After 3-4 hours of blissful unconsciousness, I was wrested from my peaceful slumber by James rolling off the seats onto me. Once the resulting confusion cleared, we realised we’d reached the halfway mark, with the associated rest pause. Thankfully the rest stop was well equipped, and we did what we could to alleviate our hangovers before boarding for the remaining 4 hours of the journey.
Now, I should explain why we were stuck on a bus for 8 hours instead of whizzing to Barcelona in speed and (relative) comfort on the train system, which is remarkably good. We had originally planned to do so, it just didn’t turn out that way. Out of the blue, on the day we’d planned to leave San Sebastian, every train – really, every train – to Barcelona had been booked out. Completely. How bizarre.
So, back to the floor of the bus. Although my initial level of obliviousness was unreachable, being sober and all, the remained passed in relative comfort, as Dave shared with me the wonders of Dexter on his laptop. Once disembarked, we made our way to the hostel, wandering ignorantly (on my part at least) past some Gaudi architecture.
That night was thankfully quiet, but bright and early the next morning we headed to the beach to meet up with Sal (from Croatia cruise), now living in Barcelona. Spending the afternoon reminiscing with her was nice and relaxing, so much so that when the Hostel organised a ‘massive night out’ we jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, Opium, the biggest beach bar in Barcelona, was…shit. No other words for it.
Returning to the Hostel around 4, the others crashed out while I sat out on the smoking deck (according to the hostel staff, for weed only, no cigarettes…brilliant) with some of the guys. One of the guys was convinced the fridge was magically eating his maltesers, as every night for the last 4 nights he’d been putting a bag in it and the next morning it was gone. What he neglected to mention was that he’d been high, and had in fact hidden 4 bags in 4 separate fridges, and when this was discovered around 4:30 he was over the moon.
To top the night off, I passed out on the couch, guitar in hand, with a girl so drunk she was shaking with cold in a 28 degree room in my lap, trying to stay warm. Bloody odd night.
The next morning we darted off to La Familiar (another of Gaudi’s constructions) to meet with Sal one last time, before Dave and I headed down to Valencia to get to La Tomatina, Festival of Tomatoes.
After 3-4 hours of blissful unconsciousness, I was wrested from my peaceful slumber by James rolling off the seats onto me. Once the resulting confusion cleared, we realised we’d reached the halfway mark, with the associated rest pause. Thankfully the rest stop was well equipped, and we did what we could to alleviate our hangovers before boarding for the remaining 4 hours of the journey.
Now, I should explain why we were stuck on a bus for 8 hours instead of whizzing to Barcelona in speed and (relative) comfort on the train system, which is remarkably good. We had originally planned to do so, it just didn’t turn out that way. Out of the blue, on the day we’d planned to leave San Sebastian, every train – really, every train – to Barcelona had been booked out. Completely. How bizarre.
So, back to the floor of the bus. Although my initial level of obliviousness was unreachable, being sober and all, the remained passed in relative comfort, as Dave shared with me the wonders of Dexter on his laptop. Once disembarked, we made our way to the hostel, wandering ignorantly (on my part at least) past some Gaudi architecture.
That night was thankfully quiet, but bright and early the next morning we headed to the beach to meet up with Sal (from Croatia cruise), now living in Barcelona. Spending the afternoon reminiscing with her was nice and relaxing, so much so that when the Hostel organised a ‘massive night out’ we jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, Opium, the biggest beach bar in Barcelona, was…shit. No other words for it.
Returning to the Hostel around 4, the others crashed out while I sat out on the smoking deck (according to the hostel staff, for weed only, no cigarettes…brilliant) with some of the guys. One of the guys was convinced the fridge was magically eating his maltesers, as every night for the last 4 nights he’d been putting a bag in it and the next morning it was gone. What he neglected to mention was that he’d been high, and had in fact hidden 4 bags in 4 separate fridges, and when this was discovered around 4:30 he was over the moon.
To top the night off, I passed out on the couch, guitar in hand, with a girl so drunk she was shaking with cold in a 28 degree room in my lap, trying to stay warm. Bloody odd night.
The next morning we darted off to La Familiar (another of Gaudi’s constructions) to meet with Sal one last time, before Dave and I headed down to Valencia to get to La Tomatina, Festival of Tomatoes.
Barcelona Pictures
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Barcelona