New Helmet

After two years using the same old crappy second-hand helmet, I finally got a new one. An orange one! With a stripe! There was a pretty cool yellow one from Bultaco too, but they didn't have my size, so I went with the orange.

He Never Knew What Hit Him

I've decided that few people are easier to surprise than Frenchy. I sat right next to him on the couch and sent an email out to several of his friends with the title: Quentin's Birthday - SHHHH!

I'm sure he looked over my shoulder at my screen on more than one occasion, but still managed to never see those email headers.

Then, on the day of his surprise dinner, I met Tucker at L' Illa to buy his gift: a new tennis racket. After five minutes, Frenchy called me and said, "Hey do you want to meet for lunch at L' Illa?" I would never EVER turn down Frenchy for lunch so, not wanting to appear suspicious, I said, "Sure, I can be there in a few minutes if I leave the office now." Then a voice came over the loudspeaker at the sporting goods shop requesting a price for something... And Frenchy still paid no heed. He's the best! When he arrived, he didn't even think it was weird that I'd randomly bumped into Tucker and Alex, nor that they had a new tennis racket with them....

So I could probably throw him a surprise party every year and he'd still never suspect it! Frenchy rocks.

Tucker, moi, Xandy, Frenchy, Miguel, and Brandon... some of the 30+ attendees:

Post #401: Back from France

So I tried with all my might to leave my annoying illness in France with the Frenchies over the weekend, but alas, it came back to Barcelona with me. And over the course of the weekend, I lost and regained my voice a few times, managed to breathe through my nostrils again and then lose that very unappreciated ability, and develop a rather nasty cough. All while trying to speak French. Whew! No wonder I'm exhausted.

And tonight Frenchy called his parents to say hello and found out that his father has now lost his voice. Whoops. Bad enough I'm American... I had to go around spreading my germs all over Paris! Note to self: bad idea to get your boyfriend's parents sick. Try not to do this again.

In other news, at least the weather was pretty good! Meanwhile, here in Barcelona it apparently rained nonstop. I'm looking forward to summer actually starting...

Gay Pareeee

So my cold from Sunday hasn´t gotten much better... au contraire. Now, not only can I not hear anything or breathe through my nose, I can´t speak either! If I had superhuman vision, I´d be okay with losing all my other senses, but unfortunately I´m blind as a bat so that doesn´t really make up for anything.

And meanwhile, the rain in Barcelona stopped for two days and has now returned with a vengeance. The reports say it won´t let up until the end of the month, and that´s as good a reason as any to get outta here. So Frenchy and I are headed to Paris this afternoon. Two of his friends are getting married tomorrow. Yes, that´s Friday. I told my boss the other day, "Only French people would get married on a Friday." And he said, "No Spanish people do too. Otherwise if you have your wedding on the weekend people might miss it because they go out of town." Right.

The forecast for Paris says sun through tomorrow (good for the wedding!) and rain Saturday and Sunday (bad for the weekend!) so at least I can temporarily escape this Barcelona monsoon and pretend to be on holiday somewhere for a day and a half.

Oh and did I mention they´re throwing a transit strike in Paris today? They hold those EVERY day of the week in Paris! :)

Sick of Spring?

One thing I'll never understand is how getting sick works. I mean, one minute I can be totally fine, and the next I'm sick. Maybe other people - normal people - get sick gradually. Like, "ooh my muscles hurt, must be getting sick!" Not me. You might also think that the changing weather might have affected my health. After all, we had two weeks of beautiful sunny beach weather followed by a three-day monsoon and a week of something in between. But no, I felt fine throughout. So it must be my lifestyle... not enough sleep, etc. So then why do I get sick at the end of the most relaxing, quiet, well-behaved, indeed CULTURAL, weekends I've had in ages???

Let me back up a bit. On Thursday night I went for dinner at Bar Mundial (amazing seafood) with some work colleagues to say farewell to our intern Thomas, who has now headed back to Paris. Rather than staying out very late after dinner, I was very well-behaved and went home to bed afterward. Friday I had a meeting in the morning with some folks from the Superleague Formula and then headed off to work before a late lunch with Paul at Cerveceria Catalana. (In the past few weeks, due to so many people being in town, I've eaten enough tapas to last my entire life.) And then, Friday night, Frenchy and I did absolutely nothing. Which was kind of cool!


