was on my way to the Born district to tackle Picasso) with a friend to grab a beer and possibly a few tapas. This friend of mine can only be described as my polar opposite. "The Yin to my Yang," as he once mentioned while trying to tell me that he hated me without hurting my feelings.

We were talking, as MBA classmates do, about certain courses, summer plans and future prospects and possibilities. Our conversation twisted and turned and we spoke of other things- things we don't speak about in class. And I realized something; we are not so different after all. We all feel pain and suffer anxiety- we are all a bit lost, but we are all concurrently finding ourselves- often with each others’ help. We all have personal relationships and desires and hopes that linger like flies on the seemingly blank walls of our minds as we grind through this MBA of ours. I talked- he listened. He talked- I listened. And we understood each other far more than either of us ever expected to. And I then realized something- maybe I’m not so alone- so dissimilar- as I often like to believe.

Shortly after, our conversation was interrupted (although I plan to finish it at some point) by the arrival of about 20 American MBA candidates. It was a group of GW students staying in Barcelona participating in a case competition with my school. They recognized my friend, as he had participated in the competition as well. A night of introductions, beers and bars ensued. It was fun, but more importantly, it made me conscious of something I would have otherwise, by no means, appreciated.

These students, all doing their MBAs at GW, were palpable reminders of my time at GW…my four years as in D.C. 

We spoke of places I used to hang out, classrooms I dreaded, food I used to eat, bars I frequented and so many other parts of one of the most significant periods of my life to date. Talking to these people, though, didn't have the effect one would expect. I didn't miss my undergrad days- I didn't miss DC, the debauchery, the friendships, the freedom. Instead- I was happy to be where I am- with all of that behind me….although forever appreciative of what it was- because it is, in fact, a part of who I am now.

Furthermore, it made me think of how I have grown- and how I have changed. And I imagined going back now- with all the knowledge and wisdom I have gained in the years between these two very different experiences.

All things considered, I feel lucky- because as hindsight is said to be 20-20, I am living this right now; back in school- back alongside students, and books and classes, exams, professors and grades. 

I am, in effect, doing exactly what many people would like to go back to do- again, “knowing what they know now.” 

And with that realization- I figured I might as well stop feeling sorry for myself and just enjoy this, and what is behind me, and most importantly- what is ahead of me…as indefinite as it may be.

Sex and a Different City

I may be far from NY and the life I once had there. My Barcelona experience doesn't even resemble the fast-paced, illuminated, energy ridden concrete jungle of a life I had in NY. However, there are a few flashes- a few slight reminders of what it was like- and then there are a number things that are nothing like New York, but more reminiscent of the relationships formed by sharing experiences in “the very heart of it,” as Sinatra once sang.

I’d like to think that NY managed to leave a bit of its vigor inside of me- and that I, in turn, managed to transport a bit of that to Spain.

Here’s the scene;

My best friend here in Barcelona, my partner in crime- the one person I have found that shares her desire to learn with her desire to “live” in the same manner I have chosen- lost her father a few years ago. It’s not my place to say how, or relay any details about her or her father- but that’s immaterial when it comes to friendships. I never met her father, although I wish now that I had. All the same, being that we are all far away from our families and our former friends who were there for us when times got rough, it is an assumed duty to hold the hands of the ones we have grown to love- to be their rocks when there are no other rocks around.

We had spoken about the anniversary of her father’s death in passing. I remembered that she mentioned she would find a church, although not the most religious of individuals, and light a candle in remembrance and honor of her dad. Again, in passing, I mentioned that I would go with her- because I love her...because even if she would never admit it, in all her strength and all her restraint, I think she needed me.

The day came, a typical rainy Sunday when we met for a juice and the gym before studying for upcoming exams. We spent close to three hours together, talking about school, the weekend plans, people, and pretty much everything except for the personal significance of the date- a date that if there were anything in my power to do, I would go back five years and erase. However, my friend didn't say a word. Like I said, this one tends to be cautious with her emotions at times.

Anyways, totally unsuspecting and being a regrettably forgetful friend, I said goodbye, promising to see my friend in the taxi on the way to class the following morning, and walked away. As I turned the key in the door to my apartment, it hit me: My closest friend’s father passed away five years ago today. The blood drained from my face and my heart started pounding, not only disappointed at my absentmindedness, but only beginning to understand the hurt my friend was feeling at that very moment. I frantically called and texted, finally getting through when she told me that she had “found a church, thank you for remembering, I’m fine, don't worry, and I’ll talk to you later.”

