Londres and Nottingham

London was calling in February and for the first big vacation of the semester I decided to hop a plane to the English capital for a few days in a big city. One of my best friends from high school, Ella, has been studying there since August and she offered to put me up during my stay. So on the first Saturday of break I hopped on the bus from Aix to the Marseille Provence airport to experience my first flight with RyanAir.

The flight was quick and painless and I arrived at London Stanstedt airport at about 9 in the evening. An unfortunate tradeoff for the excessively low prices RyanAir provides is that the airline uses non-primary airports. Stanstedt lies about an hour and a half from central London, so upon arrival I had to find my shuttle and watch headlights flash by until we reached our destination in the middle of town. From there I headed into the Tube and followed Ella's directions to her dorm in Islington - an up-and-coming neighborhood in west-central London.

We were both pretty tired by the time I got there, but I was hungry as usual. It was late and we were both too tired to make anything, but Ella pulled some suspect looking portobello mushrooms out of the fridge that were topped with goat cheese and sundried tomatoes. She assured me that they were "fresh," but I'd put my money on them being between 6 and 25 days old. We mingled in the kitchen as I ate my reheated salmonella cakes before washing the dishes and heading back to Ella's room. We hung out and shot the shit for a couple of hours before succumbing to heavy eyelids. I stooped to find my glorious air-mattress waiting for me. I say air-mattress, but a more accurate description would probably be "tarp." Although a thing of beauty when inflated and a body on top of it, after about an hour on top of the thing I found myself in an odd sort of hammock/fetal position. My ass was touching the floor where the mattress had sagged due to the loss of air, while my upper back and lower legs both loomed up above my sinking mid-section. Meanwhile, Ella was sleeping peacefully on her lavishly comfortable bed.

The next morning we got up and readied ourselves for a day on the town. From Ella's dorm we walked about a mile to a local cafe that caters to London's many cyclists. The place was hoppin' with morning patrons, but we managed to find a table and order a couple of excellent americanos and some porridge made from muesli and topped with tangy creme fraiche and fresh strawberries.

After breakfast we began what would be a long day of walking. From the cafe we made our way through the city. Our first stop was the area around Liverpool street where a Camden street market sets up on Sundays. A few square blocks are turned into a pedestrian causeway with vendors peddling homemade and hand-crafted wares, while hockers offer up all sorts of exotic and more familiar foods. We wandered past carts selling fantastic looking chorizo sizzling away over charcoal with delicious looking ciabatta buns waiting to be filled with rocket (dandelion greens) and the spicy sausage. Caribbean stalls offered up goat and curry, while a plethora of Japanese, Chinese and Southeast Asian purveyors tried to sell us on various kinds of noodles, dumplings and rice dishes. As tempting as all the foodcarts were, it was almost overwhelming to pick and with so many to choose from the fear of wasting our money on something unsatisfying led us away from the market to Poppies Fish and Chips.

Poppie's had only opened a few weeks earlier and already was becoming a classic according to the guy at the door. An old style fish and chip shop, the dining room was adorned with tile walls and floors, while waiters and cooks wore clean whites. The fish and sides sat behind a big glass counter to act as a sort of psychological aperitif. After waiting about 15 minutes for a table to open up we were hustled inside and handed menus displaying the daily selection. All the usual suspects were there - cod, halibut, hake and others - along with a few more exotic species. The sides were classic, too. Mushy peas, jellied eel and fish cakes. 

We both ended up going with the halibut, but I ordered a side of mushy peas to at feign an attempt  to eat some vegetables (or at least something green) with my gut-bomb plate of fried seafood and potatoes. The service was prompt and the results were of the highest quality. The fries were fries - thick cut and crispy enough, but the main event - the battered halibut - was excellent. The fist retained it's shape and broke apart in large, tender, but meaty chunks when tested by a fork. The batter was crispy and not at all greasy - it wasn't one of those wipe your face after every bite kind of meals, the way some fish and chips can leave you feeling like you have a film of oil covering your face. Furthermore, the whole piece of fish remained delicately juicy and crunchy on the outside for the duration of the meal (even the side lying on the plate, which has a habit of losing its appeal as it gets soggier and soggier). The mushy peas were excellent as well. The consistency of good mashed potatoes and with ample salt they went terrifically with the halibut. 

