Carnivale

I arrived back in Barcelona in time to start preparing for Carnivale. Which is not as big as it is in other European cities because they have only recently been allowed to celebrate it, (that dictator was such a buzz kill.) I found the costume store, but had trouble because they really only sold the accessories, and not the full pre-packaged outfits you find in the states. And since I am traveling with only two suitcases, it's not like I could dip into my costume stash (which had been huge, I love a costume party). So I checked out the rentals. Now, those are kick butt, I want one of those! So I tried on a few dresses and finally settled on a black and white dress with huge sleeves and skirt trimmed with a huge amount of feathers. But the back was ripped. So now came the haggling. The store owner kept saying NO DISCOUNT it is Carnivale! The seamster was looking a big stressed when I told him what time I needed it at the next day. He finally took me in a corner away from the owner and offered me a $50 discount if I sewed it myself. Deal, now I just have to learn to sew. (by the way, the most beautiful man ever who really looked like the lead of any romantic movie about a woman alone in Europe was getting a prince costume, oh, I would have loved to see him in that and he helped me with a lot of the translations - sadly in all the commotion I lost him).

That night I went Marc's house to help him with the baking for the party. He was celebrating his 40th birthday and the menu included all of his favorite foods throughout his life. And one of those was chocolate chip cookies. Now this is going to sound blasphemous to some of you- they don't have chocolate chip cookie in Spain, or even chocolate chips. So we just pounded up a couple chocolate bars, used granulated brown sugar, oh and Marc has no American measuring cups, so we guessed at the amounts, then burned the first batch. They really were horrible and I am sure that no Spaniard was swung over to our American ways. Even the kids were not impressed.

So the next day I show up in this huge feathered dress. Not many costumes at the party (once again, this is Barcelona, not Venice). A few of the Brits showed up in costume, not as big as mine, but the Spanish just really had a hard time understanding this all. (You RENTED a costume?) Sigh. But the party was fun, I had the camera and cameras allow you to have really fun conversations with people who do not speak your language, and the dress was a huge conversation piece.

About 8 we went to go find the parade. Now, that was cool and lots more people in really cool costumes. They don't have people standing on the side walk watching like we do,rather everyone just jumps in the parade and starts dancing up the street till you finally hit the square and start having the party there. Then hit the bar. Those bartenders were a blast! Drunk as skunks and just determined to have a party. They finally closed the place with all of us in it. I told this 21 year kid at the bar that I liked his afro and he then followed me around the rest of the night, which was awkward.

Then we went back towards Marc's place. I was walking with Miquel (the portugese man from the other night) and Marshall (the American from an ealier post), who had been hitting on a woman all night long, grabbed us and told us that we need to stop and get another drink. So we did, and that turned into dinner (tapas). Then it was decided that we would go back to Silvaua's (the object of Marshall's desire) house in Gracia. Ok, that's cool, I just need to stop by Marc's apartment because he has my house keys. Marshall wouldn't let me, kept saying Marc was asleep by now and I couldn't disturb him. Silvaua offered to loan me clothes, so I finally agreed and we grabbed a cab.

We stayed up the rest of the night talking politics (basically me defending my country- "our founding fathers, that's such a cute phrase- but you elected Bush TWICE!) and finally fell asleep about 9am. I woke at noon and just wanted to go home. I promised Silvaua that I would bring her back her clothes that night, grabbed that huge dress with all the feathers and took a cab back to Marcs. Now while, not officially a walk of shame, it sure as hell felt like one.

