No thanks, I don't need a rug... I'm 20-- Spring Break in Marrakesh

Life in the Shoebox- Spring Break in Barcelona

"You're going to Barcelona? My friend went there! She had hot coffee poured on her, and her wallet stolen!"

"My friend tried keeping his hands in his pockets to protect his wallet, so they started to lift his shirt to distract him while they..."

Sure, I want to hear recommendations from people who have traveled to the places I'm going. It's just that I'd rather hear about restaurants and sites, rather than endless stories like those above about people who have gotten pick pocketed or mugged on the streets of Barcelona. Needless to say, our group of 6 girls embarking for Spain for the first leg of Spring break were more than a little paranoid about the possibility of being the next victim in a story that begins "...they were looking at the Gaudi church when suddenly they had no wallet, no passport, and no hope."

I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. I left for Spring break with some of my favorite people in the world, excited, a little paranoid- yes, but looking forward to getting to Spain. We boarded our Ryanair flight that waited, and waited, and waited on the tarmac. No doors or windows out, hundreds of noisy, aggressive, chatty, and some, smelly, Italians, the plane quickly became a fiery hell-hole. People were disrobing, climbing over the seats and one another, and crowding the galley in order to receive their ration of tepid water and one ice cube. We waited for 2 hours in this inferno before being informed that the fog was too bad to lift off, and that the flight would be delayed until the morning. We would be sleeping on the floor of the airport...

And yes, it was not cool. Yes, it was uncomfortable. Yes, we were delirious and crazy come morning. BUT, the girls were troopers, and HEY, we're abroad going on the vacation of a lifetime. So all in all, who can really complain?

After this delay we arrived in Barcelona only to find that our 2 rooms with a private bathroom was a single shoebox of a room with 3 bunkbeds tightly packed inside, and a fairly disgusting bathroom shared with 18 other people. So far our trip to Barcelona was not what we had planned.

Unsure of where to go, and in the drizzling rain, we hoped onto a hop on hop off bus tour. Miraculously the sun came out, and the city seemed to welcome us, at least a bit... The city is like a memorial to Gaudi, his mark left everywhere--colorful, surreal, like a child's dream or what I assume an acid trip would feel like.

As we left our hostel that evening for dinner and passed under the Arc de Triomf, a woman shook her head and said, "Be careful, girls." Not the best omen. Despite this ominous remark, we had a fantastic night, eating some of the most delicious fried, greasy tapas, looking at the lights of the city from the beach, some of us dipping our toes in, freezing in the ice bar and dancing like lunatics. What great friends, what a great night!

After a bit of a late start and a breakfast of "crashed eggs" (eggs over easy on top of french fries. I just died a little inside thinking about it...), we set off in the rain to search for the Parc Guell--Gaudi's masterpiece. Despite the lingering fog and rain, the parc was magnificent. Mosaic tiles, spires that look like they're from the candyland game, winding and waving terraces-- this was my favorite thing place in Barcelona, well, tied with the place that served crashed eggs...

The next morning we grabbed our last tapas and congratulated ourselves on successfully holding onto our belongings through practicing constant vigilance... and got pick pocketed in the airport. Just kidding...