it's a Gaudi world

barcelona 3

considering the temperature it was outside, our hostel room was burning that night. i cracked the bedroom door to try to get some air flow going, only to close it again because apparently there was some sort of party going on in the living room/common area - and those kids were being obnoxiously loud. diana and i had planned to go out that night, but when we got back to the hostel we had no desire to re-enter the cold. there was also a sign on the hostel wall that had diana and i pretty nervous. it stated that if we came back after the clock struck midnight being anything but completely silent, the owner would call the cops and we would be arrested without any questions asked. the poster also listed names and email addresses of people who had learned this the hard way. ...is that legal? to give names and emails out? i consider emailing them just to see if it's true. but after the amount of noise coming from the hostel living room that night, i figure this is just a scare tactic.

on the up side, the beds are 50% more comfortable than cruella's. meaning my pillow is not a thin slice of packaging bubble wrap.

the next morning we are anticipating our "all you can eat pancake breakfast" as advertised on hostelworld.com [basically the reason we picked this hostel]. we learn that our "all you can eat pancake breakfast" is not only self-serve, it's self-make. and that it is, in fact, not pancakes, but crepes. oh, and don't forget to wash the dishes when you finish.

there is a girl in the room connected to ours named amy. she is asian, from england (a rare find - reminding me of my english, asain friend from slu. nothing more ironic than an asian with a british accent. ...is that prejudice?), spending a semester studying at the univeristy in barcelona. which, the semester has not started yet. she has been at the hostel for a week, looking for housing. apparently, the university was supposed to provide her with housing but screwed her over and now she is looking for, quote, "accommodation." she opts to join us for a little while as we journey through barcelona until she meets up with a friend (or rather, the one and only person she knows in barcelona- who is from her home university) to discuss finding an apartment together. we learn, or rather assume, that for the week she has been here, she must not have ventured too far from the hostel, because she is pretty clueless about the city.

we come upon Gaudi's Casa Batlló, built in 1877 and originally designed for a middle class family. Antonio Gaudi was a catalan architect, belonging to the modernist style movement. basically, Gaudi owns barcelona. there are 9 buildings and 2 other projects (parks) designed by him that reside in barcelona (only 3 buildings are in other cities). this means every other corner is a building designed by Gaudi. and you know when you see it. His style is so modern and abstract, the building practically jumps out at you. it's something you would see in a dream. or maybe if you were on acid.

[i failed to find any information on whether or not Gaudi used or abused drugs - but i found it interesting that he died when he was 72, 3 days after being run over by a tram. apparently after the accident cab drivers refused to pick him up, and when one finally did they took him to a paupers' hospital where he remained unrecognized until his friends found him the next day. when trying to move him to a better facility, he refused saying he belonged with the poor. ...weird dude.]

after Casa Batlló and coffee, amy leaves us to find her friend and diana and i head towards .sagrada familia. we stumble upon Gaudi's Casa Milà, built in 1912 for married couple, Rosario Segimon and Pere Milà (some rich, famous people). it's still cold. and rainy. and i did not bring my gloves. we go in a chinos and search for some cheap ones or something that will suffice. i settle on cotton ones that are 2 euro... with stylish brown fur balls glued to the dorsal side of each hand. very fashionable. apply water and it's basically the same hairball my cat will hawk up and leave in the middle of the living room-- and receives the same reaction, proven by renata one day in the library after a walk to school in the rain ("what is THAT?!?!??!?!" ...oh, don't worry, they came with that.).
we reach the sagrada familia and stand in line to get in. it's huge. and it's no where near finished. the detail on this thing is insane. i remember before coming to spain, sam telling me about it and how jealous she was that i would get to see it in person. i thought "it's just some cool church, right?" this is not just some cool church. it's a masterpiece.

