I did watch a girl get pick-pocketed while walking out of the metro station. I couldn't believe I had just watched it happen.
She realized what had happened and confronted the guys, and they promptly gave it back and parted ways. We stood by as witnesses in case anything went down.
Moving on, our schedule for our travels--
7th arrive Barcelona
9th arrive Madrid
11th arrive Seville
13th arrive Palermo
15th arrive Florence
17th arrive Venice
20th arrive Rome
25th arrive Athens
Our travels actually started out rather poorly.
We shouldn’t have trusted our confidence in the layout of London. But worry not—we hailed a taxi and arrived at the bus stop in time to make it to Gatwick for our flight to Barcelona.
Barcelona is pretty neat, by the way.
Plaza after plaza connected by alleys full of shops. The buildings climbing on either side of the perhaps six-foot-wide alley as you emerge on one of said plazas, fountains and statues adorning the space open to the bright sun in the cloudless blue sky, maybe a museum or cathedral marking one of the sides.
La Rambla is the spine of the tourist sector. The center is walking only and artists and vendors line it with little restaurants serving occasionally. La Rambla goes all the way down to a large port.
Following the coast from there, we went to a beach and enjoyed the company of a sun we had missed for the duration of our studies in wintry Oxford. There were two exhibitionists that decided to grace our presence. The two men—one surely over 60 (who had a raft of tattoos, including a tattoo of a speedo) and the other likely in his 30s—stood about 20 yards from us completely nude.
People took pictures with them.
It was weird and gross.
Oh, Barca.
No comments:
Post a Comment