On the flight over here the last half-seat of our row (after my friend had one, and I had one-and-a-half as usual) was taken by a very beautiful young lady who became very animated when a) we offered her Pringles and b) she discovered we’d never been to Barcelona before. She’d recently moved there after a year travelling and the sheer joy in her face as she talked about the city was amazing. We didn’t like to burst her bubble by telling her that our exploration of Barcelona’s delights would be limited to the Ladies loos as we staggered off the flight, and the exterior of the Avis car rental office where we were to wait for our transfer.
Anyway, her exuberance stayed with us and we decided today to hop on a train and see what Barcelona had to offer. This plan was delayed slightly because we had to get a bus to the train station and my friend had assured the hotel receptionist that “yes, we know where the bus station is”…
Off we trotted towards the New Town, marching at double time because my friend is a slimmer bird than wot I am. A mile or so later, we found the bus stop, no problem. We got on the bus. We travelled back the way we had route-marched – back to the bus station, which was opposite our apartment. D’oh. That´s the last time I listen to her.
Anyway, after a train journey that included the joys of both an amateur Enrique Iglesias and a bloody accordionist (separately, not together – I kid you not, we ran halfway up the train to get away from the first and almost wept when the second appeared) we arrived in Barcelona and hit the shops. And the restaurants. And the park benches in the sunshine.
Apparently Barcelona is a city of immense historical interest and architectural significance. Ooops.