history-- started constructing: 1882; expected completion date: 2026 (at least); considered Gaudi's master-work, who intended the church to be the "last great sanctuary of christendom." A total of eighteen tall towers are called for, representing in ascending order of height the 12 apostles, the 4 evangelists, the virgin mary and, tallest of all (obviously), Jesus Christ. there is a lot of symbolism and geometric detail... since i don't really consider one more important than the others, i'll skip those details (to be fair). Gaudi is buried here. the inside is completely unfinished. i'm not sure if it was smart to wait in line to walk through a construction zone. but i did get to go into the gift shop inside... the had some cool stuff there....

after sagrada, diana and i got lunch in this little hole-in-the-wall bar. i look at the menu and spot something unexpected. "bikini." and next to it a picture of what looks like a grilled ham and cheese. since it is only 2 euro i decide to get it. and find that it is exactly what i thought - a grilled ham and cheese. well... first time i've seen bikini on a menu. first time i ever ordered a bikini at a restaurant. first time i ever ate a bikini. i could go on and on.

next we venture to Park Güell, a project by- you guessed it- Antonio Gaudi. while walking around the park, the sun comes out. and it's beautiful. this park was one of my favorite parts of barcelona.


we make our way to Montjuïc Hill, getting there about ten minutes before 7pm. we wait until it's dark because i want to see the Font Màgica, the fountain in front of the Palau Nacional, at night. there are setting up for carnaval so the main strip is blocked off, filling up with tents. we see people - mostly kids - in costumes, dressed for the event [the parade isn't until tomorrow, though]. when we get there the fountain isn't on, but there are people waiting around. we decide to wait, too, not really sure what is going on. at 7, the fountain and lights turns on. but it doesn't just turn on. music starts playing and 15 minute light show begins. it was incredible. "i feel like i'm a disney land," i tell diana.

we get dinner and walk home. there is another person in our room tonight - a smiley girl from france who doesn't speak english. we try to communicate but it's not happening [in the morning, she will come in the room to say goodbye and exclaim "good morning! good morning!" i will, confusedly in return, also reply "good morning"]. we try to watch a movie, but there's no sound on the computer and the tv is stuffed in a wardrobe, unable to be plugged in. while searching through the movie options, i see Braveheart, my dad's ultimate favorite movie (well... could be tied with The Replacements or either of the Home Alone's....). i can't even find this movie at movie gallery, and yet it's here in barcelona in some random hostel....maybe i should take it... instead i snap a picture for evidence.

the next morning we go to mass at the Cathedral of Santa Eulalia, the seat of the archbishop of barcelona. right after mass, my camera died.





















we step outside after mass, and the carnaval parade is passing by. perfect timing. we walk over and watch. there are huge puppets people are carrying on their shoulders, hidden by the skirts. confetti is being thrown everywere, there is a band in towards the end. once and a while they'll stop and dance in the street. [for those that don't know, carnaval is basically the european mardi gras - a festival preparing for the lent season. barcelona's carnaval is pretty... sub-par compared to other cities europe.]

after the parade, diana and i walk around La Rambla until it's time to get to the bus station. not only is it carnaval, it's also valentines day. La Rambla is full of people in costumes, along with red, pink, and white flowers everywhere. valentines day is not that big in spain. besides the flowers, i wouldn't have noticed. no cards, no decorations, no heart shaped candy. i didn't mind.

we board our bus. no smelly around us. relief. back to madrid.

nothing australian about this place

barcelona 2

diana and i eat at a cafe and then go back to the hostel to nap. at the cafe, while using our poor spanish to try to communicate our order to the waitress, we realize: they don't speak spanish here. they speak catalan - sort of a mix of spanish and french. meaning anything and everything we know about how to communicate with these people is probably completely wrong. .....this will be difficult.....

when we wake up we walk back along the beach strip until we hit La Rambla, barcelona's central street. at the south end of the street sits the Monument a Colom, or the Christopher Columbus Monument. we snap some photos and turn onto La Rambla.

