Marta en Barça

Explore Your World with Smaller Earth
A 21-year-old Buffalonian girl abroad for 10 months in the lovely city of Barcelona.

Köln/Cologne is one of those cities you might not have initially put on your top-places-to-visit-before-I-die list, but you’ll definitely be glad you went. I figured since I was staying in Bonn and was only a short drive away that I would make the trip there and see what it was all about. I had been planning to take the train there, but was a little concerned about getting lost in the foreign train station in Bonn. Thankfully, Ingrid offered to drive there with me for a few hours Christmas Day.

After we woke up and had breakfast, we left Bonn at around 10 or 11 and drove to Cologne. It’s one long autobahn that connects the neighboring cities, and large red “needles” mark the two ends. As it was the morning of Christmas Day and most people were either at home or at mass, there was relatively little traffic or commotion and we had free reign of the city (after we managed to find a close enough parking spot to the Dom). In order to kill some time waiting for mass to let out from the Dom, Ingrid and I window shopped and took pictures of the narrow shopping streets nearby, slowly weaving our way over the cobblestone towards the cathedral.

My first sighting of the Kölner Dom took my breath away. The thing is MASSIVE. Not only does it reach up to the heavens, but its width seems to flood the plaza surrounding it. The ominous presence of the building is only augmented by the way it seems to drip with melancholy, its steep arches blackened by the passage of time. Even standing all the way across the plaza, I was forced to crane my neck in order to see the tippy-tops of the two spires. I was told by my father before I had gone to Germany all about the cathedral’s survival during World War II and how it had endured around 70 bombings without collapsing, and honestly, you sense the history emanating from that thing.

As Ingrid and I walked closer and closer to the entrance of the Dom, the boys’ choir started their procession out into the plaza, and all was silent except for their voices. Our timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The moment only would’ve been made better by the elimination of the distraction of all the Asians moving around in the crowd trying to get the best angle for their pictures. However, it did provide for some comic relief as Ingrid complained about them. We left the scene a little early in order to get inside before the masses became aware of the Dom once again. There were still a lot of people within, but we used them to our advantage, and while one of the ushers told some tourists they weren’t allowed to wander around the church due to the next mass starting soon, Ingrid grabbed my hand and we slipped behind his back. The place was still filled from the incense smoke from the previous mass and as it mixed with the sunlight flooding in through massive stained glass windows, a soft, hazy glow settled upon all of the interior. The high ceilings and intricate windows were awe-inducing, and Ingrid gave me a mini tour of the place as we shuffled through before the next service got going. Words cannot describe this place, but I can only say that while I appreciated St. Peter’s in Rome for its size and grandeur, there was something different about the Kölner Dom that won me over. Perhaps it is because the Dom made me fear it, whereas in Rome I was mostly excited by the unexpected massiveness and color. I’ve realized that I like churches that make me fear them to the point of cowering and thinking, “Yeah, ok, sure…I’ll come pray. Just don’t hurt me.” There’s something fascinating about a piece of architecture’s ability to make me really contemplate my life, all by just stepping inside of it.

After we left, we ended up walking under grey skies around the rest of the city. It’s an adorable area with cobblestone roads and history up the wazoo, many of the buildings dating back to the 1200s. The drive back to Bonn was pleasant as well, since we stopped at several landmarks along the way, such as the Chocolate Museum (which was unfortunately closed, being Christmas Day and all), and taking a ferry across the Rhine to the old parliamentary district. All in all, one of my most memorable Christmas Days to date. Sorry, parents, but waking up to a house full of Christmas gifts could not even come close to spending a quiet morning in Köln, Germany.

My trip to Bonn is something that I will never forget for as long as I live. I know now why my father, to this day, brings up his visit there 40 years ago (though that fact turned into somewhat of an inside joke while I was there). I left Barcelona for Bonn December 21st, extremely nervous about spending 6 days with people who I knew so much about but had never met in real life (with the exception of my cousin Rike, who visited the States years ago). I had also, true to self, worried about every possible and irrational mishap that could happen at the airport the day of my trip, i.e. plane delays, not being able to find/get in contact with Ingrid and Rike once I landed, not finding anyone in the greater Bonn area who knew English, being forced to walk to my family’s house and consequently dying of starvation in the tundra that I expected Germany to be …ya know, the usual. Obviously, everything went smoothly, and as soon as I landed in Köln-Bonn Airport I knew exactly where to go and what hallways to walk through to get to my family. I was brought to a mass of people waiting to pick up their loved ones and through the crowd I spotted Rike and Ingrid. Ingrid was already crying. I ran into their arms and after a warm embrace, I asked Ingrid why she was crying. All she could say was, “You’re here! I’m just so happy!” I swear, I was grinning like an idiot all the way from the gate in the airport to the gate outside her house.

