Barcelona Part One

by janet on July 19th, 2010

Lucida says mmm

Phreww. Remind me never to go this long without posting again, because I just had to moderate 499 spam comments that had built up while I was slacking (shouldn’t have bothered – 100% of them were indeed spam) while I was getting into some shenans with my mom & sis and obsessed with the Millenium Triology and other busy-ness in the past couple of weeks.

The spammers are getting cleverer. Everything would be fine if I had friends who didn’t just comment “awesome!” but I do, so I have to read through them all.  I do this also because I’m guessing you don’t want to buy cheap Uggs, and I KNOW you don’t want FREE SEX VIDEO!!! right??

Some spam comments are obvy:

Intimately, the post is really the sweetest on this worthw hile topic. I harmonise with your conclusions and will thirstily look forward to your upcoming updates. Just saying thanks will not just be sufficient, for the tremendous clarity in your writing. I will instantly grab your rss feed to stay informed of any updates. Genuine work and much success in your business enterprize!

Nevermind that it’s all true – it’s still spam, ya dingus!  My favorite by far, though, and one I almost let through for its sheer weirdness:

Shakespeare’s feeble attempt; Mehears the lady LOL, mehopes not at mine nether hole

So, returning to the Europa Vacation-of-Lifetime, R2 and I arrived in Barcelona for a three-night stay. Just like in Madrid,  we had not thought to look up how to get to our hotel, so all we had was an address. After asking two people who not only didn’t know but also hated us for asking, a subway employee pointed to a stop on the metro map and made a slow heil Hitler motion.

We got off at the designated station and I found a random map and figured out the direction of our hotel. Then we realized as we huffed and puffed uphill that that’s what the guy meant – go uphill after exiting the station.

We stayed at Hotel Medium Aristol and were greeted by Ibo, who was truly awesome. Kind, cute, silly, friendly, incredibly informative, go-out-of-way-ey, stylish, cool.  R2 and I discussed how we would write a letter to Hotel Medium management and demand that he be promoted.  Also we planned to mail him our leftover metro card that still had like five rides on it.  We have done neither, shoot.

Thin and limp – bad for peens, good for jamon.

Ibo recommended that we go to the Joanic area of Barcelona, where apparently there is fun nightlife and tons of places to eat.  We obeyed and found a cute open square where a cafe had set up tons of tables for al fresco dining.  I got a big old beer (Chimay Rioja – a wine beer??) and we hit the top four classics of tapas – jamon (ham), pan (bread with tomato topping), patatas bravas (potatotes, fried) and croquetas de bacalao (mmm deep fried fish stick thingies filled with a luscious salted cod mousse).

True to late-eating-even-for-Espana form, we closed out the cafe, lost our nerve when we attempted to go into a seedy local-ey bar, and instead went to a tiki-vibed bar that stank of expats.  Here, R2 had a drink called “Monkey’s Lunch” which was full of bananas and Bailey’s and I’m sure Kahlua and was frothy and yummy and would have made true Spain lovers ashamed of us for being so safe.

The next day, we took a walk down the Ramblas where we saw all manner of animal for sale.  But you already know all about that. We also went into La Boqueria market – an amateur food photographer’s dream.

Even as a frog phobic I could stomach (get it?) this

Pineapple kind of looks like pound cake

Everything here will blow out your butthole

Pictured above –  some fresh squeezed juices.  If we ever have a proper fight R2 gets an automatic pass, because when we purchased a kiwi & coconut juice, he said “Let’s get another one” and I said “no” like a fucktard.  This is my greatest regret.  Stupidballs!  Gah.

Pictured top were strips of ham marketed like french fries.  I could only giggle at the wonderfulness of it all as I sucked them down like they were spaghetti.

For lunch proper, we went to a Rick Steves recommended pintxo bar. It was Taverna Basca Irati, and it has 40 kinds of hot and cold Basque pintxos (smaller tapas, usually on a slice of bread) where you pay by the honor system – you are charged for the number of toothpicks on your plate.

They kind of remind me of the things in Nausicaa

It was empty at the weird time that we went, smack in the middle of siesta.  Our server, a guy who looked like Spanish from Old School, made our tinto de veranos with extreme love and care, and so I loved him in return.  The emptiness meant we had our pick of the pintxos and gleefully bounded from one end of the bar to the other, grabbing pintxos at random.

Brains with worms on them

TWO kinds of caviar? Your awesomeness is crushing the bread below

Despite all the fanciness and prettiness, my favorite was just a hunk of bread with a lone spicy sausage toothpicked awkwardly on top. We overstuffed ourselves and even though the pintxos were 1.50 euro each, racked up a gigantic bill, natch.

So, I learned that people prefer shorter posts and more frequent posts, which is orthogonal to my style, but I’m going to try. Next will be Barcelona Part Two, in which I tell a story that R2 has begged me not to tell because it’ll make him look creepy.

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