The Destination

I am in Barcelona for a week for work, missing Valentine's Day with my wife, an ocean away from my ailing father, losing a four-day weekend with my children. And, of course, soaking in an incredible city for the first time.

I have never been one of those people who says about themselves "I love to travel!" I do not love to travel. I love to see new places, experience new cultures, drink new beer, eat new food, make new friends, sleep in new beds. Those things are true. But the "traveling" part, the getting there, the journey itself....not so much. The take-offs, the landings, the bumps in the road, the fools one must suffer along the way, the small bathrooms in strange airports, the lack of immediate access to caffeine at all times, the constant anxiety and paranoia about your imminent death at the hands of fate, beyond your control (is that last one just me?)....these things do not sit well with my admittedly turbulent day-to-day disposition. On a spiritual level I subscribe to the notion that "it's the journey, not the destination" that matters. Literally, I think that's bullshit. It is most certainly the destination that matters. I've taken trips to Barstow and I've taken trips to Hawaii. And Hawaii is better.

As destinations go, it turns out, Barcelona is also pretty hard to beat. What a beautiful city this is! It has about it an air of relaxed, coastal charm combined with the thriving energy and old-world depth of a real, world-class city. And the food! Que buena! Prosciutto, chorizo, queso, croquetes, sangria, mariscos...I could eat Spanish food for the rest of my life, or at least until my arteries clog and cry out in rebellion. Which would probably happen in about a month, given my starting point.

So the city part is great, and the work part is fine--old hat at this point. These tradeshows are all the same, and once you're in the confines of the convention center itself it doesn't matter where in the world you are or *who* in the world you *think* you are, because the drill is still the drill, the faces are all blending together, the sportscoats and white shirts with no ties and frantic bluetooth dealmaking in the hot dog line...it doesn't matter if it's Las Vegas, Berlin or Denver--you have reclaimed your place in the International Society of Douchebags, and business must be done.

So I will do my best to enjoy the rest of my time here, to give in to the city's charms, and to endure the journey home and fall back into the warm comfort of my beautiful family, shining like a beacon at the end of the road. The journey is even more bearable when the destination is Home.