Barcelona is definitely one of my favourite cities so far, especially as it only cost me 2 quid to fly here on Ryan Air. I learnt a very important lesson in doing this though. If you get a 2 quid flight, beware that you'll be flown into an airport about 400kms away from the actual destination and at a time that is completely inaccessible by public transport. And don't start me on their baggage limit.
And it's not a particularly touristy city, in the sense that there isn't the plethora of ancient monuments and rennaisance galleries that you're expected to visit, which is a relief in a way (especially on my rapidly thinning wallet).
Just before arriving in Barcelona, I discovered that my long lost pals Mark "Twig" Adamik and Liz "Lizzard" Scott were also in town, after finishing a 2 month stint working on a yacht throughout the Med. So, hopefully I can drag one of them with me for some of my European travels, as opposed to nigelating it.
On my second day in Bartha, I was pickpocketed. By two cunning 16 year-old girls. But, rest assured, I chased them down and served them a right thrashing. Mark and I were walking along the port area of town, when we were approached by two young, friendly looking girls who asked if we could sign a petition to help raise awareness for the deaf or something. So, I obliged and noticed there was a column to indicate how much money I wished to donate. Aware I was probably being scammed, I thought I'd just give them whatever shrapnel I had to stop them pestering me. As I opened my wallet and rumaged through the coin section (no, I don't have a purse), the girl shifted toward me and using the clipboard with the petition to obscure the top of my wallet from my vision, she yanked 250 euros from me. I immediately felt the notes being pulled from the wallet and questioned the little whore about what she thought she was doing taking my money. *She instantly broke into a sprint and I high-tailed it after her, eventually tackling her to the ground, shattering her ribcage on the pavement in the process, snatching my money back and bowing to the 300-strong crowd who had gathered and erupted into an hour-long standing ovation*
Because I'm an exceptionally lazy individual, I will now depict my Spanish adventures visually instead of my trademark repetitive monologues.
This was probably one of my favourite part of Barcelona - just wandering aimlessly through all the carrers and placas. You could do it for weeks on end and never be bored.
Street-performers (doubling as pick-pocketers by night) on La Ramblas.
This is not your average statue. It needs to be understood in context. All along La Ramblas is a plethora of mime-artists. Some good, some not so good. By the time you arrive near the bottom of La Ramblas, you assume anything that doesn't move is a mime-artist. So, it became a pastime of mine to watch the seemingly endless stream of American tourists gathering around this real statue, waiting for it to move.
I have Sarah to thank for this discovery! Her instructions were: "As soon as you get to Barcelona, head straight for La Ramblas food markets and stock up on fresh fruit, veg, cured ham and cheeses". I got slightly distracted by this unbelievable selection of gelati. Some of them were fruit-flavoured, so I guess I stocked up on fruit in a way.
It's no wonder I got pick-pocketed! Could I have stood out as a tourist any more??
Mark, Liz and Annie the hardcore shisha smokers down at the port.
Twigos totally being a shisha-hog.
Gate-crashing the boat that Mark, Liz and Annie were living/working on. Not a bad set-up.
Besides making me look like some sort of heavenly being (which I clearly am), there's a mildly amusing story behind this photo. After a big night, we passed out on the beach and when I woke up I was wearing a foreign jacket. I had no idea how I got it. I scanned the beach and saw a young local guy curled up in a ball shivering on the sand. Was this his jacket? Shit. I had no recollection. Mark later filled me in. One of two things happened: either I, in my questionable state, hassled the guy until I got his jacket; or he saw that I was cold and generously offered it to me while he did his exercise on the beach. Either way, when I saw him curled in that ball, shivering on the sand, I felt terrible. So, of course, I kept the jacket. Kidding. I returned it to him and took advantage of him while he slept. Kidding again. Sort of...
After waking up on the beach after stumbling out of a bar in the wee hours, we went in search of some nourishment. Word of warning - NEVER order a hamburquesa. And Mark was smart. He took his sunnies.
Good to see Mark no longer needs to be breast-fed.
Liz enjoying her 4 euro microwaved paella.
Mark with our asshole American buddies Brittany and Marissa. Top class. Pity they can't handle their absynthe.
I don't know why I thought this was funny.
Ahhh Gaudi. Whatever you were on, please share it 'round!
The BBG.
i.e. the Barcelona Bikey Gang
It's all good. I'm cool, I'm cool.
Oh fuck. Did nooooooo see that tree coming.
Bob Marley tribute jam down near the port.
Wow, it's so much easier blogging primarily with photos. I'm gradually getting up to date with all my adventures, so check back later on for the 2 months of my life following Barcelona.
Adios.
* = I kindly asked for my money back and ran away like a pathetic little coward.
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