I could ramble forever about our experience at the castle. Basically, all you need to know is that it was freaking amazing. Perhaps to the seasoned traveler, or to one who doesn’t care about castles and medieval history as much as Jesse does, it wouldn’t be very impressive. But to someone who grew up pouring over castle books, memorizing all the architectural terms, and designing their own castles, this was a a dream come true. Even to me, who grew up with Robin Hood, Catherine Called Birdy and Wishbone, this was a thrilling experience.
It was incredible to be able to walk through the gates and explore the fortress while trying to imagine a once bustling town and merchants lining the streets. I would love to take a look back in time and see what the city looked like with life inside of it, being used as it was intended to be. The castle was very strategically placed on top of the relatively steep hill. The view from the top of the walls was amazing. On a perfectly clear day, I imagine one would be able to see miles and miles out. The view on that day was still beautiful; the hills, valleys, fields, and vineyards looked so peaceful. We spent about 4 hours wandering through the castle and still felt like we hadn’t seen everything. I don’t feel like words would do the castle justice, so I leave you with photos instead. In case you couldn’t tell, I had a very difficult time limiting my photo count. so many cool things!
We woke up after far too few hours of sleep and strapped our backpacks on, ready to leave Barcelona and catch the train to France. In hindsight, we definitely allotted ourselves way more time than we needed to navigate the metro system and figure out the train station, but all is well; a lack sleep is very worth a reduced level of stress. When we woke, we could hear a distant ruckus coming from outside and wondered what was going on. We locked our door behind us and began the long climb down the winding stairway, the noises getting louder and louder the closer we got to the exit. I made Jesse open the door and step outside first; we were amazed to be greeted by a crowded street of drunk/still drinking people… yes, at 5:50am. A few middle-aged locals paced back and forth yelling that they had beers for sale, but the rest of the crowd was much younger. After hearing a whistle and being uncertain of who it was directed towards. I clung close to Jesse as we navigated throuh the rest of rowdy crowd toward the metro. We passed one man who stood in the corner and began pulling his pants down to pee. He eyed us carefully and yelled/slurred, “Don’t look at me!” Keeping our eyes ahead of us, we got to Las Ramblas and saw many police officers standing guard and carefully watching the crowds to make sure nothing got out of hand. The metro was quiet; only a handful of people were on it, and most of them were in a drunken stupor, ready to pass out. We easily figured out the train station and found the platform we were departing from. It helped that the Sants Station was large and had good signage.
The train ride was easy and we got to relax a bit and catch up on journaling. It was a comfortable and easy ride. The scenery was lush and peaceful, and I enjoyed listening to the communication system transition from Spanish/Catalan/French to just French. We had a moment of panic in Narbonne, when we got off to switch trains. There were two trains listed as going to Carcassonne, our destination, but neither of the train numbers matched up with ours. After using a lot of gesturing and simple vocabulary (it’s harder to come by English speakers in small towns), we were able to confirm which platform and train we needed to board.
When we arrived in Carcassonne, we instantly fell in love with France. It was so calm and peaceful… the voices, the slowness of life, the scenery, the way people drove… my soul was rejuvenated by being in such a quiet, gentle place. The people there was also very kind, helpful, and gentle, not rude or arrogant as I had feared.
Our hotel, Hôtel Astoria, was close to the train station, so we were able to quickly find it and drop off our bags, though our room wasn’t ready until later in the afternoon. From there, we began the trek to the old city, making a quick pit stop at the local Monoprix for some lunch snacks. The grocery store was also quiet and gentle. No one was irritated or in a rush, nor seemed upset about the little old lady at the front of the line who was taking an especially long time to count her change. It was very relaxed and slow paced, quite the contrast to what we’d just experienced in Barcelona. Both of our brains were having an incredibly difficult time transitioning from Spanish to French; Jesse managed a basic bonjour and merci to the store clerk, but my brain and tongue weren’t quite agreeing, leaving me mute. We headed back down the road to continue the long-ish walk to the castle, passing classic French country-style buildings and homes on the way.