I hung up the phone feeling completely helpless. I sat down and began thinking about what I could do later to ease whatever it was she was feeling- knowing all the while that whatever I did, I could never begin to take away her grief. Ideas tore through my mind, dinner? Flowers? Spa day? - I was at a loss.

And then I thought about it. I tried, although I know I could never truly grasp the enormity of her loss, to put myself in her position. And the only thing that would have provided me with any sort of comfort would have been simply- to know that I was not alone.

I rapidly scrambled around my room for a sweater to throw over my sweaty gym clothes and I ran out the door.

A church. 

Where the hell was she? 

What church?

  

I didn't know where to start but I was on a mission. Looking back now, I probably came across as a pious religious maniac- weaving in and out of the streets of my neighborhood- Exiample- asking anyone I ran into, “Iglesia?” “Sabes donde estan las iglesias?”

I was sweating- running- staring at my phone to see if my friend had picked up my inquisitive messages- and ducking in and out of the churches I had never stopped to notice before. It was probably the fourth or fifth cathedral I found when I threw myself into the wide stone entrance, eyes searching amongst the congregation with their heads all bowed in unison, listening to the Catalan sermon. I scanned the worshippers, listening to the rain pounding on stained glass windows and candles flickering off the intricate frescoes telling biblical tales I recognized only from hundreds of art history classes. Finally, I spotted the back of her head with her familiar pink coat resting across her back. 

I ran up the aisle and slid into the pew. I looked at her- her face completely calm but her eyes moist with the few tears I’ve ever seen her come close to shedding. I set my bag down on the ground, grabbed her hand, and definitively told her “I’m here.”

We sat there in silence, hand in hand, with individual thoughts running through our minds. I don't know how long we were there for but I know I would have stayed all night, unmoving. I bowed my head and thought of my friend, and her father- I thought of so many things- loss and love and friendship, family and life. I will never know what she was thinking, but I’m pretty sure I have a good idea. The only thing that mattered what that I had found her- that I wasn't too late- and that she understood that I would always be there- to be her rock whenever she may need one (whether she tells me or not).

After some time, we walked out of the church together and my friend turned to me, hugged me, and said, “That was sooo Carey of you. Now go home and write about it.” 

Now, that was better than any sort of response or sentiment she could have communicated. Soooo “New York”- a language only a few people know and recognize- a shared comprehension that bonds us even tighter than being scrubbed by two fat naked Turkish women on the dirty tiles of a steamy Hammam in Istanbul. Now that's something.

That day, sitting in the darkened church only beginning to comprehend the depths of my friend, I knew we were in the midst of creating a bond slightly stronger than before- stemming from much more than just the amusing mutual acknowledgement- that even after a year in Catalunia, we both have a little Manhattan left in us.

Gazpacho and Gaudí

Clearly, I don’t have the slightest bit of free time to explore Barca. This will change, I am assured. However, this sad fact implies that the continuation of my “things I love about Barcelona” list is on hold for the time being.

Deep Breath.

This doesn’t mean that the lists have to stop. Not at all actually- only the subject matter will incur a small alteration. But I'm an MBA student- a veritable chameleon- I can attack any problem from any angle- I can do this! 

So...below is an inventory of the small pleasures- the tiniest of details that make me smile- or make my heart skip a beat in my day to day life. Because for someone like me, its always been about the small things. 

First off, I want to mention that the Christmas lights are up and alight throughout the streets of Barcelona. Christmas lights make the world a more joyous place (despite the waste of energy, light pollution, complete disregard for the fact that Thanksgiving comes first, and oh yeah- I’m a Jew. (But when has that ever stopped me from eating too much santa-shaped chocolates and buying Christmas trees?)

So, without further ado, here are the small delights I’ve come to hold dear:

-Eating tangerines in class and smelling them on my hands throughout the day (even though my laptop keyboard is perpetually sticky)

-Reading the paragraph long synopses on the left hand side of the front page of the Financial Times every morning and then pretending like I actually know what’s going on in the world

-Listening to Hotel Costes, Vol. 9 ~ Stéphane Pompougnac on my trek home from school between bus 63 and the blue metro line

-Continuing my perpetual search for a comforter cover that doesn’t have bizarre patterns or inappropriate color schemes (its been three months now)

-Walking innocently along the street, glancing up, and remaining astonished by the fact that I am standing next to one of many Gaudi buildings that tourists flock to from the world over

-Weekends in Italy

-Face bubbles on BBM (if you don’t know, don’t ask)

-Skype dates with friends I thought had forgotten me

-Overdoing the pan con tomate and Rioja with friends at Cervezeria Catalunia after 16 hour school days

-Planning extravagant weekend trips…whether they actually happen or not is irrelevant- it’s the prep (the fantasy) that counts. Isn’t it always the fantasy that matters most?