After lunch we decided to walk off our delicious indulgence and headed over to the Spitalfield's market - an indoor collection of independent sellers presenting everything from things for the home, to purses jewelry, baked goods and clothing. We passed a stall selling fresh caught British oysters and I managed to convince Ella that this was the perfect occasion to try one for the first time. We ordered one each and watched the proprietor skillfully shuck the things without spilling a drop of the briny "oyster liquor" or losing a digit in the process. We topped each with a squirt of lemon and a little spoonful homemade dressing consisting of red-wine vinaigre, sugar and shallots. We toasted to a fantastic day in London before knocking back our treats. I enjoyed mine thoroughly, but I think Ella was (and remains) unconvinced about the joys of oyster eating.

From the market we meandered further into Central London until we came to St. Jame's Park. We made our way around the large manicured grounds surrounding a large lake positively filled with swans, ducks and all sorts of other water fowl. The Churchill War Rooms sit at one end of the park and as it was beginning to drizzle, it seemed like the perfect place to escape the elements and attempt to soak up some culture. The Museum comprised of the private bunker used by the British Prime Minister during WWII to avoid the dangers of German air raids. The structure remains exactly as it was when the war ended, as the fortified bunker was simply left when Germany finally surrendered. Patrons can listen to an audio guide as make their way through the subterranean structure and learn about what life was like in the European nerve-center of the allied forces. One of the most striking things I noticed was the stark, and somewhat ironic contrast between the standard military architecture and the rather extravagant living quarters kept for Churchill, his family and some of his key cabinet members - despite the threat of German warheads toppling London, Churchill managed to live pretty well all things considered.

Emerging back into the daylight - even the lackluster London grey - was hard on the eyes after an our below ground. Ella and I traversed the park for a second time on our way to meet another friend from high school, Devon, who is spending the semester in London as well. We rendez-voused at a bar near her dorm dowtown. We caught up for an hour or so over a beer before going our separate ways before the next day.

Ella had class Monday so we just caught the subway and headed back to Islington. From the subway station we ambled down to the corner store and pick up a few things to make fried rice with. We ambled back up to her communal kitchen and set to work frying ginger, garlic and leeks before tossing in some soy sauce, chili paste and the rice. We topped it off with a soft friend egg and washed it all down with a bottle of Danish beer. We mingled with some other people who were busying themselves preparing dinner before cleaning up and heading down to see some of her friends that live in the building with her.

On Monday Ella got up for school early and cajoled me out into the world. It didn't take much nagging since I was ready to go explore the city. My first stop was breakfast at an awesome french bakery called Sweet that sits on a fantastic little pedestrian street about 5 minutes from Ella's dorm. The staff were french and I actually ordered in french and shot the shit with them for a bit before sitting down with my muffin and coffee to read the paper. From breakfast I made the trek - with handwritten directions in pocket - to London's cool, but disappointingly small Chinatown. It was about a 30 minute walk, but eventually the waters parted and the pagoda-like entrance stood before me. I made my way down the allies taking in the sights and looking for someplace to get dumplings that looked popular with the local asian crowd. The one problem with Aix is that there doesn't seem to be any good asian food aside from expensive sushi. I get cravings for vietnamese pho, simple chinese dumplings and good thai curry. Luckily, I'd done a bit of research beforehand and found Jen Café - a renowned spot for just what my stomach was asking for.

I entered the small restaurant and took a seat by the window. The staff was still finishing up their lunch - which I don't think was on the menu, but looked fantastic. I ordered a quarter of a BBQ'd duck and some steamed pork dumplings. The duck was good - succulent and rich, with sweet crispy skin, but nothing overtly special. The dumplings, on the other hand, were delicious. The filling was excellent - not too dense, or heavy. The table was complete with all the necessary condiments to create your own personalized dipping sauce and I managed to concoct a decent melange of sweet, spicy and salty which complemented the little packets of porky goodness.

Luckily for me, Chinatown lays a stone's throw from all sorts of cool stuff to do and see. I made the 5 minute walk to Trafalgar Sqaure and London's National Gallery. All of the museums in London are free to the public which made it impossible for me to skip the opportunity to look at some ancient and incredible art. The gallery is filled with masterpieces from many different eras ranging from massive and imposing scenes portraying the miracles or crucifixion of Jesus, to lovely and bright oil paintings capturing the undeniable beauty of the Venetian canals or Florentine piazzas. However, my personal favorites are the impressionist era Van Gogh's and Cézannes that occupy an unfortunately small wing of the building.