Saturday morning the weather was still bad, but by the afternoon it had cleared up enough to take a walk through the Barrio Gotico in the attempt to find a dress for a wedding in Paris this coming weekend. Emphasis on attempt. No such dress, but we did find... tapas! And really tall people.



This one bumped into me and said, "Ay!" I'm not joking.

Then Frenchy dropped his ice cream. Sadness to end all sadness...

Saturday was also "La Nit dels Museus," or Museum Night. A dozen or so major Barcelona museums were open - and free to enter - from 7pm to 1am. After a little rest, Frenchy and I headed down to MACBA, which neither of us had ever visited. It's one of those things you do on a rainy day... and there aren't many of those in Barcelona. (Last weekend, during the torrential downpour that was Saturday, we went to the Museu Maritim - very cool.) After an hour in MACBA, we headed next door to the CCCB (Centre de Cultura Contemporania de Barcelona) and then on to the Photography Museum. We had planned to stop off at La Pedrera on the way home, since it's just behind my apartment building, but the line was still around the block even at midnight, so we called it a night.

MACBA

Our wet feet at MACBA.

Building stick towers at the CCCB

Sunday morning the sun was actually out, so we went for a run, then chilled out on the terrace in the sunshine reading trashy Spanish magazines (me) and trashy books written by English people living in France (Frenchy) and then headed down to the Aquarium on our bicycles. And it was only upon leaving, around 5pm, that I noticed my throat was hurting. After MORE tapas at Ciudad Condal, it was really hurting and my ears were blocked. By bedtime, I had a full-blown head cold.

So either I'm allergic to tapas and my allergy is only showing symptoms now, in my third year of living in Barcelona, or I'm allergic to culture and healthy living. I think it's the second one. Clearly, I spent too much time learning and seeing things this weekend and not enough time consuming alcohol. Maybe I should do the MBA again...

Or maybe I shouldn't act like a 5 year old and play on giant sea turtle statues that loads of snotty-nosed, probably-sick 5 year olds have climbed around on. Silly me.

Fred Astaire: Ant Killer

A few weeks ago, I had a minor ant problem. Okay, a major ant problem. I went around stomping them and sweeping them and then Frenchy bought some ant spray and we started spraying them instead. We scared them off for a full week, and they came back with a vengeance. I tried several types of shoes and found my flip flops work best. But I should've just hired the king of all ant killers and his magic cane:

Revenge of the French Press

A couple of weeks ago, Frenchy said gallantly, "Sweetie, I'll make coffee for you this morning!" Which I, of course, thought was fantastic. I got up, showered, and was drying my hair, when I thought... Hmmm coffee should be ready by now...

I went out to the kitchen and, indeed, there was that great coffee smell in the air, and Frenchy was checking his emails, so I figured everything was under control and went back to drying my hair. A few minutes later I thought, geez it never takes this long to make coffee. And this time, when I went to the kitchen, the nice coffee smell had mingled with an awful burning smell.

And at precisely that moment, Frenchy went from complete focus on his laptop to a look of shock as he realized he had put the coffee on far too long ago. We both went to the stove and realized the burning smell was worse than ever, overtaking the whole apartment. While I opened all the windows, Frenchy checked out the coffee maker and finally said, "Um. I forgot to put water in." He showed me what was left of the rubber piece that seals the two parts of the machiatto. "Sorry sweetie, no coffee this morning." Poor Frenchy, he really tried. So I had coffee at work, no big deal. And when I got home, there was a brand new coffee maker in the kitchen. He's a doll.

Last week, another gallant attempt. "I promise I'll put in water this time!" And so he did. And we laughed about it. A few minutes later, the coffee maker was making its familiar gurgling noise, signifying the top should be full off morning crack, I mean coffee, goodness. But every time we lifted the lid, no coffee. Frenchy was puzzled. Steam whistled out of the top of the coffee maker. "It's like the coffee is magically turning into steam!"

So I looked around. Clearly he had put water in. But there was no sign of coffee anywhere on the counter... But what WAS on the counter was the little funnel where you're supposed to put the coffee in the coffee maker. Frenchy said, "I think I need a coffee before I can make coffee."

I spent Monday night in London to take some meetings early Tuesday. Tuesday morning I received an email on my blackberry titled "Unbelievable!" Frenchy had remembered to put both the coffee AND the water in the coffee maker! And turned on the stove. So I guess the problem is me...

Donna Martin Graduates!!!