it's cold. we decide to find food for the sole purpose of getting inside out of the wind. "Diana," i say, "I'm going to need a drink to keep walking around in this. i suggest you join me." i look up at the bar spot something familiar: tequila sunrise (my mommy's drink). i order it. not sure if the motivation was due to missing her or it just being the only thing i could read on the drink menu. then i think of just exactly how she orders it - with only just a splash of grenadine (and then how it was always a pain in the ass ordering it for her because i could never remember "grenadine") - and wonder if i should order it the same way. the place is kind of empty, so we finish our drinks and tapas and keep moving.

we continue walking up La Ramba searching for potential english-speaking, 20 (+/- 4 or so) year-olds that we could actually have a conversation with. i spot north face jackets, jeans, and tennis shoes. "Americans," i say and i lead diana over to a bar called Hogans, an australian bar with two bartenders that are 100% not australian. There are no seats close to the american boys we see so we sit at the bar, order the cheapest drink they have, and look around. cowboy hats and a boar's head decorate the walls, while a shania twain's "man, i feel like a woman" music video plays on the screen above the bar. ...this is australian? i think i'm in tennessee...

one bartender is a buff girl with tattoos and blonde hair shorter than my little brothers, who is from finland; the other is a tall brunette slovakian guy. both speak perfect english, so in the end we succeeded in the purpose of coming into this bar in the first place - conversation (which the american boys left after 10 minutes anyway, probably because a bottle of heineken was 7 euro). i ask if either of them had been to australia. no. the girl explains when she came here, she was only supposed to stay for 5 months. it's now been 2 years. slovakia's situation was similar. i start to think about my time in madrid. i'm only supposed to stay for 4 months... but the more i think about it, i know i couldn't end up like these people [and not just because i could never work in a bar with shania twain music videos blaring and hairy snouts used as decor and call it my career]. everyone in europe has it ridiculously easy. you can get a flight to finland for 30 euro. you don't have to fly over 2,500 miles of ocean. skype is not the only option for calling home. i could take a bus and, within hours, be in france [america's favorite root for both humor and hatred]. or take less than a 2 hour flight and be in italy, one of the world's most romanticized countries (which i will be doing the following weekend). being international for these people is like crossing a state border for americans. plus a passport.

an unfamiliar, horrible song comes on in the bar (something american, from the 90s?) and just as i'm about to point this out to diana and then ask the bartenders to change it, diana starts singing along. "are you serious?" "you don't know this?" she asks in return. um, no, i would prefer to be deaf. she and i debate the musical quality of this song, the fact that i don't recognize it (kind of like the percolator), and whether or not the woman singing in the music video is black or not (it looks like she has a weave, to me). slovakia states that finland also can't stand the music in this bar.

since we have now somewhat befriended the bartenders over the one beer we each had, we ask them where some cheaper local bars are (because, let's face it, La Rambla is a tourist hot spot meaning everything is double in price for half the quantity). finland draws us a mental map to a place she calls plaza trippy (a plaza with cheap local bars but supposedly the crowd is a little ... trippy?). i tip them (partly for the insider info and partly for just simply being able to speak english) and we set out to find this plaza trippy. ....only we get sidetracked when we see a stand selling gelato and gaufre's (hot waffles with melted chocolate, whipped cream, ice cream, and other options). i get a gaufre with melted chocolate and whip while diana gets gelato - which she immediately regrets after seeing (and trying a taste) of my hot, chocolaty confection. "why the hell did you get ice cream when it's freezing out here??"

we get dinner after we indulge (why save the best for last?), then head back to the hostel for the night.

roses really smell like poo poo poo

monday i get kicked out of the library for having coffee. well. i guess sneaking it in was only half the battle. now for part 2: disguising it. to be continued.

thursday night, diana and i prepare to head to barcelona for the weekend. our bus leaves at 1am. we eat dinner and i start to pack. cruella comes into diana's and then my room and gives us muffins for breakfast the next day... and a piece of chocolate... at first i think, wow.. that's really nice... very un-cruella-like... wait a second. what is this - rewards for leaving? bribery to travel more? i wonder if we will get chocolate every time we travel.... or if it's poisoned...

