Dreaming in Catalan...

Travelling alone is sometimes not as pleasant as you would like it to be, but if there's one advantage about it, it must be that it helps your neurons firing more and your neo-cortex warming up from the state of lethargy that a 9-5 job can put it into. As you have to do everything yourself, you can't rely on friends saving you in situations when you wished you had an automatic pilot. Setting the context, I must tell you I had to do exactly that, as I was flying alone to Barcelona, the girls flying on friday evening. So by the time I decided to check my flight details it was almost 12:30AM.To my surprise, the flight was from Stanstead, not from Luton as I thought all along. See ... it can prove very useful to check your details beforehand. So I had to leave house in 30 mins to catch a coach to Stanstead.
The coach to Stanstead takes about 1 hour and a half and it costs 15 pounds return. A coach to Luton takes 1 hour and it costs 9 pounds return. Stanstead is bigger, more shops, more options to get there by (but not at night!). However, I would have preferred Luton. Don't ask me why, maybe because I know it better, I travelled more from Luton than Stanstead.

Anyway, the trip to Barcelona was uneventful, except for some minor turbulences which surprisingly I managed to ignore. The first good impression was at the airport where the immigration officer was very nice (even I am romanian, which always gets me the "you're a scum, aren't you" look). And that was the lasting impression about the spanish I met in Barcelona. Very very friendly and open people. Let me give you an example ... I was in a tube station looking very confused and trying to make sense of the amalgam of lines and station names that aren't self-explanatory. And this guy came to me and said in english "Help?" ... and he started to explain to me, in English, what should I do, how it works (it's no brain surgery I can assure you). He even recommended me to walk on La Ramblas, a very commercial district road, very lively, where I can see a lot of Barcelona's pearls ... or failing that, a lot of Barcelona's english speaking tourists.
I was amazed, in London it would have never happened, no one would have volunteered to help you if you hadn't asked. In London you're left alone with your problems. If you ask, you get help, but if not ... sweet state of claustrophobic loneliness in your own cage.
Another time, when we asked where a shopping centre was, an older guy started to walk with us for about 5 minutes until he could point to it ... "That's it" he said in spanish. Using my infallible signs language, I manage to get a nod and some lovely words in spanish (or catalan?) that unequivocally made it clear there was no bridge over a lake and we had to go round. Speaking languages helps, but gesticulating can be as productive as that ... if you're patient!

The hostel was very nice indeed, imagine a student dorm full of bohemian people ceasing the day and especially the night! Predominantly they were americans and in their early 20s, a deadly combination, because it's when you give a damn the least! But the whole idea was very nice, the hostel gave you a strong backpackerish community feeling which I didn't get in other places. We had 8 beds in my room, all double deckers ... and the point is to go there as late as you can and get up early. You suffer the least that way. It's not something very difficult to do in Barcelona, as no club opens up before 1am, dinner is late. We felt we're a bit too adapted to the English way of life as we started yawning at 1am :-)
But we went into a nice club and we started to shake some booties and have some fun. We had some nice adventures and I have some other nice memories about that club. We left the club about 4am, just because we had enough, not because it was closing or anything (amazing liberalism, isn't it?).
It was unexpected to find someone else sleeping in my bed and the other 2 spare beds covered with cloths and other stuff. In a state of drunkenness, it took me about 5 minutes to think what should I do about it. In the end, hating every minute of it, I had to wake up the person sleeping in my bed. I think she was australian, she had the accent and also the laid back australian spirit. She wasn't upset, she even apologised and in the end, as the other beds appeared to be taken, we had to go to the reception to solve the problem. In the end we found out that there were 2 polish guys there, but they were taken away by the police for dealing that game where you have to guess where the ball is, presented with 3 caps, the ball allegedly under one of them. Usually you end up losing all your money and I think it's illegal too, as I saw big ads in Barcelona saying "That is not a game, it's a scam". "For westerns!" I said to myself ... I grew up in Romania, I know about these things...

Saturday was unexpectedly disappointing in a way, overcast, rain, physical exhaustion, Marco texting me that London was sunny :-) (thanks mate!!), people speaking more portuguese that my brain could filter out. Actually they were sweet, speaking english all the time, but it was so easy to slip into portuguese and they did that couple of times, unaware they were doing it. But whenever they realised it, they would switch back to English. We did visit some places like Sagrada Familia, me calling it "Sangria Familia" to the amusement of my travel companions. We had a nice lunch too, some seafood spanish speciality. We also saw Gaudi's house, which was a bit rushed as it was 15 minutes before closing. Barcelona lives very much in Gaudi's overpowering shadow, you can see his mark almost everywhere, it's the local deity that changed the course of the City and everyone speaks his name with great respect if not religious piety. Someone said "Barcelona would be nothing without Gaudi" ... you know who you are ;-) I don't agree entirely, but definitely Barcelona would be something entirely different without Gaudi.

Sunday the weather changed dramatically and we enjoyed the famous catalonian sun, we lingered close to the beach, where we had a seafood lunch and then an ice cream on the beach. It was great to look at all the yachts out there, exceeded in numbers only by the countless surfers enjoying a beautiful autumn sun. It was great; we also took a cruise around the town in one of those touristy buses, but only because we had little time and we just wanted a quick overview of what the city has to offer. Two days are not enough when you go to Barcelona, because after 2 days you don't want to go back.
Unfortunately I had to go back and even earlier than the girls as I was flying from Girona airport which is 1 hour and 15 minutes away from Barcelona by coach.

It was fun as I arrived at the bus station and almost got in a coach ... I noticed people looked a bit weirdly at me, then I turned back and realised there was a queue of no less than 100 people waiting to get on the same bus and I involuntarily jumped the queue. The guy in charge of queue management missed my late arrival as he didn't say anything, so I could have easily got into the bus, but a civic incorrigible spirit of fairness dragged me all the way at the back of the queue, where I had to wait another half an hour to get in another coach.

All in all it was a great getaway, Barcelona is a fantastic destination which doesn't deserve to be skimmed in 2 days by the busy weekend tourist. It deserve the passion and patience of a man like Gaudi who said once "my customer is not in a hurry" when talking about building the basilica of Sagrada Familia and the time taken. But maybe I'm a bit subjective, caught in my own silly smile, like the ones you can't stop for days after you're no longer single...