I had never wanted to get to my house so badly and brush my teeth and shower (actually that's a lie - but not since my 20's). So I get to Marc's house and he's not home! So I call Silvaua and they try to reach Marc for me. They can't get a hold of him and that's when I remember him telling me that they're going to Nurias parents house for the day, and OMG, Nuria has Monday and Tuesday off. Oh, when will they be home? Wait, Nuria's cousin lives with them, he'll be home this evening. Ok, now just entertain yourself till this evening. So I wandered Barcelona with the filthiest mouth ever, no sunscreen, really ugly clothes, no phone, and the largest Carnivale dress the city had ever seen in my hands, leaving a trail of feathers the whole way. I went to the beach and had to do a huge duck as the guy that had tried to pick up on me the Saturday before at the beach rode passed me on his bike. Really? Him I run into? Why couldn't I have run into Luci, my landlord? Not surprisingly, he didn't recognize me at all, and now I must remember he's there every weekend and only go to the beach on weekdays.

About 9pm I ran into the kid with the afro, but still no Lucy. Finally about 10:30 one of Marcs neighbors lets me into his building. I had seen the light on in their apartment and knew somebody was home, just not answering the buzzer. Got to his apartment and Marc answered the door, with a THANK GOD! I thought you were dead! He'd been trying to find me all day.

Turns out they hadn't gone to see Nurias family and had been home all day. I had been ringing apartment 2,2 - not 2,1. 2,2 is empty and nobody lives there. We all had a big laugh. You know, if I had gotten into my apartment I would have just slept the day away and it was a beautiful day. I just wish I had enjoyed it with a toothbrush and sunscreen.

Valencia Part 2

The next day I walked over to the city center. Oh my, now this is what Spain is supposed to be. Windy streets, Medieval meets Gothic meets Baroque, meets Colonial etc. It was just the prettiest town center I have seen so far. (too bad the rest of the city is absolute crap). The cathedral was really cool and I spent way too much time in it. About 4 I finally sat down to get some food and a glass of wine.

Well, the cafe I chose to sit at because it was just the best place to sit with lots of sun shining down (oh, was I thankful for that beautiful sun) didn't actually serve food and I was not leaving that spot, so I just had a glass of wine.

I went inside to use the bathroom and hear a guy speaking Spanish to the bartender. But I stopped, there was something completely off about his accent, something that reminded me something I couldn't put my finger on. So I asked him where he was from. Flint Michigan, of course you're from Michigan I can spot a Michigan accent a mile away and even in Spanish. Martin my friend who had called me the day before lives just outside of Fint (we grew up together in Detroit). So I sat down and talked with my new friend Dave. He's a political professor at the University there. This was his favorite bar and I assumed that he probably ran into many American women in it. He said actually, they're either 20 or 60, never 40. Which has been my experience too (ladies, you all need to start traveling more, take a vacation). Then a Romanian joined us. Then another Romanian. By this time I was starving and Dave had to go teach a class (what a life, sit at a bar all day long then go preach your political opinions to bunch of college kids, I need that gig).

So the Romanians took me to dinner, then to a Romanian bar then to a disco. They bought all the drinks and my meal and we had a lot of fun. Not much English spoken, but enough and who needs to talk while you're dancing. I finally decided I had enough and kept refusing the shots and got in a cab. When I went to go pay the cabbie, I realized that all my money was gone, $150 euro! Those bastards didn't buy all the drinks and dinner, I DID! Oh well, I've spent more and have had less fun and thankfully the cabbie took American Express (they did leave all my ID and credit cards, thank god)

The next day I walked to the train station and bought my ticket home, but the train didn't leave until 8, so I took the metro to the beach to get some paella. Dave explained to me that the best paella was at the beach, I needed to look for a place that served a minimum of 2 persons and used the big pans, so you get all the good crispy stuff.

I finally found a place that was just like Dave had explained and sat down. But then came the trouble. I explained which paella that I wanted and that I knew it was for 2, but I'd just pack up the leftovers and take it home, or give it to a homeless person. NO! The paella is for 2 people. Yes, I understand that- I will pay for 2 people. No, it is for 2 people. Ok, look lady, I'm from America and this is probably my only time in Valencia, you all have the best paella and I'm not missing out on it just because I'm by myself. I AM eating paella.

She huffed and pointed to one and said, that one, we'll make you that one for one person. I don't want that one I want this one. That one is for 2 people, you get this one. Sigh, fine.