The view of La Cité from the distance was incredible. The castle is majestically perched on top of a hill and watching it grow larger and larger was we grew near was quite exhilarating (or maybe that was the walking?). It was surreal. We crossed over the river via the Old Bridge and took a detour to the nearby park sp we could sit and eat our snack/lunch. The temperature was perfect, the sun was shining, and there was a slight breeze… my heart felt so at peace and at home in this tranquil town, and I wondered for a moment if I’d died and gone to heaven. Words cannot convey how lovely and intimate this town was. I experienced so many emotions and desires all at once; I wanted to take a nap in the luscious grass, run around singing and dancing with my hands in the air, paint a picture, weep from overwhelming joy and peace, and play an instrument. I really wish there was a way to bottle up the serenity I experienced and take it home with me. I finally understand why so many brilliant artists have spent at least a portion of their career in France.
Since there are really no other funny or interesting stories/experiences to share from the remainder of the day, here are more photos of things we saw in Barcelona along with some commentary.
Some street art we saw in the Plaça del Fossar de les Moreres (Burial Place of the Mulberry Trees). It reminded Jesse of Banksy.
This is the monument in the Plaça. It was built in remembrance of a massacre that occurred on September 11, 1714. The Spanish king conquered Barcelona after a 14 month siege (think the Alamo style) and then slaughtered all the Catalan patriots before outlawing Catalan language, culture, and institutions, laws that were maintained for the next 200+ years. A castle was even built for surveillance and control; nothing could be built beyond the reach of the castle’s cannons. The monument, like so many things we saw, represents Catalan Independence.
We had our jamón, queso, and pan sitting at a bench near the Barcelona Head (by Roy Lichtenstein). We enjoyed people watching from our seats, as many bicyclists, joggers, and casual walkers were passing through this area. The closer we got to the Barcelona beaches, the busier and busier it got.
When we finished up, we walked along the road and passed some cooler doors. Jesse and I love detailed, intricate pieces like this, especially wooden ones.
On that same strip, we also passed by an old building that was being gutted and restored. I guess this must be how many of the old buildings in Barcelona still stand and are fully operational; the original facing is kept, while the internal structures have been ripped out so they can put in modern plumbing and electric lines, as well as update the interior.
We stopped by the sweet little Granja La Pallaresa for dessert and round two of churros. This time we were sure to order them con chocolate. We also ordered some delicious horchata. Ugh. I think the churros we’d had for breakfast were a bit more tasty, but these were amazing with the chocolate. Warning, the chocolate was very rich, but Jesse loved it and gladly ate it by the spoonful. I preferred my churros with a lighter coat of chocolate. The horchata was nutty and delicious, and the cafe was fun and comfortable. Our server was very nice and quite forgiving of my elementary Spanish. 🙂
I really wish I’d worn some sort of pedometer on our trip, because I feel like we probably walked 8+ miles a day. It felt good though, and by the 3rd or 4th day of the trip, my legs were used to it. From the little bakery, we walked down to take a peek at the Sagrada Familia. We opted not to go in though, as the last tickets available were for 8:15 and the Cathedral closed at 8:30. We knew we’d need more time to explore it and take it all in.
We decided to practice taking the metro so we’d be prepared for our early morning departure to France the following morning. We also decided to lose the guidebook and just explore a little bit, we we hopped off at the Arc de Triompf, as the name sounded interesting.
The arc was big impressive, and, like most things in Barcelona, beautiful. It celebrates the removal of a former military citadel that was present until 1888. Much like the USA, Catalunya loves to celebrate freedom and independence, though their battle is still being fought. There was a temporary mirror displayed up. Jesse and I had fun goofing off and trying to come up with some funky, manipulated poses.
We headed back to our apartment, wandering through El Born once again. We stopped by a gelato shop (gelato shops were scattered all over Barcelona) and had a nice chat with the server there. He is studying engineering and has plans of moving to Canada or the USA someday. Gelato in hand, we walked until we found a nice, quiet place to sit and eat our gelato, just off a busy street. We were probably halfway through eating when we actually turned and looked at our surroundings. It was then that we noticed the incredibly old looking wall right behind us. After wandering around admiring it, we a saw a sign that told us that it was part of the old, 2000 year old Roman wall. It is so strange to be able to just stumble into something that old right in the middle of the city.
We passed by the Barcelona Cathedral once again to catch a glimpse of it a night. Crowds had gathered for a concert being performed by a band called “Children of the Devil,” I think. It was enjoyable. While there, we sat for a few moments next to a solo traveler. He had pulled out his DSLR and was going through photos for the day. I saw so many selfie-shots. While solo traveling is something I would love to do someday, as it seems like an incredible growing experience, it made me incredibly thankful to have a travel buddy with me. I loved that I got to make and share a memory with someone close to me.
