Crawling through Barcelona

La Sagrada Familia

You know what? Barcelona was pretty, but who the fuck is surprised by that? Even if I could describe it in terms that would give you the perfect image of the awe-inspiring cityscapes I saw, would that be entertaining? I hope you're thinking "No, of course not!" because that's the right answer. Before I move on, I will say that I could take a picture in that town with my eye closed and I could still sell it on a post card. That's how good-looking the place is. Oh, and La Sagrada Familia looks like a temple out of Lord of the Rings.

Aside from a lot of walking around, oo-ing and ah-ing at all the pretty shit to oo and ah at, Jack and I went on a bar crawl that went through the bulk of The Gothic District. As you may expect, the Gothic District of Barcelona is filled with architecture in the style of its namesake. What's especially cool about the area is that all of these magnificent old buildings have been appropriated by restaurants  bars, and clubs. Now you can casually get wasted in  the very same buildings the Spanish Inquisition could have pre-gamed in before going out and torturing infidels to death.

Painting on the wall of the hostel

The pub crawl was introduced to us by our sassy receptionist at the Hip Karma Hostel. It was the only hostel I've ever heard of that doesn't allow drinking or even the possession of alcohol on its premises. But that didn't stop them from advocating some good ol' fashioned drunken festivities. Jack and I were sitting in the kitchen eating our chorizo and bread dinners when a young, refreshingly friendly American sat down beside us and introduced himself. He was Aaron, a 19 year old Adderall and weed dealer from Michigan. He asked us if we were going on the pub crawl and we gave him a couple tepid I-don't-knows.

"C'mon, let get a group from the hostel together!" How could we argue with that? He found another girl who was staying in the same room as Jack and me who went to school in Colorado. Despite being an American, the nicest response I got from this one all night was an eye-roll and a puff of cigarette smoke.

Alleyway in the Gothic District

The pub crawl started out at the first bar, which was supposed to be in a square but ended up being down a winding street that led us down a schizophrenic path of despair that amounted to us being half an hour late. Fortunately we were on Spain time and drinking time, so we actually got there almost an hour before they got the ball rolling.

The first bar was nothing more than another one of the ever-present Irish pubs one finds everywhere from Tennessee to Tunisia. Those Irish have globalized alcoholism far more than any other culture. I guess it's better than not having a national identity at all. I'm looking at you Denmark! We sat down at a large wooden table shaped like a spool turned on its side and enjoyed the beers we traded our tickets for.

A drunken Englishman got in an argument with Aaron over universal healthcare that eventually devolved into an argument over Europe's view of America. Naturally, the Englishman was pointing out how fat we all are, and then went off on a rant about how ugly our cars are. As I got more drunk and gradually more tired of the stale topic, I butted in and explained to them both that neither was winning the debate and the people around them were growing bored by the second. They stopped quarreling but the girl we came with, Matea, began giving the Englishman a philosophical blowjob that last until we finally left the bar. She's a self-hating American. It's a philosophy I can identify with but have gotten over since seeing how disgustingly elitist you have to be to think you're better than any country.

The next bar was metal themed, and the DJ only played requests. It was awesome. Above the two bars hung head phones that played the exact same music playing over the speakers except louder and clearer. It seemed like a silly thing to have at a place as social as a bar, but it was still fun putting them on and ignoring even the loudest person next to you.

The final bar was a club that, in true pub crawl form, had by far the worst prices of the night. At 6 euros a beer, I was force to go outside and by my booze from the Indians walking on the streets pushing warm cans of beer at a euro a pop. I picked up two and went inside again. The top floor was a typical club that was typically empty on a weeknight. The bar crawl brought enough frat boys and Aussies to fill it up halfway. The downstairs had a stage on which a Spanish rock band performed a couple songs before stage diving with each one of their members/groupies/stage managers.

We left without Aaron and I found him on the bathroom floor of the hostel in his underwear.