Spain: the untold saga

I did not go straight home from Morocco. My friends left late in the evening, I stayed on alone. I went on a group tour the next day, spent the night alone, then flew to Barcelona early the next morning. I only spent 3 days in Spain, but they were 3 of the most eventful days of the entire year! (and given how much i packed in, that's saying something!)
so here it goes:

Spain, the untold saga


I arrived in Barcelona mid-afternoon, and took a train from Girona airport into the city. I walked out of the train station, stopped to get my bearings, and was approached by an elderly English couple. They were just leaving town, had an extra subway pass, and thought that I looked foreign and confused enough to need it. They were right! I used it the following day on the next leg of my trip.

I started walking, feeling optimistic, and stopping along the way to snap a few photos of Placa Catalunya and do some window shopping. I checked into my hostel (you had to pay extra for sheets... I am still bitter) and set out for a (different) train station, to buy a ticket to go to San Sebastian the next morning. I took a number, and saw that there would be a long wait. I was hungry, though I didn't want to leave the station to look for food. So- i'm not proud of this, but it happened- I bought McDonalds. ick.
Finally got my ticket (luckily the salesperson spoke french!) and set out to explore the city.
Of all of the cities I have visited, Barcelona may have the most beautiful architecture. (disclaimer: Gaudi is my hero. I am biased). With only one day in the city, I decided to make architecture my priority, and walked over to Gaudi's Casa Batllo, where I coughed up 7 euro admission. It was worth every centime. Gaudi's fluid lines and whimsical details had me all in a tizzy. The organic forms and textures turned the entire house into a seussical creature, and there we were exploring its innards. Smooth creamy walls, dark twisting wood, swirling blue glass and tiles. The highlight was the rooftop- a maze of chimneys and mozaics, with a wonderful view of the city skyline.
By the time i emerged, it was close to dinner time. I stopped and ate a rather disappointing meal at a dive cafe (never trust a picture menu... still not sure what I ate). I walked through Barri Gotic, the medieval city center, and stopped to listen to several street musicians. My favorite was a man on a very tinny piano, outside of a cathedral. Next to him was an elderly gentleman with a cane, who had to have been at least 75. As the pianist started playing a ragtime tune, the old man started tapping his feet. Then he started doing a small shuffle step, side to side. Then he lifted his cane, holding it before him with both hands, and started doing a (shuffling) tap dance! I am not sure whether he was part of the show or just an enthusiastic by-stander, but I'd prefer to think he was the later, and that I witnessed something spontaneous.
Then I walked along Las Ramblas, a lively (but touristy) tree lined boulevard which leads to the waterfront. I saw the Columbus Column (oh, right, he was Spanish and not American.) I walked along Port Olympia until it got dark. On my way home, I passed an Irish pub with a sign in the window announcing that they'd be showing a rugby game between Wales and France on the tele that evening. I looked at my watch, realized it was about to start, and ducked in. There were surprising number of Welsh fans in the pub, and they all stood as their national anthem was sung at the start of the game.
They were not at all what I would have expected- mostly middle aged women in red turtlenecks and sweaters who swore like sailors and cheered like hooligans. After seeing how aggressive they were, I wasn't surprised when France lost. I walked back to the hostel and fell instantly asleep.
I got up early the next morning and took the subway (thank you elderly british couple!) back to the train station.
As I was getting on the subway with my bags, I checked the time on my cellphone. I didn't want to miss my train! Then I put my phone back in my jacket pocket. As I was getting off of the subway, I put my hand back in my jacket pocket... and my phone was gone!! I had heard of Barcelona's problems with pick pockets, so I had stowed everything else of value deep in the heart of my overstuffed backpack. And I had made sure to stand apart from the other passengers on the train. To this day, I have no idea how anyone could have managed to sneak that sucker out of my pocket. But the sad truth was- it was gone. I was alone in a country where I did not speak the language, traveling to meet a friend, with absolutely no means of contacting her.
shit.
there was nothing else for it- I got on my train and crossed my fingers.