Barcelona: Gotta Strut Like You Mean It

We all know those people who go on some exotic excursion to, like, Texas or something and return as though every other experience of their lives (and your lives) should kowtow to this divine trip.

We all hate those people.

Over the past few weeks, it has taken a lot of self control for me not be one of those people.

We had our one week break recently, in which a group of us flew to Barcelona, and then Julia and I went up to Paris while the rest went to Madrid. Now, I didn’t pray with an ancient Guru or find my true love or really do anything too jaw dropping (or anything out of Eat, Pray, Love). But for the first time, I traveled to and navigated around a foreign country without adult supervision. I had to take on the responsibility of booking flights, reserving bus seats, planning an itinerary, researching hostels, etc. I had the freedom to choose what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Which turned out to be a blessing and a curse, since my characteristic laziness kept surfacing. But in the end, I grew up a bit and learned a lot about independence (and overspending on hot chocolate and churros).

Our flight to Barcelona left on a Friday evening, and the ten of us had gotten through check-in and security with a lot of time to spare. It was only a 2 hour flight to Barcelona, and the blindingly yellow interior of the plane kept me conscious until we landed late that night. In broken Spanish, I asked for directions to our hostel, and we found it tucked in a quiet street. It was a nice, relaxing evening, except for the 13 year olds partying and making out in the lobby. That was admittedly very uncomfortable.

The next morning, I experienced a combination of things that are rarely found in England during the winter:

sun, warmth, and no wind. It was only February, and I didn’t need anything more than a light jacket, if that. I got a tan, guys. Kind of a big deal for my rapidly paling skin. So, that day we took a bike tour, which turned out to be a fantastic idea. Our tour guide, Paula, was hilarious and laid back, and she took us to the big and

beautiful staples of Barcelona, like the eccentric cathedral Sagrada Familia, the red Arc de Triomf, and the grassy park outside the city zoo. We wound up eating lunch at the beach, and it amazed me that two hours away from London via plane there was such a balmy paradise.

After the tour, we wandered around the city for awhile before heading back to the hostel to get ready for the Magic Fountain show that night. Unfortunately, I was pretty dehydrated, so I chugged a ton of water and subsequently became too nauseous to go see the amazing

light and water show. Good decision making is not my forte, apparently. Thankfully, some of them came back after the show, and we all went out to an authentic Spanish dinner, where I insisted to the waiter that we order in Spanish. At first the waiter was less than excited by this, but when Julia attempted to order in English, our waiter was like, “Nonono, I do not speak English. I only hear the Spanish names of food.” To be fair, all Julia had to say was hamburguesa con queso. Like I said, authentic Spanish dinner.

Sunday and Monday, Julia and I embraced a Barcelona mentality called Mañana. Our bike tour guide described this as accepting that you don’t need to run around like a sweaty blur in order to accomplish everything quickly. You should move slowly and not care if you’re not busy every second of the day. Romanticized laziness, basically. So Paradise for me. While the rest of our group sped around finding breathtaking sights, Julia and I spent most of our Sunday lying down in the gorgeous park outside of the zoo, talking and watching

Spanish families enjoy their weekend. When I was Skyping my dad the next week and telling him about my trip, he marveled at the fact Julia and I had over three hours of things left to talk about after being roommates for a year and friends for almost tw0. In reality, most of our time in that park was spent laughing uncontrollably and garbling through bad jokes between fits of giggles.

The entirety of Monday was spent at the beach. God must have given the sky a good scrubbing that day

because it was spotless. I had a kilo of strawberries and bare feet, and it was sensational. The only flaw in our day was this guy who gave us pieces of coconut and told us to eat them, then asked us to pay four euro for each for them. In confusion Hannah and Kelly each gave him the full four euro, while Julia and I weren’t having it and gave him some change. This marked the beginning of my enthusiastic vendetta against coconut.

On Tuesday, everyone left for Madrid, leaving Julia and I to explore Barcelona on our own for an extra day. We went up to Park Güell, designed by the famous architect Antoni Gaudí. Since we were too cheap to pay to

get inside, we roamed the free outer half of the park. Eventually we climbed to one of the higher parts (the park is set on an incline), and I saw a hill and thought, “We can definitely climb that.” I sort of forgot that I was wearing ballet flats and Julia was wearing sandals, not to mention that the path was unpaved and rocky. After about 10 minutes, she and I finally reached the top, and the view was breathtaking. We got a 360 view of Barcelona, from foothills to skyscrapers to the Mediterranean Sea. We stayed up there a long time, since no one else was around, and just took in Barcelona (as well as took embarrassing pictures). Barcelona, where no one ever seemed to be working yet everything was always open, a place that slowed my walk and lightened my heart. I was reluctant to go. But I remembered after dinner and gelato that night (we did not choose the coconut flavor) that we were headed to a city equally as beautiful the next day: Paris!

 

Danielle

PS: Yes, the title of this post is a reference to Cheetah Girls 2.