From the National Gallery I pushed onward and took the touristy route and strolled Regent's Street - the giant boulevard that houses expensive retailers and overpriced restaurants - sort of the equivalent of the Champs Élysées in Paris or a numbed-up version of Time Square.

I intended to cross the Millenium bridge and head to the Tate modern art museum, but somehow after cross the Thames I missed the museum (which is apparently directly on the other side). So, instead I went on a little adventure that lead me around the other side of the river. On the way I managed to give away 9 pounds (almost 20 dollars) to a homeless woman who asked if I could get her something to eat and then refused a delicious sandwich on a fresh baguette for a big mac meal with large fries. The lady knew just how to play on my sympathies - I can't refuse someone asking for food, it's so much better than just giving money away blindly. What's more, as I started to think about it, that 20 bucks would have been really nice to keep, but all things considered I think I'm doing pretty well - I mean, I'm spending a semester in the South of France and was on a visit to London to see a friend...I was only going to spend that money on some overpriced cappuccino anyways.

By the time I was through being lost across the river and found my way back to the other side the daylight was fading. I had just enough time to admire Big Ben in the growing twilight before making the journey back to Ella's dorm. The walk back had grown to about an hour and fifteen minutes by this time thanks to the fact that I had been blindly walking the city.

I got back to Islington a little late, but the walk was nice and it was cool to see the city bustling as people made their way home after work.

Ella and I had agreed to meet Devon at a cool little bar about 15 minutes away. The two of us got there a littler early so we decided to grab a couple of beers and relax in a couple of the big comfy chairs that lined the inviting interior. The atmosphere was reminiscent of Ron Tom's in Portland - low key, comfortable and a good place to kick back and talk the night away. When Devon arrived we ordered another round and picked up where we had left off the night before - it was really nice to see the two of them and hear how their lives were going. It's hard to stay connected back in the states when everyone is spread throughout the country, let alone when people are abroad and exploring their new surroundings and trying to make the most of their experience that disappears so quickly.

We stayed in the bar until the last call just chatting and laughing before easing ourselves up out of the impressions we'd left in the couch and stretching our stiff legs on the curbside. We walked Devon to the Islington tube stop where she had to grab the metro to take a short trip across town to her dorm. Ella and I walked the few blocks back to her dorm and hit the sack - Tuesday would prove to be a busy day for me.

The next morning I got up and prettied myself before snagging a quick breakfast with Ella on the same street as the french bakery. We grabbed coffee and toast before she headed to class and I made the long commute from Islington to Plaistow - deep East London - to see my friend Kosa's wonderful Aunt Doreen. Back in 2006 Doreen housed Kosa's family and I for 9 days in her home and extended the same hospitality to me that you would expect from my own mother. This time around it was no different. I'd offered to take Doreen out to lunch, but she insisted that I come over for a home cooked meal at her place. The plan was to have her kids, and her kids' kids, over for a little reunion. Unfortunately, my schedule was a little tight because I had to catch a bus from London to Nottingham that evening. 

When I got to her house she was putting the finishing touches on some unbelievable West Indian roti - a non leavened, pan-fried flat bread like naan. Doreen is 80 now, but in all honesty doesn't look, act or move like she's a day over 50. Her capable hands directed a little symphony as she twisted, turned and flattened the roti before brushing it with butter and throwing on the flat-top to cook through quickly. To go with the roti, she had made a wonderfully rich, spicy and complex curry with chicken, potatoes, carrots and other veggies. Then, as if this wasn't enough, she pulled a perfectly cooked behemoth of a pork roast out of the oven - crisp from a sweet, salty glaze - and calling my name. Doreen cut me a thick slab of the moist pork to accompany my already overside plate of curry and flat-bread. As I ate and drank my Ribena, Doreen and I talked about everything form my school to Kosa, Morris (her late husband) and Joseph (Kosa's dad and Doreen's brother) and life as a kid in Guyana. Her overwhelming hospitality literally brings tears to my eyes as I right this - she was genuinely happy to see me and so welcoming it blows my mind. When the time came to leave so that I could catch my train I didn't want to take off - the conversation and company was excellent (and I hope she feels the same).