Wait... that's soooo 90210. And we're over here in 08017, so I guess it's a bit off. Nonetheless...

FRENCHY GRADUATES! Er, graduated. He did it!

Unfortunately, after two or three absolutely beautiful sunny weeks here in Barcelona, a torrential downpour started early Friday morning and didn't let up until Sunday, by which time the IESE graduation festivities were over and most peoples' visiting families had headed back home.

Friday I had an all-day strategy meeting, but fortunately my office is near Calatrava and Frenchy was kind enough to bring my dress there so I could stop by after work and do a Superman without needing a telephone booth. I raced up there on my moto in the driving rain, thankful that I'd stashed a hairdryer in the bag with my dress. Ditched the bike, ran into the apartment, and flicked on the lights.... Uhhh no power. And just as I was saying, "What the..." out loud, the girlfriends of two of Frenchy's roommates appeared. I hadn't even realized anyone was home, and of course they thought some sort of crazy person had been launched into the apartment.

So we resigned ourselves to looking like drowned rats, did the best we could with our hair and makeup, and dashed back out to find a taxi. Calling cab companies was futile - after waiting on hold for several minutes, you'd finally just get a click and a dial tone. So we stood outside in the rain, strategically placed around a major intersection, and finally found a taxi. AFTER AN HOUR. Fortunately, no photos exist to document how I looked at that point.

I was just so happy to finally be in a taxi on my way to IESE because around that time I was seriously starting to worry that I'd miss graduation altogether. But after making it through a massive traffic jam (Barcelona residents are worse than Southern Californians when it comes to driving in the rain: "OH. MY. GOD. THERE IS WATER COMING OUT OF THE SKYYYYY!") I found Frenchy's family and their excellent seats and dripped water all over them. I was just so happy to be inside.

And then I was so happy to see Frenchy happily strolling down the aisle with the rest of the class of 2008, all dressed like priests just as we were last year. Then his mother leaned over to me and said in French, "He's turning into an American! Look! He's chewing gum!" I was initially crestfallen. Indeed, Frenchy was just so happy to be there with all his friends in the midst of that celebration he was chewing his gum quite ferociously... But hey I didn't teach him that. I DID, however, teach him how to say "dude" like a proper Californian, in three to four syllables: du-u-u-uuuuude! And that's something I'll proudly take credit for!

Back to the Scene of the Crime

One year later, 100 or so IESE 2007 grads and their partners converged on Barcelona for a weekend of fun, sun, wine, party, and catch-up. We started with some beach time for those who were able to arrive during the day on Thursday, and then the old Calatrava gang and friends got together for dinner at Vinateria del Call in the barrio gotico.

Friday we had a lunchtime paella at Barceloneta and caught up with IESE-ans all along the beachfront en route to Bogatell. After a quick nap, it was time for a sushi dinner and a party at Universal, an old IESE haunt. Saturday morning after Universal is always a little rough, so we got ourselves back on track with some tapas in Gracia and headed up to IESE for catch buses that took us to the Roqueta vineyard. It's always good to have someone in your class who has a vineyard so you can plan cool dinners there. After a great tour of the vineyard and an even greater dinner (we were all starving by the time dinner arrived) we headed back to Barcelona and off to Opium and Sutton... once our home away from home.

Barcelona is a great town, but it's not the same with everyone scattered all over the globe. It was so great to be able to walk around town and bump into friends all over the place, just like our IESE days. But as with everything, there's always an end point and Sunday came all too soon. Monday morning found me a little worse for the wear as I got ready for work, and definitely missing my friends. Back to reality. But at least summer is on it's way and that means time to travel!

Rainstorms and Rainbows

Barcelona weather these days has been pretty fantastic overall. That having been said, it's still spring, still April, and so there are still plenty of chances for sudden showers in the midst of a sunny day.

Monday evening as I was driving home from work on my scooter, it started to get dark and then the drops started. Slowly at first, but by the time I made it to the safety of my apartment, it had become a pretty serious downpour.

But about twenty minutes later I realized it was pretty bright in my apartment again and, looking at the sky out the window, I thought there must be a little rainbow somewhere. Barcelona doesn't do things halfway. There wasn't one rainbow, but two, shooting right out of Gaudi's La Pedrera. Guess that's where they put all the gold in this town....