Once inside, Ingrid gave me a tour of her flat, and I was instantly taken by all of it. The entire house has belonged to my relatives for decades upon decades and walking through it is like leafing through a history book. There are pieces of furniture that are hundreds of years old and the entire space is filled with sentimental knick-knacks and photos. Since I got into Bonn so late, I had to wait until the next day to meet my Uncle Erik. His flat is much more…hmm…how do I put it? …Classic? Grand? I’m not sure, but it’s a very different feeling that Ingrid’s flat. Hers is more cozy, or as she taught me, gemütlich. Seeing Erik for the first time was another major moment in the trip, because I’ve seen the pictures of him and Ingrid all of my life and I never thought in a million years that I’d meet them in person. Erik speaks very little English, so Ingrid had to translate between us, but he could say enough to show his excitement at my arrival. I was told that I could either call him “Onkle Erik” or “Opapa,” which is what my cousins Chrissi and Rike call him. I obviously chose Opapa, and I’m so glad I did, because I think the choosing of that title set up the relationship that we would have with each other for the next 6 days.

I could go into my experience visiting the city of Bonn and bore you with a long list of the places I saw and the things I did, but I didn’t go to Germany to explore Bonn. I went to experience my family. Mind you, the city itself was wonderful, and I found the people to be incredibly friendly and intelligent. It was the kind of place that I could picture myself living in one day, as it has this overwhelming feeling of coziness, familiarity, and security. Ingrid explained many aspects of the culture and the city itself that made me understand why Germany is currently one of the richest European countries. The efficiency in every last detail of day-to-day life is insane, and it made me feel like a stereotypical stupid, lazy American.

However, I focused most of my trip not on seeing the culture, as I did in Rome, but living the culture. Every day, I woke up and ate a breakfast of bread (I must’ve had 20 different kinds in just those 6 days), homemade (by Ingrid) jams and yogurt, and museli. Then I would relax, listen to some radio, or go for a walk around the downtown area to look at the Christmas Markt until about 12:30pm, which was lunch time. We would go down to Opapa’s flat and eat with him and his Polish aid Anya (who did not speak an ounce of English and only spoke a few more words than that of German), and we ate all sorts of amazing, feeds-your-soul food. In Opapa’s words, it was “very nice indeed.” After lunch was nap time for everyone, which I managed to get used to with ease, and then 4pm was tea time, in which we would go back down to Opapa’s for tea and cookies. I also spent a lot of that time reviewing and adding to die Rolle, which is a family tree that Opapa has been working on for decades now and which links us all the way back to Charlemagne.

After lighting the REAL candles on the Christmas tree and exchanging gifts, Ingrid, Rike, some family friends, and I went to the traditional Christmas eve mass in the church next to the University in the city. Though I’m not an avid church-goer anymore, I have to say it was interesting to hear an entire service conducted in German, and trying to pick out words that I could understand made the experience all the more fun. On Christmas Day, Ingrid was nice enough to take the day to show me Cologne (Köln). I saw the MASSIVE Kölner Dom (if you don’t have it on your bucket list of things to see in real life, add it IMMEDIATELY) and we wandered around the entire city [**pictures in next post]. It was a different kind of Christmas because there was no tradition of presents in the morning or “elegant” family brunch, but it was definitely one of my most favorite Christmases to date. Ingrid ended up driving us all the way past Bonn and up the Rhine in order to take the ferry across and show me all of the old parliamentary buildings. We even ended up being late to lunch, which was something that she was worried about at the start of our journey but quickly forgot the further we drove on. Ingrid does not seem her age at all. Her vivaciousness and tenacity when showing me the city that she loves so much make her seem not a day over 30.