-Arriving at the bus stop as the bus is arriving (as opposed to arriving as its pulling away- which is the case 95% of the time)

-When something is presented in class and I realize I actually enjoy the subject matter. Moreover, when something is presented in class and I have an intelligible opinion I can share with my classmates

-Drinking store-bought gazpacho straight out of the carton while standing barefoot in the kitchen

-Deleting any number of the manifold “mbacareerservices” emails without reading them (although I don’t recommend this as I’ve had quite a few close calls regarding workshops and speaking events), it’s a great stress reliever. Particularly the ones with the “urgent” notification attached. Totally liberating

-Discovering hidden corners concealed within the packed hallways and floors of school between classes in which I can exist in my own world- nothing like the reality of what I am living

As a final note: Barcelona has gotten cold. They didn't mention that in the brochure!

It was practically arctic in my apartment this morning...I woke up shaking and blue. Thus, I overshot my target and showed up to school in five layers of clothing (including waffled long underwear- yes bottom and top), uggs with fur peeking out around my calves, gloves, and coat. I haven’t stopped sweating since I ran after the bus this morning. 

Las Canciones De Mi Vida

I recently moaned about the lack of time I have to listen to music. This is a mockery considering that up until this point, music has played a sizeable role in my life. I fear that in the end of this whole MBA/Barca experience, I will not be able to find a list of music with which to compile a soundtrack. 

I’ve always managed to assemble these anthologies- from the boom-box era when I sat around until the radio played what I wanted to hear- and I would rush to push “record” before I missed too much of the song, to burning CD’s that I would later listen to and consequently scratch due to excessive “repeat” on my disk-man, and now the simple pleasure of labeling playlists in my itunes- there have always been compilations of significant songs that serve as the souvenirs of momentous times in my life…

And of all the significant times I have had, I am sure that this is going to be up there with the best of them. A memory without music is a memory lost. For this phase of my life, I believe that would be the biggest shame imaginable. 

To that end, I began compiling a playlist. It’s comprised of the songs I listen to as I walk in the rain (whoever said it never rains in Barca was lying) to the bus stop. Some of the songs are the songs that randomly come on my i-pod as I sit outside the school waiting for my next class to begin, thinking to myself, “this is exactly how I feel,” whether the words match or not. Because with music- its rarely about the words- it’s the fact that every note, every melody, every chord touches something in your soul and makes you feel connected somehow to something you cant see, or touch, or explain- but you know is there. Certain songs possess the beats and rhythms I have danced to at 6 a.m. in Barca’s discotecas- when I should have been dressing for class. Others in hotel rooms on the Amalfi Coast or fashion-week parties in Paris. And a few are the songs that play in my head without any explanation- they just begin out of nowhere and linger for days.

And so these songs will become my soundtrack- a vehicle to carry me back to here- at some point down the road- in a moment of clarity or sadness or nostalgia when I want to feel how I feel now- where I am now- where, despite the rain and the lack of free time, I am extraordinarily happy.

Lastly, there are songs on this list that my best friend, Dana has sent me- in a package full of mixes. Not only did she listen to me when I made an offhand remark about not having a soundtrack- but she heard me...because the two of us have innumerable soundtracks together. She gets it...she named the mixes “Barca Mix 1, 2, and so on” She gave me the gift of the music that I haven’t had time on my own to discover. 

So here goes, the beginning of Barca memories via la musica….

1. Regina Spektor, Samson
2. The Killers, Human
3. Amos Lee, Baby I Want You
4. Ray LaMontagne, You Are The Best Thing
5. U2, Running To Stand Still
6. Leona Naess, Ghosts In The Attic
7. Jehro, All I Want
8. Coldplay, Viva la Vida
9. Rocha, Ya No Te Veria Mas
10. The Verve Pipe, Freshman
11. Eddie Vedder, Society
12. Jewel, Barcelona
13. Me’shell Ndegoecello, Beautiful
14. Kings of Leon, Cold Desert
15. Freedom Dub, Emotional Rescue (Hotel Costes 9)
16. Moby, Dream About Me
17. Patrizio Buanne, Luna Mezz o’ Mare
18. Damien Rice, 9 Crimes
19. Amy Winehouse, Back to Black
20. Yves Larock and Jaba, Rise Up (pref. club mix)
21. Black, Wonderful Life
22. Adele, Hometown Glory
23. PhonJaxx, Sensual
24. Coldplay, Lovers in Japan
25. Laurent Wolf, No Stress
26. Ben Harper, Fight Outta You
27. Juanes, La Camisa Nera
28. Thievery Corporation, Beautiful Drug
29. Shakira, Estoy Aqui
30. Black Kids, Love Me Already
31. Stephan Pompougnac, The Ballad of Sacco and Vanzetti

32. MGMT, Kids

33. GlasVegas, Daddy's Gone

34. Shout Out Louds, Very Loud

35. Kings of Leon, Use Somebody

Lists

Lists.