From Plaistow I caught the tube back to Islington and rushed to pack my bag before heading back downtown to find the bus that would take me to see another long, lost friend in Nottingham. The bus ride was uneventful and I managed catch up on some sleep.

When I got to Nottingham it was about 11 p.m. and the bus station was dead. Then, like a guardian angel, Coco made his way through the doors at the end of the waiting area. It was amazing to see him, and after two years apart it was a great reunion. He walked me from the bus station to his apartment in downtown Nottingham where he lives with 11 other people. The complex is massive - spanning four floors - with two kitchens and a plethora of bathrooms. We met a few of his friends who lived in the building before relaxing and catching up on all the stuff we'd missed out on for the previous two years. Eventually the fatigue of school and travel hit us both and we went to bed.

The next morning we got up and prepared for a busy day. We made our way downtown and grabbed a quick breakfast and some coffee before Coco gave me a brief walking tour of the city - which turned out to be a pretty awesome university town. The main square was lively and clean and the city as a whole seemed like a great place to live if you weren't in London. From the city-center we walked out past Nottingham-Trent University to where Mark's car was parked before taking a short drive to the University's sports center. Coco's soccer team had a league game scheduled, but the other team bailed so they decided to play the university B-team instead. 

The sun was shining and the temperature was perfect when the game kicked off and it was fun to watch some football being played in another non-American environment. Coco's team ended up winning by a goal or two, which was good, and after the game we trekked back downtown. We parked the car and slid onto a passing tram that brought us back to the city center.

After a shower and a bit of relaxing the two of us got dinner at a Portuguese restaurant that had excellent grilled chicken served with sides of your choice. From the restaurant we popped back up to Coco's room and played some Fifa while we drank a couple of beers before calling my roommate back in Vermont (and Coco's ex-roommate) on skype and encouraging him to come visit us both in Europe. 

Before we knew it it was time to head out into the night and enjoy the Nottingham party scene. Mark showed me an excellent time in Nottingham and we stayed out until about 4 a.m. Unfortunately for both of us, my bus back to London left at 7:30 a.m. the next morning, so we both only got about 3 hours of sleep before we haggardly got ourselves up and stumbled down to the coach station where we said our goodbyes. It was so good to see him again finally, but the trip was so damn short it felt rushed. I'm hoping that he will be able to make the short journey to Southern France so that I can show him a good time here in the sunshine and wine country.

It was bittersweet to leave both Nottingham and London so quickly - definitely one of the best trips I've ever taken. London is such an incredible city, and exploring it with Ella, who now knows its ins-and-outs, made it even more fun. My first trip to Robin Hood country was fantastic - I got to see one of my best friends of all time and enjoy a couple of days soaking up the North England university life... complete with a delicious cheese-covered, onion-toped, mustard doused 3:30 a.m. hot dog sold from a truck by a guy that sober probably would have been enough to make me wretch.

I did get pretty horrible food poisoning the next day... but I don't want to jump to conclusions and blame that delicious tube of mystery meat. I think Ella's day old portobellos might have been the culprits that did me in...

The entrance to London's Chinatown

The place to be if you've got to call Hong Kong and fight Chris Tucker.

My lunch spot - dumplings galore.

Boat-in-a-bottle!

The National Gallery.

Squirrel with so many leaves in his mouth.

Swans in St. Jame's Park.

The Ferris Wheel on the Thames from St. Jame's Park.

The Thames.

Looking across the Millennium Bridge.

The War Room!

Me and Devon, reunited at last.

Ella and I.

Outside Doreen's house in Plaistow.

Again, outside Doreen's in Plaistow, London.

The Castle in Nottingham - I think the Sheriff lived there.

Coco with Robin Hood.

Downtown Nottingham.

The walk to Coco's car, past a ton of awesome green space and the University.

Mark tearing it up.

Coco being a baby dinosaur: Dino-coco!

Night out in Nottingham!

Barthalona

First trip of the year out of France and it was incredible. Barcelona is officially my new favorite city. Gorgeous architecture, beautiful people and unbelievable food - it's hard to imagine topping the Catalonian capital. 

