For Immediate Release

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See the many differing towers of the Barcelona Harbor area.

I say I went to Spain, but I really only saw Barcelona. On the trainride through Northeastern Spain, Chidsey and I made the acquaintence of a girl named Kelly from somewhere in Wales. The central virtue in her life was hedonism. She was very concerned with arriving in Barcelona punctually so she could begin her binge drinking at a reasonable hour. Redeemingly, she new of a nice hostel on the beach, so we decided to tag along. We arrived in Barcelona at about 11 p.m. and it started raining.

Fortunately, we had an inside tip on a great place to stay. Kelly pulled out her cell phone and text messaged her friend who knew the location of the hostel.

Oi!

The friend was already smashed, as was evidenced by the slurred text messages and vague directions.

So neither I, Chidsey nor Kelly had any idea where the hostel was. I doubt Kelly knew what direction was up. But she had caught the scent of cheap, Spanish booze and led us in a maddening trail through the city.

So we walked around in the rain for a while. I was once told by a wise man that I should never underestimate the power of alchohol. In this case, the craving for alchohol solidified Kelly's determination and eventually, she led us to the hostel.

Chidsey and I prudently decided to get some food, but bod had bad experiences with tentacle fish and blood sausage.

While I was sleeping in my hostel bunk that night, I kicked the metal ladder to the top bunk. Although I did not wake up, I remember extreme pain and screaming, possibly cursing. My foot hurt for the next few days.

In the morning, I hobbled around Barcelona seeing the sights. We started at the Sagrada Familia.

We walked around visiting several other Gaudi-designed parks and buildings like this one:

We walked around the harbor and marina, the strolled along the Barceloneta beach. Many of the things I saw there I should not have seen, so there are no pictures.

We took a night train out of Barcelona that night. Night trains are a great way to get around if you are short on time and don't require sleep. On this particular night train, we enjoyed the company of the world's stinkiest man and Mr. Cell Phone.

Bottom line: Barcelona was great, night train was bad.

Please choose another country

Germany

France

Italy

Austria

Switzerland

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