Mommies & Spaniards

I was cool enough to go to Barcelona for a week. That week has been one of the best weeks since I got to England (oh the irony). Jaime surprised me at the airport because, well, he wasn't supposed to be there. I screamed like a madwoman and of course every body within a 2 mile radius stopped and stared. I hugged them all (by all I mean my aunt and uncle, parents, and Jaime), cried, blah blah blah. Anyways, we ended up staying in some timeshare of my parents' in Salou, NOT Barcelona as I originally thought. Salou is an hour from Barcelona and a ghost town by 11 pm. Knowing me, you'd be inclined to think that was a problem. I'm here to tell you that it was. I spent my nights watching Dutch MTV and soap operas in the language they speak there, Catalan.
The good thing about being in an apartment-style place was we could buy groceries. I jumped on that opportunity and demanded my rice, beans, chicken, and plantains. Well, I didn't demand. I snuggled up to my mom and whined about the horrors they call food at Newbold and how they force us to eat it. The next morning: SURPRISE! I wake up to that home-cooking aroma.
Which made me realize something I haven't realized in a while. My mother is some amazingness wrapped up in a package that is conveniently related to me. See, when I used to hear her voice I would cringe and run in the opposite direction (or drive, whichever came first). I'm sure if I would have stayed in America it would have settled down but I never would have truly appreciated her. But living in a different country and seeing her about five times since I've left has had its impact on me. It's like I never saw her as a person, just this thing occupying a house that simply orders me around and shovels out money every once in a while. Good thing that image has changed. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate knowing or reading this.
So, back to Spain. After a few days of casino-going and coming back home at 5 am (sometimes I didn't even last that long. I would find a couch in a hallway and knock out), we were pretty tired. One night we went to a hotel called the Arts where they have the largest casino in Barcelona (or Spain... not sure which). We played and played then decided, "HEY! We should just stay here for a night then go back to Salou tomorrow." Good idea! Turns out the grown-ups rented out two suites on 21st floor. This is a 5 star hotel. Customer service was impeccable, the beds were heavenly, and the shower had jets! We had gone shopping that day and I had clothes to change into. Jaime and I decided to go out dancing and have a bit of fun away from the grown-ups. For me, that fun turned into toilet hugging a dirty toilet in one of the clubs, falling in the street, and falling asleep on the rim of the hotel's toilet. Jaime took care of me but I had a hangover the next day, the third I've ever had. After that, we decided to stay the rest of the time in that hotel.
During this time, I thought because we were in a Spanish-speaking country and, hey, I speak Spanish, we would have a gay old time with the Spaniards. What a mistake. A lot of them had attitudes to kill. We left a restaurant because of its crappy service and attitude to us even though we were starving beyond belief. My dad's business partner (George) was with us, and he's Haitian. They think it's because of them that we got hated on. I also discovered something because of this. Being prejudiced is being ignorant. I knew that from before but never REALLY realized it. George is the richest person I know, and very generous. Had that restaurant sucked it up, they would have made a serious profit that night. But they couldn't see past his (or our) differences and ended up with a bad rep AND less money than they could have had. During the week, George and his wife had lots of experiences in which they were discriminated against. But that's where class and humility come in. They shrugged it off and kept moving with their life. A lesson to us all.