On Tapa The World.

Now that's a good blog title.  Oh man.  I am funny.

Anyway, it's time for part two of Whitney's Whirlwind Adventure!  After adieuing Mike & co. in Bordeaux, I hopped on a train or three and made my way slowly but surely down to Barcelona.  I was getting a little tired of being a lone traveller, so imagine my great joy when I ran into the arms of these lovely ladies in the train station!  

Nikki, of course, is my Wiener-in-crime, and Elizabeth is my charming friend from TU who is studying in Barcelona for the semester.  She is quite the excellent tour guide and led us around the city.  We saw everything from a giant park that looks like Candy Land  (really!) to beautiful churches to a wonderful market with brilliantly colored fruits and vegetables and sheep heads and cow stomachs and piles of candy and little dried unidentifiable objects.  We also made our way down to the port, where of course I got some juggling action in:

 

Even just walking down the street was an adventure.  There were palm trees growing out of the middle of the sidewalk, chicks and ducks and rabbits in cages for sale, tropical-colored buildings, street performers, beautiful brown-eyed Barcelonean babies, and-- my personal favorite-- when the hills got too steep, there were escalators to help you out.  Awesome.  Unfortunately, the escalators where nowhere to be found on Friday when Nikki and I decided to tackle a nearby mountain (hill?) when Elizabeth was in class.  It ended up being a beautiful walk, though, with this view from a park along the way.

YES.  But somewhere among the tapas, chupito bar, beachside clubs, paella, "hot chocolate" (by which I literally mean "chocolate bar melted in a mug," AHHH), Metro rides, finding out via Spanish facebook that my brother is engaged (!!!), bizarre German hostel roommates, and other such Espanish adventures, we ran out of Barcelona-exploring-time and it was time to haul our buns to Madrid!  

And who else was waiting for me in Madrid than...

EMILY!!!  My media naranja.  We rejoiced, obviously.  And probably obnoxiously, but I couldn't help it.  Despite our overwhelming desire to top off a day that had already included a mountain-climbing and a plane-riding with a Spanish-style all-nighter at the clubs, we instead pooled our money for sustenance (read: almost entirely cookies) at the grocery store next to the hostel.  And the rest of our night looked like this:

 

Chomp chomp chomp blah blah blah.  It was perfect.  The next day was full of touristically responsible sightseeing-- the royal palace (through the bars, of course, seeing as how we didn't want to pay), the Almudena Cathedral ("an uncertain hybrid styles," the guidebook said.  "Weeeeird," we said), and lots of Goya paintings at the art museum.  Fully making up for our previous night in, we also fully (mm-hmm) embraced the Madrid clubbing-till-the-morning spirit.  It may or may not have been a good choice.

The next day was the most perfect day of the whole trip, though.  We went to the Parque del Retiro, which is the most lovely place I have ever seen.  Passing a darling man playing the accordion, we climbed up the steps into a park pathway flanked by trees that looked like giant pieces of broccoli.  The park is HUGE and was filled with jugglers, bikers, tarot card readers, rollerbladers, popcorn booths, street vendors, dancers, clowns, and bands that were positively getting their groove on in the most wonderful way I have ever seen.  We were standing around watching this great combo play "When The Saints Go Marching In" when a little girl escaped from the crowd, and, wrapped up in her little striped hat and puffy pink coat, stood in front of the band and pretended to play the guitar and danced with the clarinetist.  My heart promptly exploded.  

We spent the better part of the afternoon walking and juggling and people-watching there, finally ending up on these big steps that look out onto the little pond where wonderfully European couples were rowing around in little boats and exhibiting impressive amounts of PDA (often simultaneously) (I think it's mandatory in Spain).  When we finally tore ourselves away, we shed a few tears and decided to cheer ourselves up with CHURROS AND CHOCOLATE.  Which is, by the way, the most delicious thing.  EVER. 

A final goodbye to the Euro-mulleted hostel owners was followed by a final trip to the Metro station, where a shabby man sat on a folding chair and played 'O Sole Mio on his violin before we said our adioses to Miss Emily.  And then a red-eye flight to Barcelona was followed by another sad goodbye to Elizabeth, which was followed by a grrrrrreat night on the airport floor, which followed a 4 a.m. wake-up call, a flight back to Vienna, and-- surprise!-- the first day of real classes.  It was a little bit of a long day.  But it is so very good to be back and to shower without flip flops and to not wear the same socks for the fourth day in a row (I guess I miscounted when I was packing.  Whoops).  

I don't have anything else to say.  The end!  You can look at the rest of my pictures here if you are so inclined.  Bye!