But I'm Over It Now

So I admit that I've been feeling a little guilty because I haven't been going out as much as I thought I would. I've spent days in a row going no further than the neighborhood stores. Part of it is that time telescopes here, I wake up and suddenly it's midnight. Part of it is that I have been essentially staying with other people or travelling for the better part of two months. It's nice to have a home again, a dedicated space. I like sitting on my balcony. And when I go out I don't seem to return until the next morning. Even when I stay in I somehow manage to stay up until 5. It's a little exhausting. And the dreams, I have been having the most vivid dreams. They are epics. I wake up fairly often because of the noises from the stairs, but the dreams just continue. The last one was a sort of a Battlestar Gallactica meets Firefly meets Man and Boy with a little Fat Albert thrown in. I can't explain it, exactly, but it was really fun until they blew out the planetary controls and flushed the atmosphere out into space. when I mentioned it to my roommate he suggested I write a soundtrack for my dreams. Great idea. But I'm starting with the soundtrack for a love story I want to write. I sequenced the main theme today.

I've been spending a lot of time figuring out this music production/sequencing program Ableton Live. It's incredible, a very fine piece of coding. I don't fully understand even a quarter of its capabilities yet, but it's fun in a way very similar to djing, which I'm only doing on my computer so far. I'm trying to dedicate some time each day to Spanish study and either writing or work with music, either research or production. With music, as is typical with me, 2 hours suddenly become 5. Throw in that whole telescoping time thing and it's 5am and I'm trying to convince myself to forget the snack and just go to bed. I have the best of intentions, I've researched nights I want to attend, but you really can't start your evening at 5am. I was ready last night but there was a torrential downpour. I made it home just in time. It was beautiful, thunder and lightning over Montjuic. I sat watching from the living room until the rain started to come in. Then I started playing with Live again.

It's Almost Funny How Sunday Becomes Monday

I am having an ongoing experience with which I am not entirely sure what to do. With a bit of naivete, admittedly, I wanted an experience to some degree outside of my blackness. Escaping America and its history, and my history, I wanted an experience that had nothing to do with the color of my skin. I recognize that unlesss I am dealing with the blind and essentially uncultured, it is an impossibility. Still, is it wrong to want something that all of my white friends take for granted; something that many of the white people I meet seem to not notice working in their lives?

Here I sit in pretty much the same place as the last two early Monday mornings: awake after having started my evening at a party on the beach and following the experience where it led me. The first Sunday I met my new Polish friends and the last two weekends I have found myself dancing at afterparties until the music stopped. Let me just point out here that evenings that begin with beach parties in Barcelona are great things indeed; and if the beach party was the end of the evening it would be great too. So far I am loving my Sundays. The thing which is dificult is the way that racism works here. Because I am a dark skinned man people assume that I am one of the number of African immigrants here. 'Are you from Senegal?' 'Are you from Ghana?' 'Are you from Nigeria' To which I answer, 'no, los Estados Unidos.' For the people who would bother to ask where I'm from, the fact that I'm from the US is a door opener. But there are a number of people for whom my blackness is enough. It doesn't matter where I'm from exactly, they just see me and assume the worst. I think the oddest part of this for me is that it has been somewhat less positive when I have been assertive and reached out than when I have just chilled and met the people who cross my path. I want to be this open somewhat assertive man reaching out to people. It works about 50% of the time, maybe less.

Coming from the US I should be used to it, but it's still no less disconcerting. To some degree it's a bit more so. I have my escape valve in a sense. If I go to the door of a club and get grief, like I did earlier this week, a mix of bad Spanish and good English changes a situation, at least temporarily. However it doesn't change the fact that I don't get those little free club invites unless I'm with whites, or the fact that I, and pretty much every African who just wants to dance has to deal with a degree of unnecessary shit. I recognize that it is a part of life, I have known it for a long time, but I guess that I'm tired of it. The result here is that I'm willing to confront it in a way that is not just, "ah, fuck you." I ask a number of clarifying questions. Perhaps it's because I think I'm in love with this city and my slowly growing life. Perhaps it's because it amuses me a little to go off in English and have the guy look at me completely clueless, or perhaps I'm a little less invested in the why-- it's not my country, all I want to do is dance. Regardless I think a lot and this subject has so far been somewhat inescapable.

Trying to Fulfill All of the Promises

I have been here in Barcelona for 11 days. I spent the first three.5 without my luggage and the first five or so with my good friend Martina. It all balanced out. She has an artist's way of seeing the world which offered a great lense for the city in my first few days that helped me get over the absence of my stuff, somewhat. She is also very open and social in a way that I used to be and desire to be again; it's appropriate for this city, this continent. I now have an invitation to visit Poland and Northern Italy. Poland seems most likely. I mean, who goes to Poland in February? Somehow seems like the thing to do, and almost getting arrested with people builds a deep sort of bond. I'll get to that. To get my bags I was given a number which I called several times a day without an answer, until I finally got someone. She told me to call back, no one answered. I finally went back to the airport and was sent around to several people who couldn't help me. I was then directed to a room full of baggage and I helped a man find my bags. I spoke four-year-old Spanish and he spoke no English, and talked the entire time. He remembered my record box and was able to locate my other bag because of it. And then I found myself at a party on the beach with an Australian, 2 Italians and 3 Poles. I like how so many of my experiences here start like bad jokes: an American, Italian, Spainiard, and a Russian walk into a dance club....

I told a number of people that I would blog regularly about my travels. I haven't. It's simple. I like to write from my own computer and for the five weeks I spent in Seattle I only had wireless connection when I would bike into the Cafe Luna in downtown (can you call it that? middle town?) Vashon. My five weeks was a wonderful and simple time. I reconnected with people, ran into people at random, and just had a great experience. It was very heart-touching, soul warming. I think it was a good bridge experience between New York and Barcelona.

I think that one of the reasons it has taken so long to start writing is because I have wanted to write about that time, and my first week here, my impressions, the events, the meals; it's all been a bit daunting, especially while searching for housing. So I have decided to just start where I am. I'll go back if it strikes me or seems especially relevant. In the meantime you can see photos at http://flickr.com/photos/brotherbeat/.

I finally found a place and it was as simple as I thought the whole process should be. The process was as annoying as searching for housing always is in a city where you don't really know people, adding to that a serious language deficit. Phone conversations were often difficult for me and the other party. I've been overusing a verb tense and underusing one not usually used in English. Still, I walked into three homes in particular and really liked the space and the roommate I met. If the rooms had been offered I would have taken them on the spot, but there were other people who were part of the decision. This place I walked in, thirty minutes late after running around looking at places and realizing I couldn't find his street in my guide book. When I arrived I looked at all of the space, stepped out onto the balcony, and after we answered each others basic questions, I asked if there were a lot of people to consider. He said yes, but he liked me. Simple. I moved in the next day and the Israeli man who was staying in my room has been intermittently sleeping in the living room ever since. My room is much smaller than my last and instead of the Barcelona balcony I dreamed of I have a window to the stairs and courtyard. But I have a very warm and kind roommate who made lunch for me my first two days here and, said goodnight darling as he went to bed our first day together. We have so far shared food, wine, and political impressions of both our countries; it's a good life. And to top it off I have the lights over Montjuic to welcome me home on the weekend. Jose said that he asked them to turn them on to welcome me to the neighborhood. I think he was kidding, but who knows? He's a really nice guy.






I will start posting images from my time in Barcelona soon.