Ever since I was little, my life has been filled with lists. I suppose this is of my mother’s doing. My mother, as wonderful as she is, a fanatical list-maker, list-hoarder, and devout believer in lists.

Firstly, the ubiquitous “To Do” lists. They were everywhere…folded up and shoved conspicuously in my brown paper lunch bag, post its covering the fridge, stacks of paper by the phone.

These lists- the banes of my existence, or so it seemed- were constant reminders of people to call, objects to buy, affairs to attend, and various other obligations that usually diverged greatly from what I wanted to be doing- and wherever that may have been.

These lists have remained- even two decades later- as knots in my stomach…they bring with them a degree of anxiety and unease. I say this in general terms. 

Growing up, as soon as one thing was crossed off my list- another miraculously appeared. (thanks mom). Admittedly, I don’t think I was ever capable of fully completing a to-do list. I can’t remember ever taking one of those frightful little pieces of paper, drawing lines through every item, and throwing it into the trash- where, in my opinion, it should have been from the beginning.

I deviated from lists when I moved away from home at 18. Lists were nothing more than a burden to me. I had things to do, yes…but lists only created extra stress…not only did I have to do the things I had to do, but I had to deal with the list, I had to adhere to the list, I had to follow the list.

I’d like to believe that I’ve been successful in terms of living my life until this point without regressing to the structured list-driven-environment I was raised in. I may not be the most organized person in the world, but I have always gotten everything done that needed to be done- and ultimately, that’s what lists are there for. Yet, I coped just fine without them. 

I got here didn’t I?

I managed without them until now, that is. The stringent schedule, the stress, the LISTS, the structure- of business school- are all synonymous with growing up with my mother and her agenda…she would love this place.

So here they are once more. Lists. Yet again they have appeared in my life- and taken a drivers seat in everything I do. Group lists, contact lists, course lists, class lists, company lists, lists lists lists. And more lists.

So in keeping form- because in lists- "we" like consistency, below are a few lists…the lists that happen to define my existence right now.

Term 1 course list:

-Introduction to General Management and Strategy

-Applied Quantitative Models

-Economics 

-Financial Analysis

-Geopolitics, Society and Culture

-Managerial Accounting

-Marketing I

-Organizational Behavior

-Languages (Español)

Things I should see in Barcelona, and haven’t yet visited list:

-Visit (as in- actually enter) Gaudi’s La Pedrera and Casa Battlô. 

-Picasso exhibition

-Caixa Forum

-Montjuic (and its magical fountain)

-Barca Football game!

-Tibidabo

-Mont Serrat

-El Bulli

-MACBA (Museum of Contemporary Art)

-Sleep

-Palau de la Música

Clubs to consider joining list:

-Consulting

-Finance

-Real Estate

-Women in Business

-Emerging Markets

-Entrepreneurship

-CSR

-Diversity in Business

-Clean Energy

-Basketball

-Volleyball

-Climbing 

-Football

-Salsa

-Running

-Tennis

-Wine Club

Companies on Campus for Fall MBA Career Week list:

Infosys Technologies

Citi

DPWN

Roland Berger

Vestas 

Barclays

Basf

Zurich

Arthur D. Little

Dupont

Abbott

Europraxis

A.T. Kearney

Oliver Wyman

Grupo Santander

Nike

Delta Partners

BCG

Rodamco 

Accenture

GE

Grupo Celsa

DSM

Morgan Stanley

McKinsey

As for my “To Do” list, I’m not even going to start (and the list itself is never going to end…as far as I can tell).

So that’s that. For now. Tomorrow, surely there will be more.

Roma, Barca, and one night in Paris

What can I say about Rome? It was Rome. It was Rome squared. No, quadrupled. Rome, as always, was magical- stunning, exquisite, enchanting.

I’ve always been fearful of repeating experiences- being that there have been so many that have been so good- I hate to go back. I would rather maintain the memories of my original experiences…but Rome. Rome was exactly what I needed. 

Having lived there for a year, I felt like I was going home. It was familiar. But again, it was completely new. I wish I had the words to express how it felt to be in Rome- to stand once again in front of the Trevi Fountain, tossing in coins- along with the hundreds of other tourists, wishing to one day return- as I always have and always will. 

