So, we arrived in Barcelona after coming off an all-but-restful 11 hour train ride. I had diarrhea to beat the band, and I was physically and mentally way past exhaustion. I just wanted to get to the hotel and pass out.
Not quite what happened.
We make it out of the underground area where the train let us off and up into the light of day. However, we had no idea where the fuck we were going. Alee’s dad had a few maps, and Stephanie and Alee went to the tourist information center to ask where we needed to go. I stood with Alee’s dad basically wishing I was dead. We waited and looked at maps and waited and looked at maps, and finally someone decided that we should take the metro.
Did I mention that the handle that you pull out on my suitcase is broken at this point in time? It will not pull up at all.
So, I’ve never experienced a legitimate Metro before in my life, and I must say, I never want to again. At least not with 70 pounds of luggage in tow.
All that the Metro reminded me of was a gigantic maze that you see lab mice run in. And let me tell you, it was a rat race, if I ever saw one.
Alee’s dad almost got pick-pocketed for the first time when we were trying to buy Metro tickets…some guy rubbed up against him and squirted a TON of white lotion on the back of his blue blazer. Cute.
Even cuter? The fact that I had to buy TWO metro passes for one ride because I tried to make it through the turnstyle with my suitcase, and that clearly did not work out. The metro is hotter than the hinges of hades and an absolute CF. I don’t know what to say other than it was quite possibly the worst experience of my life. They have escalators coming up from the metro but only stairs going down to it, so I ended up just literally throwing the damn thing down the stairs. I was so pissed off and sick and tired and hot. Definitely not a good combination.
We make it up out of the metro to the now quite toasty city of Barcelona. Again, with the maps. Again, with the broken suitcase. Again, with the walking. Again, with the stomach ache. You can imagine.
Upon arrival at the hotel, we found that we couldn’t check in until 3 in the afternoon. And it was 10 in the morning.
We left our suitcases with the hotel, went to a café around the corner, and I got tortilla española. We ended up seeing a distance race through the streets as part of the European Athletics Championships. It was pretty cool, I have to say.
So, at breakfast, it was asked what everyone wanted to do while in Barcelona. I said I only really wanted to go to the Hard Rock Café, and it got laughed off. Made me feel GREAT. The only other thing I truly wanted to do was go to the beach to see the Mediterranean, and that got nixed, too because we knew some people from Missouri who went, and one person got their clutch stolen. So, our group couldn’t go to the beach because they “wouldn’t be able to relax.” I didn’t quite understand it because all you would have to bring is a towel and a few euro for the bus ride, but whatever.
So, after breakfast, it gets decided that we were going to go to La Sagrada Familia. Quite the jaunt from our area of town, but it got decided that we would walk, and we ended up running into Casa Battló by Gaudí. I was an idiot and paid a 14 euro admission fee. It was gorgeous and all, but I just wasn’t feeling up to par, as you can imagine, and I just wanted to be laying down somewhere.
Finally, we make it to La Sagrada Familia, and I must say, it was a LOT more gorgeous in person than it looks in pictures. It was absolutely incredible. We paid to go inside, then it was a little more to take the lift up into the towers, but it was well worth it. Gorgeous views, and I got my first glimpse of the Mediterranean!
After that, I was starving, and Alee’s parents wanted to go to Starbucks, but there was a Subway right next door, so I made a run for it. Unfortunately, I was unaware that on their “baby” subs, you only get lettuce. I was asking for tomatoes, but she thought I was referring to ketchup, so I got ketchup on my tuna sandwich. Yum?
We decided to take the metro back to the hotel. Mistake. Alee’s dad almost got pick-pocketed again. He had his backpack semi-stuffed because it was his carry-on on the plane, and he hadn’t had time to take a lot of the stuff out. Everyone gets on the train just fine, but when Alee’s dad starts to get on, three guys push in front of him to get on, then they stand in front of him so he can’t get through to where we’re standing on the metro. Turns out, they were creating a distraction and actually got his pocket unzipped, but they didn’t get his wallet.
We finally got to the hotel, and I passed out. Showered a bit later, then we all headed out to find somewhere to eat. I never realized that picking a place to eat would be so goddamn difficult, but what have you. We ended up walking the entirety of Las Ramblas (supposedly the most pick-pocketed location in the entire world), which was a good mile and a half, at least. Then, we walked out onto the pier, and that wasn’t pleasing to some, so we ended up walking back to a place that we saw near the damn beginning of Las Ramblas.
I don’t know if I’ve made it clear, but there was diarrhea, nausea, exhaustion, etc. all involved with how I was feeling that entire day. All I wanted was a good meal. It didn’t seem that hard to ask. What do I get? A tiny ass plate of tapas, a 3 euro glass of water, and some paella (rice). Cute. Real cute.
Get back to the hotel and commence to lose any ounce of food that may have passed through my stomach. Skyped with Mom, which made me feel a lot better, but I can’t honestly remember the last time I was that sick. She called Dr. Weiss and found out that it was ok for me to take the Cipro and a new cream I should get for the boob rash. Remember that from weeks ago? Yeah, that’s still hanging around, too.
So, in short, the past two days were complete hell on earth. Fortunately, the only option I had to do was “keep going” like my good ol’ buddy Winston Churchill once said.
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