The night of the 26th, after an afternoon at the history museum with Lutz (Rike’s fiance), Horst-Werner’s (Ingrid’s brother who I had briefly met a few days before) children and ex-wife came to Opapa’s for tea, and it was so great to meet more cousins and to end my stay with a big group. They were mainly speaking in German (obviously), but after only 5 days there, I was actually able to understand some words and at least know the topic they were discussing. Mostly, though, it was Anya and I in our own little corner, gesticulating and smiling in order to communicate with one another. For dinner, we had fried cheese, which Opapa taught me how to do. It was the strangest, most fun  meal I’ve ever experienced.

My last day was rough. I had been mentally preparing myself for it for days. It felt like I was leaving home all over again. Barcelona was the absolute last place I wanted to be, and I felt like I hadn’t had enough time in Bonn to feel satisfied. In other words, I was full, but not bloated. I ate my last delicious breakfast and went into town with Ingrid to get some bagels to take home with me. At lunch, all I could do was stare at Opapa and try not to break down when he’d smile at me from across the table, an act that had become our primary method of communication. I finished up a few notes on die Rolle and then went upstairs to shove as many items as I could into my backpack (it was WAY over the weight limit, but there way no way I was parting with any of my reminders of “home”). Before Opapa went to nap, I went back up to his flat with Ingrid and, in the best German accent I could muster, told him “Man seiht sich immer zweimal im Leben,” which I’d found online a few days earlier. It means “You always see each other twice in life.” In other words, our paths will cross again. Ingrid was completely shocked and started crying, and then I started crying, and Opapa was just beaming up at me from his chair, and my day of being a complete wreck had officially begun. Even now I’m tearing up just thinking about my final hours in that house.

Ingrid alone brought me to the airport and, though it was technically illegal, she parked in the drop-off lane to walk inside with me and make sure I got to security safely. I hugged her so tightly I’m surprised her eyes didn’t pop out of her skull. I was tearing up and she told me that I need to visit again soon. I couldn’t thank her enough for my life-changing experience in Bonn.

Back in Barcelona that night, I emailed Ingrid to say I was home (unfortunately) and safe and to thank her once again for everything. She emailed back and told me that during tea time that day, Opapa told her “I think all the time about Marta.” Again with the tears. I’ve turned into the biggest sap over here. I guess that’s what I’m over here for, though — to have experiences that completely change how I view the world and myself. I will never ever forget the 6 days spent connecting with my heritage and finally meeting the strangers that turned out not to be such “strangers” after all.

Figured I should update a bit…

I KNEW this was going to happen when I started this stupid blog. I always start out thinking that I’ll be really dedicated to making my blog wonderful, and then life gets in the way and I just don’t feel like updating anymore. It’s like when you order a massive meal thinking you’re at the point of starvation and after the first few quickly-taken mouthfuls, you start to regret even reading the meal’s description on the menu and instantly reevaluate every other life decision you’ve made since you were 5 years old. Ok, I’m being dramatic and having a bad case of #whitepeopleproblems right now, but you get the point. I intended to keep this blog so all of my family members and friends back in the States could feel personally connected to me and my many adventures over here. I’m going to try to be more diligent in updating, because I know you’ve been asking about me and you care so much about what I’ve been up to since September (I mean, who wouldn’t… I’m such an interesting person. Gag.)

A quick recap before I get into this full-blown updating jazz (again). The past few months have been relatively uneventful, reason #2 for why I haven’t been updating this frequently. Reason #1 is that I’m extremely lazy, but even a fool could guess at that. Anyhoozle, the main things that have happened since December 9th, my last post date (oh, boy), are that I eloped with a dreamy, tanned Spanish man, had 4 children, and moved into the Catalonian countryside to live in a cement house on the outskirts of a farming village. All of that was a lie. Actually, I’ve just been hanging out either in my room in Sabadell or, on the weekends, down in Barcelona. It was surprisingly cold in December and January, which I wasn’t expecting at all. It got down to around 32 degrees at night with a wind that would make even the hardest Buffalonian weep a little (trust me, I experienced it firsthand). Therefore, I opted to spend as much time as possible indoors. I went to Germany at the end of December to visit relatives, and it was actually warmer there than it was in Barcelona. I ended up ringing in the New Year in Barcelona, though, and I’ll be honest, though I was not looking forward to being here rather than Germany for the first moments of 2012, I had so much fun with my friend Ilke and all her Italian friends. I finished my first semester at the very end of January/very beginning of February and for the inter-semester break, I went to England with my friend Dominic to visit London and get a taste of English life.