It was magic. 

I was at peace. 

And the joy that I felt, the joy that is still whirling around in my soul, is indefinable. But for me, in Rome- I was swallowed up into an unexpected euphoria- having left every thought of Barcelona and the MBA behind me- I was delirious, caught off guard- and reminded of everything beautiful that life could be- that life is. 

I guess I can say that Rome infused me with a willingness, nay- an openness to everything that lays ahead- MBA included. It’s easy to get caught up in the stress, in the trivial daily activities- in the demanding schedule we have jumped into headfirst, hands tied behind our backs- and all that the MBA implies.

Until Rome, I had a tiny, nagging thought in the back of my mind- that I had given my life over to numerous ambiguous and fatiguing activities, planning, provisions and preparations to be someone who I don’t yet know. 

But Rome reminded me of who I am…and who I want to be. And possibly, this MBA can be my vehicle to get there. Back to Rome? Maybe. But to the place- in my mind and in my heart- that Rome reminded me of. And to Rome- to the rapture and the delight, I will return. 

Tomorrow- Paris. What can I say?

And what can I say about school? We had our pre-term exams last week. I hope I passed. We all hope we passed. They were exhausting- mentally- but at the same time, there was a sense of camaraderie amongst each and every one of us. We had all made it to Spain- made it to our first class, our second and through to the end of pre-term…a small part of the MBA that began to shape the rest of the experience. And last week- regardless of what we individually did the weekend before, or are doing the weekend after- we were all there together- walking the halls- bleary eyed, and spent. Exhausted, mystified and ready for it to be over. And Now- Over it is. 

I cant say that I am nostalgic about what we went through- but then again, Monday begins yet another, doubtlessly more difficult, part of the MBA. The illustrious “Term 1.” 

But again- we will all be in it together- and we will all get through it together (that is if we managed to pass Business Law.)

So this weekend is Paris- one night in Paris. One last hurrah- before we begin anew…and delve even further to all that is unknown. Unknown, unexpected, and absolutely unbelievable.

Lista Del Primer Mes

A few Barcelona/MBA/Personal discoveries and thoughts:

-I have ADD. It seems to have developed post-undergrad.

-L’Auberge Espagnole was great, but it didn’t come close to doing this city justice. (speaking of, I am looking forward to seeing Woody’s Barca film.)

-I would rather drink Kenyan tap water than the stuff that comes out of the faucet here. I hardly believe its potable.

-10% of Barcelona is covered by parks.

-I am the only blonde in the MBA class. This happens to be the first time in my life I am a minority…and I’m LOVING it.

-I have been driven to hiding my cheese under the sprouts in the salad bar line…otherwise, the Nazi at the till charges me twice as much for lunch. (I am fine readily admitting this...I've recently discovered that it's normal procedure for many other well-advised students).

-In Spain, it’s ok to go to dinner at midnight, but showing up at 12:30 is just a bit too late.

-Red bull doesn’t "give you wings", it gives you the shakes.

-In b-school- in Barcelona- it’s easy to forget that the world (economy) around us is crumbling…and hopefully by the time we graduate and have to get jobs, the world will be in a better state than it is now.

-Earwigs can lay eggs, propagate, and live within the pits of peaches (yet another interesting experience with *Aramark*, the school’s catering service- which, by the way, also does prisons.)

-I definitely have A.D.D.

-Maybe I don’t want to go into consulting, after all. Then again, maybe I do. 

Maybe if I were allotted more time than a month's deadline to figure it out, I would have a clearer idea of what to do with my life.

-Every skeptic, disparager, and doubter was right- and it pains me to admit it- but relationships do not last in Business School- no matter how much love is involved.

-Just because you are good at math, it doesn’t mean you will be good at statistics. 

Quite the opposite actually.

-Speaking Spanish with a lisp isn’t so unnatural after-all.

-I can still party like a rockstar…until Monday morning comes along.

-There are still people in the Western world who have never "met" a Jew.

-Public holidays are Gods gift to MBA students.

-Blackberry Messenger is dangerous. Especially after a few drinks.

-I will never shed the “American” stereotype- despite how American or un-American I am. And unfortunately, this is a result of the ignorance of others- and has nothing to do with myself.

-I hate public transportation. Especially in the rain.

-Sangria is too sweet.

-It is possible to live in this city and never speak a word of Spanish. Which is a shame.

-It’s not about what you know, it’s who you know. Just like everywhere else in the world.

-Long-life milk should really make its way into U.S. supermarkets. It’s lasted more time than anything else (perishable or un-perishable) in my fridge.

