Surviving Barca: Weekend wrap-up

 

Goose and I are in the middle of a ten day stretch with just each other (finally some alone time with him!!!) and en route to the southern coast of France for 3 cities in 3 days, where we will hold hands the entire way. The second wave of travelers is deployed in Rome on the 23^rd. The key here is not where we are going but where we have been, and the fact that we are alive to continue our journey.

Day 1: Arrived in Barcelona with a couple warnings in mind:
1) “Madrid is fine, it’s Barcelona where you need to be careful.” – Ashley Michelson
2) “Europe is full of liars, cheaters, thieves, scammers.” – Sister Abs, who travelled in Spain and her hotel was bombed (really positive outlook!)
3) “Every one of my friends that has ever gone to Europe has been robbed or mugged. But not me.” – Mother Jane. Definitely not an exaggeration. Mothers are always right.

With these in mind, I initially walked around Barca judging everything that moved, shooting my hands in my pockets if I even saw someone looking sketchy from a distance, as if my wallet was going to dissipate from my short pockets and end in their hands. I was re-running through the Ken-Po routine from P90X workouts in my head, ready to strike at will. JAB, HOOK, FINISH! But it was fine, no threats.

Walked to La Sagrada Familia, which is a ridiculously intricate church that began construction in the 1800s. Pretty sure if you take the “siesta” out of the normal work day it would have been done before World War I, but it’s not. Not even close. But still really cool.


Walked down a rabid shopping street/market called Las Romblas and almost bought a turtle. Next stop was Port de Barcelona, whose biggest imports are Asian tourists with large cameras and rich people with large boats. 

The final stop was Parc Montjuic, which would go on to receive “Site of the City” in our Power Rankings (stay tuned). Took a sky rail midway up the mountain which almost made me lose lunch on some tiny French kids inside it/the yachts below.

Goose knows no fear. Don't let this picture mislead you.

Great blurry pic with no scenery courtesy of Dutch girl

Hiked to some other stops and stopped at them all mainly because a) it was beautiful b) Goose was sweating through his button down.

Castille Montjuïc ("Castle with a mountain of Jews" is the proper translation, of course) was awaiting at the top and provided an unreal view along with several chances us to make up what sounded historically correct. “Yea that cannon there? Yea probably 18th century.” “Yea, sounds right. Probably Moorish influences or something.” Watched a romantic sunset at 9:30, back to the hostel, and the night began. And by began I mean people eat dinner here until like 1 a.m., then go out.

Goose taking the phrase "go man that cannon" far too literally

Joined a Spanish Beer Pong tourney at the hostel, which is essentially two minutes of a Spanish host yelling at you, rolling a dice when you make certain cups, and yelling at you some more to drink. First round loss was well-deserved. From there, they bussed us to Sotavento, a nightclub on the beach. Great night - met someone who went to Australia with a friend from middle school/high school (Tyler Dare), naturally, along with other people with cool travel stories. We then took total control of the dance floor and didn’t look back until it closed. Quite positive they almost hired me professionally. Made the obvious decision to walk back about 4 miles at 4 a.m., tried another club, got rejected, and dragged our feet home.

Day 2: Woke up at 11. Snooze button. Woke up at 2. Cleaning ladies were mopping my head while in bed I think. Got out of the hostel at 3:30 and went strait to the beach. 10 Euro later I had purchased a pair of American flag sunglasses (should I just wear a target on my forehead instead?) and a massage from a lady who spoke no English.

not embarrassed about it.

Ate tapas for the 10th time with no regrets and prepared for night #2 - the bar/club tour. This consisted of being bussed around the city to 4 of the best spots Barcelona had to offer, including one on top of a mountain. Started hanging out with an English bachelorette party while drinking drinks we pretended we could normally afford (nope.) . My Arthurian times accent was in full force as expected, and everything was proceeding smoothly until the maid of honor requested that I go blow coke with her in the bathroom. This rattled me a bit, as I realized I have never had to reject cocaine before. I then secondly pondered why I don't look like somebody who is fun to do cocaine with? But thirdly recognized I'm pretty happy I don't. Moving on. The natural progression of the night led me to run into Andrea Bollom and two other BC girls in one of Barcelona's biggest clubs, because things weren't quite weird enough I guess. Danced. Performed well. Trudged home and reached beds at 6. Barcelona is a mess.


Day 3: Camp Nou was closed. Good planning. So we went to Casa de Battlo, a house the genius architect/artist Anthony Gaudi designed. The place is weirdly cool, and, to me, seems like the result of a mastermind going on a sleepless 7-day drug romp, waking up and finding what he's just designed.

Goose never stops learning.

There are no strait lines in the whole house. That's too simple.

From there we tried to buy a turtle again, had an unreal burger at Kiosko (thanks to Dot Brown), and climbed Parc Guell for an absurd view of the entire world while the sun set.

www.huskguys.com . Awkward hand placement?

Night #3 - ran out of gas. Engine failure. Sleep.