A weekend trip didn't do the city justice, but it was a great way to get out of Aix with some friends. Filippo (Italy), Teresa (Austria), Jeroen (Netherlands), Charlotte (Belgium), Tobey (Canada), EmilY (Sweden), Lili (Solvenia) and myself made our way from southern France to Spain via an overnight bus on Thursday February 24. After a restless sleep on the bus (during which a rather rotund man snored constantly and with a violence I have never before experienced) we got to the Barcelona bus station at 6 a.m. 

We bucked up and made our way to the Liceu subway stop so that we could drop our bags off at our hostel - a stones throw away from the incredible Mercat de la Boqueria. Once we had safely stashed our stuff (check-in wasn't scheduled until about 1 p.m.) we walked down a long pedestrian street, already bustling with activity, until we arrived at the harbor of Moll de les Drassanes. It was still only about 8 o'clock and the view was stunning looking out over the sailboats and yachts tethered in the marina.

After lounging in the morning sun for a bit we ambled back to the subway and went cross town to where Gaudi's famous Cathedral, La Segrada Familia, is still being erected. Stepping out of the subway and seeing it for the first time leaves some pretty strong impressions. The structure looms over everything around it and its unmistakable facade twists and turns as it rises into the sky. We had some time to kill before the Cathedral opened so we meandered around the neighborhood for about 30 minutes before getting in line and heading inside the massive church.

The outside is an amazing sight with all of the intricate stonework and detailed symbolism. The stone appears to be melting in places, and in others juts out in sharp angles and spires. I couldn't imagine that the inside would be as impressive as the exterior, but upon entering the gravity of the building and the immensity of the structure became hit me immediately. The interior of the Cathedral is gorgeous - clean lines, massive marble pillars and tons of natural light that enters through gigantic windows all around the great hall. The pillars are supposed to be reminiscent of Gaudi's favorite Cataluynian trees and lend some natural softness to the design. The complexity of the architecture and the artists' vision is highlighted by the huge stained-glass windows that create pools of multicolored light and bath the gray stone in warmth. 

After oohing and awing around the main floor we caught an elevator up to the top of the church - just below the giant spires that shoot into the air. From the view of the city was stunning - we could look out over the city and activity below us, and see for miles. I managed to convince myself not to think about the vertigo and my fear of heights and enjoyed the experience, but it was pretty creepy to be so high up and feel like at any moment to whole building could tumble to the ground.

Once we made our way back down to the main floor of the church we wandered through the Gaudi museum, highlighting the creative process that lead to the giant cathedral. The group of us snapped a few more pictures in front of the facade and then grabbed some lunch to go before making our way to Gaudi's famous Park Guell. 

The park looms up out of a gorgeous neighborhood - complete with murals in Cataluynian encouraging resistance to Spanish occupation. The park is gorgeous. Well-trod dirt paths wind through the trees and flowers up to the summit of a small hill marked with a stone cross at the highest vantage point. From the top the entire city was visible - the afternoon sunshine was hot and relaxing and the view spectacular. We loitered amongst the other tourists for a while, enjoying the cityscape below us. We could have stayed there all day, but our stomachs were growling and a couple of benches resting on a plateau overlooking the other side of the park were beckoning. We monopolized the two wooden benches and let the sun give us some color while we ate lunch - I had a sort of spanish pizza with olives, tomatoes, onions, garlic and tuna all covered in cheese, which was delicious. As we were sitting there soaking up the rays a cute little cat popped up out of nowhere and made friends with us, as long as we were providing him with crumbs.

After lunch the "itis" kicked in. When I looked over at the other bench Teresa was asleep on Charlotte, whose head was resting solidly on Filippo's shoulder who was leaning up against Lili who's head was drooping to the side as they all dozed in the sun. As they slept, Jeroen, Emili and I talked and relaxed. Emili was scared to touch her food with her hands after petting the cat - which, although well-fed was probably not the most sanitary - so we busied ourselves with a little game: Emili attempted to catch banana chips and other morsels of food that I lobbed in the general direction of her face. After about 10 attempts she finally managed to catch one and her excitement was hardly containable - in fact, I was nervous she might hurt someone she was so jacked up. 

Before our power nap session ended, a group of other tourists posed behind our sleeping friends for a photo without the group evening stirring. The rest of us just gave our blessing and laughed. When everyone finally woke up we made our way down to the massive plaza at the base of the park. The iconic tile bench snakes along one end of the square and allows for people to sit and chat and look back over their shoulder at Barcelona proper a few miles away. 