It was soupy and didn't have any good crispy stuff people talked about, but at least there were no tiny crabs, and the flavor was good.

By the way, the beaches in Valencia are crap too, surrounded by horrible looking project type buildings that look like they're going to fall down at any second. I couldn't wait to leave the beach area, so I hopped on the metro back (and I only got lost once on the way back, not too bad).

I found myself back in the city center and just wandered for hours. It's just amazing that this beautiful city center can be surrounded by such a horrible city, remember that in Valencia it is all about location.

Valencia

After I was settled in I realized I was starting to run out of time with my Eurail pass and should take a trip. I decided on Valencia. So I hopped on the train, and for the first time sat in first class. They were sold out of coach and first class was only $10 euro more, so I took it (I really wish my keyboard had the Euro sign).

First class is definitly the way to go. They greeted you with champange and orange juice, offer you a newspaper (which is the custom on planes here too, they come through with a rack with a large selection of papers from which to choose, unfortunately, none in English so I always have to miss this part). The seats are huge, only three to a row. They pass out hot towels before they serve you your meal with a little bottle of wine. This I could get used to.

I arrived at the train station, and if you've ever been to Valencia, they have one of the most beautiful train station and the immediate area is just to die for. Unfortunately, I was not staying in that area and hopped a cab to a really disappointing part of town. The hotel was uber modern and very nice with a large balcony, but the neighborhood was just disappointing. It took a 10 minute walk through large empty asthetically unpleasing streets to finally find a restaurant.

The explaination of the tapas took a while as there was very little English spoke there. It consisted of them pointing to the English menu then the item. They were patient and we had fun with it. When two Brits came in and I was able to then in turn explan the menu to them.

The next day was of course rainy, so I decided to head over to the City of Arts & Science, I figured I could spend the day inside the museums. Ok, the CAS is really cool. It's this huge complex of 4 buildings (one still being built) a garden walk and the largest aquarium in Spain. It is completely modern and looks like something out of Star Wars, really I felt like Obi Wan Kenobi and expected a Syth to drop from the sky at any moment.

So I did the aquarium, cool, but you know if you've been to one aquarium, you've really been to them all. The science museum, which is a little difficult in Spanish (but they did try to get as much English up as they could, so it was not all lost on me) and then the Imax movie (about a trip up the Nile, which now makes me want to go to Africa really badly)

When I left the Imax it was twilight and the deep blue behind these striking white futuristic buildings was just too beautiful to leave. So I wandered around a bit more. When I heard a funny sound. What is that? Oh, it's my cell phone, who could that be? So as I'm standing in what feels like the year 2050 and it's my best friend from childhood Martin Renel whom I hadn't spoken to in 20 years. It was so completely surreal to be talking to this voice from the past while I was standing in the future. (his wife had tracked me down on Facebook a few days before, Martin's not into typing, so I told him about Skype and threw in the cell phone, thinking he'd probably just sign up for Skype, who knew he'd actually call Spain) It was really cool.

Went to dinner later that night. I kept hearing how Valencia has the best food, but once again I had no luck. My area just not huge on cafes and bars, I finally found a really expensive sushi restaurant. I paid too much for dinner, but at least it was really good sushi.

Getting Settled In.

The next day I called Luci to tell her that I decided to stay in Barcelona and rented the apartment for two more nights. She couldn't meet me till that night and was worried "oh my, you're not just walking around Barcelona homeless are you?" Um, actually I am, but my bags are at the hotel and I tend to just wander around a lot anyway, so don't worry too much about it. I went to get a cell phone at Vodafone. "What's your address?, Um, I don't have one. "Well what hotel are you staying at?", Um, I'm not. "You don't have a home? You must come stay with me, my mother won't mind!" I assured the sweet little 22 year old that I did have my means and I would be just fine, but he was very worried.