i head to a chinos a block from our apartment to get snacks for the 7 hour bus ride. i get a pack of doughnut things, some OJ ... something else i can't remember. ...and then precede to eat all of it before we even leave for the bus station. [sister. i was skyping you the whole time. why did you not stop me?] "diana.... i don't feel good...." this is not going to be a good bus ride. the whole metro ride to the bus station, and the wait to get on the bus, i'm laughing at how miserable and stupid i am. oh.....my......God...... this sucks.

it gets worse. finally we get on the bus. i sit down, get out my ipod, and try to find some way to get comfortable enough to sleep. a man sits behind us. and he smells. absolutely. horrible. i can't even explain it. but he was definitely trying to hide it, because whatever the smell was, it was mixed with a strong cologne scent. i open my orange juice bottle (the two sips that are left) and stick my nose inside. this is NOT helping my stomach. as soon as the bus takes off, he uses the restroom, which we are conveniently seated right across from. oh no. why did he wait until now? he continues to use the restroom three more times throughout our journey. and on all of the pit stops the bus pulls over at, he rushes - at the speed of lighting... or a cheetah... - off of the bus. what is wrong with this guy? our first pit stop i get off the bus for some fresh air (since all i've been inhaling is sweat and chemicals.. among other things). it's snowing. again. .....darn it....

we get to barcelona at 9:30. we were supposed to get there at 8am. nothing like a little extra time with roses in the back seat.... as soon as the bus parks, he scurries off. i realize the girl that was sitting next to him was not with him. i am so sorry....

diana and i walk to our hostel. my first hostel experience... i'm a little anxious. within a buliding strip, we see a sign in a window: "hostel". "i bet that's it," i say to diana. we walk over and look at the buzzer options. AAE Hostel. Bingo. we buzz and the door unlocks. we walk into a main corridor with stairs. looks like the only way is up. we start to climb. we come to a door that says hostel on it. we knock. a woman answers and lets us in. she does not speak enligsh. she walks to her desk which is in what looks like a living room. is this right? she puts her glasses on and looks at diana's printed out email confirmation of our booking, says something and directs us back out in the stairwell and up the stairs. we find out later that she runs the hostels in the building.


we go up to the next floor and see a sign on the door: "AAE Hostel". oh. ok. we knock and a girl not much older than us with a dark, pixie hair lets us in. we give her our papers and she gives us a key to the building and apartment, and shows us our room. it's basically just an apartment, turned into a hostel. there is one full bath, a small kicthen, living room, and bedrooms - which are stuffed with bunk beds. she leads us into a room with 2 bunk beds and one twin. there is a guy in there, but she tells us that we are the only ones in the room that night, pointing at him and saying "he is leaving."

diana and i pick our beds - i get top bunk she takes bottom. and make small talk with the guy while he packs up. he reminds me of my physics teacher that was from check republic, but he is from germany. i assume he is in his twenties. later we find out he is 32. um..... why are you in a hostel? he is here for a marathon taking place on sunday and will be running the half marathon. ...you're not cool. before we realize how creepy he is, he asks to tag along with us as we venture to find food. he's been in barcelona a few days now, and we assume he knows where the major sites are and - in general - where he is. he leads us towards the beach, showing us the Arc de Triomf and taking us to see the parliament. ...which.. was basically the only thing he did know in barcelona. and i don't think it's even really considered a tourist sight. he didn't know where segrada familia was. or any of Gaudi's buildings. later i realize many of the things he said were complete bullshiz. i also realize, even though diana and i spent a mere hour and a half with him, that i hate him.

next he takes us to the beach. it's sunny. but it's windy. and cold. i stare out at the water and think of ways to ditch the dude. i see a boardwalk. "diana, you want to walk out there?" i point. "uh... sure?" she says reluctantly. well, i don't want to either. it's freezing. "hey, we are going to walk out there..." i think he gets it, because he says goodbye and we wish him good luck on the run. then we walk towards the boardwalk until he is out of sight, then turn around and head back into town to find food.