Having spent the whole July doing summer camps, I had to use my August for something more holiday-like. And town festivals are surely the typical Catalan —and sometimes Spanish— main summer holiday event.
After two weeks relaxing in the Val d’Aran and two more weeks of a chaotic camp by the beach, the was a choice to be made between going straight back to the dictionary work, thus becoming utterly insane, or enjoy some worries-free party weeks and keep mentally healthy. Surprising as it may seem, I chose the latter.
My first week of freedom was spent around Barcelona, meeting friends and doing things such as visiting the Park Güell [which was stupidly named if you ask me because they use the k as a nod to the supposed English inspiration of the park and make it wrong in both Catalan, because of the spelling, and English, because of the word order].
I went to Huesca afterwards and took part in its wine-throwing, shirt-ripping celebration that sets the beginning of the town festival, which involves lots of dancing and drinking and very little sleep. Then I attended Gràcia’s festival for the first time in my life. Gràcia is the neighbourhood of Barcelona where I live now and where my mother grew up. Finally, the festival of my old summer town, Sant Quintí, topped my holidays off with some folkloric representations and night parties, of course.
Unfortunately, summer holidays are getting to their end, as an e-mail from the dictionary people pointed out today, and I should go back to the chemistry terms.