What an eventful day! I do not even know where to begin, where the adventure starts, or where the insomnia blurs with reality in a dizzying haze.

I left the airport after getting some change and finding my bags. Despite some family concern about me travelling alone, everything went smoothly: finding baggage claim in Spanish, getting change from an ATM, getting smaller bills for the bus, and catching the right bus. I jumped on the A1 and headed for Catalonia. I asked the bus driver to alert me at my stop, and he did. First on the agenda: find some food.

I stopped at a little pizza place off Cataluna Place and got some food, which was quite enjoyable. I had a four-cheese pizza and some water.

With food in my stomach, I was ready for the next adventure: finding my hostel. But first, I needed to find Cafe Zurich. Not knowing where to go, I bought a map and asked a vendor where “donde esta Cafe Zurich?” She mumbled something and pointed the other direction. Two minutes later I was standing at a cafe with hundreds of other people. I spread my map, figured out where I was, and headed out. It was maybe 9:00, and I had no clue where to go. I headed off in what I thought was the right direction.

One thing I will say about Spain, or at least Barcelona, is that the streets are poorly labeled. They are laid out differently from what I am used to in the States, and the smaller streets are only listed on the sides of buildings, if at all. A while later I asked Ashley where we were, she pointed, and I said I did not think so. We had walked along this main boulevard a few too many blocks and ended up down by the harbor. Walking back, I borrowed the map and gave it another try. The silly map was not really right. Some main streets on the map were actually little one-lane roads, which made finding my hostel quite a pain. I stumbled down a street that I thought was right, asking one vendor where the hostel was. He pointed, and I found a sign that said “hostel residencia.” That must be it, right? No. I walked to the top of a five-story building and had no such luck. At about 10:00pm it was hot, not scorching hot, but hot enough to make you sweat when you walked around with a big pack. I found a place, but in a somewhat dysfunctional exchange the guy tried to get me to stay there, and I stood firm. It was not my hostel, which is what I wanted. I asked for the address and immediately noticed that I was on the wrong street. The map had the situation entirely wrong. After locating the right street I was relieved to see a hotel with lots of people in it and my reservation waiting. I checked in, put my bags down, and ran back to Cafe Zurich to meet my friend. I was four minutes late.

Sibyl seemed to be having the time of her life; she was tan and knew the city pretty well. I boarded the metro and travelled to another part of town, but the club we intended to visit was closed. Adding to the situation, I had slept for only about three hours over the previous five days. I found another lively place at 1:00 a.m. on a Tuesday and had a few drinks with two of Ashley’s friends. The local beer was good, and Ashley and I eventually made our way home.

I showered, watched part of a Spanish movie with the host-lady, curled up in bed, and slept for 7 1/2 hours. And the new day beckons. I am off to find food, and whatever adventure lies on that path.