In violation of the universal rules of both microeconomics and supply and demand, the street vendors in Barcelona are selling exactly the same things in exactly the same place, by the hundreds. Do you want fake Nike shoes? You can go to this blanket, or this one right next to it,
or this other one two blankets away. Or the other twenty within 100 feet.
The same goes for hats, sunglasses, keychains and refrigerator magnets. The ironic (and callous) truth about these vendors is that a lot of them also live together and buy their stock from the same place. So, I really don’t get it. What if instead of having a Starbucks on every other block, we had 10 of them on a single block. How would you choose which one to visit? And even then, I actually need coffee to survive but I don’t need a brown ceramic bird that whistles when you blow through its kiln-hardened tail feathers?
It’s just hard to imagine how most of these guys ever make a sale.
But on to more important things; Martha joined me today in Barcelona and so far has been sleeping for roughly the same amount of time that she’s been awake. It’s not only fun to have her here, but I realize that I have spoken more English in one abbreviated afternoon than I have in the past two weeks. I also realize how much easier it is to speak a language when I don’t have to think through every word and sentence in my head before I say it.
She’s preparing for the Merce by painting watercolors in the park. I’m preparing by trying to decide which I want to do first, go to the parade of flame throwing demons where it is recommended to wear heavy clothes (or be married to a doctor) or standing next to a 10-story tall human tower, where, according to the program, “Barcelona is ready to take its place in the human tower scene.”
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