¿Barcelona?

I´ve been in Barcelona for 3 hours now and here´s whats happened.

At the airport in Luton four old ladies - the youngest of whom was easily in her 50´s and called another one "Mum" - were checking in before me. They were having a problem with one of the suitcases because it was mysteriously shaking. The "mum," with no embarrassment in her voice, proudly exclaims, "Oh, it must be my vibrator." This led the other old ladies, all easily 70-years-old, to discuss how they hoped their vibrators didn´t go off too or else they might be out of batteries by the time they got to Spain. (I swear I´m not making this up). The friendly woman checking me in was laughing so hard that she gave me a free Ryan Air "Priority Boarding" pass so I got to get on the plane first and choose my seat. It´s like getting up graded to the first class in an aerial cattle car because you had to spent check in dry heaving.

When I got on the plane I chose and exit seat because it has the most leg room. The plane slowly filled up and eventually a man asked me if anyone was sitting next to me. This man was probably 45-years-old and wearing a flourescent orange running jersey, and he was traveling with a normal looking woman who was about the same age. The woman clearly wanted to sit in the back, but the man had his eyes on the leg room that I was enjoying. The man sat down and the woman went to the back. The man then chased the woman down, brought her back, made her sit in the exit row and spent about 45 minutes trying to convince her of the advantage of having more leg room. Now, before we took off this little man had to get out of his seat roughly 6 times. This was perhaps the quarter mark of the 24 times I actually had to let him out. I didn´t mind letting him out of our little isle though because for the 3 minutes when he would go to the bathroom or rummage in the overhead bin he wouldn´t be snogging the woman he was with. For most of the flight I had a forty-something couple necking next to me.

I get to Barcelona and on the way down my ears don´t pop. This has become known as Brandon Till Syndrome and once led to an ear drum rupturing. I take a bus to Barcelona and now I have to find a place to sleep. Apparently at 25 I don´t have enough foresight to book a hotel in advance. So I find some free maps in the bus station and find the metro. Unfortunately, the metro is closed so I have to take a cab. I figure this is ok because I don´t really know where I´m going anyway. My cabbie doesn´t speak English, but with my broken Spanish I´m able to communicate that I need a bed. He offers for me to sleep in his taxi for 20 euro. I´m not sure if he was kidding, but I have reason to believe he would have let me. I get in the cab and he does´t turn on the meter. I repeatedly ask him to, but he says "No Problem." That much English he knows. At the end of the cab ride he tells me I owe him 20 euro.

Sorry I´m out of time on the computer in the hostel. But more to come. It has 2 prostitutes in it!


So now that I´m in Barcelona I´m dealing with that and I decide, at 1.30 in the morning, to find a pharmacy.