The land of the night . . . Barcelona!

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(November 19th - 22nd) Going to Barcelona was a haul! We had to go from Porto to Lisbon, Lisbon to Madrid, and then Madrid to Barcelona. The longest part of the journey was the train ride from Lisbon to Madrid. The last time we took a night train for this part of our adventure we were in upright seats in a freezing car. This time we decided to splurge for our own cabin in order to get some rest in-between two other three-hour train rides. It’s a very odd feeling sleeping in bunk beds on a moving train. They have “sleeping belts” to hold you to the bed, but it was a little too weird, especially since we both turn over several times within the course of the night. Sadly for me, when the trains take sharp turns and tilt to the side, I have a dizzy spell (it’s the same with cars and boats for those of you who haven’t experienced it firsthand). For the first three hours of our attempted night of “rest” I kept having dizzy spells every ten-twenty minutes and waking myself up. No fun. We did get breakfast in the morning and I managed to sleep a few hours before the phone alarm went off.

The train ride from Madrid to Barcelona, however, was the best train ride we’ve had yet. We have first class tickets (that’s all you can buy for Eurail if you’re over 26) and this first class ride included Iron Man (en espanol), coffee, tea, soda, and cheese and fruit snacks. It was definitely a classy train. Getting to Barcelona and hopping on the metro once again we witnessed our first pick-pocketing. As a girl sat down in her seat with her friends, she noticed her backpack was unzipped. Then to her despair she found her wallet and passport were gone! Having experienced this firsthand I felt an instantaneous surge of sympathy. But sure enough, the next night while Brian and I were standing outside the opera house with a crowd of people waiting to see which stars emerged, a man tried to pickpocket from my coat. Luckily my hands were in there as well but he couldn’t tell because of the long sleeves. I quickly knocked his hand out of the way, thwarting his attempt, and then darted him one mean stare as Brian and I scurried away. T-Rex one, Barcelona nothing!

Still being pretty exhausted from our travel, we decided to have a low-key night for the first night. While we were cruising on the internet, catching up on news and with family, Brian suddenly had a brilliant idea. He told me to put twenty bucks in my pocket and grab my coat and my camera and off we went walking. Now, Brian has an incredibly good heart, and although most of the time he tells me what they are before they happen, he LOVES surprises. He promised something “magical” so I was intrigued and excited. Little did I know. I quickly deemed our journey the “vampire rape walk.” Brian was taking turns down sketchy dimly-lit side streets, past spooky deserted churches, and on escalators in the middle of parks that creaked as they slowly crept downward bouncing every inch they slowly conquered. I was pretty certain he had brought me here to either kill me or help me conquer my fear of vampires. Every ten minutes or so, one lonely person would straggle by us and I’d clutch my purse and Brian’s hand with a death-grip. After walking for about an hour, it turned out that the surprise “wasn’t showing” that night. I opted for the longer route home through the city, at least there would be other people to suffer our same fate if the night took us.

The hotel we stayed at this time had a few little quirks as they all do. It was off one of the major streets, Las Ramblas, so there was a wide variety of people bombarding the streets each night including tourists, souvenir salesmen, locals who would sell cans of beer for 1 euro, kabeb stands, ladies of the night, young kids out to party, and several 7+ feet tall transgender ladies of the night out conversing with whomever they fancied. It was definitely an eye-opening experience. The room itself was fine, except for the bathroom. The showerhead was so powerful and so in need of replacement that it sprayed the entire bathroom whilst you bathed. The “ghost curtain” as we dubbed it was a joke and attacked you half the time you were cleaning up so every few seconds you would have to brave the forceful stream in order to peel the curtain off your body and try to cover the water’s exit points to the bathroom floor. The first time I got out I just laughed and got back in after discovering my towel, although hanging on the rack, was soaked to the core.

In spite of those things, there was free internet in the common room, and a range of interesting hotel personnel to talk with. Our personal favorite was a Pakistani man named Ifdi. Ifdi and I started talking one night about my travels in India and why he ultimately left Pakistan. The conversation turned to a focus of love and trust as he began to recount his great romance with a French woman and how much it taught him about life. He talked about how you can love with your heart and with your mind, and often our judgment is clouded because we think things will make us happy but we don’t let our emotions take over and the brevity of satisfaction is not enough. He talked about people in Pakistan being very content with where they are and who they are and how so many people in the rest of the world always want more and are never satisfied with what path their life is taking. Those people are constantly seeking satisfaction and are never able to find it because they never stop to enjoy the moment they are in. And he talked about how love, of yourself, your life, and the people you surround yourself with, is a huge commitment of trust. Things won’t always go your way, and you will never have all that you want, but if you can learn to be in love with your life for what it is, you will live everyday a happy one. Ifdi reminded me of how lucky I am, and how I really am in love with my life. I have an amazing family, both blood and the people in my life who have become family along the way, and they support everything I do whenever I enter moments of self-doubt or uncertainty. So really, I have no reason to every be dissatisfied. And those of you who are my family, who have come from all walks of life into mine, thank you. You really have made a difference.