After finishing up our exploration of Barri Gòtic, we headed back to our little apartment, ready to get off our feet and get some sleep. That concluded our first “day” in Barcelona, but I did want to share a few other photos and videos with you that didn’t quite fit in with the others.
This first group is from the Barcelona Cathedral/La Seu (Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulalia) and the wall immediately attached to it. The church was built around the 14th century, though the Gothic style facade was not added until the 19th century. We didn’t tour the inside the first day, but we did get to explore a bit later.
This was taken from the sardana of the theater. There was a crowd gathered for the Festa de Sant Roc, which has been celebrated since 1589. I tried researching a little bit more about this festival and why it has been so important to Barcelona, but the common history is different than what I could find for Barcelona history, so I am not entirely sure. I believe that structure, made up of many small crosses, has to do with the Saint’s unusual cross shaped birthmark on his chest.
I just thought this was kind of cool. This is at the mansion Casa de l’Arcadia, which was formerly the archdeacon’s home and is now used as the city archives. This little thing is the mail slot, carved in the 19th century.
Another random shot, this is my attempt at getting a photo of one of the many Barcelona garbage trucks. The trash collector hops out, tips the full trash cans into his portable rubber bucket, and dumps that into the back of his garbage trucks where it is then crushed/compacted. I’m sure there are bigger vehicles in the rest of the city, but I saw these tiny trucks everywhere in the pedestrian areas. At our apartment at night, we just put the trash bags against the walls in the alley. In the morning, all the trash had been collected. There were no large dumpster or community trash cans like there are in the USA. I suppose it’s because there are so many people in such a small space, not every residence can have their own trash can, plus the streets are so narrow, I don’t think there would be any room for them.
This is a shot of us at the buttresses behind the La Seu. I got a Dutch? tourist to take our picture. Jesse was nervous they were going to steal our camera. 🙂
A monument to the Martyrs of Independence, five men who resisted Napoleon’s occupation in the early 1800s. They gave their lives for their God, their country, and their king. Celebrations of freedom and independence seemed to be a very common theme throughout Barcelona. Catalonians are filled with much pride and it will be interesting to see what happens with the succession movement that seems to be gaining momentum.
The church of Sant Felip Neri, where Antoni Gaudí attended. The base of it is still damaged from bombs deployed during the Civil War, intended for a nearby government building.
Carrer del Bisbe Bridge, similar to the Bridge of Sighs, was built in 1920s to connect the Catalan government building with the Catalan president’s ceremonial residence.
Just up the street from there, we walked past these fun street musicians.
A selfie from the Plaça del Rei.
And lastly, on our way back we decided to listen one last time to the singer in the courtyard.
I think that pretty much summarizes the rest of our very long day!
Having absorbed as much as we could for the time being, we wandered back over to Las Ramblas to finish up our walking tour so we could begin exploring the Barri Gòtic area (because of the location of our apartment, we were doing the guidebook’s tour in reverse). The sun was lower in the sky at this point and was casting beautiful streams and colors of light in the alleys. It was so playful and beautiful. The narrow, winding streets make the city so much fun to explore and the sunlight do such interesting things. It also keeps the streets much cooler throughout the day, as the buildings are made of stone and are very tall and close together; all these things work together to keep the sun and heat in check. Certain streets may be hot for an hour or two, but once the sun moves it quickly cools off again. I felt like I was in heaven. We stopped by the the Font de Canaletes (Fountain of Troughs/Gutters) to get a drink and fill up our water bottles. Legend says that if you drink from the fountain, you will one day return to Barcelona. Jesse and I thought it was worth a shot. This particular fountain (there were several predecessors) was installed in 1888 after the city tore down its old Medieval wall and transformed its old drainage ditch into Las Ramblas (Rambla means “stream” in Arabic), the beautiful promenade. This particular area has been historically important (so important that this section of Las Ramblas is called La Rambla de Canaletes), as during Medieval times (~16th century) the water for the city was channeled through this area. It become a popular meeting place as the water here was known for being the best in the city. The original fountain also drew extra crowds due to its proximity to one of the old city gates, La Porta de Santa Anna, as many temporary laborers would gather there in hopes of finding employment. We meandered across La Plaça de Catalunya, a 12-acre square that links old Barcelona (south of the square) to new Barcelona, the renowned modernista district to the north. After the medieval walls were torn down in the 1850s, this is one of the first areas to be developed. The stone monument was built in honor of President Francesc Macià i Lussà, who declared Catalunya an independent region in 1931. The inverted-staircase shape represents the approximate shape of Catalunya. We crossed the street headed towards Barri Gòtic via Avinguda del Portal de l’Angel, one of the main streets that led into ancient Barcelona through the old city’s “Gate of the Angel.” An angel statue once stood over the gate, guarding the city from plagues and blessing travelers safe journeys as they left the safety of the city walls. Barri Gòtic is the birthplace of Barcelona, where the Romans built the original city. The confusing web of medieval streets are packed with so many beautiful historical sites (I was still in awe over the richness of the city). Jesse and I quickly fell in love with it, once we got past the bustling high-end shopping area of Avinguda del Portal de l’Angel. It was full of surprises and many precious gems buried amongst all the modern buildings, but you’ll have to wait until next time to read more about it.
