I had reserved a hostel bed for the evening I arrived in Barcelona - INOUT Hostal, quoted on Hostelworld as being a 5-minute walk from Plaça Catalonia. However, when I asked for directions at a tourist office in the train station, I received a different story. The hostel was off the map, and a 20-minute walk from the nearest metro station, up a huge hill, to get there. Perhaps with a jet plane I could have made it there from the Plaza in 5 minutes, but as I was provided no such mode of transportation, it was a 40-minute metro ride. The unpleasant surprises didn't end there. The "10-bed dorm" housed in actuality 16-20 people in one room, and although the door was locked, the electronic key opens it with a loud and abrasive buzz, to which I woke up at all hours as new-comers came in and then shone flashlights in the faces of the sleepers in their search for a bed. Pleasant. I guess that 10-pm curfew was inaccurate as well.
So I got nearly no sleep on the hard, thin mattress, woken often by the door and then the noise of the newcomers, and I had to leave at 6:40 in the morning to try to intercept Jay on what I hoped to find him on -- the 8:24 train from Paris. I had asked the night before whether I could check out at any time, specifically at 6:30 AM, and they said yes. This is not to pay, mind you, but to return the key in exchange for my 10-euro deposit; I'd paid for the room already. Given that I'd already paid and was owed money back, it is perhaps not surprising that there was no one to be found at 6:30 in the morning. Frustrated, furious, and out of time, I was forced to leave the key and a furious Spanish note expressing my displeasure at the situation and requesting that they send me my deposit. We'll see how that goes.... Frankly, I've no such expectations.
Getting to Estacio França was a mini-adventure in itself. Upon exiting the metro station, I saw no obvious indication of the train station, so I asked a man walking nearby. He gave some complicated and detailed instructions, but after following them for a few minutes I realized I didn't feel like it was the correct way to the station. I asked again, to a woman this time, who gave completely different directions, but thought it was cute that I'd trusted a male in such matters (I now remember being told in Chile that a latino will lie and send you halfway to Timbuktu before admitting that he doesn't know where something is. Ah, machismo).
The sweet woman walked most of the way there with me, chatting like crazy. Cute. With her help, I successfully found the station from her directions and Jay was on the train I'd guessed, so much relief and rejoicing ensued. See, I'd run out of minutes on my German cell phone and couldn't add minutes from Spain. As Jay and I had planned to meet up by using my phone, I was a little worried. I'd not been able to e-mail him in time to confirm which train (or station, for that matter) he would be coming in on, so... I was a bit worried that we wouldn't be able to find each other.
We walked around for a bit, ate Paella (amazing food), and settled under a few palm trees to read/write in the sun there.
While walking around, we noticed a lot of interesting graffiti and murals, as well as an intriguing boulevard aimed (presumably) at tourists, with stands selling portraits, statue-performers, flower/jewelry/souvenir shops, and, rather inappropriately, pet stores. Just in case, on your trip to Barcelona you decide you just cannot do without a terrified caged squirrel.
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