GTAnticipation

Three years ago this month, we began work on a new version of Grand Theft Auto. I organized ten cars and guides to take forty Scottish artists all over New York City and parts of New Jersey. They went to the coolest clubs and the most dangerous neighborhoods and they photographed everything. I left Rockstar and New York a few months later to move to Barcelona and pursue an MBA and while my life has been very full and rich and exciting in these past three years, I have to admit that I feel a twinge of longing today.

Because tonight at midnight GTAIV comes out. Three years of incredibly hard work, which I know all too well because I went through it on prior games in the series, and now the game is getting awesome reviews and will probably break all sales records. I'm so excited to check it out, it's a little bit ridiculous. Congrats, guys!!!

One Year Later

Hard to believe that it was one year ago today that we graduated from IESE and began to go our separate ways. In some ways, it seems like IESE was a lifetime ago, since so much has happened in the last year, and in others it seems almost like yesterday.

Since I'm one of the lucky few who got to stay in Barcelona to work after the MBA, I also get a few other perks. Like being close enough to the Costa Brava to go for a motorbike ride up to Fede's for the annual paella extravaganza.

Enough paella to feed a small army.
The post-paella, post-walk, pre-coffee dog belly rub session. The only three minutes this dog was not completely hyperactive and off the walls.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Bureaucracy

Establishing yourself in a foreign country isn't the easiest thing. Establishing yourself in Barcelona takes nerves of steel, guts of iron, and the patience of a saint. Apparently I have one or all of those things... or just enough anyway.

My plane from New York was delayed 2 hours on the runway at JFK (as if all the other nonsense hadn't been enough) and so of course I was late arriving in Barcelona and late to work. Knowing that the tax office is only open until 2pm - learned that last Tuesday when I tried to go there after lunch - I decided it would be a good idea to take all my paperwork straight there and then go to the office afterward.

I had already sought out the expertise of a professional, so I was sure that I had all my papers in order. And yet somehow I wasn't altogether surprised when the guy at the tax department on the third floor told me I was lacking a letter. You see, it's not enough to give them your contract, your residency card, and your social security number. You also have to give them a LETTER signed by your boss that REPEATS ALL THAT INFORMATION. But of course.

Keep in mind that in Barcelona there are two languages, so half the time you're being spoken to through all of this in Catalan, not Castellano. So you're not speaking in your second language, but a third that you may or may not (the latter, in my case) have ever studied. You know, just to add to the fun.

So I took all my paperwork and went to the office. Where I got many comments on my airplane face. I guess my showering and changing of clothing couldn't hide the fact that I'd spent the night on a cramped and frozen airplane, right next to the galley where one of the flight attendants actually got beaned in the head when a whole tray of glass mugs fell on her. And around our feet.

But I digress. My boss wrote the letter. Today I had a 9:30 meeting with an in-game advertising company and couldn't go straight to the tax office. So I went at 11:30. Oh it was also Sant Jordi, the big rose-and-book celebration in Barcelona. Traffic was a nightmare. And I guess 12 noon is THE time to go to the Hacienda because it was packed. Whatever, I went up to the third floor to see my old pal, who told me that I wasn't in the Alta. Whatever that is. I showed him a piece of paper I'd gotten months ago that clearly said "alta" on it. Nope, not from the correct office.

Go down to the ground floor, stand in line, get a number, wait in line again, and get yourself included in el alta del censo. I had to register for the census. So thirty minutes passed while I filled out more paperwork and then handed it over to a guy who only wanted to speak to me in Catalan. I noticed on the form that there were boxes for the census and also for if you get married or if you move. I am never getting married and never moving ever again. Anything I can do to avoid further bureaucracy, I love it!

Back up to floor three, where I handed over my paperwork and was told that in two or three weeks I'd receive a letter which I have to give to my HR department which will cause my tax rate to drop by 17%. If it ever actually happens, it will be a beautiful day. And I'm going to use that first 17% savings on CHAMPAGNE!

Philly, Phriends, and Phlights

My full day of meetings behind me, Frenchy and I had some time to enjoy our weekend in the US. I decided that I'd spend a few hours taking care of something I'd not ever had time to deal with: one of my two NYC storage spaces. Ugh.

Knowing that you have a bunch of stuff in storage in another country sucks. Not having any idea what is in that storage sucks a lot more. The one thing I did know, however, was that I was going to clear out a lot of stuff and because I was short on time, I'd have to take care of it as quickly as possible. No excuses. Time to clear out!

