Barcelona Blues

I can barely keep track of everything that happens every single day. It’s insane how much I see, how much I do, and how much changes in just one day! The ride in to Barcelona was a little rough. I no longer have a tent mate . . . which means I have a tent to myself. Having no tent mate can be really lonely, especially when I have to set up and take down my tent. On the bright side, I have so much more space, and lots of privacy which is good. I also get good sleep because there are no distractions. My “ex-tentmate” apologized to me last night at the Flamenco for unexpectedly ditching me as a mate. I can’t wrap my head around it, but have just decided to let it go and enjoy the benefits of being on my own now. It’s still relatively early in my adventure and I’m sure this will be just one out of many minor speed bumps along the way.

So far it has rained just about every day (going on day 7 now). Sleeping in the cold every night and being constantly wet has given me a cold. I’m not the only one sick though, just about everyone has a cold and a cough. Rolling up my tent in the mud is awful, especially since I have to do it alone. I’d love it if this weather lightens up soon because I don’t think I will be able to handle very well a month of rain and mud . . . but I’m doing okay so far!

We decided to try the cable car after hours of walking around the city. The ride begins with a lift ride to the top of the cable car tower. Passengers are quickly ushered on to the cable car. According to a sign inside of the car it holds a maximum of twenty people. I couldn’t help but wonder how twenty people could ever fit. Even with ten to twelve people on board it’s already pretty difficult to manoeuvre around the car and there is some slight tension from everyone getting up into each other’s personal space in efforts to score a window view. Naturally I was smushed in the middle and barely saw a thing. On the plus side, the cable car brought us to the other side of the port where we found a small restaurant and shared a giant pitcher of strong, colourful sangria.

So far Barcelona has been the only place I have felt uneasy with my purse. I busted out my velcro pouch that hides my passport underneath my clothes. Walking around I noticed several men looking at me up and down and side to side, looking for anything on me to quickly snatch. On one occasion a man even followed a group of us from block to block. I can’t believe I was bold enough to take money out from an ATM, but we all made sure to guard each other in the process of withdrawing cash. If I ever do make it back to Spain, I’d like to explore Northern Spain as well as its islands. Maybe even Andorra!