How I disliked diumenges every weekend when I lived in Barcelona. Everything is closed on this day of the week. When I lived in the city, I used to wake up on Sundays with a feeling of inevitable glum. Nothing to look forward to on the seventh day really, except walking two blocks to eat at my mother in-law's house, which I didn't mind. But that was the high point of every diumenge. Sundays were so trist, trist to me. Walking on the street in Barcelona is a reminder of what day it is because every store and shop has the metal roller blind down. Most metal blinds are tagged or display graffiti art. There is no window shopping or the slight chance of peaking into stores to busy the mind from remembering it is Sunday. A simple pleasure stowed away behind a curtain of metal. Amsterdam was not like that. No metal blinds on any of their store fronts. You can stroll down the street on your way to a café and stop every once in a while to peer inside an eclectic shop. Not here in Barcelona, keep walking until you get to your destination. If only Morrissey were here to see how much his song Everyday is like Sunday has meaning to this noia, who feels blue on Sundays in this coastal town.