Barcelona: the FCB Story and Leftover Photos

Long ago Luci asked for a Pedro jersey.  He's not the FCB fan that I am but he demonstrates the proper amount of enthusiasm when they score goals.  Plus he is generally willing to make another batch of popcorn or refill my glass so that I don't have to leave the vicinity of the screen while a game is on.
That adds up to deserving a cheesy jersey, right?
I'm proud that Pedro is his favorite and not Messi or David Villa (nothing against them its just that aren't they everyone's favorites?) and, while its not as easy to find number 17's home jersey in a child size, it can be done (I know because I looked it up on ebay).
Still, I thought it would be cool (a loose interpretation of cool-don't judge) to wait until we were in Barcelona to buy one for him.  I figured FCB paraphernalia would be omnipresent. But in fact, it wasn't as bad as I expected; I'm happy to report that I never saw a mug in the shape of Messi's face or beach shoes with "La Liga 2011" on them.  But there were stores aplenty and it was just a matter of picking one out of 1,000.
The unexpected bonus from getting an FCB t-shirt in Barcelona is that you can get your own name printed above the number 17.
The other moment of unexpected pleasure is that while you wait the ten minutes in the store for the printing to be done, you can meet people like Anil.
Anil, originally from northern India, speaks English with the most delicious accent (I confess I have a thing for Indian accents) and surprised us by stating we were the first Americans he had met who were Bollywood fans.  Really?  Almost everyone I know is a Bollywood fan.  Surely he was saying this as some sort of guise to entice us to buy more in his store.  But no, he was genuine.  In fact, as we were walking out, he rather impulsively chased after us with a bag in which he had stuffed some souveniers and gave them to us for free because "it was so nice to meet you guys."  Who knew just liking Aamir Kahn movies would prove to be such an ice breaker?

After that pleasant encounter we realized we were starving and decided on an Argentinian restaurant where we saw this painting with which I fell in love

and also where we met Ulises who is from Uruguay and learned his perfect English while he was going to University in Utah.  He shared our distain for the subways of New York (he was far more polite about it than were we) and a desire to see California. We exchanged email addresses and told him that even if he's too afraid to contact us, he should remember to avoid LA and stay north when he visits next summer.  I could tell from his eyes that LA remains firmly on his 'to-do-in-California' list.  Well, he was warned.

On our way back to the hotel Mihai was desperate for a shot of espresso so we stopped at a tiny bar.  Inside were the barista and a duo of local men who spoke Catalan with such rapidity that I could understand absolutely. nothing. no matter how hard I tried.  It didn't seem to matter, one of the duo seemed delighted with however I responded and was also very interested in my camera which I took to be a hint that he might want his photo taken.

and now for some pleasant randomness:

So our Barcelona trip comes to an end.

And we did not go to Camp Nou.

Why not?

Alas, I knew that if I were to visit, I would undoubtedly learn that it is not Mount Olympus and that the players are mere mortals.  What good can come from that sort of soul-crushing discovery?

Also, I don't like crowds and I doubted I could have persuaded my family to endure the tour.  Maybe Luci would have but by that time he had his number 17 jersey and for him, that was enough.