-And finally, the story of Gaudi’s untimely death;

The story of the death of Gaudi is a graphic illustration of the absurd misfortune that filled the life and work of this enigmatic Spanish architect. On June 7, 1926, a street tram tragically ran Gaudí over in the centre of Barcelona.
Throughout his life, Gaudí had avoided attention. Few photographs of the architect existed, which meant he was not an instantly recognizable figure to the people on the streets of Barcelona. As he lay injured and anonymous, the gathering crowd was unaware that it was the revered architect that lay on the ground before them. Because he was unrecognizable, taxi drivers refused to take what appeared to be an injured vagrant to the hospital, and were later fined for not assisting a wounded man.

Paradise to Probability

“Give a busy person something to do, and it will get done.”

Or so they say…

HA! 

Someone should tell “them” to get an MBA! 

In business school, that philosophy goes out the window. Actually, all philosophies go out the window. Life, as I knew it- has gone out the window. I’m getting nothing done. And the more I do, the more it seems I have yet to do.

These are my classes, in case anyone is wondering why I haven't called them back:

-Managerial Statistics

-Financial Accounting and Reporting

-Economics

-Business Law

-Information Technology

-and who knows what they will add to that list next week….

And how much I understand of the aforementioned balls and chains?

-about 10% (up 10% from two weeks ago.)

Beyond the 7-8 hours of daily classes, I have hours upon hours of group work a day- including an inundation of e-mails at night- and on the weekends. It never ends. 

Another misconception about business school? The belief that a concentration on group work would alleviate some of the stress- some of the work load- etc…

Nope. Not at all. 

Groupwork is exactly that- Work. 

More work.

Figuring out how to fuse the study styles, work ethics, cultures, opinions, strengths, weaknesses, and beliefs of seven people from seven different backgrounds and seven countries is no easy task. Attempting to maintain a voice among six other voices- just as strong or stronger than mine- just as knowledgeable or more knowledgeable than mine is no walk in Park Güell.

But I’m working on it- we are all working on it- still smiling, still positive, and still incredibly aware that wherever we go after this, there is nothing we wont be able to do- and no one we wont be able to handle. Not one single graduate of the ESADE MBA will have an easy time, but this stuff is invaluable. It’s f*cking fantastic. (and again…this is just pre-term: a weighty attempt at getting all of us right-brainers, "artists," hippies, call-it-what-you-will, caught up with the Goldman Sachs imports lurking among us…

Speaking of fantastic- not everything is a struggle. At this time yesterday, I was on a sailboat in the Mediterranean with some of my favorite people in Barcelona, including my new hero- a man who happens to have accomplished everything in his lifetime that I have on my “list” to do…

So although it’s about balance/finding a happy medium- there are no happy mediums to be had in this alternate-Barcelonian-MBA-universe.

How does one go from paraîso (*see image 1) on Sunday, to infierno (*see text 2) on Monday?(With time for rest in between). 

Ideas welcome…

1.

2.

"Least square criterium. The normal equations 

From min Σei2= minSSR

∂SS R/ ∂b0=0 => ΣYi = nb0+ b1ΣXi
∂SS R/ ∂b1=0 => ΣXiYi = b0ΣXi + b1ΣXi2

ΣY i-nb0-b1ΣXi = Σ(Yi- ) = Σei = 0
Σ(Y i-b0-b1Xi) Xi = Σ(Yi- )Xi = ΣeiXi = 0 

So Σei=0 & Σeixi=0 are artifacts which hold always
whatever your data might be."

*This post is dedicated to my group members (should they come across my blog)- Tanya, Emmanuel, Bernardo, Stephan, Nirankar, and Saurabh- who will get to know me better than most, spend more time with me than any boyfriend ever has, will most likely curse my existence more than a few times in the next few months, and will undoubtedly teach me more about myself than I could have ever imagined. xx

Fight Outta Me

It’s quite clear that I have very little time to indulge in some of the small pleasures I used to enjoy on a regular basis. I’m not complaining. This is actually OK with me (at least today it is)- partially because I am so busy that I have no time to think about missing the things I am missing. It is also "ok" with me because I have found new pleasures- and these are serving as replacements for some of the lost ones.

Despite this predicament, I have become somewhat adept at discovering little pockets of time in which I can pander to my rudimentary desires. For example; writing during one of the 10 daily coffee breaks. 

Additionally, I go to the gym. I try to go to the gym. I don’t go to the gym to go to the gym per-se, I go to the gym(I cant believe I am admitting this) partially for the opportunity to listen to music. I miss music- my music- because buried within my music are the notes and sounds and lyrics that make up my memories. 