Frenchy and I went to Hertz to pick up a car at 2pm. I forgot how slow they are there. Only one person working the counter at 2pm on the first awesome Friday of the spring. That poor woman. Anyway we finally had the car and were at the storage space by 3pm. I couldn't find my keys in my flat in Barcelona, so I had to pay them $25 to destroy my locks. Imagine. I have to pay THEM to break my stuff. Whatever. All you need is a HUGE drill. Keep that in mind.

By 4:45 we had some how cleared out my entire storage space (a surprising amount of stuff can fit in a 3 cubic meter space) and THEN somehow smooshed it all into a very small SUV and were on our way to dump everything on my unsuspecting sister in Philadelphia. Poor Nicole. Her house was so cute and tidy before Hurricane Noelle arrived. Now, in fairness to myself, I did make a bit of a mess, but I ALSO CLEANED IT UP! And got rid of a lot of stuff in the process. And left them with all my coolest belongings, like all my sporting goods, my samurai sword and my tsais (I figure you can't even check those in your baggage, so they stayed behind) and all my video games and DVDs. Hey, if you're gonna drop a load of junk on your sibling, at least make it QUALITY junk!

The rest of the weekend was a lovely collection of Philadelphia sightseeing (with shockingly warm, sunny weather), backyard barbecues, and tennis. My dad even happened to be in town for a night. I can never keep track of where my parents are at any given time, but they certainly turn up in the right place at the right time with shocking frequency.

On Sunday morning we took the train back to NYC. Impressive how a not-very-fast train can still get you somewhere in what would take 3 hours in a car. But this time, we were laden down with an extra bag thanks to my storage ransacking extravaganza. I told Frenchy as we got on the train: "Okay this train keeps going to Boston after we get off. So no leaving anything behind. NO DELIVERY SERVICE HERE." Everything was completely under control... until Frenchy decided he had to go to the bathroom 2 minutes before arrival at Penn Station.

At or around that time, we got separated by a wall of people who all wanted to get out of the train RIGHT NOW and Frenchy got stuck with the two big bags and me with the small ones. We were squashed on the super narrow escalator going up to to the main area of Penn Stations when Frenchy looked back at me and said, "Do I have the camera?" I looked at him and saw no sign of a camera. "No. And I don't either." And in a strange moment of zen, I said, completely relaxed, "That's it. It's gone. No more camera." Frenchy's jaw dropped.

Then the guy behind me said, "The train doesn't leave for like 5 minutes. You can go back and get it."

And that's when my second travel adventure of the weekend began. I left Frenchy with the pile of bags and convinced the woman fending off the crowd of people trying to get on the train that I just needed to go get a bag off the train. She let me pass and I raced down the escalator and realized I had NO idea where our car was. I was on the opposite side of the train and very confused. But then I found the cafe car and from there the car with the guy who had a cool bass amplifier, and from there the car with the sleeping baby in front and then... MY CAMERA BAG! Under the seat. How the heck did it get there? Never mind, had to get off the train before I got stuck en route to Beantown.

Good thing I got the camera back, too. Because after meeting my friends Ilmi, Melanie, and Philip for brunch at Schiller's in the Lower East Side for brunch, we headed to the Guggenheim and one of the coolest exhibits I've ever seen.





After something like that, you need a rest.
On Monday morning Frenchy and I packed our things and headed out for our last morning in Manhattan. We did some last minute shopping for our EU friends and had lunch with a few pals and it was time to head to the airport.

In other words, time for one more airport comedy show! On Sunday afternoon I had spent half an hour on the phone with Delta in order to request upgrades for Frenchy and myself (because I'm a fancy medallion member), and the woman told me I'd just have to ask about it when we checked in the next day. So check in we did, and we were told that Frenchy had been upgraded but not me. Strange. Never mind, the woman assured me that I was 2nd on the waitlist and would surely be upgraded as well, particularly since I'm the Medallion member.

