For the record, I was totally going to link to the video for Garth Brooks’ “That Summer” because earlier this week I said that my relationship with Lola was headed in that direction but then I saw it on Club Trillion and I experienced simultaneous shock and confusion. So obviously I can’t use it now, but I had planned on saying something like how she is a lonely widowed woman hell bent to make it on her own, or about how I watched her hands of leather turn to velvet in a touch.
We spent probably 15 minutes in the hostel before heading out to explore. I really loved the area where we were staying because it was like a maze of ancient streets that weren’t big enough for cars, lined up and down with cool bars and restaurants. I don’t know if it was just me but it had a real Harry Potter feel to it. We stopped in a couple places and we were all feeling pretty good when we ran into this Irish broad named Leigh Ann. She comes up to us all wearing purple and stuff and starts talking in a fake Southern accent. You all know that these colors don't run so I immediately start ripping into her in my best Irish brogue, which if you’ve ever heard it, it’s actually pretty good. So here we are, in the middle of a crowded square, our faces inches apart, screaming at each other in fake accents, when she just stops and tells me my eyes are beautiful. I obviously take this to mean that America and I won, and since I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they don’t work, we left her standing there calling me a “cheeky f***.”
From there we walked to the beach, hung out, and then three of our members decided it was time to head back and get some sleep. But it was only 3 am and those of you who remember One Night Only know the zone I’m in, so my daywalker partner and I decided to pay a cover charge I don’t want to talk about and head to the disco. We spent the hours from 3-6 dancing and overpaying for drinks. From my recollection they only played one song, the three-hour version of I Gotta Feeling. After that we made our way home, having numerous adventures along the way. We ran into a prostitute who my friend was convinced was Serena Williams and apparently we hugged her and he spent a good amount of time talking to her about her foot fault. We “found” a bike that didn’t have a chain and for some reason took turns “riding” it home, before giving it to a homeless person. By some miracle we found our hostel and went to bed sometime after seven.
Four hours later it was time to get up and head to La Sagrada Familia, a giant unfinished church designed by the famous Spanish architect, Antoni Gaudí. They started building this church in 1882 and have yet to start on its main tower. The church is a testament to the Spanish work ethic, their carefree culture, and their 20% unemployment. We spent probably three hours touring the church (what’s been finished within the past 130 years), enjoying the views of the city, and taking dumb pictures.
I had a pretty good time; it really was amazing to see and is quite an ambitious project, set to be completed in 2030.
After that we were in a pretty Guidí mood so we continued on to the Casa Milá, a weird house he designed that apparently has no straight walls. From there we went to the Four Cats, a bar/restaurant where Picasso had his first exhibition and hung around a lot. We wanted to do tapas there but left because things just didn’t seem right, the service was slow, we felt underdressed, and the staff looked weird. So we went to some normal place and had a great time tapassing.
After a quick nap we went out for a nice dinner at one of the really cool places down the street on one of the tiny old streets. The meal was practically perfect in every way. A couple from L.A. gave us the tapas they couldn’t eat, the food was great (I had the rabbit), the cava (champagne from Spain, mainly in the plains) was flowing, the Barca game was on T.V., and they even gave us a after-dinner shot on the house. It was a great time. We then went to watch the rest of the match at a bar where everyone was into it and stayed there for a while watching music videos. After that we went to this place called Chupitos (Spanish for shots) where I ordered three shots, told the bartender “something with fire for two euros,” and almost had my eyebrows burnt off. The place was kinda cool but we decided it was too touristy with too much English going on so we went to find somewhere else. We went to this place that wasn’t really a bar, but they had beer (like Extreme Pizza) and there was some French dude playing guitar. We sang songs with some guys in there and I played and we sang a nice version of Save Tonight.
In there I made an old Catalan friend who explained to me the difference between Spain and Cataluña. You see, many people in the region of Cataluña (Barcelona is the capital) consider themselves a separate country. Personally I think it’s kind of annoying that they speak a different language when everyone already knows Castellano (Spanish). But the whole separate country thing really doesn’t make sense to me. That type of thing would never happen in the U.S.
We woke up early the next morning see some more cool stuff. First we went to the Park Guell, a cool park on top of a mountain with more Gaudí stuff. From there we went to the Art Museum, and then the Olympic Stadium and the Montjuic area. For those of you who may have missed out on past Summer Olympics, the 1992 Games took place in Barcelona. I really enjoyed seeing the stadium, the area around it, and where the original Dream Team laid the smackdown on the rest of the world. Lastly we went to the statue of Christopher Columbus pointing to the Americas and my tummy turned and I felt kinda homesick, but then I got some gelato and I felt ok.
At 7:30 pm Sunday we got on the train back to Valencia. There were no seats left in tourist class so I paid cash for first class, but I did not sit next to Vanna White. I’d never been in first class before and I expected it to be just like the Seinfeld episode, “The Airport,” with warm chocolate chip cookies, champagne, and Veronica Vaughn. Of course I was let down and first class was the same exact train only with less people. I didn’t even bother taking out my sack full of pebbles to chuck at the peasants.
That’s all I have from Barcelona; basically the best weekend ever, period. Way better than your lame weekend. Seriously though, it was pretty exhausting but I felt pretty satisfied when I was looking at a postcard stand before getting on the train and I was able to point at most of them and say “saw that.” No, I didn’t buy any. I have a blog for that.
Besitos,
Jim
that's not veronica vaughn, you ignant s.o.b.
ReplyDeletebut she is one fine piece of ace.
ReplyDelete