Near the tapas bar. The Chinese dragon marks the location of a former umbrella shop, but more importantly, it is a symbol for the local patron saint, St. Jordi (George).
Satisfied with our tapas, we headed across the street to check out Mercado de La Boqueria. Being directly on the Las Ramblas, it was mostly (disappointingly) touristy, but it we still enjoyed wandering through and admiring all the fascinating seafood and cuts of meat, vibrant fruits and vegetables, and delightful baked and cured goods. I felt like a kid in a candy shop; everything was so colorful and beautifully displayed and I wanted to buy one of everything. We ended up purchasing a few cherries and half of a red dragonfruit to share. It was fun trying to communicate with the vendors and calculate how much many grams we wanted or how much everything would cost. I had a brain deficit (I blame it on jetlag) and idiotically pondered how to communicate that I wanted 1/4 or .2 kgs of cherries (everything was listed as €/kg). I panicked, as I’d never learned how to communicate mathematical terms in my Spanish classes. You can imagine the humiliation and awe that came over me when I realized the beauty of the metric system; doscientos gramos is much simpler to communicate than 1/4 or 1/3 of a kilogram (or even a pound). By the end of our trip, I had fallen in love with the metric system. Why does the USA not utilize this simple but efficient system?
Sadly, this is the only photo I took of La Boqueria and it is shot from the back, more vacant side of it.
One fun moment at La Boqueria was when another tourist (German, I think) asked me if I knew what fruit was in her smoothie. Combining the little Spanish I knew with the body language of the vendor, we were able to figure out that it was made of blueberries (nabiu or arándano). On a side note, because Barcelona has the dual Castilian (Spanish) and Catalonian culture/language, there is an added level of difficulty in communication as many of the older locals speak mostly Catalan and just a little Spanish (though the younger generation seemed to be at least trilingual). I also found it interesting that Catalan is listed and utilized before Castilian (what we know as Spanish), and there are signs all around Barcelona that proudly remind us that “this is not España, this is Catalunya!” Much like in Quebec and Scotland, there have been talks of secession.
After purchasing the fruit, we headed off to see the nearby Roman Necropolis in the Plaça Vila de Madrid. I was stunned at just how saturated Barcelona was with history and culture. Everywhere we turned, we saw incredible old and beautiful or new and colorful sites; the entire city is a jaw-dropping work of art, a lovely mosaic. We found a seat in the grassy plaza and sat in awe, absorbing the view of the 2000 year old road and cemetery that had, until recently, been buried under about 10 feet of earth. It was both humbling and inspiring to witness something so old and see a piece of the culture that continues to live today, as the brilliant ideas and language of the successful Roman people still permeate throughout the “Western” world. It definitely made me reflect upon my own life and the legacy I want to leave. With so much to process, we sat quietly in the park, eating our fruit and trying to absorb everything we had seen and experienced.
Plaça de George Orwell, just a few feet from our apartment.
I woke up in a panic several hours later. What time was it?! Did we really just waste an entire precious afternoon? No, it was only about 4:30pm; we had time yet. Still groggy and less than fully operational, we forced ourselves out of the bed and made our way back down the stairs and into the bustling city below. We headed back over to Las Ramblas to continue the tour we had begun earlier, but in much greater comfort without the ~30lb backpacks in tow.