On the 1st of February, I told Monste and Estel that I would be moving out in a month. It was a difficult decision to make, but it honestly had been a rough few weeks beforehand of losing sleep and missing out on certain group activities with my friends because Sabadell is so far away from Barcelona (only 40 minutes by train, but when you’re out until 2 or 3am with friends, that means that you might not get home until 4am). I searched and searched for a well-priced and well-located place, but my efforts were coming up fruitless. Luckily, before Ilke had left for Belgium at the end of last semester (don’t even get me started on that – I’m still upset by her absence), she had told one of her Italian friends who I had met a few times that I was considering moving in March. A spot had just opened up in her flat and she and her roommates were looking for someone to fill it. Francesca (the friend) messaged me on Facebook to ask if I’d be interested in moving there and after a mess of not knowing if I’d be permitted by the “owner” to move in or not, I was finally accepted and now I’ll be moving there next Monday. It’s an AMAZING location and price and I’ll finally be forced to speak Spanish in my home, so I think in the long run it’ll be a good life choice.

Now I’m going to post some pictures and maybe a couple tidbits from the past few months to properly get you up to speed!

Parc Güell

I know it’s been four score and seven years ago since I updated my blog, but bear with me — I’ve been quite the busy bee.

At the very end of October/start of November, my friend Dave Benko from the States, who’s studied in Manchester for the past semester, came to Barcelona for a visit. He arrived here the night of October 30th and we checked him into a hostel after getting to Barcelona. The next day, since it was nice out, we decided to go to Parc Güell. I had never been before, so it was an exciting adventure for me as well. Jared, another American, also came with us, and we set off by bus from Passeig de Gràcia. The park is gorgeous, and I now understand why so many people say you have to visit it when you go there. The architecture, in true Gaudí style, blends perfectly with the landscape of the park. It looks like the rocks and dirt have somehow magically stacked themselves into perfect arches and benches around the entire area. We saw the famous mosaic-tiled benches and “towers,” as well as that Gaudí lizard statue that everyone and their mother has to take a picture next to.

Plaça Catalunya fountains at night

The night of Oct. 31st, my group of friends and I decided to make a meal together and then carve pumpkins after. I don’t remember exactly what we had (c’mon…it was over a month ago), but I know it was delicious. I had found 2 pumpkins at the Boqueria and Ilke had bought one elsewhere, so I after eating, I taught the people who were interested the basics of carving a pumpkin. I roasted the seeds immediately after so we could enjoy looking at the flickering faces of our little pumpkin creatures while stuffing our faces with their guts. (The seeds - a new experience for many - were an absolute hit.)

Ilke cooking noms.

Carvin’

Martina’s, Ilke’s, and my pumpkins

Tibidabo

Another random day trip. This time, it was just Dominic and me and it only took us 30 minutes on our normal Sabadell-Barcelona train to get there. TIBIDABO: the man (not really), the myth (not really this either), the legend (ok, kind of this).

Funicular that got us halfway up the mountain (bus from there)

View from the bus stop

 

Base of Cathedral del Sagrat Cor

 

Torre de Collserola

Cathedral from another side

 

Amusement park and view of Barcelona

Bride and groom coming out of the cathedral after their wedding

The original “cathedral”

 

Inside of cathedral

One more picture of the entire thing before we left

Figueres

I promised I’d post about this a long time ago. …I never said I was good with promises.

Mid-October, Ilke, Jenny, Jakub, Giannis (my friend from Catalan class who’s from Cyprus) decided it would be nice to take a mini-trip somewhere outside of Barcelona. I had wanted to go to Figueres for awhile, so I presented that idea to the group, hoping I would win them over. As per usual, they were up for anything (I love these people). It was only 9.80€ for the 3 hour train ride there, and it was a very pretty journey, with sights of the little farms along the way and the mountains in the distance.

Once we arrived at our final destination, after keeping all arms and legs inside the train, we got out of the station and stood in an adorable little park, completely clueless as to how to get to the Salvador Dalí art museum. After lunch at a typical Spanish café (tapas, bocadillos, cafe con leche, blah blah blah), we finally broke down and used Jakub’s phone GPS to guide us to the museum. On the walk there, we went through an adorable Rambla-style area with a pop-up antique flea market and these gorgeous sun-filled back-alleys. The only word I could describe this day with is “yellow.” Really beautiful lighting that filled every nook and cranny with warmth.

