Luckily our hotel was right outside the train station in Barcelona (as soon as you walked out doors, there it was), because upon our arrival I was not in the mood for a long journey to go find our accommodations. In hind-sight the hotel's location was really not very good, for a subway ride was required virtually every time we ventured out.
Unfortunately my time in Barcelona was somewhat marred by the fact that I felt like trash for the entire four days we were there. But hey, when Adam is on the road, nothing is going to stop him (well, bullets probably would, yeah, bullets would do it). Luckily, and oddly, whenever I was out and about I would feel okay, the body aches weren't too serious, though I would get tired out pretty easy and didn't have any appetite. Whenever I got back to the room though, I really began to feel miserable.
I have to admit I actually did go to a museum in Barcelona, and not against my will. This museum is actually Barcelona's most visited: The museum in the Nou Camp, stadium of FC Barcelona. I mentioned in my first post I am a big football fan (Americans, don't get confused here), it is really the only sport I can watch for any length of time. Well, in Spain, football is pretty big, and FC Barcelona is no exception. It is like the second religion to the people of the city. I just had to check out its cathedral, known as the Nou Camp. It was actually really interesting, not just seeing the field and what not, but also the adjoining museum. It gave the history of the club and an exhibition of all of its trophies, but also had a really interesting exhibit on the teams efforts in third-world countries. Many teams have sponsors on their jerseys, obviously the team gets money from whatever company they allow to advertise on their shirts. Well, Barca's shirt sponsor is Unicef. Instead of getting money from Unicef (which would be kind of messed up) the team donates every month to the organization. Mas que un club (or Mes que un club in Catalan). That's "more than a club" for you English cruds. And no, I didn't make the poor girls come along with me on that venture. I spared them.
Despite my mysterious illness (my pharmacist companions changed their diagnosis on a daily basis: Just a stomach virus, maybe the flu? No, can't be that....well...maybe) I really enjoyed Barcelona. Its hard to put a finger on what is really was that made me so like the city, but Barcelona, which is huge in geographic size, feels like the place that has it all. An old town, more modern shopping areas, lively marketplaces, a waterfront, a diverse population (lots of immigrants, mainly from Latin America), really interesting architecture (your humble writer is also a big fan of architecture, and Antonin Gaudi's work was really something else. His style is really difficult to describe, its something you have to see for yourself. It is definitely unique.The guy must of done crazy drugs). The weather was also a little better, probably because of its proximity to water.
The aforementioned Messr. Gaudi provided me with a good deal of entertainment during my time in Barca. I visited Parc Guell, a public park in the north of the city that he designed. I went at dusk, and, of course, to reach to park one must walk up a serious of steep streets, which, in my condition at the time, nearly killed me. But it was worth it though. The park had some pretty nutty sculptures in it (again, Gaudi, what did you smoke?) and offered good views of the city at night. I also did something pretty cool before I left the park. There was a small outdoor football field set up right next to the park. A large group of immigrant kids (how could one tell in the fading light? They had a much darker complexion that Spaniards, and dressed totally unlike Spanish people). I had a really good time watching the kids play away, a nice insight into how youth sometimes spend their time in the city.
Leaving the Parc Guell of course wasn't so much fun. My appetite made a miraculous come back, so I spotted a small restaurant by the park that advertised a plate of spaghetti for 4.90 euros, hell, you can't even get kebab for that cheap! I went in and ordered, and I was told a drink was required. I didn't like it, but I thought to myself, okay, I'll play your game you rogue, and got a Fanta for the princely sum of 2.40 euros. Whatever, cheap spaghetti right? They also brought a basket of bread, so bonus. Well, I ate my meal and went to the counter to pay. Bill comes to over nine euros! I asked (yeah, they spoke English, my Spanish is pretty mal) in my most polite way, what the hell was going on. Well, a one euro charge for service and then an extra euro for the bread. Well, I didn't order the bread. They informed me I was out of touch with the Spanish ways. In restaurants, you always get the bread, if you don't want it, you have to refuse it. I thought to myself, this guy behind the counter is lying through his teeth. Its okay, I thought, just pay up and be done with it. Like George W. said, fool me twice, you ain't gonna fool me again. I also thought to myself, to hell with everyone in this establishment.
Okay, my last thoughts on Barca in the next post, I don't want these posts to get too long, for the readers' sake.
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