The famous street had completely transformed since we walked it around 11am. We’d experienced a ghost-town when we’d first arrived but now found ourselves elbow to elbow with tourists. We headed down to the harbor and practically had to swim through schools of people to get there. At the end of Las Ramblas, we found ourselves greeted by a 200-foot Christopher Columbus monument. Thanks to our handy guidebook, we learned about the irony of this monument as it was upon discovery of the “New World” that Barcelona fell into a 300-year economic slump, since trade routes were shifted west and away from the Mediterranean. In fact, it only began making a recovery ~150 years ago. Sadly, the monument was at a far too busy intersection; with all the cars zipping by and tourists flocking around, it was difficult to get a close look at the details and symbolism of the monument.
Las RamblasHuman Statue on Las Ramblas
We crossed a busy highway and wandered over to a nearby park just off the harbor. It was so peaceful and nice to sit and rest in the midst of all the chaos and stimulation, especially near the end of such a long day. Apparently others had the same thoughts, as there weren’t many empty grass patches to be found; people were sprawled everywhere, picnicking, reading, napping, and lounging. Realizing we were hungry, we consulted our guidebook before ditching the park and once again headed back up Las Ramblas, this time to Taverna Basca Irati for our first experience with a tapas bar. On the way, we passed the famed human statues/street performers. They were incredible and had truly mastered their art. These weren’t like the amateur ones we had seen in San Francisco a few years back; these were beautiful and elaborate, the masters of their craft. Having been warned of the presence of pickpockets anywhere crowds were gathered, Jesse and I only lingered a few seconds before continuing to the tapas bar.
Taverna Basca Irati was a welcome sight; we were famished. The bartender was incredibly helpful and pleasant. He spoke many languages at at least a conversational level: Español, Català, Français, Italiano, and English. It was ridiculous and made me slightly embarrassed. I was scraping by with what little Spanish I knew, but was nowhere near conversational and had a very difficult time keeping up with the string of words coming from the locals’ mouths. Anyway, we consumed a glass of white wine, red wine, and several tapas, all of which were delicious. The tapas were fun and full of flavor. I think I tried my first anchovy that day, as well as several mystery ingredients. Most were delicious and it was fun to let the flavors explode in my mouth. Even the house wine was stellar! Needless to say, we thoroughly enjoyed our tapas experience. At the end, we turned in our plate of toothpicks and he counted them to tally our cuenta (1.95€/tapas).
After settling up, we were off to explore more of this rich city!
As familiar as Starbucks was, there were still certain challenges to overcome. Ordering was the easiest part, and I am thankful Jesse knew some Spanish words I didn’t, thanks to sweet Juanita at our local Chick-fil-a who had graciously allowed Jesse to practice with her. Apparently I get horribly timid when exhausted, so Jesse dutifully stepped up and asked for instructions on connecting to the Wi-Fi and entering the restrooms. I was so grateful for a traveling partner at the moment since all I wanted to do was hide from all the humans and take a nice, long nap.
I have heard how obnoxious American tourists are, but have always thought the accounts were exaggerated. As we sipped our lattes con hielo and plotted out the trek to our apartment (our host was allowing us to drop off our bags before check-in), a rather large group of English tourists stumbled in. They sat at the table directly across from us, and I immediately wished them gone. They were loud, obnoxious, messy, and took up way more space than necessary. I found their presence overbearing and intrusive. It was like they wanted everyone in the world to hear every. single. thing. they. were. saying. “Hello, I am English! Please listen to me speak! All eyes fixate upon me, please and thank you!” When they finally did leave, they left a pile of rubbish and spilled drinks at their table. I have no idea if this is typical of English tourists, but if Americans are even half as annoying as their British cousins were [to me], the reports are well-earned.
An alley on the way to our apartment
After quietly cleaning up our mess, we headed back down the mostly deserted Las Ramblas, eager to shed our backpacks at our much longed for apartment. Thanks to the Wi-Fi, we felt like we were getting our bearings and got a boost in confidence. We were able to find the street but could not find the correct number or door. Jesse called our hostess and she said she’d be right down. We waited. And we waited. And we waited. But after 40+ minutes, still nothing. I was begin to feel mildly anxious at this point and concerned we had been scammed. The locals must have picked up on my distress, because the employees at the gourmet pizza shop came over and asked if we needed help and what we were trying to find. Reading all the tales of pickpocketing and scams in Barcelona had scared us stiff, so we were quick to decline their offers of assistance and moved further away.