 After lazily meandering for about 20 minutes, we finally reached the museum, which is tucked away next to a gorgeous old cathedral (where Dalí was baptized when he was younger) and a quaint plaza filled with cafés. It only cost 9€ for student entrance, which, after our experience in there, is a complete steal.

We spent hours in this museum. I’ve been to the Salvador Dalí museum in St. Petersburg in Florida, but that place ain’t got SHIT on this one. On the website, the Teatre-Museu Dalí (it’s “proper” name) is called “the largest surrealistic object in the world.” Yeah, you could say that again. It boasts 4,000+ works of art inside, including paintings, photos, sculptures, drawings, etc. And why is it in Figueres, you might ask? Dalí was born in Figueres, a fact that I was (embarrassingly) unaware of until coming here. I live 3 hours from where Dalí was birthed and raised. That to me is so friggin exciting.

Upon entering the building, you walk directly into a large cupola that contains an old car that rains on the inside, a boat located at the top of a tall column, ivy-covered walls, and a voluptuous woman statue. SO Dalí, amirite? As you continue to enter the core of the museum, you walk into a high-ceilinged room and look at a gargantuan painting that reaches from floor to glass dome. I’ve never seen a painting this big. It was incredible.

Now, I could go into detail about the rest of my walk through the museum, including the hallways upon hallways of intricate ink-drawings, the sculpture that appeared to be a living room scene but when looked at through a concave glass plate turned into a woman’s face, or the enormous Sistine-Chapel-style painting of the artist and his wife. However, I would be at this for hours, and I don’t necessarily feel like writing a thesis paper on the intricacies of the museum. But I will tell you this: it was, and still is, one of my favorite places I’ve visited thus far. Every room and every painting proved to be more exciting than the last, and I found myself, though with a group, wandering around alone, completely enveloped in the work.

Our tickets also gave us access to the “Dalí Jewels” gallery, which is separate from the main museum. We had no clue where it was, and Jakub and I actually happened upon it accidentally. You have to enter through a revolving door that is similar to those used to enter a photography darkroom, which makes sense, because it is pitch-black inside. The only light in the space comes from the small bulbs placed under each of the pieces. It was a side of Dalí I had never seen before. I don’t really know what my thoughts are concerning the jewelry. It was interesting, but I don’t quite understand it. Then again, that’s Dalí. It’s meant to disorient you and make you reconsider everything you’ve ever done in your life. I’ll include pictures and let you judge it for yourself.

Also in Figueres is Castell de Sant Ferran, one of the biggest fortresses in the world. Yeah. The world. Jenny wanted to go take a look at it after the Dalí museum, so we trekked up the hill to go check it out. It was CLOSED. How upsetting. We got a couple pictures of the outside (which was still very impressive) and then took in the amazing view of the city of Figueres and the mountains that lie beyond it.

After making a quick stop at Dalí’s childhood home (it was also closed and therefore not interesting) and eating dinner (typical Spanish dishes, like always), we hopped back on the train and made the 3 hour journey home. Such a wonderful day it was, and one of my favorite trips thus far.

Location of antiques flea market (Group in the foreground, minus me, obviously)

Finally found the museum! (Sant Pere Church on the right)

Main entrance

She’s just “big boned.”

GIANT painting.

Glass dome

Dalí’s crypt

 

"Living room"

Through the concave plate. IT’S A LADY.

Oh, Gala.

 

Huge ceiling mural (Gala on the left, Dalí on the right)

 

HIS BED (I don’t actually know that for sure, but it’s fun to dream, right?)

Giannis (left), Jakub (right), and I couldn’t figure this out.

Dalí Jewels exhibit

The inner red heart actually beat.

My favorite piece

The outside of the Dalí museum

Castell de Sant Ferran at dusk

View of Figueres and the mountains. No big deal.

Casa de Puig (Dalí’s birth home)

A quick recap of my life these past few weeks

I figured that instead of “wasting” time reading Harry Potter, looking up pictures of Harry Potter, searching for YouTube videos of Harry Potter, or watching one of the Harry Potter movies (are you seeing a trend here?), I should probably be productive and update this thing a little bit.

