The European Sun Feels Strangely American

The home stretch of my abroad journey is now beginning. These final five weeks are going to be a blur of sketchy airlines, cramped trains, and language barriers. However, it all starts with my family’s arrival to Barcelona tomorrow. As my Facebook News Feed has so thoroughly informed me, it has been in the 70’s and 80’s in Chicago the past two weeks. During that time, Barcelona has stayed consistently beautiful. Temperatures have flirted with the 70’s and not a single drop of rain has fallen upon the city in over four weeks. So it is only fair that on the eve of my parent’s arrival, a seven day rain marathon is set to commence. This poorly-timed precipitation has inspired me to provide you with insight into a typical sunny day in Barcelona.

Firstly, the lazy option for such a day is my rooftop pool deck. Like the rest of my residencia, it is garnished with broken Ikea furniture and contains a sickening array of primary colors. I retreat there between or after classes to soak in a ray or two, convincing myself that my inevitable paleness can be altered. Beforehand, I venture down to the market around the corner and fetch a sixer of Bud-Heavy. The warmth of the sun coupled with the refreshing taste of America is a temptation I cannot deny.  We drink, talk, and gaze out over the ancient city until the sun is finally consumed by the distant mountains.

Another alternative for a beautiful day is the park. The sprawling lawns of the park are full of an eclectic mix of race and social standing. This is a prime spot for people watching. You can listen to a man play the didgeridoo while watching fire twirlers and Tom Cruise inspired bartenders practice their moves. It is more than ideal for a hilariously stereotypical European picnic.

However, the place to be on a sunny day is undeniably the beach.  The same portion of beach that hosts staggering club goers at night, transforms into an American safe haven in the daylight. The same clubs that blast nightly house music, instead play classic rap and other audible remnants of last decade’s pop-culture. This music, coupled with football and volleyball games seemingly transports you from a Mediterranean Beach to an American boardwalk. Only the inexorable Pakistani beach merchants serve as obnoxious reminders that you are, in fact, still in Barcelona.

I currently have that undeserved feeling of guilt for the weather my family is about to experience. But I believe that a truly great city is still great in the rain. Starting tomorrow, my family will put that outlook to the test.