The Poetist

Highlights:
Open air pet stores on Las Ramblas
Eduard
Flavia
the Barri Gótic
learning the history of Catalonia
museums being open from 8-11
La Sagrada Familia
the Parc Güell
an amazing croissant from the bakery around the corner (best in Barcelona)

Lowlights:
the rain on the second day
feeling nauseous for the greater part of the second day
vomiting at 30-45 minute intervals for 6-7 hours on the second day
having no energy on the 3rd day

Honorable Mention:
Starbucks, for being everywhere (notably quite near the Sagrada Familia), and for providing high-calorie frappuchinos, which come in handy when you’re on a liquid diet.

***
Among the animals being sold on Las Ramblas there weren’t just the normal cuties like kittens, rabbits, cockatiels and guinea pigs, there were more serious birds like roosters, and …pigeons. Yes, pigeons. Tim and I couldn’t understand who would pay money for them when you can get them off the street for free, but we decided that it must be a very lucrative trade. Everything you make off of it would be a profit. Whenever we saw pigeons after that we’d say oh – there’s an easy €10 right there! In fact, if I had been more enterprising, I bet I could have caught and sold enough pigeons to make up for the extra train ticket I had to buy for Amsterdam.

*
The history of Catalonia is quite interesting. Way back in the day Spain wasn’t Spain, there was Castille and Catalonia. Castille was backed by the French Bourbons, and Catalonia was backed by the Hapsburgs. The Castillians + Bourbons eventually won control, and the language and government of Castille became the language and government of Spain. Catalonia has remained Catalonia, but Catalan is not recognized as an official language in Spain. (I credit Eduard for teaching me everything I learned and just regurgitated)

*
Unfortunately, Barcelona wasn’t all sunshine and butterflies. In the late afternoon on the second day I started to feel very, very nauseous. At first I thought it was something I had at lunch, or perhaps the cookies dipped in sweet wine that we had for dessert. Then as the nausea grew stronger I thought maybe it was all the gluten I’d been having. Being on vacation, I decided that I would eat whatever I wanted. But then, walking down the Ramblas after seeing Eduard’s Barceloneta apartment, I nearly threw up in a trashcan on the sidewalk. And I thought to myself – in all my 24-odd years of eating gluten, it never once made me throw up.

Shortly thereafter (after we reached the hostel) I projectile vomited the entire contents of my stomach. I don’t know if you’ve ever projectile vomited – but it’s quite an experience. I felt my entire digestive system pull together, literally, to defy gravity. Everything contracted, as if I were encased in one huge abdominal corset, to push out the contents of my stomach with a force and velocity I had never seen. And it didn’t just come up and dribble out. It gushed out like my body had become a glorious fountain. Afterwards I sank to the floor, feeling spent like an empty casing. Unfortunately I had to return to the bathroom at somewhat regular intervals for the next 6-7 hours. I tried drinking water and shortly thereafter it all came up. For the most part though it was bile – that odd substance found at the bottom of the stomach; really scraping the bottom of the barrel.

The next day was our last in Barcelona. I felt entirely sapped of energy, but around midday I rallied for our trip to La Sagrada Familia and the Parc Güell (both beautiful Gaudi creations). And bless Tim’s heart for being so patient with me and my snail’s pace as we made our way to these famous sites.

Highlights:

The Van Gogh museum
watching a bad movie (The Parking lot) in a random coffeeshop
the beautiful canals
the beautifully classic architecture
Anne Frank’s house
Dutch pancakes
coffeeshops

Lowlights:

losing €110 on my train ticket to Amsterdam
the unexpectedly cold weather
discovering that unsavory characters start appearing in the streets after 1am
being lost in Amsterdam after 1am
leaving a piece of clothing behind in the hostel
cold apple pie

***
The best thing about the Van Gogh museum was the letters. The exhibit was replete with letters written by the artist to his brother, and his artistic contemporaries. Given that there are so many artists that we memorize facts as about as children, I really enjoyed getting more perspective on Van Gogh through his personal letters.

***
I have to admit, the Amsterdam segment of my trip was colored by a train debacle that actually took place in Paris. My friend and I obviously bought our train tickets in advance of our trip, and arrived at the train station armed with our itinerary and confirmation numbers. The ticket agent, however, would only issue the ticket if presented with the same credit card that was used to purchase the ticket. Not wanting to use that particular card on my trip, I left it in San Francisco. Very much to my dismay, the station agent offered no other alternative. So we hopped onto my friend’s Blackberry.

First, I tried logging into my account to get the information, but then we remembered that online bank accounts rarely display your full account number – and even if it had, I would need the expiration date too. We then got the idea to call one of my roommates in San Francisco (even though it was 1am) and have him read off the card information to me. Unfortunately I had left my cellphone in Dublin (my phone couldn’t even keep time in Europe), but I knew I could get my roommates’ numbers from Facebook! My friend pulled Facebook up on his BB… and I realized that I didn’t know my password – without a QWERTY keyboard, at least. Just for the record – I have a *very* secure password – it’s a combination of letters, numbers, AND symbols. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember the particular symbols, just where they were on the keyboard. I had one last option – I called MasterCard. But MasterCard, in case you didn’t know, doesn’t have 24 hour service. So there I was – I had tried every option I could think of and we were running out of time. About 5 minutes before the train departed I decided that if I wanted to continue my trip I would have to buy a new ticket. With hindsight (which is always 20/20), I realized I had had one more option – I could have spoken to the agent in French. It’s been my experience in France that if you’re speaking English, a person won’t try to help you – keyword, try. As it was, the agent first spoke to me in English and I answered in-kind.

I’m going to write a letter to SNCF (en français, of course), to try and get my money back. It’s ridiculous that they made me buy a second train ticket when I had clearly already paid for the first one. I doubt I’ll get anything more than a credit towards another ticket, but that would at least be something.
*
And so I entered Amsterdam smarting over the €110 hit my vacation budget had just taken, but the wonder and craziness of Amsterdam helped me forget.