Travel | Europe: Spain, Barcelona (Part 1)

Until Katherine showed me this picture, I never believed her when she told me I move pillows on top of my head while I sleep. 

In Spain, there’s this thing every day called siesta. Shops close, people go home and eat some food, take a nap, everything kinda picks back up around 6 or 7. Above, you can see me taking on the behavior of a local. But, boy, when you aren’t sleeping, you are busy! We took our GoPro all over, which came in handy during the riot. I’d still have a Barcelona Riot Squad beat-stick if the Italian police hadn’t been such turdburglars. Shoulda mailed it earlier =/

Everything you see in this GoPro shot is an area of Barcelona worth seeing. 

We walked all over that city, from Gaudi Park, where the above shot was taken, to Montjuïc on the hill in the top right background (same shot). Our friend Hugo gave us an awesome tour of the city, a day full of “there’s this cool spot…”

Hugo demanded we have a picture together at Montjuïc He also told me I look like a Barcelona hipster. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.

I never take selfies, so when I have to, they are bad. This was probably attempt number 5? 

It was during this meal that Hugo completely changed our plan for the evening, granted our plans for every evening were loosely assembled at best. “Come to Sant Pol De Mar,” he said. “There’s a get together every week and it’s tonight. You should come, hang out, play music!” I looked at Katherine with the eyes of hope that she was down. I didn’t tell her then, but I knew it was going to be the wee hours of the morning when we shuffled like zombies back through Barcelona. 

Hugo took us to his house in Sant Pol De Mar, a metro ride away, maybe 45 minutes, made us crepes (three different kinds!) and explained that crepes are his secret weapon with the ladies. I thought it was the singing and guitar shredding, but apparently it’s crepes. Duly noted, sir.

After that, we went to the local bar where he and his large social group meet once a week to jam out and chill for a few hours. It’s strange, really, because this whole small town is asleep. The streets are quiet except for this one little establishment, Rock&Apples. That night is one of my fondest memories in life, even if Katherine laughed uncontrollably at my misfortune, having the bass strap fall loose TWICE. Played through it like a boss though, and Arnau was observant and kind enough to help me. Every time we hear “Sweet Home, Alabama,” we’re instantly transported back in time, to when we heard “Sweet Home, Rock&Apples” instead.

Sure enough, we caught the last metro back, 4 in the morning, stumbled into our AirBnB just before 6. That’s enough night life to last me and Kat about 45 years.

I’ll tell more about our time in Spain in part 2, mainly how beautiful walking through the city can be, Gaudi architecture, and, of course, the riot in which we found ourselves suddenly engulfed. Stories for another week.