Great, so we headed straight for the gate to get our new boarding passes printed. At which point the guy at the desk looked at me like I was speaking Chinese and insisted he had no upgrades and no waitlist. Now, I could get into the details that followed here, but honestly I'm exhausted just thinking about it. Fortunately Frenchy decided that, for the first time, I should have photographic evidence of one of my travel nightmares. (He also said I should try to get a job negotiating such things because I've become so good at it apparently... I didn't manage to get the upgrades, but I did manage to get 3000 free miles from Delta after I complained, so maybe I should just get a job as a part-time negotiator.) And like the say, a picture is worth 1000 words. So here's 3000 for you:

La Grande Pomme

Imagine the following. Frenchy and are I on a flight from Barcelona to New York. I have to go for some meetings and he has just finished his last MBA class so it's time for a trip! Because I'm with Frenchy, all goes smoothly. No delays, no strikes, no lost baggage. In other words, nothing interesting AT ALL to write about my trip.

Frenchy seems to realize this as we are getting off the plane and so decides to leave his carry-on bag on board. Keep in mind that this is a carry-on that looks like so many other small black rolly suitcases that we purposely carried it on so it wouldn't be picked up accidentally by the wrong person at baggage claim. We go to our separate lines at immigration: me to the super speedy Americano line and him to his "Foreigners and Thus Clearly Terrorists and Other Scum" line. Which obviously moves a lot slower.

I have thus already pulled my bag off the carousel when I realize that I don't remember Frenchy pulling a wheelie bag behind him after we got off the plane. I jump up and down and finally spot him on the other side of the immigration plexiglass and then make the international sign for "WHERE IS YOUR BLACK ROLLY BAG???" He responds with the international facial gesture for "OH MY GOD THE BLACK ROLLY BAG!!!"

And there goes the smooth sailing. I run around frantically trying to explain my plight: I went through the line, I have my bag already, my toxic foreign (even worse... FRENCH!) boyfriend is still waiting in his line and forgot his bag on the plane, please help! Of course everyone is friendly, more or less. This IS America, after all. So they are rather kind as they pass me off from one person to the next. Meanwhile, Frenchy has gotten out of his Miscreants line and is asking some poor terrified woman ("Is that a TERRORIST accent???") how he can get his bag back. Which is clearly a bomb, after all.

Finally I manage to give Frenchy the frantic international hand gestures for "Get back in line, I have taken care of it," and he does as gestured and 15 minutes later is finally through immigration with a sheepish look on his face. Not 60 seconds later, a man in a JFK uniform comes toward us and says, "Sir? Ma'am? Your bag?" And Frenchy turns to me and says proudly, "See? I didn't even have to carry my own bag off the plane!"

Hmph. We've been on American soil for not more than 45 minutes and already Frenchy has made the system his own. Ten minutes later we're in a taxi to lower Manhattan, driven by a man who is nearly comatose. As tired as I am, I have to stay awake in case I have to pull a Jackie Chan and leap into the front seat and drive the car with my teeth.

Finally we arrive safe and sound at the Millenium Hilton, which was closed for a long time after the attack on 9/11. Having lived close enough to the towers to see people jump out on that beautiful late summer day, I had never felt the need to go down to Ground Zero to gawk at the gaping hole. So I'm a bit shocked when I open the curtains and look down at this.



But the thing is, I'm obsessed with construction sites. The bigger the better. So after 10 minutes or so of abject horror, I got over it and instead became rather obsessed with what each little ant-sized person was doing down there. Two guys just hose the whole area down. What a cool job!

And and it's so pretty. And loud. Those little tiny people can sure make a hell of a lot of noise. All. Night. Long. Yeesh!

You know it has been a tough year when...

...the easiest thing you've done since New Year is hurl yourself out of a plane from 9000 feet. Okay, so the only hard part was the 5 seconds before where I actually said out loud "OH. MY. GOD." But then it was that special now-or-never moment, where you tell yourself, geez, that Japanese girl who was totally freaked out just did it, so I can too. And off you goooooooooooo!



By the way, I'll totally go again, too. It was AWESOME. 2 seconds of insane stomach-turning free-falling madness, followed by 58 seconds of terminal velocity "are we really going anywhere?" thoughts, followed by 7 or 8 minutes of magical floating. Except for the 30 seconds where my partner decided to put us in a very tight spin toward the fabulous swimming pools of Costa Brava. That wasn't magical. That was just barfy. And he thought it was funny until I said, "No, seriously, voy a vomitar." End spinning!

IESE Open Day

Today I went up to IESE during my lunch break to participate in an Alumni Panel for prospective students at IESE Open Day. These Open Days are held every month or and each time the admissions team tries to assemble an interesting and diverse group to answer all of the possible questions that might spring forth from potential candidates. It's a great way to catch up with fellow classmates you haven't seen in a while (even though we live in the same city!) and also to connect with students who graduated in years prior.