I spent the next day trying to find somebody to talk to about renting another apartment, Luci's is nice, but I was looking for something with just a bit more amenities and wanted to make sure I was getting a good deal. I figured the best way to do this was to actually go to the offices listed. With my trusty laptop in hand I would use Google Maps, find the address and not the office. I tried 4 offices that Google had suggested and none of them have store fronts. So I gave up.

The next day I tried a different tactic and tried contacting people by e-mail and phone from the names off the internet. Had no luck there either and realized that I really liked Luci's apartment so arranged with her to stay till the end of April.

Now, I just have to stock the house. Grocery shopping, not as easy as it sounds. The supermercats aren't really all that super. They're more like really big 7/11's. To get a real selection of what you're looking for you must go to the individual markets like the butcher, the cheese shop, the produce market and even (and this surprised me), the frozen market. Seriously, there are little stores devoted to selling nothing but frozen food, they're kind of cool.

Then the other issue you have is transportation. You can only buy at one time what you can carry four blocks and up four flights of stairs. So you go home as soon as the weight limit has been met, drop it off and go back out. Which on a daily basis is not a big deal, people go grocery shopping every day (which I did in the states too, because I never knew what I was going to want to eat that night), but stocking up on basics took an entire day.

And of course, there's still the language problem to contend with. And that gets really interesting when you go to prepare a prepackaged meal (and yes, on occassion life is just easier to eat prepackaged food even when you're in Europe, do not judge me - I'm here a year, not two weeks)

Thankfully my landlord Luci, meets me for coffee often (she's freelance) and helps explain a lot to me, as does Marc.

Oh, and want to hear a quinky dink? Luci was Marc's first landlord when he moved to Barcelona, he rented a room from her! The only two people I know in Barcelona and they know each other. It's a lot like Tucson that way.

Barcelona Part 3

So turns out in Spain, being locked in a mausoleum is not cause for concern. If anything, is just a really lucky thing, because then you'll have a great story! I'm not sure I like this attitude. Just one ounce of sympathy would have done my heart good.

But I decided to extend my stay even longer, as I finally have people who will speak to me here. The hotel I was staying at had a great rate, during the week, but it was astronimical on the weekends. That's where my new friend Hamid stepped in. He was one of the front desk agents when I checked in with the flu, who told me to take a cold shower and put cold rags on my head and tried to find a farmacia for me. Hamid is Algerian with an English girlfriend Luci. Luci has an apartment in Barclona that she rents out to her friends and would be much cheaper than staying at the hotel. So I decided to go for it. It was one of the stops I made between finding my way to safety and the Dutchmen. I rented her flat for two nights the day after my mausoleum trip, but needed to meet with her that night for her to give me the keys. Hamid put me in a cab to meet her. I suggested I buy her a drink and she took me to a bar, I have yet to find again. We saw the apartment and it was perfectly acceptable, so I took it. Luci, a 40 year old casting director (whom I think I can be friends with) said, if you pay me now I'll buy you a drink so I took her up on it before I went back to my hotel for the night and found the Dutchmen.

Her place was a little small but more than acceptable for Friday and Saturday night, my last days in Barcelona. Friday night I cooked for myself for the first time in a month and really enjoyed it, and stayed in to talk to my friends on the internet.

Saturday I walked a four miles to the Familia Sograda. So worth it. It's one of the last large "temples" that's being built. It's massive, with attention paid to every detail. It's a "naturalist" church, designed by Guadi, who is one of my favorites. It's been under construction since the 1880's and has about 40 more years of construction left. The idea that something this beautiful and this massive is still being built today brought tears to my eyes. The thought that there are still people who care about building a monument to life's spirit and will spend lifetimes doing so is so overwhelming that words can not start to explain. And as this thought was in my head, and my heart was pounding, a stupid British twit started to have a freakout. "She said it was beautiful, with tons of candles and light and things. But it's all underconstruction, it's just shit really". Ok, be patient, maybe she doesn't understand that this is the last great church ever built and the fact that we can be there during it's construction and in a 1,000 years it will still be here with people walking around in awe, hasn't hit her yet. So I gently said, you realize they're not finished yet? To which she looked at me in horror and stormed out. Her boyfriend gave me an "I'm sorry" look and ran after her. Oh, the Brits.

