The plan was to leave at 2. But, as I have discovered from working on the bar crawl, in Spain, the time of day is meaningless and all activities are geared toward occurring later in the day. So at 2:15, when I reached Micahal’s hostel, it came as no surprise to me that no one was around. Jess was around, I arrived with Simon and Red, but Micahal was in bed. He had gone out (at 6:30 in the morning, after the crawl) and got back to the hostel an hour ago. But as Sloane and her friend Olivier arrived, we had a group and were ready to go, Micahal included. It was probably about 3. We picked up groceries, met up with Matt and Jenna, and waited at the Boqueria for Maria and her friend Emilia. Then we found the bus stop and hopped on. It was slow, but we were in no rush. Movie quotes with Matt helped pass the time. As the group of us filed out of the bus and trudged up the hill to Park Guell, we met up with Phil and Jake and Nicole, who had arrived a couple minutes before. It was 4:45. “That’s kind of always the plan in Barcelona,” Phil said, “Plan for 2, meet at 5.”
We reach Park Guell at 4:45 and work our way up through the park. It is gorgeous. Throughout the park, Park Guell exemplifies the famous Barcelona reputation of astounding architecture in its Parks as well beautiful plantlife. Through the trees and palm trees, we followed the lavlishly and ingeniously designed paths, walkways and buildings. Designed by the ingenious Antoni Guadi, Park Guell reminded me of a resort more than park; and more of a fairytale than a vacation. An emblem of Catalan modernism, Park Guell contrasted greatly with El Parque del Retiro of Madrid in areas of style, location in relationship to the city and in its topography. Where El Parque del Retiro was centrally located in Madrid and was as flat as the city blocks surrounding it, Park Guell was a 30 minute bus (Or, as we discovered on the way back, 8 minutes by metro) outside central Barcelona and was located on a mountainside. As we neared the end of the masterfully manicured section of the park, we faced a last 10 minute push up the side of the mountain and we were at the top. I gulped down a bit of water (ok, I finished my beer and smoked a cigarette) and looked out over the city. As I had been in the city almost 2 weeks now, I could recognize certain places and found the general location of the G-Spot. All of it seemed so far away, both in distance and in the fact that had taken us 3 hours to get here, but I wasn’t bothered about that. The mini-travel to Park Guell seemed to mirror my journey to Barcelona; no rush to get there, no rush to leave.
So we sat down at the top of the mountain, ate our food and drank a few beers to spend our day off in leisure as well as style. Partying six nights a week can really take its toll on your body, so it’s a good idea to relax whenever you get the chance and work isn’t bogging you down. On the mountaintop, we played “Telephone” or “Chinese Whispers,” which is a much more fun and exciting game when you add an international background and alcohol into the fray. The first phrase, “East African Ivory Hunters,” got horribly botched. Indecipherable at its end, but when I came to me, I heard: “Emilian African Arian Scholars” and I passed on this message to the best of my ability. The second one: “Don Simon says ‘Sangria is boss,’” turned into “Damn! That Sangria is warm!”
It was a laid back afternoon, but the best part of it wasn’t that we were in this amazing park with a great picnic, it was that we were all a unit. We were all a gang. Each one of us works on the bar crawl and we are all colleagues. Our office is La Rambla and we share a cubicle. We work together 6 nights a week and I think it really says a lot about what we do and how much we love it that on our day off we all get together to hang out. Our group contained people from Vancouver, Utah, Liverpool, Tennessee, Toronto, Australia, London, L.A., Germany, Sweden and France. And as scattered as the background of our birthplaces, where we are headed in life is equally diverse. Some have graduated college, some are in college, some haven’t been yet, some aren’t going, some don’t give a fuck. Some are travelling. Some are here to stay for years. But through some forces of nature, through the tripped out way that the world works, here we all were, colleagues (I really like using that word) sharing a beautiful day together.
It was such an entrancing day that I failed to recall or note that the day, that Sunday, was Easter. Raised Christian, this Sunday marks the first time in my life that I have not gone to church on Easter. In America, this should matter, but I wasn’t bothered. Through the many revelations and epiphanies that I have encountered on this year, one of the things that living in England has done is made me a staunch atheist. In England, people generally don’t give a fuck about religion and I generally didn’t give a fuck that I missed out on going to Church. I feel as though that time in my life has moved on.
Long ago, I used to believe in God and I went to church just about every Sunday. In America, this weekly act lets other people know that you are a good person and not a social deviant, but in England it means you’re a bit odd. Going to Church doesn’t mean you’re a good person, it just means you go to Church. I find it odd, frustrating, annoying, infuriating the role that religion plays in American culture, politics and society and nothing gives me more pleasure than scrutinizing its ideals, locating the many hypocrisies and spewing my ideas to my friends, who say, “Ok Luke, I fucking get it!”
