Yes, we are the Americans.

For now, it seems that we go very few places in groups smaller than 15. It reminds me of freshman orientation — no one knows where they're going or what they're supposed to be doing, so we all just follow each other. The only consequence of that is how identifiable as Americans we are. We debated getting the ever-present half mullet, but have concluded instead that once we start real classes and have schedules, perhaps we'll fit in a bit more.

Yesterday we had the first of our culture and history classes, taught by a UPF professor. We learned all about Spanish politics and government, which was really interesting, and something I admittedly knew very little about. The class lasted from 9:30 until 2, so it was a bit of a marathon. We got to take a half-hour break, and unlike earlier in the week, the campus center was filled with students. Spanish universities offer those who failed their finals in June a chance to come back early and take them again in September, no questions asked. Sitting in the sun at 11:30 am, they take cervezas with their books. I opted for the cafe con leche, and owe it big thanks for getting me through the whole lesson.

Today we started Catalan class. It's been a while since I got to learn the days of the week and practice introducing myself in a new language — it was actually pretty fun. It was incredible how much I was able to understand, though it may be a while before I can actually handle speaking.

After class, we were scheduled to go on a tour of the románico part of the city. As a group, the 45 of us were left with no detail as to where we were supposed to go. The director of the program sent an email out during the class, which we discovered thanks to the two people with email-receiving phones. (To his credit, he texted a couple of us and let us know that an email had been sent.)

We headed into the nearest metro stop — which happened to be the Penn Station of Barcelona, Estacion Sants. Impressed with ourselves for finding the correct subway line, about 15 of us hopped on-board — only to discover we were headed in the wrong direction. We got off at the next stop, just missing the train back to Sants, and so we waited for another. Unaccustomed to the late lunch of Spain, and still reeling from our long morning class, we made a collective beeline for the track-side vending machine. How many Americans does it take to work a Spanish vending machine? Definitely more than 15. We boarded our train slightly confused and hungry. (And we sent a text message back to the director, who in typical Spanish style said the delay was not a problema)

The tour took us down back alleyways and streets few of us had discovered before, in addition to revealing the old churches and other buildings. Once upon a time, Barcelona was a small walled city, but growing populations forced the murallas to come down. Remnants of the older parts still remain though.

After the tour, food was the first priority, and we experienced our first menu del dia. For only about 10 euros a person, we got drinks, salad and tapas, bread, entrees (fish for me) and dessert. The entire affair took the standard 2+ hours, but we were living in truly Spanish style. And though the waitstaff tried speaking to us in English, I think we're making progress.