Fast forward to my flight's arrival, which was in the evening, and I still had no check-in information from my (now 2nd) host. I learned very quickly that the airport in Barcelona has spotty wifi at very best. I found the nearest familiar face to phone my host, only to realize I had again been duped* by AirBNB in Barcelona.
I remembered reading something about a swanky new hostel chain, Generator Hostels, and recalled seeing an advertisement for a Barcelona location. This is where I would end up trying desperately to rest. I emphasize trying, because it was tantamount to sleeping inside a nightclub filled with Spring Breakers. Never have I felt like such an old, tired soul. This was also the first night I was truly grateful for packing a few KIND bars for emergency meal situations like this one. First night in Barcelona recap: Barcelona 3, me: 0. Ha-rumph.
My second day I was feeling more refreshed and able. I woke up and searched for good accommodations near El Gotic suitable for a single traveling female. Oddly enough, a blog post brought up exactly that, and I ended up staying the rest of my time in Barcelona at the fantastic guesthouse, Barcelona Fashion House (BCN Fashion House). When I walked into the door, Claudia greeted me so sincerely, and the accommodations were so clean, peaceful and soothing, I felt like I had walked straight into heaven. This was where I was meant to stay, complete with a garden terrace, mandala artwork, and network access referencing Ganesha. YES.
After settling in, I spent the next few days riding the metro to a new stop, walking around, intentionally getting lost, and hopping back on the metro. I saw regions of Barcelona immaculately groomed, with friendly faces, and regions filled with "Touristas go home!" graffiti. One day in particular, I sought out a music festival expecting to spend my day lounging, eating, and enjoying a musical scene. HA. Funny, silly little new traveler. My arrival to the festival appeared to be about 4 hours too early, and the neighboring streets were very clearly soaked in the prior evening's urine and celebrations. After wandering around getting lost and feeling quite out of place, I hopped back on the metro resolved instead to see the beach.
The beaches of Barcelona in July are quite the spectacle. I'm pretty sure every partying resident of the Generator hostel was down there dehydrating themselves in the Mediterranean sun. It was simultaneously overwhelming and fantastic. I also promptly turned around, laughing to myself and realizing I prefer more seclusion and serenity to my beach time. I was getting hungry, so I started wandering the small streets of Barceloneta for food. I ended up finding L'Ostria Taverna Gastronomica where I ate one of the most delicious salads I think I have ever had. It was a bowl of arugula with burrata wrapped in a purse of freshly pulled mozzarella, pimentons, olives, olive oil, some small drizzle of angels tears, and topped with giant flakes of sea salt. I tell you, I may have been staving, but that salad was dream-worthy.
I also ordered mussels, a potato puffball they called La Bomba, and a cava sangria. Mid meal, my server and I attempted the hybrid-language conversation that was becoming normal, justin time for me to realize he was asking if I smoked marijuana and inviting me to his "cafe." Not quite knowing what the "right" answer was, or if this was even what he meant, I just kept smiling and nodding like a dummy. Well, not quite like a dummy, since the only harm that was done was an exchange of business cards and smiles. Stuffed, a little confused, and watching the sunset over the Mediterranean, I began my walk/metro ride back to BCN Fashion House.
I remembered reading something about a swanky new hostel chain, Generator Hostels, and recalled seeing an advertisement for a Barcelona location. This is where I would end up trying desperately to rest. I emphasize trying, because it was tantamount to sleeping inside a nightclub filled with Spring Breakers. Never have I felt like such an old, tired soul. This was also the first night I was truly grateful for packing a few KIND bars for emergency meal situations like this one. First night in Barcelona recap: Barcelona 3, me: 0. Ha-rumph.
My second day I was feeling more refreshed and able. I woke up and searched for good accommodations near El Gotic suitable for a single traveling female. Oddly enough, a blog post brought up exactly that, and I ended up staying the rest of my time in Barcelona at the fantastic guesthouse, Barcelona Fashion House (BCN Fashion House). When I walked into the door, Claudia greeted me so sincerely, and the accommodations were so clean, peaceful and soothing, I felt like I had walked straight into heaven. This was where I was meant to stay, complete with a garden terrace, mandala artwork, and network access referencing Ganesha. YES.
After settling in, I spent the next few days riding the metro to a new stop, walking around, intentionally getting lost, and hopping back on the metro. I saw regions of Barcelona immaculately groomed, with friendly faces, and regions filled with "Touristas go home!" graffiti. One day in particular, I sought out a music festival expecting to spend my day lounging, eating, and enjoying a musical scene. HA. Funny, silly little new traveler. My arrival to the festival appeared to be about 4 hours too early, and the neighboring streets were very clearly soaked in the prior evening's urine and celebrations. After wandering around getting lost and feeling quite out of place, I hopped back on the metro resolved instead to see the beach.
The beaches of Barcelona in July are quite the spectacle. I'm pretty sure every partying resident of the Generator hostel was down there dehydrating themselves in the Mediterranean sun. It was simultaneously overwhelming and fantastic. I also promptly turned around, laughing to myself and realizing I prefer more seclusion and serenity to my beach time. I was getting hungry, so I started wandering the small streets of Barceloneta for food. I ended up finding L'Ostria Taverna Gastronomica where I ate one of the most delicious salads I think I have ever had. It was a bowl of arugula with burrata wrapped in a purse of freshly pulled mozzarella, pimentons, olives, olive oil, some small drizzle of angels tears, and topped with giant flakes of sea salt. I tell you, I may have been staving, but that salad was dream-worthy.
I also ordered mussels, a potato puffball they called La Bomba, and a cava sangria. Mid meal, my server and I attempted the hybrid-language conversation that was becoming normal, justin time for me to realize he was asking if I smoked marijuana and inviting me to his "cafe." Not quite knowing what the "right" answer was, or if this was even what he meant, I just kept smiling and nodding like a dummy. Well, not quite like a dummy, since the only harm that was done was an exchange of business cards and smiles. Stuffed, a little confused, and watching the sunset over the Mediterranean, I began my walk/metro ride back to BCN Fashion House.
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