My basic view on Religion (and note here that I am not talking about spiritualism ... which I also don't believe in, but that's another matter) is that it is just a bunch of lies, made up to give people strength and maybe (because everyone has the need to believe in something) here is where religion scores a few points in my book. Kurt Vonnegut’s construct of Bokononism in Cat’s Cradle has always seemed spot on to me. But when I think about religion in practice and how it functions within society, I view it as just a reason to kill people. As I am in Spain, the Spanish Inquisition comes to mind. As do the crusades and terrorist attacks of today. If religion is a just a reason to kill people, it is a bad one at that. Humans do have a physical need to kill people (we’re shitty animals and cannot change that), but can’t we find a better reason for killing people than over shit that doesn’t exist? Say we killed everyone with bad table manners? At least then we might have more pleasant meals.
In all the logical fallacies and hypocrisies of faith, any argument against faith I entertain, enjoy and probably agree with. But, the 10 Commandments jab at religion – “It’s sad that you had to have them written down.” – I don’t think holds much water. The thing is; if the Moses needed to write down those rules, the Jews probably weren’t the only people who needed to adhere to them. If we live in a society that in theory prohibits rape, theft and murder, just imagine the chaos of a world that does not. It’s easy to think of that world today, but I imagine thousands of years ago was quite different morally. As I mentioned before, religion gives something to its followers. Something they desperately need. Not everyone has the need to believe in God, (24% of England believe, 84% of America), but if it gives strength to people that need it, gives them something to believe it, then maybe it isn’t so (inherently) evil after all. People will kill people no matter what. We suck in that way.
So as I think about my views on faith, both former and active, I keep this in mind. Religion as a lie that serves a purpose. A source of strength and reason to kill. “Beleive in the foma that make you brave and kind and healthy and happy,” says Bokonon. For about more or less 18 years, I more or less believed in God, so what purpose did that serve me? Surely it had some effect on the person I am today, and while I’m on this year, that’s kind of what I’m trying to figure out.
When I was 14 (and this phase went on for a few years), I was a Michael Jackson fan. That’s what the fuck I was and what the fuck I would do. I had (and still own) 25 of his cds, 5 dvds and a couple books. I would listen to his music all day and practice my dance moves in front of the mirror. MJ was all I could talk about; and, to me, he could do no (and did do no) wrong. Today, I still dig his music, though I don’t listen to it as much and find more meaning in other artists’ songs and I accept the fact that he was an exceptionally strange individual (I still don’t think he molested kids and could back up that opinion, but that’s another matter). MJ is still my boy, but when he died last year, it was surreal, not heartbreaking. My childhood figure was gone. If this happened when I was 14, I would be inconsolable.
As I look back on my years of faith (I’m trying to make a point here, not just rambling ... ok, yeah maybe I am, but stay with me here) I am certain that they must have served some sort of purpose for me. MJ was there for me in not necessarily a weird time of my life, but he no doubt served a purpose. I think religion did too. It had to. As some may mock religious texts for “needing to write down don’t rape, steal and kill,” maybe these texts (and religion too) were just serving a purpose. Maybe people did need that guidance or we all would have killed each other centuries ago. As the world is growing more progressively atheist (the stats don’t lie), perhaps we are all realizing the truth, disregarding the hypocrites; and, in two thousand more years, this whole “religion” thing may pass. It may have served its purpose and stand as a bizarre, antiquated ideology that people used to believe in for whatever reasons. Think Greek Mythology, or Salem witch trials. Perhaps.
On the picnic, God or Easter was not brought up once. I like that. As an atheist, I like to keep religion out of my daily interaction. I don’t feel the need to spend hours a day talking about something that I do not believe in (I just write long winded essays about them), but as I travel the world and see new places, Religion is a thing to be observed. What purpose does it serve in society? In Spain and Italy, it serves the purpose of tradition and ceremony. All Italians are catholic even if they don’t believe in God, an interesting segregation of religion and faith. In England it just serves as a punching bag, and I love that.
As we were a group of travellers (working in tourism, I cite the paradox), it seems as though religion is an ideal that does not fit into the traveller’s ethos. Of everyone I have encountered, I have met few (zero, to be precise) travellers of faith. It seems interesting to me. In order to travel, does one need to shed their faith? Or is it a self-selective group? Are people of faith more likely to remain at home and do a bit of touring here and there? Is there a part of travel that entails giving up everything you have (spiritual, national, material) and accepting whatever comes your way? Hmm, if this is true, then I would not fit this mold because I am just on my (month-long, I know ... it’s awesome) spring break. I have not given up everything I have in England. I’m touring here in Spain.
But yet, though I am student, I gave up a ton of what I knew, thought I knew and people I knew to come to England ... and I left them for a year. If I am touring in Spain, then surely I am travelling in England. So many damn questions, so much time to think about them, no time to write. Barcelona is so amazing that these questions will bounce around in my head for another week and when I get back to England, I hope to provide some answers in an epic conclusion to Booked Porch. Stay tuned ... LW
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