Last weekend I met several Spaniards
who more than lived up to my standards.
Sangria was imbibed
to enjoy the good times,
with laughter and tapas for all.
Okay, so that last line doesn't really work. But anyway, getting to Barcelona in the first place was quite an undertaking -- I biked to the tram station, took the tram to the train station (where I met my traveling companions, two Irish students from Dublin), took the train to Basel, took a bus from the train station to the airport, flew to Girona via Ryanair, took a bus from Girona to Barcelona, then the metro to our hostel. Amazingly, we executed all of these transitions flawlessly.
Barcelona is a riot of colors -- the market Boqueria sums it up quite nicely. It's full of street performers all lining the huge boulevard Las Ramblas, stalls are thrown up at random points, people are everywhere, and lining the streets is some of the most brilliant architecture I have ever seen. I want a Gaudi house for myself, please.I used my rusty Spanish several times, including at a night club called Razzmatazz (greatest name ever). I didn't quite adopt to Spanish customs in one weekend -- we three were the only ones in the restaurants eating at 7:30 each night -- although I did try a bit, such as the habit of staying out until six in the morning. I don't know how one makes a lifestyle habit out of that without dying, however.
Also, there are Dunkin' Donuts in Spain -- only called Dunkin' Coffee. Yum. (I mean, I of course only had authentic Spanish and Catalan cuisine while there.)
P.S. -- Eleanor, I await your fair presence in the Hexagon with a great deal of impatience!
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