Monday 25th – Thursday 27th Oct
Still not sure what it is or how we found it |
This week began with a four hour coach to Barcelona, sweeping us out of one old Spanish city
and into another – except this city had the fun, additional layer of Catalan. My bare-minimum Spanish suddenly seemed like native fluency in
comparison to my comprehension of Catalan and as we’d left the actual Spanish
speakers of our group behind in Valencia, I was withered down to a state of mild
hysteria and shouting “¿Qué?” at anyone who approached me. I’d love to say I get
by with a little help from my friends; in fact I get by ordering cafe con leche at every single place we
stop because it’s the only thing I can say and my friends like to watch me
suffer. And that’s not even Catalan.
Our hostel was great, and soon we had a recovered, fresh
need for Spanish nightlife (that Enrique-and-reggaeton quota is never quite
full. Once you've experienced it you need it like a drug). We
were soon taken in like the weak tourists we are by a man in a pink shirt on La
Rambla, with alluring promises of the magical “s” word (sangria, obviously). However, before
I knew it, I was given a tequila shot, a wristband and was being herded like a
small, confused sheep into a tavern (one ironically named The Black
Sheep). Not long after, I found myself in a drinking game with a girl from LA
and her hostel, we were led to a club like more livestock, Europop and reggaeton ensued, and I watched Matt dance to Tina Turner. Quite the evening.
this big Gaudi thing |
The next day brought a stroll (crawl. We were crawling) to
the Sagrada Familia, and then the market on La Rambla. Both impressive. Both,
you know, kind of big. One full of cured meat and coconuts. One… Not. Thanks to
a stunning recommendation from a friend, we found a backstreet tapas place for one euro per tapas that evening – but not before I had managed to get everyone
lost and took the group on a slightly unnerving tour of the shifty
neighbourhoods of Barca. I could pretend it was a purposeful and insightful
anti-tourist exploration but my nervous laughter each time we hit yet another dimly
lit street gave me away. Eventually we found the tapas restaurant and nothing
mattered anymore. Tapas were worth it.
I managed to lead us astray yet again on Wednesday as we
headed to El Raval – the “edgy” quarter (my words, not theirs). By (my) mistake
we first walked through Chinatown instead and then accidentally skirted round
the edge of the place I had meant to find instead of going through it, before
finally stumbling across a record store, so I knew we’d hit the #edgy goal (you
can take the students out of Leeds, but…). Then someone sold me a peanut butter
doughnut and nothing mattered anymore. Doughnut was worth it (no
theme here).
finally understood some Spanish :) |
The last evening meant a trip to the Manchester Bar
(travelling with Northerners, wasn’t I) and a relatively early night which
still felt too late when I had to wake up at 9:00am for my flight home. I
managed, somehow, and waved goodbye to the warm air, and the nachos, the tapas
and Gaudi and jugs of sangria, the churros and high-rise buildings and city fumes
and palm trees, understanding just one word in an entire sentence, hostels and tourists
and pickpockets, ice creams and paella and my pals. ¡¡¡Hasta luega!!! (that could
literally mean anything, I’m just guessing).
The strangest thing that really hit me, though, was when I
stepped off the plane in Rennes. I smelled a bakery and saw a sign for galettes and other French words
everywhere, and the cold but green, green landscapes and orange-red autumn
trees. And I actually almost felt like being back in Brittany was home. How’s that
for a revelation?
SO:
Clouds: I had to leave Espagna; cry with me. I speak even less Catalan
than I do Spanish. And the bus I needed home from the airport doesn’t run in
October (fun surprise after my flight landed).
Silver linings: I didn’t get pickpocketed, I googled the term
for Spanish speakers and it’s “hispanophone”, and I have laughed an almost
unbearable amount in the past week. Thank you to the girls in Valencia for
showing us round, and to Matt Stew James Josh and Johnnie in various
combinations for being a reliably great-but-infuriating bunch to travel with (but
call me Bindi again and it’s all over).