Barcelona continued..
Both Martha and I had been so sensible in our packing for we had ensured that our feet would not suffer and chose to wear that good old foot protector – flip flops or as the Ozzies call them, thongs! Our feet were in mint condition to continue our miles of walking across the exciting city of Barcelona. Two well seasoned travellers had completely omitted bringing a good pair of sturdy walking shoes with us, so hell bent on being in the hot weather. It was hot, yes, but boy did we walk that weekend.
Martha had another mission to accomplish for this weekend, which meant walking loads. The mission, to procure a certain traditional head gear for her father. This particular hat was worn by the anarchists of Catalonia, who once ruled this small area of Spain. We walked for damned miles looking for this hat, we entered a tacky tourist shop to be told that they had just what we were looking for, but that they would have to go and get it out of stores. So we hung around for about twenty minutes waiting to see if this really was what Martha sought. The assistant returned and in his hand was what appeared to be the hat. We jumped up and down with excitement, so pleased that we had actually found one. Then the disappointing news was told, it would cost her twenty euros. For two pieces of cheap felt sewn together they wanted about £18.00, there was just no way would Martha pay this. The assistant then began dropping the price, each time Martha said no, eventually he offered to take 10 euros but would not go any lower as this was its cost price. Martha took one more look at it and said no, it was probably worth about 3 euros at most and we left. Initially pissed off with this, Martha then rallied and said that now she knew what they looked like, she would make one upon her return to England. Her dad would never know.
We returned to the hostel to get ourselves ready for a Friday night out on the town. We didn’t now where we were going nor where we would end up. We returned to the square we had visited on our first night, as whilst there, we had established where the sangria would be sold at a decent price and we had been given a voucher so we thought we may as well use it. And so Friday night began with that good old Spanish classic, the pizza, yeah I know wrong country. But, Martha can’t eat shellfish and so the paella was out. At the restaurant we were seated at a row of tables that had been laid for couples. Next to our table were another two girls on a weekend out and whilst we were eating and drinking we got chatting to them. A nice pair from up north. They had been a little freaked out about Barcelona as they had heard some horror stories of muggings and theft. We assured them that this would be the case in any large city and to remember that they weren’t at home but in a foreign country. This appeared to give them the confidence to ask if we knew any where to go. We suggested that night club across the square, so once they had finished their meal, off they toddled.