After about 10 more minutes, thinking we may have missed something, we started wandering again. A bit further down the alley, we discovered a street with an almost identical name (Carrer dels Escudellers vs Carrer d’Escudellers Blancs) and learned that Google Maps had incorrectly interpreted the address and sent us to the wrong street. With that knowledge, we were able to quickly find the correctly numbered janky building and Jesse made another phone call. A few minutes later, a head popped out and we were escorted up a creepy maze of stairs and hallways before entering into a tiny apartment. Our host, Ibilola, was very nice and our apartment, though simple and small, was clean.
The short 1/2 mile stroll from Starbucks to the apartment had somehow taken 1.5 hours, so we didn’t arrive until after our check-in time. Rather than pushing on, far too exhausted to enjoy ourselves, we decided to embrace a different part of the local culture and participate in the traditional afternoon siesta (or migdiada, as we are in Catalunya, not España). Maybe it was the jet lag speaking, but that was my favorite part of the trip so far.
As a special bonus, here’s a video Jesse shot on his phone of us walking up to the apartment (at a different time of the day). I am a little sad that we didn’t include the outside door, but oh well. Next time. 😉
After a mere ~19 hours of travel, we arrived in Barcelona at 7:15 am, too tired and delirious to be terribly excited. We got through customs quickly, thanks to carrying only a backpack each (this was one of the best decisions we made), only to spend more than an hour trying to find our bearings and figure out where we were going (yes, we were still inside the airport at this point). We were able to find an ATM and a bathroom, the two most important things to use before stepping out into the great unknown.
The first thing I noticed upon exiting the airport was that it was much more hot and humid in Barcelona than in NW Arkansas. Still, not nearly as bad as the notorious Armpit-of-the-USA in which we formerly resided. We found the shuttle bus and took it to the next terminal and followed the masses to the airport RENFE station. The walk felt infinitely long. Up stairs, down stairs, up more stairs, through a skywalk so long the we couldn’t see the end. We did, however, have a nice view of the three very attractive, loud French girls in front of us. They had had flowing hair, long legs adorned with fitted jeans, and young abdomens framed by cropped shirts. We noticed they caught the eyes of many others, specifically the middle aged creeper coming from the opposite direction. He looked them up and down as he approached and turned as they passed so he could check out their backsides. A big smile crossed his face; he clearly liked what he saw.
We bought our T-10 tickets from the vending machine and sat and waited for the train, happy to have a few more minutes to collect our thoughts and adjust to the new surroundings. Can you see the exhaustion in our faces?
As the train pulled away from the station, I sat with my face pressed against the window, eager to absorb the first sights of this new land. There were fields just outside of the airport where people were harvesting/weeding/sowing their crops. Billboards lined the property and makeshift shacks, where I presume the farmers lived, were plopped down in the corners of the farmland. Just a bit further up the tracks, we entered the city. It felt a little ghetto to me and lacked the Barcelona character that I had anticipated. It was reminiscent of San Antonio or Los Angeles: simple buildings, apartment balconies piled high with junk, laundry fluttering in the breeze, confetti-like trash dotting the streets, and graffiti in the tunnels. As we explored Barcelona the rest of the day, I realized this was just part of the charm of Barcelona; beautiful buildings and architectural wonders just around the corner from plain constructions and trashy (occasionally tasteful) graffiti.
By the time our train rolled into the city center, it was only 9am and our AirBNB check-in time wasn’t until 12:00pm. We climbed up the steps from the station and instantly found ourselves drowning in confusion and overstimulation. Cars zipped by, people pushed past, and there wasn’t a street sign to be found. We walked up and down the streets staring at our map and turning it every direction in attempts of figuring out where we were. Alas, no such luck. Apparently maps do no good when 1) there are no street signs and 2) when you actually get off at a different metro than you thought you did (Plaça de Sants ≠ Sants Estació). Whew. I had begun to fear that basic geometry was not universal.
After my brilliant travel companion figured out what the problem was (wrong metro stop and seeing there were street signs, they were just placed differently than in the USA), we adjusted our sails and headed towards Las Ramblas to pass some time. It was there that we saw a familiar oasis: Starbucks. Feeling like tourists, we quickly ducked in to caffeinate and take advantage of the free wifi and, as an unexpected bonus, A/C.