That night Marc introduced me to his Spanish fiancee Nuria. Supposedly she doesn't speak much English, but we had great conversations and I really liked her. We then met up with the "Expat" group. Only one of which was American, which was surprising. The Bolivian, you would have sworn grew up in New York and the Austrian should have been in LA shooting movies. There was also a Portugese fellow that was new to the group and Flo, an amazingly beautiful young man that had bartenders buying us rounds at every bar we went. The other American was Marshall, he reminded me much of Anthony Taye, a friend of mine from High School. He had been in publishing, but the industry went to shit, so now he's here teaching English. We went to several bars and clubs and had a really good time. It was about 4am when I finally arrived home.

The next day I met Marc at his apartment. Nuria had left to go visit her family in a small town near Barcelona, which is her custom on Sundays. Marc usually goes with her, but since his Cattylon is near inexistent, he chooses to stay home some Sundays.

Marc had already become a friend, but this Sunday he became a hero. He taught me how to download my pictures (yeah, I know, it just takes a long time), taught me about Skype, so I could call my family and taught me how to download Lost and every other program I could possibly ever want to see. Yay Marc, I no longer just have to watch Brittish CNN. (US channels do no allow their internet downloads to be broadcast outside the US so you have to do some tricky things that is comprised of thousands of abroad internet geeks to get the job done).

Then he took me to the most fabulous Spanish Tapas bar ever! It was a dive, but the bartender and owner made my heart rejoice. The bartender refused to serve three men who walked in because they didn't have smiles. "When you come back with a better attitude, then you can have some beer". Kept saying he was in love and when asked with whom, "Life, aren't you in love with life? Good friends, Wonderful Family what more could I ask for?" The owner told me I should open his bar in he US. I asked if he would give me the recipes so I could. He responded that I didn't need the recipes, it was all about the heart. Of course Marc was translating this all for me or I never would have had such a wonderful time. Then it was time to close. So we paid our bill ($30 euro for lunch and homemade vermouth, well worth it), but we couldnt' leave. Don't you know when they close it just means the bartender is ready for drinks and if the door is closed can't accept cash, but can keep pouring. So a few more drinks ( I thankfully changed from vermouth to beer) and we headed back to Marcs place to pick up my computer and my new download of Lost.

I went back to my street and sat in cafe next door to the apartment owned by Domicans to wait till my train to Malaga was ready to leave.

Oh, did I mention? When I arrived in Barcelona I decided I would settle in Malaga. The air was warm and the flowers blooming, and it was cheap and pretty. I though of course fell in love with Barcelona and had a decision to make. So I flipped a coin. It was Barcelona. I ignored it because it was easier to travel than to set up shop.

So I got to the train station and realized as soon as I walked in with all of my bags. That 21:45, does not mean 11:45, but rather 9:45pm. So I had missed my train by 2 hours. A great wall of relief fell over me. I had never been so excited to miss anything in my life!

But it was almost midnight and I had given up the keys to the apartment. Now what to do? Well, I didn't actually lock the apartment as the keys were in it, so maybe I can buzz somebody to let me in and got a cab to drive me back. I got the one apartment I had met to buzz me in (hola, me La Americana), but the door, I now know, locks automatically. So I walked to the closest hotel and got a room.

As soon as I was at the train station I knew, that this was my new home for a while. There's so much to explore and see and do that I can't even wait to get started, but maybe I need a day of downtime too. And I'm ready to start cooking.