But mostly it's a chance to reflect on IESE in particular and grad school in general and think about the experience and what I gained from it and how my life has changed as a result of it. I don't often have the time to sit and think about things like that (nor is it usually my natural inclination), so it's kind of cool every once in a while to step back for an hour and savor the memories a little.

It's also great to meet future IESE-ans. I answer a lot of out-of-the-blue emails (partly because of the blog, I guess) from prospective students, and it's so cool when I get to meet these people face to face and know I might have helped them in their decision to choose IESE. So if you're a reader of this blog, please don't be a stranger!

Unless you're a stalker, in which case please totally keep being a stranger. Stalking is MUCH better from afar.

Mini Reunion in BCN

A cool thing about staying in Barcelona after the MBA (aside from the great weather) is that people often drop into town for various reasons. Some for work, some for fun, whatever the case, it's always great to see my old IESE pals when they cruse into town.

This weekend brought Hurricane Juha and some perfect spring weather, ideal for enjoying with friends. Friday night we staged a mini-reunion to get our drinking muscles ready for the real deal in one month's time. Diego, Juha, Alex, and Nuria and I got together with friends and significant others for dinner in Gracia, followed by a late night at my former home-away-from-home, Sutton Club. I hadn't been there in nearly a year, and when I woke up Saturday morning - uh, afternoon - I remembered (vaguely) why.

Sadly I have no photos from the event (imagine that) as I couldn't find my camera on the way out the door... And what's frightening is that Juha was snapping away like crazy with his camera. Hopefully his photos will never see the light of day. Or glow of the internet.

So Saturday was a wash... though we did manage to drag ourselves allllll the way to Calatrava in the late afternoon for a birthday BBQ. It's really strange for me to go back to Calatrava these days, especially for events like this one, which was virtually all first years, a few of whom I know but many I don't. It's weird to go back to your old house and find your old terrace full of strangers. It was nice and all, but... well it's just not the same.

Saturday evening Frenchy and I went on a photo-taking adventure at Cerveceria Catalana at the request of Chris, who is now living in Houston. That place is amazing. Even at 8pm (really early by Spanish standards), the line is out the door. But the food is good, so it's worth the wait, as long as you don't chew off your own arm in the meantime. Post-tapas, it was time for the first of many going away parties for students from the class of 2008. These are strange times for those finishing the MBA - fun and sad at the same time. I'm glad that part is behind me. I think I had enough wistfulness last March to last me a lifetime.

Cerveceria Catalana


Gosh, and here I thought I didn't accomplish much this weekend, and I'm only up to Saturday night! Sunday morning Frenchy and I went to see an apartment in Gracia which I know all too well because it's Ian's old place. We're thinking about taking it over in a couple of months. Yes, I might be going back to having a roommate. A French roommate. Frequent updates on how we confuse each other, slam our faces in refrigerators, smash bottles of olives in the checkout line in grocery stores (that was Friday evening), and nearly kill each other skiing are certain to come.

Anyway, after that we went to play squash. And NO ONE WAS INJURED. Though Frenchy did hit me in the head with his racket once. Hey, at least he didn't smash it on the door of the squash court this time. Post-squash, it was time for the beach and, in a very athletic mood, we went by bicycle. The idea was to read on the beach. Hmmm. I think Frenchy read 2 pages of his last-IESE-case-of-all-time and I read the inside of my eyelids.

But wait, there's more! Then we had a Guitar Hero party with Muktambar, Edwina, Juha, and Amaya! And then dinner at La Gavina in Gracia. And you know what? I'm exhausted just writing about this. I need to go to bed.

Spring Fling!

The best thing about being an alumni in BCN (and a partner of a current student) is that you can still attend the coolest IESE events... and you earn a paycheck! Awesome.

This weekend was the annual Spring Fling, and this year's organizing committee did a tremendous job. Twice as many sports as last year, nearly three times as many attendees, two great parties, and a great atmosphere all around. Hats off!

IESE Rugby!

Victorious IESE chicas soccer

Who needs a title?

It's 8:30 in the morning in Barcelona. The sun is shining. The coffee is gurgling. French music is playing, immediately following Michael Jackson. It's Wednesday but it should only be Tuesday because we had Monday off. Life is good.

Happy humpday, my friends.