Jessie Love in Paris: Bar...THA...lona?? A little lisp anyone?

Barcelona Day One: The Celtic Invasion

So we left Madrid at 1 in the morning... and I didn't sleep til the next day as it was possibly the most uncomfortable bus ride of my whole entire life (worse than even Pennbrook Softball team busrides) We were smushed together with a smelly and old Spanish man sitting behind us. Every time I started to drift to sleep I was sadly awakened by a swift kick in my butt. Angie and I had to huddle together because of the cold and my tiny delta airlines blanket was NOT enough for two people. After 9 hours in a bus, we were in Barcelona.

We went and dropped off our bags at the lovely Kabul hostel which is situated in what I am assuming was the former Plaza Reial (Royal Plaza) Though not so royal now, it's a hot spot for local bars and has a beautiful courtyard decked with palm trees.

We couldn't check in for another 2 hours, so we left our luggage there and went wandering around Port Vell, which is basically a yacht resting place. It's a lovely walk down Las Ramblas to what I can only say is a gorgeous walk along the marina. The architecture in Barcelona is a blend of very very old with modern. Alongside the 200 year old statue of Christopher Columbus pointing towards the New World is a metal wave design bridge. The Barcelonians like to blend things together.

During our lovely walk, we saw a big red bullseye... like Target. I don't think I have ever been that excited in my life. Sadly it was NOT Target. A note to all Target Marketing Teams, I would consider building up in other international cities as Target is one of the bets things in the entire USA.

Not TARGET!

After a quick walk around and a bunch of photo taking (only 3 photos were we in because we looked like crap), we returned to the hostel. On the way back up Las Ramblas, what do we see but 2 men in kilts and green shirts. Of course, Angie and I demand a picture with them and as our picture is being taken a Spanish cameraman arrives and starts filming us. Next thing we know, the Scottish guys bare ass under the kilt is out. Needless to say I never need to see a Scottish ass again. That was just the start of the Celtic Invasion of Barcelona (the Glasgow Celtic was playing the Barcelona team).

One of the first things we learned is that Barcelona is in fact pronounced like you have a lisp on the "S". Apparently one of their old kins had a lisp and pronounced it that way, so they decided to just go with it. The other awesome thing was that in Barcelona they speak Catalan, which is a mixture of Spanish and French, so I understood them a bit more than in Madrid.

Our room was nice for a hostel... clean bedding, lockers that locked, friendly staff. Only part that sucked was that the common area was a Smoking Zone and smelled AWFUL!

We showered and prettied ourself up for our first night out. And also did 2 loads of laundry as we'd already cycled through all of Angie's socks and underwear.

We wandered a bit outside, discovered the Petit Palau and the Passeig de Gracia, which is famous for its two Gaudi Buildings. Before we got to either of the buildings we did some shopping in a cute little Spanish shop where we both bought us some cute clothes (me a summer dress, Angie a t shirt).

At this point we were cranky and hungry. Walking back to the hostel we discovered the Mercat de la Boqueria, where we had the strangest fruit I've ever seen in my life, pirana fruit.

We returned to the hostel met some nice folks in the waiting area, and then went and got some "traditional" Spanish Paella on a lovely terrace, or what I though was so....

Of course, the paella is from the Ristorante Oriente, which if you can guess is not a Spanish restaurant. It ended up being good even if my platter came out 20 minutes later than Angie's.

After we finished the food we went on to Sangria, and under the influence of Sangria, things get interesting.

First, while Angie was in the bathroom, a Scottish man sitting directly across from me waved at me and then said "Hola". So I gave him a little creepy wave back and said "Hola". The funnier part is that he then started speaking in English loudly about how I was cute and how he'd been checking me out all night. When Angie came back, I was like Angie that dude thinks I am Spanish... then I say to the dude, "I'm not Spanish!" That was possibly the reddest Scottish person I've ever seen in my life and here's a picture of him.

At this point, we've become a bit intoxicated and decide that this night we should have a S.S.H.I.B (a Scotsmen Scavenger Hunt in Barcelona). We made up the rules and assigned different Scottish men different point totals.... Obviously we put out game faces on.