This past weekend, the entire program took a (partially subsidized) trip to Barcelona, Spain. I’d change the title to Adspainchures, but it doesn’t have quite the same charm. We left Friday afternoon and returned Sunday evening. All said and done, I only got 6 hours of sleep for the whole weekend. (Worth it.)

On the bus ride, we were all chipping in our meager bits of Spanish. I realized I could say “Where is…?” but couldn’t remember the word for “bathroom.” The only Spanish nouns I had in my arsenal were “queso” and “azul.” Verbs were impossible and limited to Dora the Explorer episodes: “Vamenos!” I knew please, thank you, and you’re welcome (staple vocabulary in any language). Someone taught me how to say “sorry,” since I’m not graceful and constantly bump into people, but I never wound up using it because before “lo siento” could pass my lips, I had already said “D�sol�e!”

I was a little nervous about not knowing any Spanish; as it turns out, Barcelona is so flooded with tourists that the English was plentiful. All I really needed to know was the address of our hostel for the cab driver at 4 in the morning. (Of course, I was the only one who had bothered to learn it. I am always the mom of the group. You’re welcome.) 33 Passeig del Gracia, for anyone wondering. There was a constant refrain among our group of people saying “Grathias,” mimicking the way “c”s are pronounced. It sounds very different from any of the other Spanish I’ve heard. Many of the signs were also translated into Catalan, which has enough French in it that I could understand without having to read the English signs.

In fact, being in Spain made me realize how much I have begun to think in French. It took exposure to a third, different language for me to notice that, 90% of the time, my brain is functioning in French. While realizing this made me happy at the vast improvement of my language skills, it was also incredibly frustrating because, yeah, hi, not in France anymore, Marie– no one’s going to understand you.

The hostel was large and welcoming– the second floor was a huge hangout space with TVs, computers, drinks, and foosball. There was also a terrace (and accompanying top floor bar) which had an absolutely beautiful view.

We went to Parc G�ell, the Sagrada Familia, and, on the way home, we saw the Salvador Dali museum. The weekend was packed full of beautiful sights, high views of the city, and a survey of Antoni Gaud�’s unique architecture.

Both Parc G�ell and the Sagrada Familia were designed by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaud�, who also designed many houses in the city. More than simply buildings, Gaud�’s creations are standing works of art. They are incredibly intricate, featuring hand-done stonework and mosaics, incorporating a variety of mediums. His style is incredibly distinctive– you could identify a Gaud� house from a mile away.

I think my favorite thing about Parc G�ell was the way the architecture and planning flowed with the landscape of the hill. It didn’t fight against the slop; it used it to build a terrace. At the peak, showing Gaud�’s religious side, was a worn dual spiral staircase up to a cross, where you could see almost all of Barcelona and as far as the ocean.

We all saw Gaud�’s most famous work, la Sagrada Familia. Corinne, a Frenchwoman and one of the program directors, told me it was like Barcelona’s Eiffel Tower. It has been under construction since 1882 and isn’t expected to be completed until 2026; there are cranes and scaffolding in almost every picture I’ve seen of it. Gaud� died when the project was only one quarter completed, so you can see the distinct styles of all the different architects on each facet of the building. Walking around la Sagrada Familia is like walking around at least four different cathedrals at once.

While the attention to detail was almost absurd in its intricacy and the craftsmanship of the building is impeccable, I didn’t find la Sagrada Familia particularly pretty or aesthetically pleasing in any way. Each of the pieces would be beautiful independently, but thrown all together as if by hazard makes the building look confused, overcrowded, and at points a little tacky.

However, my favorite part about the trip was Barcelona’s nightlife. We coerced Corinne, the director, into going to the clubs with us both nights. As they say in France, “on fait la f�te,” (et on l’a fait, en fait!). All of the clubs were right on the beach, so that you entered into the building, went onto the patio, and exited no more than 100 feet from the Mediterranean sea.

Spain has pretty strict dress rules for their clubs, and two of our friends got turned away the first night because of their sandals. At 4 A.M. we watched the waves and soaked our feet in the ocean and wound up tracking back an ungodly amount of sand into our hostel room.

Thanks for an amazing weekend, Barcelona! (And sorry about the sand.)

Location: Barcelona, Spain