I have always said it, I stand by it, and I am sure I will elaborate on this point in the future. 

But right now- there is no music. (real music). So ten years down the road, when I am filling my days with other activities, surrounded by different people, different air, different architecture- what will I listen to in order to bring me back here? To this classroom, these streets, my friends- the restaurants I frequent. The color of the sky at dusk- the noise of the motos rolling by underneath my balcony… 

Moreover- how will I bring myself back to the sensory components of this experience? The mixture of mental, physical, and emotional- the overpowering fusion of being overwhelmed, sleepless, yet charged in every sense of the word- rundown and oftentimes disheartened, but extraordinarily happy- fulfilled on one side, void on the other…Barcelona- the emotions I associate with Barcelona. What music will define Barcelona for me in the future?

Maybe that’s something I need to work on. 

Either way, I went to the gym yesterday and my ipod was on random- random like the traffic in Barca, random like the selection of MBA students in ESADE, random like my life.

And a song by Ben Harper came on- “Fight Outta You”- from his last album, Lifeline (which by the way, is a fantastic album).

I was having a “down moment” and Mr. Harper was the perfect complement to the end of my 16 hour day, not understanding financial accounting or managerial statistics, and clashing with group members over immaterial concepts. I had never really listened to the song before- and although it doesn’t 100% apply to my mental state at the time- it does a pretty good job.

So below is a gift to my fellow MBAers- all those who are struggling with one of the many aspects of this new life as well. "There's always someone younger, someone with more hunger, don't let them take the fight outta you..."

xx

Ticking and Tocking

I’ve referred to time over and over again- the concept of time, the passage of time, the lack of time, and so on.

I have always been aware of time. Mostly- the fact that once it passes, we can never get it back. And that pisses me off to no end.

Barcelona is like a time vacuum- a black hole that sucks the minutes and hours away from me and when I turn to find them, they are gone. No trace. I’m feeling the lack of time more than I have ever experienced. It’s not surprising to me that I am constantly busy- but the extent to which my days are flying by at a preposterous pace is staggering. I arrived in Barca a month ago and I’ve spent more hours awake than I did sleeping all of last year. And I’m sure it doesn’t help that outside my fellow classmates- I seem to be surrounded by people younger than me. The passage of time had never been more clear to me than yesterday- lying on the beach with a bunch of friends- I was speaking to a German girl studying art here in Spain and I asked her how old she is. Her answer? Eighteen. I almost passed out. 

And then it was my turn. 

“27.” 

Cringe.

She was shocked. So was I. How did that happen? I’ve been 27 for half a year now- but I never felt 27 until I got here. And oh, how I hate it...

Before beginning the MBA, a few wise friends mentioned to me that the key to surviving b-school is accepting the fact that one cannot accomplish everything they intend to do. You have to pick and choose. Priorities: Managerial Statistics or Financial Accounting. Economics or marketing. Sleeping or eating. It’s all about sacrificing…. maintaining an old friendship or working on new ones, cultural activities or indulging in pleasurable ones.

I have no time for anything. I didn’t know that when I went school shopping, it would be the only school shopping I would have time for until 2009, or that if I plan on eating dinner at home- I must make it to the market on Saturday before 1:00 or I wont have another opportunity to go. I didn’t realize that the first IKEA run would be the only IKEA run. 

I still only have one sheet. Not good. 

My first day in the gym, I saw the tanning beds and wondered why the hell anyone in BCN would want to go to a sunbed with the beach at our toes. Now I understand. Who has time to go to the beach? I’ve been about 7 times- each of which, I arrive after 5 p.m. (despite attempts to get there earlier). So much for getting a tan…

I don’t sleep, I rarely eat, I never do everything I want to in a day- I study, but barely learn because I’m constantly thinking of all that I don’t know and wondering if I ever will.

“Work hard, play hard” is a gross understatement when it applies to Barcelona- let alone attempting an MBA in Barcelona. Now I know why people go to remote villages for school….one bar, a bunch of books, and crappy weather would suit this intensive learning “thing” well. Barcelona could possibly be the worst. But I adore it. I’m in love with Barcelona. And it made me smile when Friday night- at a club- on the dancefloor- strobe lights flashing, music pounding, and I heard an odd ringing from my clutch- only to realize it was the alarm clock I had forgotten to turn off for the weekend.

I felt bad for a second until I looked around and about three of my fellow MBAs were all turning their alarm clocks off at the same time. So I suppose that will be the new M.O:

Weeknights- get up before the sun rises, weekends- stumble home in the blazing daylight- and once in a while- go from night until day- and sit in class being as brilliant as we will ever be.

