After Porto, and the disappointment of unsuccessfully stalking Nate Berkus, I flew to Barcelona to meet up with my friend and fellow Yalie, Jen Ong, for a weeklong Eurotrip to Barcelona and Rome. HOLLA. Considering that neither of us had a functioning phone, I'm rather impressed with the fact that we managed to find each-other. Nothing like a glorious reunion at the Barcelona Airport Bagage Claim.
From there we managed to navigate ourselves to the city center and find an apartment belonging to a man named Esteban. Not nearly as sketchy as it sounds, I promise. Barcelona is obscenely expensive in August, even when you just stay in the most basic of hostels so we booked the spare bedroom in Esteban's apartment. Sound even sketchier now? There's a site called airbnb (definitely check it out if you're travelling on the cheap and can't find good hostels) where people can post spare rooms, tents, couches, etc. and then they list the price and are reviewed by previous travelers. It's like the ebay of short-term room rentals. Anyway, Esteban was right in the middle of Barcelona, got great reviews, and only charged 10 euro a night. Sold. Seriously, minimal sketchiness.
Esteban and his girlfriend were adorable. They set us up in a cute little side room, gave us purple and green towels (clearly, they could tell Barney is my fave), and provided us with free McDonald's maps that not only told us the exact location of every single McDonald's in the city, but also labeled the most important monuments and metro lines. Turns out, Esteban's apartment is only a five minute walk from La Sagrada Familia.
Having arrived around midnight we decided to call it a night and explore the next day. And explore we did. We literally spent the entire day walking throughout the city, stumbling upon random Gaudi buildings, and eventually discovering that Barcelona has many, many beaches. Just kidding...I may not know much, but I swear I actually knew that Barcelona was on the coast. Give me some credit.
Clearly our day was super strenuous so we decided to hit up a beachside bar that featured a beautifully creepy combination of oversized Buddha statues, waiters that offered massages, and a wall of enormous couches where a whole slew of overly-tanned Spaniards were lounging and drinking. Clearly this place was too fancy and expensive for us so we decided to go in and get some drinks with the rest of the debt-laden customers. But we're smart cookies so we had the cheapest drinks possible, enjoyed the couches and the absurdness of the entire place, and then wandered off to real bar — the closest Irish pub.
Thank goodness we did because there we met Wilfred, a middle-aged bearded sailor from Belgium who is currently staying in Barcelona while he fixes up his boat for a two year sailing trip around the world. Wilfred was a hilarious character. Firstly, he was actually a sailor. I realized that I've never met a sailor before, but he pretty much exactly matched the image that I've always had of a sailor — bearded, corpulent, and a bit of a charming old drunk. Wilfred is incredibly well travelled; seriously, this man has made his way around the world. I can't even explain the extent of it except for the fact that when he asked Jen where she was from she replied, "Pleasanton, California" and he immediately responded, "Oh, just east of San Francisco, right?" WOAH. Okay, I've been living in California my entire life and I don't even know Pleasanton. Impressed.
Anyway, we were chatting away with Wilfred and some German couple at the bar and we realized that Wilfred seemed to sort of dominate this pub. When I asked him "do you come here often?" he replied "every day at 7." Ahahaha I died. Love my unabashed alcoholics. Clearly Wilfred was tight with the Irish owner who proceeded to bring us a plate of free food and a free round —okay, okay, four free rounds— of Jaegar Bombs.
When the first round was brought out, we both turned to Wilfred:
Us: "Jaegar Bombs? Really?"
Wilfred: "Americans turning down free alcohol?"
Us: "Good point."
Now, people always seem a little shocked when I say I'm travelling by myself. The conversation usually turns to something along the lines of..."don't you think that's just a little bit dangerous?" Okay, hold up, has no one ever heard of girl power and brass knuckles? 21st century people. Seriously, I understand the concern, but I can safely say that it is far more dangerous to travel with friends. Would I be chatting and taking jaegar bombs with a large sailing Belgian stranger named Wilfred and eating his Irish friend's plate of mysterious free food if I were all by myself?? Nope. Why? Cuz that's just stupid. DUH. See what I did there? You're stupider when you're with other smart people. It's just the damdest thing.
Anyway, Wilfred turned out to be a good enough guy, we explored Barcelona, had a great time, and then hopped on a ridiculously early flight to Rome. There's really not much to say about it. I mean, it's Rome. It's gorgeous. The city is absurd and I really can't even believe how jam-packed it is with millennia-old monuments.
