Travels: Barcelona

The stars of the show: lolo and coco.

I like to think of Barcelona as Europe's Vancouver. If I had to live anywhere else in the world, I'd choose Barcelona.

I arrived in Barcelona with Olympia, the girl I'd met at a hostel in London. There we met friends from Calgary, Justine and her sister Claire, and the four of us rented a dorm room at a nearby university. We travelled together for some time, taking in the sights of Barcelona, and the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona.

Post-Pamplona, Justine and Claire returned home to Calgary, and Olympia to California. I returned to Barcelona and stayed at a hostel, where I met the greatest people I've ever had the pleasure of traveling with. No offense to the girls, I quite enjoyed my time with them, but this group was, well...French.

Spain gets flooded with French tourists in August, four of which I took quite a liking to: Gwen, Coco, Lolo, and Manu. The French really don't give a shit what others think of them. Take Manu's rainbow headband for example, or Gwen's hideous little goatee, they rocked their style with confidence. That's why the rest of the world gives them such a hard time, because they operate outside of normality and come off as being somewhat arrogant...when really they are just oblivious.

In any case it's a characteristic of myself that I've been nurturing, and this group really helped bring it out of me. The girls would break into dancing anywhere and everywhere, and given that they wore bikini's at all hours of the day, they'd usually draw a crowd. Sometimes there was music, sometimes not.

We spent a lot of time at the beach, drinking 25 cent cans of malt liquor. In the evenings, we'd grab someone's guitar from the hostel, and wander around town dancing to the 3 or 4 songs that I barely knew how to play.

We went to a few clubs, which open at 3am and go until 8am. Coco rescued me a couple times after drinking too much. I have a habit of not being able to throw up -- so instead of getting it over with and feeling better, I'll just sit in the bathroom hoping to die. Anyway, she'd come in, splash water in my face, and drag me out for some fresh air. It worked wonders. The French have a quaint term for being drunk, which translates to "wooden face". Gwen would make sure to point out to me throughout the evening, "ahhhh...I see you have the wood face".

Unfortunately not everyone is fabulously wealthy and can afford to take a three month vacation. After the French returned home I was a little depressed for a couple days, and decided to take a trip to Andorra to try out their Via Ferratas...a good solo activity.

Manu doesn't care what you think of his headband.

Gwen.

If my deathbed view is anything like this, I'll die a happy man.

All those 90 lbs weakling ads from the comic books were wrong. Chicks dig skinny.

Oh no, she'll never regret that tattoo.

Late night dance party.

Calleigh, Claire, Justine, and Olympia.

Mmm...sheep heads.

Spanish architects know how to make scary gargoyles.

The graffiti in Barcelona was awesome.

On the east side of Las Ramblas, the ghetto, and the land of cheap hostels.

Taken on my last 10 minutes in Spain, on the way to the airport.

I'd like to have this guy a game of twister.

Gaudi chimneys. They charge admission for this view, but nothing a bit of buildering and a 300 telephoto lens can't fix.

Justine.

Justine and Olympia.