Its always hard for me to transition from a heartfelt moment of clarity back to the storytelling of my trip. One big breath, phew, and here we go. We rested most of the next day with a brief trip to the amazing market in order to stock up on bread and cheese (what we’ve been living off of since we can only afford to go out on occasion). The market had stands of meat, fish, fruits and vegetables, breads, nuts, and every kind of cheese you could possibly want or imagine. We loaded up and headed to the train station to secure our tickets for our next bit of travel. Here is where we encountered one of the slowest and most self-centered people I have ever come across. In terms of patience, I feel that I have quite a lot in my quota, way more than Brian that’s for sure. But this man even drove me batty. There were several people with their ticket numbers waiting to be called up, and the man just sat there. Actually he played with his cell phone, clicked around on the computer, walked around the booth laughing, and then just sat there. After 6 or 7 minutes of this he would then change his sign for the next number to come up. But of course, no one would have that number and he would go back to his 6-7 minutes of doing nothing before changing the number once again. What really started to irk me was when random people would walk up and start asking him questions without pulling a number. But I had no idea if the others annoyed around me had numbers higher than mine and I certainly did not want to take their turn. So we just waited and I racked my brain for how to say, “slow self-centered jerk” in Spanish (to no avail).
After the long wait (an hour with only five people waiting in line) we took a quick side trip to the water to watch the sunset and share a scrumptious chocolate and whip cream covered waffle, and then we were on our way home determined that after unloading we would be able to see the “surprise” this night. This time we took the metro to the surprise and to my wonder and delight it was a colossal-sized fountain! It is called the Font Magica (Magic Fountain) and on the weekends it lights up from 7 - 9PM with an array of colors as the streams of water dance into the air timed perfectly to a soundtrack from American movie classics. Whether you are a fan of Titanic or not, it was pretty awe-inspiring watching water shoot up hundreds of feet into the air in a sea of blues and greens as “My Heart Will Go On” echoed through the air. The whole spectacle was incredibly romantic even with its Vegas-like show quality and the smell of Disneyland’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride lingering in the night. A perfect day-late surprise 😊

The next day Brian had a plan so we were up early and ready to roll. He’s in charge of day-to-day outings and I’m responsible for sleeping and transportation arrangements. He mapped out all of the places we wanted to see and figured we could metro to every one of them with a day pass. The first stop was the “Dr. Seuss Park” otherwise known as Park Guell. Everything on the map appeared to be a lot closer than it actually was, so what looked like a rad park right next to the metro stop turned out to be a hike up yet another gigantic hill (and you know how much we love hills). The park itself was pretty spectacular. Apparently Antoni Gaudi, its designer, went way over budget and most locals consider it to be an eyesore, but tourists love the odd spectacle and so did we. It starts with two gingerbread-type houses at the entrance and winds up towards a fountain and a huge Romanesque structure. The park itself just keeps circling higher and higher until at the top you get a magnificent view of Barcelona. There are gardens full of unique flower, sculptures and pillars that look very Mayan, and a huge opening where hundreds of artisans have gathered to sell their wares. Normally the large open space is used for parties and concerts. Upon crossing the area I noticed it looked quite familiar, and sure enough as soon as we turned a corner, there it was. The America’s Next Top Model passageway of caves they had used as a runway in their season that landed them in Spain. Brian and I couldn’t stop laughing, so of course we played around and walked the catwalk several times. Man can Brian strut like he means it!

We continued on but began to have increasing trouble finding the things that were allegedly on the map. So we did what we do best, we walked. We walked one direction, then another, then backtracked to try the first direction again. I think I’m going to join all of Peggy’s walking clubs when I get home just because I’ve gotten so good at it! To Brian’s delight we ended up finding the soccer stadium and he practiced kicking things at me in order to get a good shot of him in front of the stadium. (No photographers were harmed in the creation of the photo). At one metro stop, (ironically named “Diagonal”), we got so turned around that it took us nearly half an hour to find the next subway line. Everything was gated off with arrows to guide your way, but the arrows lead in the wrong directions like poor Alice with the mome raths, and as soon as we’d come to the end of one set of arrows there would be another set of arrows pointing back to the way we came from. At this point we gave up, went back to the other market and loaded up on train snacks and candy before heading home.

I’ve come to a conclusion in all these travels, and I feel it’s a truth that crosses over to many aspects of life. The more money you have, the less you have to know. And of course the less money you have, the more you have to know. The travelers who look “well off” and are usually sitting at the fancy outdoor restaurants paying top dollar for their traditional Spanish meals, always order in English and have no idea what any of the cultural dishes are. They have money, so it seems as thought that’s what people pay attention to. Brian and I on the other hand always try to speak in the language of the country we’re in as well as familiarize ourselves with the culture so that we can order the right foods and show respect for the people whose land we are visiting. Having less money and more knowledge means you also have to know who to talk to and what to listen for. Brian and I paid enough attention to discover that there was a Traveler’s Bar that served meals for 1 euro after 8 o’clock. There is nothing like three enormous helpings of pesto pasta washed down with a good game of futbol and some beer to put you in a solid mood and send you right to sleep.

Leaving the next day was just like coming in, the elevator was broken (ironically only on the days of our arrival and departure which made the huge bag incredibly difficult to maneuver down the three flights of stairs) and exhausted after thoroughly taking in our last bit of Spain. A few more train rides and we would be out of the beaches and into the snow!

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