We ate way too much gelato and pizza and waiters kept giving us free wine. I most definitely have heart palpitations from all the espresso. I ordered "due cappuccini" whenever the opportunity presented itself, and here's why: 1) I had recently re-watched "Eat, Pray, Love" and Sofi —Elizabeth's Swedish friend in Rome (stick with me here)— first enters the movie in some chaotic Roman cafe ordering "due cappuccini" for both of them, 2) it briefly made me sound like I spoke italian, 3) one coffee just isn't enough, 4) I would still pay four times as much at Starbucks so it's totally justified.
That's pretty much all I'll say about Rome. It's stunning, but I don't particularly care for the Italians so I like to keep my praises to a minimum. 'MERICA.
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| Gaudi! |
Esteban and his girlfriend were adorable. They set us up in a cute little side room, gave us purple and green towels (clearly, they could tell Barney is my fave), and provided us with free McDonald's maps that not only told us the exact location of every single McDonald's in the city, but also labeled the most important monuments and metro lines. Turns out, Esteban's apartment is only a five minute walk from La Sagrada Familia.
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| Totally irrelevant photo...didn't even buy the candy... but isn't it beautiful?! |
Clearly our day was super strenuous so we decided to hit up a beachside bar that featured a beautifully creepy combination of oversized Buddha statues, waiters that offered massages, and a wall of enormous couches where a whole slew of overly-tanned Spaniards were lounging and drinking. Clearly this place was too fancy and expensive for us so we decided to go in and get some drinks with the rest of the debt-laden customers. But we're smart cookies so we had the cheapest drinks possible, enjoyed the couches and the absurdness of the entire place, and then wandered off to real bar — the closest Irish pub.
Thank goodness we did because there we met Wilfred, a middle-aged bearded sailor from Belgium who is currently staying in Barcelona while he fixes up his boat for a two year sailing trip around the world. Wilfred was a hilarious character. Firstly, he was actually a sailor. I realized that I've never met a sailor before, but he pretty much exactly matched the image that I've always had of a sailor — bearded, corpulent, and a bit of a charming old drunk. Wilfred is incredibly well travelled; seriously, this man has made his way around the world. I can't even explain the extent of it except for the fact that when he asked Jen where she was from she replied, "Pleasanton, California" and he immediately responded, "Oh, just east of San Francisco, right?" WOAH. Okay, I've been living in California my entire life and I don't even know Pleasanton. Impressed.
Anyway, we were chatting away with Wilfred and some German couple at the bar and we realized that Wilfred seemed to sort of dominate this pub. When I asked him "do you come here often?" he replied "every day at 7." Ahahaha I died. Love my unabashed alcoholics. Clearly Wilfred was tight with the Irish owner who proceeded to bring us a plate of free food and a free round —okay, okay, four free rounds— of Jaegar Bombs.
When the first round was brought out, we both turned to Wilfred:
Us: "Jaegar Bombs? Really?"
Wilfred: "Americans turning down free alcohol?"
Us: "Good point."
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| Selfie at the Colosseum, 70-80AD |
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| Trevi Fountain, 1762 |
We ate way too much gelato and pizza and waiters kept giving us free wine. I most definitely have heart palpitations from all the espresso. I ordered "due cappuccini" whenever the opportunity presented itself, and here's why: 1) I had recently re-watched "Eat, Pray, Love" and Sofi —Elizabeth's Swedish friend in Rome (stick with me here)— first enters the movie in some chaotic Roman cafe ordering "due cappuccini" for both of them, 2) it briefly made me sound like I spoke italian, 3) one coffee just isn't enough, 4) I would still pay four times as much at Starbucks so it's totally justified.
That's pretty much all I'll say about Rome. It's stunning, but I don't particularly care for the Italians so I like to keep my praises to a minimum. 'MERICA.
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| At the Vatican and no lightening in sight |
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| Good thing we happened to stumble upon the Pantheon! 118-125 AD |
"See what I did there? You're stupider when you're with other smart people. It's just the damdest thing"
ReplyDeletetruthbombs lex, all day er' day. Why don't care much for Italians? Seems like you weren'y particularly fond of Rome lol. Slash I'm getting all these travel ideas for when I'm in Europe...that site seems awesome