Barcelona Part 2

So even when I slept all day in Barcelona from the flu, I still had enough energy to get up and go meet a friend Tom Zoellner told me to look up, Marc Herman. Marc picked me up at my hotel and took me on a tour of the city knowing all sorts of interesting facts that normal tour guides don't even discuss and took me to a great bar in his neighborhood for tapas. Oh, was I ever glad. He finally explained to me what all this food was and it was really good. He also explained to me that most bacon was, in fact, cooked and I just got screwed over in Seville (I knew that wasn't right). The next night my friend Eduardo (APK from Madrid) was in town for business so he took me to this incredible restaurant, Tusset, in the heart of the financial district. The filet with foie gras almost made my eyes water it was so good, but there were no people there. Seriously, we were the only ones in the restaurant. Then we walked around the Ramblas looking for people. It really seems as though the economy has taken a huge dive here and it shows in the restaurants and bars. It's kind of sad. The next night Eduardo and I went out for tapas and I learned even more about the really good local food here.

I then realized I was running out of time in Barcelona and had not even begun to see the city, so I extended my stay for another night and the next day met Marc to walk his dog. He took me up Montjuic (Jew Hill), the site of the Olympics and around the King of Aaragon's Palace and showed me where the Joan Miro museum was so I could go back (I had mentioned, he was one of my all time favorites). We had a cup of coffee in a little shop with a huge patio over looking the city and it really couldn't have been nicer. Then he left me to my own devices so he could go work (Marc is a freelance reporter) and I hit the museum. When I left it was once again raining, but I decided to make the trek up a huge hill to see the castle.

I can officially say I'm over castles. It was my fourth, they're all on huge hills and they're really just armories. Give me a Palace any day.

So then through the rain I trekked over to the cemetary, that I had seen in the distance and Marc explained it dated back to the 11th century or something. It was really like a big outdoor mausoleum, with buildings and roads. I really was curious.

It was probably about 2 miles from the castle, but I thought worth it. I got there and the only entrance is this really big modern gate. It was 5:10 and the hours said it closed a 5:30. I thought I had enough time to take a quick peek. I kept going in further and further looking for the really old tombs that Marc had assured me were there. I thought, maybe if I go down this road and look high the old ones will be there. But no. Couldn't find anything older than 1958. But I think I did find the worlds largest collection of miniture crucifiction statues. But at least the rain had finally stopped and there was actually sun peaking through the clouds.

The cemetary is on a hill over looking the ocean, at one point at top I thought this would be the most fabulous place in the world to view a sunset. But then thought better of that because well, then the sun would be down and you'd still be in this creepy place with towering walls and streets that went nowhere. So I headed for the gate.

On my way I passed a groundskeeper who as heading up from the gate, he waved to me and I thought, good he's not mad that I'm a little late. My feet were killing me, I was hungry and needed a glass of wine when I arrived at the gate.

Well the gate was locked and 10 feet tall solid metal. Okay, don't panic, the groundskeeper saw you, he knows your in here, he'll be back. So I waited patiently. Turns out the groundskeeper is a dick. I'm sure he was at a cafe at that point laughing about the American he locked in the mausoleum.

Ok, don't panic, assume he's not coming back- what do you do? There was a low wall on the one end I noticed when walking around the outside, go check it out. So I tredged back up three flights of stairs and the wall wasn't as low as I had thought. But there was a tree against the wall. That's an option, but maybe I should look for a better one, and headed back towards the gate. There was construction work going on, maybe I should head towards that. Oh, that's a cliff, maybe not. I finally found the service entrance. An 8 foot high metal door (which by the way, was locked from the inside- so somebody was there, just ignoring me) but there was a ledge half way up. That I could climb, but what happens if the ledge isn't on the otherside? Better keep moving. Then I found it! A perfectly climbable wire fence with large square holes that was tops 7 feet. Oh, my heart rejoiced as I quickly threw my purse over it. By this time the sun was almost set and I had to navigate my way down a hill with no path, but seemed a minor inconvenience to spending the night in a cemetary/mausoleum.

