There are many， many different attractions： culture， leisure， monuments， our architectures， and the gastronomy. Barcelona has commercial areas， shopping areas of five kilometers that goes around to the sea to the north， and on the street and continue at shop at the same time you find the shops. You see our architecture； you see our monuments， our museums， and our restaurants. So there is a mix between shopping and services.
One label that’s hot among fashion conscious is MIRO， and these trendy designs of clothing and shoes originate in Barcelona. The region itself now produces for other international labels， like for the Gallic giant Lacose.？
No visit to the city would be complete without a tour of the Nou Camp， the immense home of one of Spain’s finest teams， Barcelona Football Club. FC Barcelona was founded in 1899 along with the other Spanish team， Real Madrid. It’s one of the greatest football teams in Europe. With players like Maradona and Ronaldo having played for Barca， it’s easy to explain their success！ FC Barcelona is credited to winning more trophy than any other team in European football history. The stadium， the Nou Camp， can hold one hundred and twelve thousand people， making it one of the greatest places to watch and play “the beautiful game”.
巴塞罗那是西班牙第二大的城市，仅次于首都马德里。巴塞罗那处处透露着历史气息。城市由迦太基人建立，根据古传统，城市的名字由古迦太基的巴塞家族派生出来。在经过数不清的征服者，包括罗马人和摩尔人对这个城市的掠夺后，阿拉贡人建立了繁荣富强的加塞罗尼亚，定都于巴塞罗那。二十世纪七十年代以来，这个城市重新宣告了它的加塞罗背景。但是直到1992年举办夏季奥运会以后，巴塞罗那才成为现在这样的现代化的，有活力的城市。随着城市的日渐繁荣，豪华，大型的酒店不断出现。第一家雷文卡拉斯酒店是由西班牙国王和王后主持揭幕的。该酒店位于城北主要大学附近。由胡塞·路易斯·托尔斯经营。
安东尼·高迪以卡尔维特和米拉之家等建筑物，塑造了巴塞罗那无以伦比的形象。他还建造了神奇的奎尔公园。安东尼·高迪在1926年逝世，未完成的大教堂是他的墓志铭。？
巴塞罗那有什么吸引人的地方？
它有很多不同的引人之处：文化，休闲，纪念碑，建筑，还有烹调。巴塞罗那有商业区，长五公里的购物区绕着大海直到北部。走在大街上，你可以一边购物一边探店。你可以看看建筑，纪念碑，博物馆，饭店，既能购物又有玩的享受。
米罗是时尚界中享有盛誉的一个品牌。这些鞋子和衣服的设计流行趋势来自巴塞罗那。该地区还生产其他国际知名品牌的产品。比如法国的名牌Lacose。
不到诺坎谱就不算到过巴塞罗那。诺坎谱是西班牙最好的球队之一——巴塞罗那队的主场。巴塞罗那队与另外一支西班牙球队——皇家马德里队，欧洲最顶级的球队之一——同时成立于1899年。有马拉多纳和罗纳尔多作为球员，这两支球队勇创佳绩。在欧洲足球史上。巴塞罗那队拿的奖牌比任何一支球队都多。诺坎谱球场可以容纳11万2千人，是观看和踢漂亮的球赛的最好场地之一。
Simplify， Simplify 简单，再简单
In the vocation of writing， poverty is a prerequisite for greatness. At least that’s what I told myself back when I was nineteen or twenty years old. I had only recently committed myself wholeheartedly to “becoming a writer.” I harbored a zealous admiration for literature’s impoverished， ill-fated greats： John Keats， Stephen Crane， Henry David Thoreau—all were paupers， and all died young.
As I saw it， those literary greats were able to remain intensely focused on the eternal verities because they weren’t after fame or fortune—just beauty， just truth. It was their raw existences， lives close to the bone and suffused with awareness of nature’s riches， that made possible their immortal works. I eventually came to realize I’d romanticized their poverty， but even today I believe my naivete served a powerful purpose， and laid a foundation that has helped me for a decade now.
Thoreau， in his twentieth， I packed a large cardboard box with belongings and headed east by train to begin my artistic life in Massachusetts， 3，000 miles from California， where I’d been born and raised. I wanted to live near Walden Pond and commune daily， in nearby Concord， with the wise ghosts of Thoreau and Emerson. The closest I could get was the city of Lowell， birthplace of the American industrial revolution—a ramshackle town cluttered with eerie decommissioned factories and mills. But from Lowell I could get to Concord by train as often as I liked.
I set up my new life in a 300 square-foot studio apartment 14 miles from Walden Pond as the crow flies. My sole furnishings were an inflatable mattress， a plastic patio chair， a small lamp， a pile of books， and a radio or cassette player. In the cardboard box， I had packed the essential kitchen wares： a can opener， a spatula， two plates， two cups， two forks， two knives， two spoons， and a frying pan. More importantly， I had packed a word processor and a ream of paper.
I was determined to begin my writer life in the spirit of Thoreau’s proclamation in Walden： “Give me that poverty that knows true wealth.” Thoreau， living for two years in his tiny cabin on the shores of Walden Pond in the mid-19th century， had proven conclusively to the industrialized world that simplicity and “mean living” were the highest spiritual ideals， for they refined one’s sense of beauty and truth. “Simplify， simplify，” said Thoreau， and I wanted to heed his advice. The fewer my possessions and the smaller my quarters， the loftier my hopes could be—and the freer I could remain to realize them.
My rent in Lowell was 400 dollars a month. With roughly， 1500 in bank savings， I could conceivably live and write—and do nothing else—for about three months. I set to work. I spent nearly every day clicking away on my word processor， and every evening reading. Intellectually， I’d never been wealthier. It was an education unlike anything provided by my years of schooling.
Practically everything in my life had been cleared away for the sake of writing. And only years later would the true nature of this apprenticeship period become clear to me： more than learning how to be a “starving artist，” I was learning how to be grateful for what little I possessed.
The residence in Massachusetts proved successful. I returned home that autumn unafraid of poverty， able to work for five to six hours at a stretch， and in possession of a 150-page personal manifesto. I’d become a writer.
