barcelona antics

The people that I have run into while traveling, whether the trips be long or short, never cease to amaze me. For example, one time 3 years ago on the commuter rail between Worcester and Boston I met an Elvis impersonator. He didn't look like Elvis. Which made me embarassed for him... I hate when that happens.... feeling embarassed for somebody else because they obviously lack that part of their brain or were absent that day of school when they taught humiliation. But anyway. So when we set off for Barcelona last weekend, I knew it would be no exception. And furthermore, you know going in that if you're paying a whopping 15 euros a night to stay in a hostal, you're gonna leave with some stories...

Our hostal. So many cherished memories. We took a midnight bus which put us hungry, overtired, achy, and cranky in Barcelona at 7:30am. We eventually find the number at which our hostal is supposed to be located. Needless to say, there was an iron GATE guarded by a man in such a manner that one would think that there were secret treasures... or maybe even heaven... behind those gates. This lovely gentleman (I wanted to kick him in the shins) told us repeatedly that there was no hostal. It had been closed. For a long time. And it wasn't opening. Ever. Nell, luckily, was even crankier than me and yelled at him saying that we had a reservation. Eventually, he took out the blessed keys to the heavenly gate and let us in. Surprise surprise, yes there was a hostal on the 2nd floor as we suspected. Had there not been, it wouldn't have been pretty to watch our reactions.

The hostal owners. We walk into the 'reception' (a card table) where the woman proceeds to shuffle through approximately 308398304839 papers looking for ours. The husband materializes from a part of this place that I didn't even know had a room... sans shirt. They have a tween daughter wandering around the place wearing a blanket. How's that for a family. Then the woman offers us coffee. We accept. Then she says they have no running water and sorry.

After about 25 minutes of standing there waiting for the woman to organize our "papers," the husband tells us to grab our stuff; we're leaving this building, walking to another building 10 minutes away where we will be staying. So off we go towards our temporary abode. As soon as we turn down the alley where the entrance to the building is, it hits you. The smell that you just want to bottle up and put away for Christmas gifts. It was a delightful mix of pee and fish. I'd like to proudly point out that I coined the phrase "piscado" ... a combination of "pis" (pee) and "pescado" (fish). Come on, 2 points to the Bets-meister for creativity. Turning purple from holding our breath, we are at the same time hiking up a few flights of stairs til we get to "the room." It's your typical cheap-ass hostal. One room with 12 beds, and then two adjoining rooms, each with two more beds. Fine. Then, the hostal man pulls out two blankets. He seemed not to have noticed that there were four of us. And it was like ultimate zero in that room. "Don't worry... I'll be back in FIVE minutes with blankets and towels." Oookay. We PEACE OUT on the beds. I planted my face nose down into the mattress and passed out. I awaken to all sorts of noise and the lights being switched on. Then, hostal man creeeeeeps in and says "Here comes Papa Noel with the blankettsssssss.." with a big grin. The image continues to remind me of the scene in Meet the Parents when the mom brings Greg Focker a set of Jack's pajamas.

Then, he pulls out the towels. I looked at what he places on the bed. Now, they were white and packaged in plastic no bigger than the side of a ziplock sandwich bag. I knew this was going to be good... yes, that's right... the plastic contained a towel-sized paper towel. Needless to say, by day two I had a giant hole in this luxury towel because apparently I was trying too rigorously to get the water out of my hair.

The neighbors! Like I said, staying in a cheap hostal is directly related to meeting weird people. So I'll start low and go from the weird up to the total freaks. First, the American who doesn't speak. And who took 45 minute showers. In a place that has a tank. And very little hot water. A Betsey going on no sleep and a cold shower is not necessarily the sweet, happy version that you all know and love.

Then the American from Idaho. He was traveling with three other people (one from Brazil, one from Mexico, and one from Ireland) because they are of some program in France. From the second the four of them arrived, he was making the four of us mad. He wouldn't make his own bed... he made the Brazilian girl do it for him. ANd then he asks us, "Is there like, a Gap around here? I need to go shopping." So we reply no, but that you can get the same kind of stuff/look in various stores and we proceeded to name a few. Then he scoffs and says, "um, no... Gap is Gap" followed by a "ughh! where did you put my Steve Maddens!" to his friends. We're thinking, Ok buddy.. settle down with the trying to be metrosexual and get a grip. You're from IDAHO. I love potatoes... they're one my favorite foods fo-EVA yo... but think about it. Your claim to fame is being part of spud land.

The Italians. The Italians were by far the most dynamic of the group. They, thank God, had one of the private rooms. Now these Italians, a very "active" gay couple (thin, THIN walls kids..) arrived very late the 2nd night and then they proceeded to go out. Therefore, we didn't talk to them nor did we know at this point that they were an "item." The next day, Hannah and I walk into our hostal to see Joanne and Nell on their beds eating crackers in that methodic, shell-shocked way. Nibble by nibble. Yes, the Italian couple was goinnnnn' at it. A few minutes later, Italian #1 walks out fully dressed, but with his pride and joy still very much at attention, looking to bum a post-sexx cigarette off of one of us. He talks to us for a few minutes and we quickly tag him as the 'woman' of the relationship. Then, Italian #2 walks out.. and Italian #1 gets all doe-eyed and rosy-cheeked and says, "Now I'd like you to meet the best of Italy.." signalling Italian #2...Because they obviously know at this point that we are quite aware of why such 'noises' were coming out of their room. So overall the Italians seem to be pretty nice guys. They are asking Nell, since she studied abroad in Barcelona 3 years ago, places to go and what not. They go out. This is when Italian #1 takes the cake for being absolutely nuts. They come home at about 4:30am. We have been sleeping for probably about 2 hours at this point. Italian #1 makes his way through our backpacks plus those of the four other people ('Gap is Gap' and co.) to arrive beside my bed. I wake up and his face is literally 6 inches from mine. Obviously I am startled and he's lucky he didn't get a punch in the face, as I am at this point thinking that he is some stranger who came in through the window to attack me (childhood nightmare). Then he starts patting my head saying it's ok and that they're home... and then goes to sit down beside me on my bed to chit chat... I just kept repeating 'ciao' 'ciao' 'ciao' 'bona note' 'ciao' until he left. Normal??? No!! Scaring the crap out of Betsey seemed to be a theme of the trip... another example being the man dressed in a giant gorilla suit who creeped up beside me in the middle of Las Ramblas and then started grunting like I suppose a gorilla might do. I screamed. People were laughing at my misfortune. We all know I don't do well with things that just pop out to scare you. I mean c'mon... even the Scream movies scared me.

So those are 'the characters' of our little voyage to Barcelona. Altogether, they have provided the four of us with so much inside joke material. In between, we had a ton of fun being complete tourists... and took 3948393994400 pictures. Magic fountains, Erotic Museum, Picasso Museum, Chocolate Museum ("pleasure" chairs which looked more like medieval torture devices to famous Picasso paintings to Disney characters sculped out of chocolate... all within 24 hours of each other). Running around in giant labyrinths. Long walks. Parks. Realizing that Gaudi is totally an architectural dictator in Barcelona... he's EVERYWHERE. Watching Nell chase down and scream obscenities at the man who grabbed her bag. Eating... alot. And more! Ch-ch-ch-check 'em out!

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