A little sketch of one of my favorite hotels.

I’ve been fretting about this for days: Where to stay in Barcelona? There are so many options, different parts of the city, different types of accommodations. Do I revisit an old favorite? Go somewhere new? Do I stay with my friend in the little room I once spent a whole summer in – the room that smells like ensaïmadas from the bakery downstairs and where the banging of trays might wake one up before dawn – or do I rent an apartment where I can paint? I think I found something pretty swanky – amazing views, safe, clean, close to art supply stores and many other useful and/or enjoyable things, yet equipped with a small kitchen and even a small balcony. I made a flexible reservation and while I love the option I found, I’m still looking at AirBnbs and such. It’s almost like I’m asking myself who I want to be? A tourist or a local? But I am neither. I’m someone with a close personal connection to the city, with history there, yet no firm grounding in its day-to-day. I’m someone who wants a kitchen but also a concierge. Someone who wants to keep it real but also live a make-believe life, create a fairytale, and adventure. I suppose what I am is a traveling artist and we don’t fit neatly into any category.

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