Barcelona is food.
And siestas.
And wine and late night dinners and tapas.
Everywhere we went there were glasses of sangria for sale that you could buy with fresh market cheeses or homemade jams.
When you walked by the restaurants there would be tables and tables of brightly colored tapas and paella that smelled so good I could practically taste it.
I mean, the history and architecture is absolutely beautiful and unlike any other city I'd ever seen, but let's be real.
I was there for the food.
And the beach.
But really just the food.
Restaurants on the beach with outdoor seating manage to combine
Not too shabby, Spain, not too shabby.
Traveling without an itinerary is the best way to enjoy where you are, in my professional opinion.
We got to spend a day enjoying the beach and exploring the city without time crunches or dashed unrealistic sightseeing expectations.
The only thing we had to haul ass to was the Fat Tire Bike Tour, which met at 11am. (Another bonus to goal-less travels? No alarm clock. Holllaa!) [Bike tour plug! We did one in London with this company which is why we decided to check them out in Barcelona and they seriously know what they're talking about without making it painfully comparable to a "Bueller.....Bueller..." moment. AND they are delightfully attractive men. It's a win-win! They do tours in London, Barcelona, Berlin, and Paris. And they should be paying me for this.]
Other than the bike tour, my days revolved around eating, attempting to dress myself from the itty-bitty suitcase I allowed myself to pack and then repacking it when we moved hostels.
Thankfully, our second hostel was a five-star resort compared to our original, shady, humble abode.
Complete with stylish watch-type roomy keys that coordinated with our lockable lockers.
You already know about our adventure at the shots bar with our 'dat's cool' SoCal friends, which happened in Barca, but we also went to the club with apparently the best sound system in Spain. (and judging by the ringing in my eardrums late into the next afternoon, I'd say that's an accurate assessment)
Spaniards are a friendly bunch.
A very friendly bunch.
And their drinks are strong.
Very strong.
But expensive, so I only got the one that was covered by my ticket price. (cheap-ass, WHAT'S UP)
But those nights are nothing compared to good old, American packed, Danish Kulor Bar!
Where you end the night with a new friend, a text FROM YOURSELF that says "Be earned. Not skipping. Eat Taco Bell.", and desperately peeing in someone's front lawn after the longest bus ride of your bladder's life.
There really is nothing like sitting bare assed in a strangers front yard, in Denmark, with one contact missing because someone whacked you in the face at 4:15 in the morning, nothing like it at all.
Reminded me of my childhood. [ask my parents about my sudden disappearances as a child where I would suddenly reappear, naked. I'll bet they didn't think they were gonna be reading about THAT in this blog entry. Or ever for that matter. But how could I not share that experience with the world?]
5:54pm USA
11:54pm Denmark
Sarah,
ReplyDeleteYour mom is not the only one reading this. I love keeping up with your travels. My brother Ian went to Paris last year. The blog thing is so great! But I have to tell you, he shared a lot of pictures in his blog. Where are your pictures?
Love, Marcia