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.