CURRENT LOCATION: My friend Marc's house, near the Marina Metro station on the L1 line, Barcelona, Catalonia (Spain)

Life, as I am wont to expound occasionally when a keen ear is willing to listen to my ranting (which is almost never), operates in sine waves. It has its high points and its low points. Sometimes the hight points are very brief and the low points are very long, or vice-versa, which makes life stop resembling a sine wave so much, but the analogy is still valid. Generally, at least in my case, whenever the Sine Wave of Life hits a low point I start feeling really miserable and I either pine for happier times or convince myself that macho types like me don't need happiness; when it hits a high point I ride the crest of happiness, and enjoy it, but deep down I ask myself if I really deserve to have it this good. This, right now, as I sit in my friend Marc's room while he sits in the other room watching the Spanish version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire is one such time.

I guess my guilt stems from the fact that people where I live--and I cover both Denmark and Colombia when I say this--just don't do what they do down here. Marc's father says it's the fact that people are closer to the ocean and thus hotter, which makes them spend more time outside and socializing with one another, and for all I know he's right. It's actually a pretty good explanation. I've had some time to confirm it empirically these past few days--wow, has it been a week already? Time flies--as I toured Barcelona and the Costa Brava of Catalonia.

Barcelona, as far as cities go, and believe me, I've seen a lot of cities, is incredible. I'm pretty sure it's the architecture that gives it is charm, although not because of it's variety but because of the fact that Gaudì has monopolized most of it. If you don't know what I mean, look "Antoni Gaudi" up in Wikipedia or something and read up on his famous works, such as the Casa Batllò or the Casa Milà, or maybe the Parc Güell and the still unfinished Church of the Sacred Family. The man's stuff is simply breathtaking. Because of him (and the countless knockoffs and tributes erected by other architects in Barcelona for various reasons) Barcelona is less like a city and more like a living, breathing entity that exerts a tangible power over its inhabitants. It draws breath and the air circulates, forms clouds of life that the people clump around as if they were attracted by pheromones. Hell, even the hospitals are so pretty that the UNESCO has them catalogued as historical monuments.

The highlight of the trip, however, hasn't been Barcelona itself, although it comes close. Rather, it was the trip to Girona, one of the regions of Catalonia, and the town of Torroella de Montgrì, where my friend Miquel lives, that wins the honor. I say this for two reasons: one, Miquel lives near the Costa Brava, which means that we spent most of the trip on a beach or in a pool; and two, Miquel's parents are the most hospitable people I've ever met. I mean, I don't know hoy many people you know that would shack up ten people of varying nationalities--most of whom they had never met, some of whom didn't even speak Catalonian--for two days and stuff them to the brim with some of the best food ever made by human hands. And I only know one other person, in a town not far from Torroella, called Llançà, that would do the same for a day and add a breathtaking mountaintop view.

Man, I wonder what I did in my past life to deserve this.

This will be my last entry in Europe before I return home. The next time you see anything on this journal, I'll be on the other side of the world, in a time zone much more convenient to most of you but horribly inconvenient for all of the friends--family?--that I've made over here. After that, the fairy tale is over and I have to go back to the life I left behind. From the top of the Sine Wave, that life looks like a long way down.

Peace Out, My Brothers.