Deaf is the new blind

This will also not quite catch up, but here goes:

Eventually I more or less get kicked out of the hostels due to the Madrid vs. Barcelona match here in Barcelona the weekend before last. Luckily, while in said hostels I meet a German/American/English guy by the name of Timothy, and end up crashing at his new apartment with his terrific flatmates the night before I go to pick up Will. In reality I crash there the day of, as the Timothy crew and I go out until 6:30am and end the night watching the sun rise on the beach.

Quite hung over, I pick up my good ole cousin in the airport with few glitches. Though I paid for us to sleep in one hostel, we don't really seem to have a bed, and get shuffled around to another hostel. Will and I dine on an oddly cold seafood dinner, and catch the end of the game (which uneventfully ended in a draw) in a terrific little old man bar.

The hostel has a freaking awesome free breakfast with real food, and Will and I enjoy. We then check into another the hostel in Barri Gótic, where all the action is. At this point I am a Barcelona hostel expert, with 5 or 6 different ones under my belt. After some beach walking and intense searching for tall swings, we wander into Parc del Guinardó. Adjacent to this park is a complete mystery of a hilltop covered in dozens of ruined 1960's dwellings. Possibly the highest point in the central city area, and on the same ridge as Parc Guell sits, you basically have aerial views of the city while sitting on the remains of some one's kitchen steps (still need to look into this place).

While walking through the well-to-do neighborhood below we find some swings, but this city just doesn't know how to do them like Vancouver (they're too short and hard on the ass). That evening Will has some tasty Sangria while I sip on a liter mug of beer, making up for the dissatisfying dinner.

The next day, we search for a tandem bike or scooter for rent. Apparently Barcelona doesn't have a big tandem bike culture, and it's technically illegal for me to drive a scooter with an American licence (with the threat of potential impounding if caught), so we tour the Sagrada Familia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sagrada_familia) instead. Here we eat food previously gathered from the terrific La Boquería (http://www.boqueria.info/), and catch some spectacular views from one of the cathedral's eight towers (they have a double shell construction similar to the Duomo in Florence by Brunelleschi (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Maria_del_Fiore#Dome)!)

This evening we begin our journey toward Montserrat (http://www.abadiamontserrat.net/angles/index.htm) (thanks to Kay for the recommendation). After catching a train to the mountain's base, we discover we have missed the last tram to the top (where our hotel is) by an hour. This is a little distressing, as it still 10km away (mostly vertical), and there is no way up except taxi.....or hitchhiking.

Hitching proves to be a little difficult for two dudes in a small town at night (especially because they can't see Will's cane of pity in such conditions). However in less than two hours, one can of generic beer, half a bag of cheesy poofs, and several renditions of Alanis Morsette's "Ironic," we snag a ride with a guy that works in the hotel.

Again, though reservations made, we have no room. This turns out to be the best problem ever, as we stay for two nights in a "swank" hotel room, complete with basilica/valley view, tub AND bidet, for the same price. I've not known such luxury since Dublin (no dingleberry pie here).

The next day is really great: we catch a morning mass, go on a really long hike among the strange towering, bulbous pinnacles of rock, and hang out on the step of a remote little chapel in the sun. Throughout the day is an inter-cousin war of flatulence, as copious amounts of beer and dried figs have been consumed for days. That evening we listen to the exceptional boys choir sing in the Basilica in front of the black Virgin Mary, and have a savory fish dinner in the hotel restaurant.

The next day brings seas of Spanish school children who do performances to songs like Greased Lightnin' on a temporary stage in front of the Basilica. As quickly as possible we get cafe and croissants, and catch a spectacular cable car ride, which gets us down the mountain in record time where we wait for an hour for the next train to Barcelona. In this time we discover much of the tile patterns found at train stations and metro stops are supposed to help the blind navigate. And talk about music industry, which I lamely try to analogize to architecture.

Back in Barcelona we check into yet another hostel with kitchen, garden, and roof terrace, and tour Antonio Gaudí's remarkable La Pedrera / Casa Milá (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Pedrera). After the stupid mistake of buying exorbitant pizza slices on Passeig de Grácia, we collect more food from the Market. Quasi-spaghetti and lovely couple from NY state that evening. That night our search for Absinthe ends with a scotch and gin tonic in the neighborhood Brazilian gay bar.

A relatively successful apple cheddar omelet the next morning (my cooking is improving). Another failed attempt at searching for a decent tandem bike (the one place with one wanted 35€ for four hours!). Again we resort to Gaudí, and wander around Parc Guell (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parc_Guell) eating quasi-spaghetti leftovers. Another Absinthe attempt ends with beers in an Irish pub off of Las Ramblas.

Will and I have a good time hanging out in the airport, waiting for the flight to take off. Suddenly, in the soft of hum of the departures terminal, blow horns explode. Perhaps they are for the arrival of a sports star, the welcoming of a Catalan grandmother, or just maybe for cousin Will's departure on his long journey home. Thanks for the visit dude, I look forward to the next one...

The next installment will actually catch this thing up (I hope).