I’ve been very, very, very busy…on the weekends, that is. I say this because starting at the beginning of November, I was able to drop my Designing Lesson Plans class that I loathed so much and free up a bit of my schedule. Catalan class (which was 4 hours a day, Monday-Thursday) ended mid-October, and then 2 weeks ago, I turned in my final project and took my final exam for my Sociology class. What I’m trying to say here is that I have nothing to do during the week. I’m taking two classes right now, Lengua Espanyola and Aprendizaje y Desarrollo (primary education psychology), and while they each require a bit of project work, I have so many free hours in the week to do them that I’ve eliminated most stress in my life. This has gone from being one of the hardest and most time-consuming semesters of my college career to being one of the easiest. I have class Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, and I’m done by 10 on M & W and 11, 12, or 1 on F (depending on which seminar time slot I have that week). THANK GOD.

However, weekends have been packed lately, which is fine by me because I’ve actually become bored during the week (am I even allowed to say that??). Often times, we (my “core” group of friends, AKA The Brotherhood) will get together once during the weekend to cook a meal together because it’s one of the cheapest ways to hang out (besides sitting at a table and staring at each other, that is). I’ve met a bunch of wonderful people in the past few weeks as my close friends introduce me to their friends, and that’s really what I want to do most here — meet people.

It’s amazing how much I feel at home here now, and I think it’s honestly due to the fact that I do nothing unbelievably exciting during the week. I go to class, I come home, I do what I normally do back in Buffalo. I know my way around Sabadell more than my host sister does (which absolutely shocks me), and I can normally find a route to an obscure place in Barcelona as long as I know what metro stop is closest to it. I have my group of friends that I can rely on and a family that treats me so well. It feels like I’ve been living here forever.

The drawback of this (and yes, there is a drawback) is that I seem to have become completely immune to the extraordinary fact that I’m living in Barcelona. It all feels so commonplace at this point that I fail to remember that I’m here. Now that I’ve experienced a lot of Barcelona these past 2 months, I don’t get unbearably excited by going down there anymore. It’s just something I do. I need to somehow reverse this.

My way of shaking things up? I’m going to ROME next weekend! My friend, Megan, that lives an hour south of Barcelona asked me a few weeks ago if I’d want to fly to Rome for a couple days with her and quite honestly, it might be just the cure for this monotony.

Other than that, life is wonderful here! I’m still speaking a lot of English, much to my dismay, but I’m slowly meeting more Spaniards that I could practice Spanish with. My reading and writing have improved a lot, and my listening is getting there. It’s just the speaking that’s getting me down, but that’s normal when you learn a language. I’ve also found my Catalan to be improving, just by listening in on Montse and Estel’s conversations in my house (teehee) and reading signs around town. PROGRESS!

And now, I shall write posts about my recent adventures. WOO.

Too little time to do everything over here/Too long to be away from everyone at home

Air Show

I’ve been horrible about this lately! But I have an excuse: I’m busy living!

At the beginning of last month, Jakub and I went to the Barcelona Air Show at Port Olímpica downtown. It’s a beach area and it was a gorgeous day out, so you can guess that it was packed. There were all sorts of planes and I squealed with every new one (I got stared at a lot by the old men that were sitting next to us). The only part that scared me a little was when the Boeing 737 performed. I had this strange, out-of-body experience from it because as soon as I saw it rocking back and forth in the sky, I was instantly reminded of the images from September 11th of the planes heading straight into the towers. After the air show when we were walking back to the metro station, I looked up at one of the tall buildings next to us and at that very moment, one of the smaller planes that had been doing flips in the sky flew across the building so close that I thought it was going to hit. Horror instantly filled me and I was prepared to see the smoke coming out of the side of the tower. I’ve never experienced something like that because I hadn’t been (at least, I thought I hadn’t been) directly impacted by the events of September 11th. My culture, though, has ingrained those images of planes and smoke in my head, so I find myself involuntarily flinching when I see a huge passenger plane flying low to the ground and doing “tricks.” I would’ve NEVER guessed that response.

Here are the pictures! Promise I’ll upload more stuff this weekend!

 

Another beautiful day in Barcelona!

Here it is. (shudders)

Catalan flag colors

Ew, a heart.

Dalí mustache mug that I got at the Dalí museum in Figueres yesterday. As soon as I get some spare time this week, I’ll put up all of the pictures I took! 

Dalí mustache mug that I got at the Dalí museum in Figueres yesterday. As soon as I get some spare time this week, I’ll put up all of the pictures I took!