Leaving the "Crazy Woman" for $6 tea

Barcelona got me. In all her brilliance, in her fountains that endlessly spew water synced to Disney music, in her museums that have dizzying layouts...she got me. I've extended my stay here and will be staying at my friend Elsa's house. This is the same Elsa that I met in Bordeaux who moved out to Barcelona about 3 weeks ago. Things are going well and I'm feeling better though not 100% in the least. But I do feel well enough to go explore Barcelona the way it should be explored.
When speaking with a Romanian waitress the other day she and I were discussing the Spanish dichotomy: those who love Madrid tend to dislike Barcelona and vice versa. Admitting that I had found myself to belong to the party of the lovers of Barcelona she disclosed the same with a laugh. I shared with her how I had extended my stay and still didn't feel ready to leave. At this she said not to worry because Barcelona is "like a crazy woman". With a puzzled look on my face I'm sure, I ran over the words in my mind again to be sure I had the translation correct. At this she switched to English. "Barcelona is like a crazy woman" she said, "because although you may leave her...you always come back". I love that!! And I know it to be true with everything in me. The advantage to staying in hostels are being told the sites to avoid and short cuts through the system, but it also comes with the story of the individual sharing the pointers. I've met half a dozen people who either came to Barcelona to visit and never left or swore to some back after a visit and are on the return journey or were backpacking and have been in Barcelona since a date they can no longer recall. In the bar where the Romanian girl works there is a saying on the wall that reads "So close to the port you forget the date". I've fallen head over heels with Barcelona and I vow to come back to retrieve my heart.
Today is the day it happened...I'll never forget it. I prepared for a full day of travel (at times it looked as if it would be even more...) on the train from Barcelona to Nice on France's Independence day. The French train system is unreliable to begin with, but you put a holiday in there and all bets are off. I could only buy the train ticket to get from Barcelona to Montpellier, but would have to buy my ticket to get from Montpellier to Nice when I arrived in that station. While standing in line to purchase the ticket the attendant told me that the train was "full"...the trains here are always "full", but interestingly enough have MANY empty seats. The complicated part is to find the conductor in the 3 minutes the train is in the station and tell him (in broken French) the situation and that you MUST be on this train and have him agree to print you a reserved ticket before you board the train. If, God forbid, the fates should never meet and you take off in the train and are caught without a ticket, or a promise of one, you can be fined and kicked off the train. Nothing like a little crisis, sleep deprivation and a heavy pack on your back to heighten the language skills. I can now dance the European language samba! Today I've skipped between French, Spanish and English so much that I'm convinced that I could get my point across no matter the country.
It seems difficult to put into words, but today I feel more fortunate than I have in a long time. I'm not quite sure why, but suffice to say that today I became a true international traveller. I began my day early, hunted a hostel directly in front of the train station to give myself as much time as possible to sleep the night before and by chance found myself in a train car with the most attractive man I've seen since I've been here. It's strange how life works with it's twisted humor utilizing hormones to aide in playing out it's dramas and we, as pawns, slaves to our emotions, pick up the play cues and dance the dance. We've all done it, but in this case it was done with eyes, in conversation and at the discovery of separate destinations, futile attempts were made to alter what had already been written: we had now and that was to be enjoyed. What greater a lesson, what sweeter a way in which to be reminded of it.

I just finished two books while sipping my cup of $6 tea...I don't know how much more of this I can afford. Anyway, the first book is "Paris to the Moon" and the second is "The Lost Stradivarius" by Faulkner. Both were good, but the quotes I share with you are from the former.
"Most Americans draw their identities from the things they buy, while the French draw theirs from the things they do. What we think of as French rudeness and what they think of as American arrogance arise from this difference...For us, an elevator operator is only a tourist's way of getting to the top of the Eiffel Tower. For the French, a tourist is only an elevator operator's way opportunity to practice his metier in a suitably impressive setting."

"Loss, like distance, gives permission for romance."

"The hardest thing to convey is how lovely it all is and how that loveliness seems all you need. The ghosts that haunted you in New York or Pittsburgh will haunt you anywhere you go because they are your ghosts and the house they haunt is you. But they become disconcerted, shaken, confused for half a minute and in that moment in a December at four o'clock when you are walking from the bus stop to the Rue Saint Dominique and the lights are twinkling across the river [...] you feel as if you have escaped your ghosts if only because, being you, they are transfixed too looking at the lights in the trees on the other bank which they haven't seen before either."

"Suis-moi je te fuis, fuis-moi je te suis." (Come to me I'll run away, runaway and I'll come to you)