Scene 2. The bus, Day 1 of the Barcelona adventure. Our bus driver, a long-haired, earringed Spanish Jesus figure drives us through pretty towns like Beziers and Girona, when he's not taking a 40 minute lunch break. That shit would NEVER happen in Chile. There's always 2-3 drivers who take turns driving and sleeping in the creepy little bed underneath.
Scene 3. The bus, at the Spanish/French border. Stupid Annette, thinking the EU was now a borderless zone, forgetting her passport! The French police scare her at first, threatening that she may have to stay there. In the end, the American card worked for her, and she was allowed into Spain for a weekend of debauchery. Correction, it's not just the American card, it's the white-American-girl card. If I had been black or middle eastern, I would probably have been kicked to the curb at that point. It's not fair, but I'm going to keep using that card as long as I can. One of these days it's not going to work, and as in Russian Roulette, I'm going to be shit out of luck. Thankfully, that day was not Thursday.
Scene 4. Super swanky hostel, Barcelona (except our room smells like vomit, thanks to a 16-yr-old Belgian the night before, we learned...I will forever after have a prejudice against Belgians who brag that they can hold their beer, but can't). Enter old friend Simon-from-Wales, and his friend, Allye-from-England. Enter Tim-the-Australian, and 2 Italians (though they really come into the picture the next day). Five of us (Zandra, me, Simon, Allye, Tim) and 2 bottles of wine, meet Paul from San Diego, a 21-yr-old pub crawler (well, I guess his official title is "Tour Guide"). We decide to go on his pub crawl, which involved one cool bar, (called Nevermind, with skateboards on the wall, chalk writing on the ceiling, flaming shots called jagstangs, and empanadas), 3 dead ones, and a "club" (Paul's definition of a club does not coincide with my own. In his definition, a "club" = a bar + really loud music + huge area for dancing + 4-5 other patrons, most over the age of 50). Also, somewhere in there I bought some street beers, and felt good for getting a deal (3 for 2 euro). The guys who sell street beers will also sell you other things (hash, coke), if you have the money. I MEAN, if you're into that kind of thing. Sheesh! At some point I also smoked a whole cigarette by myself. Which is not normal, or good. Oh well, when in Barcelona! We all get very drunk, and then proceed to take pictures of ourselves on a "roundabout" (Australian speak for merry-go-round). No kebabs were to be found at 6am, so we had to settle for gas station "food." On the way to the gas station, Zandra got in a fight with a tranny, and has a shiner and a bruise on her chin to show for it. Spanish trannies!!! (accompanied by an angry-old-man-fist-shake)
Scene 5. The next day (Friday). Eau-de-puke scented hostel room. The day consisted of sleeping, Zandra being sick, and chatting with Tim. We didn't leave the room until 7pm. (I didn't see Barcelona in the daylight until the third day I was there. Living it up Spanish-style. Or vampire-style). We head to a tapas restaurant for typical tapas, and plenty of sangria. The 2 Italians in our room come and join us. Simone and Matteo, bio-medical engineering students, or some such nonsense. Then we meet up with Pedro, a Portuguese dude who couldn't couchsurf host Zandra and I, but could take us to a few cool bars, including one where I had my first pisco sour in years. In Chile we would pay $2 for a pisco sour. Here I paid 6 euro. It was nostalgic. Then we went back to Nevermind, for flaming shots, and two French bitches were bitches. I wanted to punch them, but I didn't. We called it an early night, catching the last metro home at 2am-ish.
Scene 6. Saturday. Zandra and I wander around the neighborhood around our hostel. We eat some tapas on the street (and I have some sangria, of course). We see La Sagrada Familia, but hell no was I going to pay 11 euro to go inside it. Then we catch a train to Salou, where Simon and Allye got a sweet off-season deal on a resort. We drink sangria on the beach, then make a dent in a 5-liter jug of wine, as we watched the Spanish competition to determine who would be Spain's entry in Eurovision (read: completely and utterly ridiculous)! The next morning we sleep for awhile, wander around the town, then eat paella and baby octopuses. Then Zandra and I catch the train back to Barcelona, and in true stupid American girl fashion, get the train ride for free, because we couldn't buy the tickets beforehand and the conductor would only take cash, and the woman in the station pretty much just let us go. 11 euro saved! We found the Magic Fountain that Simon had told us about, but in the winter it doesn't do its magic on Sunday nights. Bastards. Zandra and I wander around the city for awhile, then eat more tapas, where exactly half the bill were our overpriced sangrias. Then we wander into our hostel at midnight, because we're cool like that. Then the French skaters return to the room at 2am (SO not as hardcore as us), and start kicking the lights (which automatically turn off at 10:30pm, and since they had been there all weekend, they should have figured this out).
Scene 7. Monday. The bus. Again. So uncool it's hardly worth mentioning, as it took a few hours more than it was supposed to. And this busdriver was a major chode.
So there we go. Barcelona. Didn't see much, but I had a great time!
2 comments:
I have a bias against anyone who says they can hold their alcohol but can't. And Belgians in general. ;)
Oh I love Spain! And I'm glad you're having fun, even if you didn't go into la Sagrada Familia!
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