Yo recuerdo mi español!...kinda

Thanks to the FU-BEST Farwell party and 2 hours of sleep, I wake up late and rush to the airport (still slightly drunk) to catch our first flight. Destination: Barcelona, Spain. Temperature: 75. Of course Paz and I were dressed in our warmest winter gear that would not fit into our carry-on suitcases (what we lived out of for the next 3 weeks). We check into our hostel which was incredibly nice. Paz and I enjoyed a  6-bed dorm room to ourselves (ya for traveling in the off-season) and the staff was incredibly helpful and friendly. For any prospective travelers: http://www.equity-point.com/en/hostels-barcelona/centricpoint/general-information.html

After checking in, we explore the neighboring alleys and stop for some amazing Tapas. The small streets of Barcelona (and later to be explained in all of Spain) were adorable.

As for my Spanish skills, it's been almost 4 years since I have spoken a word. I was more than rusty and all of my Spanish has been pushed aside to learn German. Luckily, Paz speaks Spanish relatively well so we were able to get around. (Although she also struggled speaking at first. We had a few instances of German-Spanish mix.)  After digging in my memory banks, I was able to read and understand more, however trying to speak was still impossible for me as I remembered neither grammar nor sentence structure. Barcelona was also not the best place to try to remember Spanish since Catalan is the official language.

After lunch we went to the number one pickpocketing spot in Europe, La Ramba, Barcelona's huge outdoor market. One can find anything their heart desires: from purses and clothes to produce, stacks of meat, and sweets such as...no joke...worm-filled lollipops. We wandered down to the beach with a "pier-like" bridge and watched the sun set among the city center.

sunset on the Barcelona harbor 

 Our hostel told us of a fountain show (Font Montjuïc) happening that evening. We attend and are in awe of the many majestic fountains changing colors and "dancing" to the Spanish music.
  It was a Saturday night in Barcelona, I was determined to explore the crazy night life I had heard of. Clubbing typically does not get started until 1am in Europe, so we napped before hand. We leave our hostel around 1 and the metro was crowded...good sign. A friendly group greets us on the platform and we begin talking. It was a diverse mixture, 2 Germans, an Italian, Brazilian, and 1 Spaniard. None of them spoke English well so I was forced to practice my German and Spanish.

After some time chatting, Paz and I were yantzy to hit the clubs, so we ditch our new "friends" and go to Schoko, one of the well-known clubs on the beach. We arrived (finally) around 2:30 am. There was no coverage charge but we ordered a Beck's beer for 7 Euros! ($9.10) The club was not nearly as lively as I expected. Now, I always heard that being a blonde American traveler, that I need to be really careful with Spainards and Italiens.  There were not many people dancing in the club, more just standing around. Paz and I said F#@% that and decided to break out our super groovy American dance skills. Then I noticed more Spainards approaching us, but I could easily ignore them since I didn't understand what they were saying anyways. At 3am, all the lights come on, a signal for people to start leaving. I was flabbergasted. Barcelona...closing a club at 3am!!?? There are clubs that are open 24 hours in Berlin!
    Right when we were about to leave some Dutch guys hear us speaking English and invite us to the V.I.P. room, which wasn't that exciting. They invite us to the "after party" to their hotel. They bragged about their hotel room; they were staying in the most expensive hotel in Barcelona, 500 Euro/night. They explained that they won a plane ticket to Barcelona so they decided to go all out and get the expensive hotel.  We go and have a few drinks.  They were from Amsterdam and were upset that we did not plan it into our Eurotrip. Amsterdam was not a priority for us, since it was expensive and not as historically significant than other European cities. Also, living in California, the "cafes" (smoke shops) in Amsterdam that everyone talked about did not seem that exciting. After making fun of Amsterdam, one guy threw a pillow at me...and a huge pillow fight began. That's right..a pillow fight in the most expensive hotel in Barcelona! When we left the hotel there were apples used a decorations in the hall and I was hungry so I stole a bunch :) We finally get back to our hostel at 6 am.




The next day (or should I say 3 hours later) we saw the major touristic sights of Barcelona. Antoni Gaudí was a Spanish Catalan architect and figurehead of Catalan Modernism. Gaudí's works reflect his highly individual and distinctive style. We saw several of his works throughout the city. 

Casa Batllo, a house built for a middle class family 

Park Guell, garden complex with architectural elements such as gingerbread houses and long benches 

Sagrada Familia the Roman Catholic church. 

 Gaudí started his work on Sagrada Familia in 1883 until his death in 1926, when less than a quarter of the project was complete. Sagrada Família's construction progressed slowly as it relied on private donations and was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War—only to resume intermittent progress in the 1950s. Construction passed the mid-point in 2010 with some of the project's greatest challenges remaining and an anticipated completion date of 2026—the centennial of Gaudí's death. 

Being very sleep deprived, we decide to lounge at the beach. It reminded me of southern California, except without the pollution.  There is where we had our first and only scam experience. Some guy with a bucket of coconuts asked if we wanted our pictures taken. After several times of saying no he awkwardly stood next to us. Paz and I pretended he was not there but then suddenly he shoved the coconut slices in our face. Just wanting him to go away, we took a piece to humor him. Then he demanded 2 Euros from each of us for the coconut slices. Fucking asshole. 

After a lazy night the next morning we walked around the smaller neighborhoods of Barcelona. One in particular, the Gothic court, was not the safest place to wander into. The streets were narrower and poorly maintained. Here, Paz and I actually spoke German amongst ourselves. When speaking English people were interested and stared. However the reactions were different and people did not bother us when we spoke German. Little did we know that knowing German would actually become a helpful tool in Madrid.