And everything seemed to be going so well...

A baby dear taking its first unsure steps out of the amniotic fluid.

That is how my legs feel right now.

Yesterday I hate.

Alli and I missed our train out of Barcelona because tickets weren't required and we waited around the wrong station. At 19:00, I got concerned about our destination not showing up on the departures screen when it was supposed to leave at 19:25. Turns out it left from the station across town. So we decided to speed walk to the nearest Metro station, which is really about 10 minutes away. And then we started to get on the Metro in the wrong direction, since the stops and Vías are poorly marked. We arrived at L'Estació Sants at 19:30, but trains wait for no one.

I tried to get help from the ticket desk, but the man just laughed at nuestro gran problema, gave us a partial refund, and sent us on our merry way.

It was not merry.

We started to look for flights, but couldn't find any feasible options. At 22:00, unable to get any help from the dear staff of Sants, we decided to head towards the area of town we were familiar with. On foot.

We walked for almost 3 hours.

At 1:00, after being told there was no room at the inn at several inns, and having made it miraculously to a well lit, populated area, we paid 7.50€ each for a big punch bowl of coke on Las Ramblas.

L'Estacio França, where we supposed we could resolve our problems, did not open until 5. We tried to stay in a Burger King (cerrado a las 3) and opted to spend the night in a well-lit park nearby. Sitting pack to pack to prevent any thievery attempts, we tried to read.

We were distracted by the most beautiful couple, having the steamiest, most passionate makeout session imaginable. For 30 minutes, the cutest girl and guy went at it. Totally shameless. Totally incredible. And I was trying to read Lolita. But the making out was better.

We were approached by a young American man, John, who asked us if we were taking turns sleeping and guarding our stuff. We told him we weren't planning on sleeping, but that he could go ahead and rest if need be. Meanwhile, a Gambian drug lord sauntered over and wanted to know our names, music preferences, whether or not we could sing, and which one of us belonged to the American. Eventually, after imploring me to continue with my version of Drop It Like It's Hot, to no avail, Drug Lord Alex left, and Alli and I talked with our fellow traveler about the army, politics, America, and you guessed it, traveling.

Around 4:45, just when we were getting ready to head to the station to find a more secure place to finally rest and to try to take care of the tickets fiasco, our little friend returned. He wanted to know how it could be that a man could have more than one wife (John had told him he had 4 when asked which girl he belonged to), and whether I would help him come to U.S. We told him he would have to contact George Bush directly, he didn't like this answer and wanted to "research [my] mind to make [me] think about it." It may have been a marriage proposal. I'm not sure. But I definitely was not going to accept. Half an hour later, we left for França.

Where they couldn't help us and sent us to Sants.

Where they couldn't (or wouldn't) help us.

But boy, did they like gossipping about me during the 15 minutes I bawled my eyes out, frustrated that we couldn't secure a Milan connection, by how unkindly we were treated, and by the fact that my Spanish seems to have failed me.

Eventually we got breakfast. After another 2 hour walk and several failed attempts to find eggs.

I have never liked bacon so much as I did this morning.