I had two thoughts running through my head at this point: “Thank God for Starbucks!” and “I can’t believe I spent $x to fly halfway around the world and I AM AT STARBUCKS.” Oh, the shame…
Flying 3800 miles across the Atlantic Ocean from NYC to Barcelona takes a mere 7 1/2 hours, but the 560 mile trek from our Northwest Arkansas home to our Houston family takes 8 1/2 hours. That’s ridiculous. It still boggles my mind, but it also makes me so happy that international travel has become so quick and easy. I don’t think I’d have any desire to travel if it still involved being stuck on a cramped, smelly, rat-infested boat for 3 months. On the other hand, it makes me reallllllllly want a private jet… which is definitely beyond my current projected total-life income.
Having a private jet would be nice for a number of reasons, namely avoiding awkward situations and rude people. The middle-aged man sitting next to Jesse kept shaking his chair and slamming it into into the recline position. I thought it was odd, but didn’t think too much about it until a woman sitting in a seat across the aisle and one row behind us freaked out and started yelling, “Do not hit my child! You do not hit my baby! That is assault!” At this point, I craned my neck noticed an adult male holding a large child in the row behind us. The woman turned to the nearest flight attendant and demanded that they “do something about this man! He hit my baby!” A few other flight attendants flocked over and they tried to remedy the situation, but there’s only so much to be done on a sold-out flight 38,000 miles above the ocean. The woman claimed that the man sitting next to Jesse was intentionally slamming his seat into the recline position to hit the baby (we all know how wide the recline range is on those airplane seats). The man sitting next to Jesse rolled his eyes at us during all this with an expression that read, “This woman is ridiculous.” When the flight attendants said they really couldn’t do anything, the woman than loudly scoffed, “Apparently this man’s comfort is more important than my baby.” Why her husband/partner who was holding the baby didn’t say anything during all this is a mystery to me…
On a completely different note, the lady sitting directly across from me made me realize that movies like Taken are based on completely plausible scenarios. Within 30 minutes of her talking with the male sitting next to her, she had shared her travel plans, hotel address, city of origin, and name (she’d even pulled out her passport). By the end of the flight, there wasn’t much that this male (or I) didn’t know about her and her trip. Suddenly, the first 20 minutes of Taken didn’t seem so implausible, especially considering this lady was in her mid to late twenties. I guess not everyone’s parents taught their children not to talk to strangers.
Last impressions from the flight: 1) I was freezing the entire trip and quickly regretted not bringing a light jacket. 2) I was pleasantly surprised that on flights to Europe, wine is complimentary and served liberally to those who want it (I did not consume for concern over dehydration).
I could ramble forever about our experience at the castle. Basically, all you need to know is that it was freaking amazing. Perhaps to the seasoned traveler, or to one who doesn’t care about castles and medieval history as much as Jesse does, it wouldn’t be very impressive. But to someone who grew up pouring over castle books, memorizing all the architectural terms, and designing their own castles, this was a a dream 
come true. Even to me, who grew up with Robin Hood, Catherine Called Birdy and Wishbone, this was a thrilling experience.
incredible to be able to walk through the gates and explore the fortress while trying to imagine a once bustling town and merchants lining the streets. I would love to take a look back in time and see what the city looked like with life inside of it, being used as it was intended to be. The castle was very strategically placed on top of the relatively steep hill. The view from the top of the walls was amazing. On a perfectly clear day, I imagine one would be able to see miles and miles out. The view on that 
day was still beautiful; the hills, valleys, fields, and vineyards looked so peaceful. We spent about 4 hours wandering through the castle and still felt like we hadn’t seen everything. I don’t feel like words would do the castle justice, so I leave you with photos instead. In case you couldn’t tell, I had a very difficult time limiting my photo count. so many cool things!
Flying 3800 miles across the Atlantic Ocean from NYC to Barcelona takes a mere 7 1/2 hours, but the 560 mile trek from our Northwest Arkansas home to our Houston family takes 8 1/2 hours. That’s ridiculous. It still boggles my mind, but it also makes me so happy that international travel has become so quick and easy. I don’t think I’d have any desire to travel if it still involved being stuck on a cramped, smelly, rat-infested boat for 3 months. On the other hand, it makes me reallllllllly want a private jet… which is definitely beyond my current projected total-life income.
Take Thought Captive 