Barcelona: Part 1

I was going to wait until I had various Spanish pictures *coughjaffacakequeencough* to punctuate my ramblings about the Ramblas, but I'll start my multi-post now.

Unfortunately, the illness would not leave me alone, even for Spain. Hence, Penny and I were standing in Liverpool airport and the voices of the screaming children around us were muffled to me, thank God.

Check-in was delayed blah blah wine and catch-up blah blah gossip blah blah got on the aeroplane.

Now, England has been covered in near-permanent cloud since, like, June, so I wasn't hopeful of seeing much even at the window seat. All of the North was covered in thick cloud below, but it began to clear as we moved South.

At one point, I gazed out of the window to a massive, sprawling city of light beneath. Not Paris, but London. Dude, it was so pretty from above. Pity it's the opposite on the ground.

Across the English channel and over France. We all oohed and ahhed at a frankly massive fire blazing somewhere down in the North of France. "Pen," I screeched, "What if it's Paris?"

"You're nuts." Or near equivalent.

The flight went well, except for when the pilot landed too quickly and my sinuses made me feel like I was being stabbed repeatedly in the nose. The pain was terrible, but half of the passengers seemed to suffer the same thing, so hah.

Anyway, various airport boringness. Pen's umbrella was stolen by someone either in Liverpool or Barcelona. Got to the train desk, and I stammered out "A ticket to Barcelona, please" in pathetic Spanish.

Scary train signs that I couldn't read all that well, brief wondering if we were going to end up in France or something, and then we were on the Ramblas.

The Ramblas, dude: blazing light, a throng of people, hotels, shops, tree-lined streets and general excitement. Hello, I was in love.

But there were more pressing concerns-- such as finding the bloody hotel. Lots of stammered Spanish and shrugged shoulders. Found an Irish Bar (but of course) and got directions to the Theatre Liceu, which I knew to be opposite our digs.

Muy handsome Donnie Darko-esque hotelier. Scary hotel. Cheap, gaol-like, with a shared bathroom. Bah. Penny and I looked for some comedy Spanish television, but found little. Lots of boring newscasters, so we got ready and decided to hit the Ramblas...