Now, I only had another 2 mile walk back though the hill to get where Marc told me I should leave the hill. It was night by now, but the hill was teaming with athletic types all in water wicking fabric and running shoes so I didn't feel too unsafe. I found the cafe Marc had taken to me and stopped for a well deserved glass of wine over looking the city at night. I then found the stairs Marc had told me about. Now, during the day, when Marc thought I'd be descending them, I'm sure they are not at all scary. But at night with a half moon and no lights at all, they are a bit terrifying. I kept my gaurd up and was somewhat pacified by the athletic types that would occasionally run up them.

I got about half way down, the view of the city was amazing by the way, and saw a man just standing on the steps. Shit, are you kidding me? What's up with this? He spoke to me in Spanish, I quickly assured him I did not speak Spanish, as I was trying to pass him with a wide berth. He changed to French, I shook my head and he then started speaking English. He asked what I was doing on the stairs alone and that a woman by herself shouldn't be walking down such a dark passage. Um, thanks professor. He then started talking to me about poor people. ???? Turns out he is of Indian descent (I actually got that from his English) but is a correspondent in France for a Mumbai newspaper and was in Barcelona for his cousins wedding. He is also writing a book on the differences and similarities between the poor and the rich and wanted to know my opinions on why the poor were poor, and the rich were rich.

Dude, I've been walking for 8 hours in the rain, up and down hills, am on a really scary stairway with no one around and I was just LOCKED IN A MAUSOLEUM! I have no thoughts on the subject at this particular moment. He then invited me to dinner which I really just had to decline.

It took me another two hours to get to my hotel with a few stops and I quickly sat myself at the bar next door with two Dutch men and proceeded to drink. Not as much as the Dutchmen, but darn close.

picture test, Marc rocks

The Rain in Spain

Does not, in fact, fall mostly on the plains. It falls everywhere and it just doesn't stop. I was in three different cities yesterday, and the rain was continuous in each. In fact, since I'm not really on an itinerary, I will check the weather reports of where I'm going, if it looks bad, I check the other cities, so maybe I can go some place warmer. But if one has rain, they all have rain.

Now, nothing annoys me more than when people say if you stand out in the rain you'll get sick, you get sick from viruses. But I suppose if you've stood out in the rain for 18 days, not eaten well, drank more and been on crowded buses and trains with people carrying a virus, you are sooner or later going to get one yourself.

My throat started hurting late on Saturday night, I tried walking around Granada on Sunday, but the stores were all closed and the wind was freezing. I finally gave up and found a cafe. I was slightly annoyed with my resolve, but I just didn't feel well enough to give a shit. In fact I was starting to get nasty about it. "It's all old, everything's old, but is anything fucking warm?"

I think my fever may have broke as I landed in Barcelona, I was sweaty achy and my nose was starting to run non-stop. I found the gift shop and tried to explain Aspirin or Tyelonal to her. Come on - those are universal words, aren't they? I think she was just being difficult. I finally broke down crying and fled the store to cry by myself in the bathroom. I actually felt well enough after the really embarrassing breakdown to get a cab to the hotel. Where once again I stood trying not to cry as tears ran down my face because they had no aspirin or cold medication and all the farmacia's were closed. I could tell they were normally snobby front desk clerks, but even they took pity on me as I was shaking and sweating in front of them and told me to take a cold shower.

Getting to my hotel room had never felt so good in my entire life. And after I dumped out my entire purse I found a just barely expired packet of Dayquil I then remembered dropping in there "just in case". Oh, was I ever proud of myself for thinking that far ahead.

I was able to get a little bit of sleep last night, but more this morning. I'm on my way to the farmacia to get some more medication, and some food (I hope they have chicken noodle some place near here), then back to my hotel room to rest before I go to dinner tonight. Barcelona can wait another day for me to explore it.

Oh, and yes the Superbowl is absolutely ignored here. Didn't even think about it till I finally got CNN at this hotel. The Cardinals still rule, I'm proud of them. Hope you all had a great time with it!