Las Ramblas teemed with people, the Gothic charmed with its narrow streets and historic buildings. The Mediterranean put on its blue show. Lunch in a seaside restaurant. Food and wine so reasonable priced, especially considering the quality. Rests at the apartment. The kids took to the subway immediately—Saoirse was standing and reading her novel by the third ride. Such a density of people, of movement, and up close coexistence.
Though all was relatively peaceful on the surface, political tensions abound in the region (as they seem to everywhere at the moment). Buildings were often dripping with Catalan flags and signs to free political prisoners now. The odd Spanish flag stuck aggressively out. It’s interesting having a teenage son so fascinated by history, and so in the process of understanding context, how deeply and far back some tensions go. I thought a lot about the year-long course I took while studying in London, Literature of the 1930’s. It let me to read so much about the Spanish Civil War. And now we are in Granada (I’ll be caught up and in real time soon!), where the beloved poet and playwright Federico Garcia Lorca was from and which he wrote about so movingly. He was killed by nationalist forces, perhaps for political views, perhaps for being gay, perhaps both and more. History doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t repeat itself, exactly. It changes shape, but keeps on.