So I guess being pissed off at the lack of time is of no use here- at least not for the next 17 months. And the whole “never getting it back” thing doesn’t really apply…not if I never sleep again.

A Little Overwhelmed

Its almost 6:00 p.m. on the first day of official classes.

I woke up at 6:00 a.m., and was at the bus station by 7:00. (yes, I take the bus…) I watched the sun rise, arrived at school- turned in two versions of a short CV that will be published through ESADE- didn’t have time for a coffee, put my glasses on, sat down, took a deep breath and tried to act like this was all OKAY…”okay” it is not…nuts is more like it- crazy, ridiculous, foolhardy, mad, insane, bizarre, harebrained, idiotic, and so on and so forth.

After four and a half hours of “Financial Accounting and Reporting” (what???), chugging café con leche like its my job, and another three hour class of “Managerial Statistics,” I think my head is going to explode. Tonight, I’ll do some Financial accounting homework- may meet with my group to work on statistics, and then go over a few chapters in the new Spanish book I purchased since my language hasn’t progressed much in the last few weeks. And then it will all begin again tomorrow…tomorrow and the next day and the next…

(I must have been insane to actually believe that I would have a social life here, btw) Speaking of, there are about four different ppl visiting this weekend. Should be interesting.

My mac doesn’t seem to have the excel add-ons (whatever that may be) that I need- and after spending about 30 minutes trying to download an updated program- my computer freaked out (I guess he feels a bit like I do.)

I’ll eventually get home- I don’t know when that will be- but I’m sure it will happen. At which point, I will wrestle with the washing machine that seems to be holding my favorite clothes hostage, and I’ll spend hours on the phone with Telefonica who seems to have forgotten that we had an internet installation appointment. They refuse to call back.

Rent is due, we are still about 25% short of furniture, our bathtub wont drain, and we are sharing one set of keys between two of us (not to mention the fact that I don’t yet have a mailbox key.)

Michael came and surprised me this weekend- It was wonderful to see him…but my life here is so unaligned from his that the parameters of our relationship basically performed a 180 between his arrival time and the time he left for the airport last night. Everything is crumbling…and rebuilding itself simultaneously. 

A little overwhelmed is an understatement…and this is just pre-term.

The Good, The Bad...THE BARCA

According to my “loyal readers” (aka: the friends of mine who tend to cane me when I write anything they don’t like- or don't understand), I’m being too philosophical about this experience and lacking in the details specific to the initial part of my time here. After all, I AM in Barcelona and not doing some typical MBA in Philly or Boston…(not that there’s anything wrong with Penn, it’s just not my thang.)

Being that I have only been here two weeks…I’m going to simplify this and then, hopefully one day, I’ll be far more equipped to justify my haughty “this is one of the best cities in the world” statement. 

Things I love about BCN;

-Pimientos de Padrón

-Siestas (even though I don’t take them- it’s the concept that gets me every time)

-Cava

-The fact that being 10 minutes late to everything really means that I’m about 20 minutes early.

-The proximity to some of the most beautiful cities and beaches in the world

-That I can get home when the sun has already risen and I’m far from being the only one

-The nightlife. Ah, the nightlife….

-That Bush isn’t President here

-The ease with which I am able to navigate the public transportation

-The fact that I can see the mountains from the sea, and vice-versa

-Tortilla Española

-Dinner at midnight

-Being in the minority as a tall blonde (or so I like to tell myself)

-The music

-The plazas (yes, all of them)

-Cortados

-Getting to the beach at 5:00 p.m. and still having over three hours of sunlight

-The diversity of my classmates

-Antoni Gaudí

-The weather (Barca, seriously, has to have the best climate in the world. No joke)

-Rioja

-The abundance of beautiful people

-Market juice

-Manchego

-The noise

-But most of all- I love the fact that I can’t even begin to imagine how long this list is going to be- that this is just the beginning- that it can only get better from here…

Things I don’t like so much (you knew there had to be a few…);

-The Euro-Dollar exchange rate (although anything is better than the British Pound)

-Trying to figure out where the accents and ñ’s are on my laptop

-Not having enough hours in a day, days in a week, weeks in a month, and so on…

-Imperfecto vs. Indefinido

-Flat hunting (apartment searching) and the incompetent agencies/agents who seem to make all our lives far more complicated than need be

-The astonishing lack of bartenders capable of making a dirty martini 

-9:00 a.m. classes (and knowing that the hard stuff hasn’t even begun yet)

-The abundance of tourists (even though its August and I haven’t yet seen the half of it) And no- I’m not a tourist. Anywhere…