The square was filled with people, hockers and street-performers - one of which, a group from Paraguay, was fantastic. As the others filed past and found some room on the tile to plop down on, Emili and I stayed and listened to the musical stylings of the quartet. They sang all in spanish and did three or four songs off the Buena Vista Social Club album, which were excellent renditions. 

After another hour on the bench we decided it was time to head back downtown to the hostel and check in. We made our way across the square and descended the steps down to the unmistakable park entrance before catching the subway back to the Liceu stop. At the hostel we all took much needed showers and changed out of our stale clothes before heading out into the night air. The square in front of the hostel was lit up beautifully and bustling with people. Our business was elsewhere, however, as we made our way out onto the main artery and walked down to the Mercat de la Boqueria. The market was jam-packed with people moving from stalls and vendors selling incredible looking chocolate, to fruit picked earlier that day. The amount of food on display was impressive and the variety almost overwhelming - unbelievably fresh fish (most of which I had never seen before) lay on ice, while two stalls over pigs' heads smiled out of the glass of a butcher shop. 

My eyes lit up most, however, when I spied the ubiquitous spanish Iberico ham hanging from the ceilings of a few hocker stands. Some of the varieties sold for close to 200 euros a kilo, making it almost literally worth its weight in gold. Although I didn't buy any that night, the temptation would prove too strong to ignore.

From the market our group made our way across town on foot over to the Barcelonetta neighborhood - a pretty, if working-class, quarter near the beach. Thanks to some research on the part of Jeroen we had a destination in mind for dinner and when we found it, we weren't exactly sure it was the place we had expected. 

No frills, no sign, no fancy Ferran Adria fusion-molecular-gastro cuisine on the menu. What was in front of us, and what would turn out to be one of the best restaurants I've ever eaten at, was the kind of low-brow, no-bullshit eatery that only real locals and real foodies would enjoy. This place wasn't an attraction for the atmosphere - the whitewashed walls and mix-match chairs might have put off some TGI Friday's loving shmuck in town for the weekend - but our crew dove headfirst into a wonderful evening.

We started with a frit-mixto platter of various vegetables given a bath in hot oil. The french fries were OK, but the eggplant was phenomenal - not at all greasy and as light as air. The tomatoes and peppers were just as satisfying and just thinking about them makes my mouth water.

The real pleasure, however, came when the server brought out three plates of ethereal fried whole baby artichokes dusted in salt and given a squirt of lemon. These things were mind-blowingly good. Crispy, and salty, without being dry with a delicate, and probably unreproducible, flavor all at once floral and earthy. Before the night was over, I must have eaten about 5 kilos of those incredible artichokes.

After the appetizers disappeared - which didn't take long - the main courses started arriving in a family-style, everyone-gets-a-taste fashion. We had excellent grilled lamb-chops with olive oil and parsley. Small, whole-fried fish. Ham slathered in jam and cheese that was breaded and deep-fried. Entire sardines grilled and covered in a sort of parsley pesto. The BEST calamari I've ever eaten - not served with some heavy mayonaise sauce, but instead just a wedge of lemon and salt. Two different kinds of spanish sausage, grilled over fire and served with bread. A small entrecote of beef and a giant plate of good spanish bread rubbed with raw tomato - which turned out to be one of life's most simple pleasures.

We washed this feast down with a bottle of good spanish red wine and two bottles of a Catalunyian specialty called Vino Turbio which I think is my new favorite white win. Turbio means milky, and the wine - being unfiltered - has a hazy appearance. Served cold, its slightly effervescent quality was incredibly pleasant while it had a dry, but not acidic feel in the mouth. 

We ate for a good two and a half hours and then we ate some more. We finished our wonderful meal off with flan and chocolate cake - both of which were made in the neighborhood somewhere at a local bakery.

By the time we were done eating the tiny restaurant - which couldn't have held more than 30 people (maybe less) - had a line out the door and down the street. As we left, the proprietor (and presumably his whole family/staff) thanked us and wished us a wonderful evening. I think a conservative rating would still rank that dinner in my top 3 of all time - third to Chez Robert and Louise in Paris (where I ate with Kosa and his parents) and something at my own house.

From the restaurant winding alleys and potholed streets lead to la playa - the beach. Our group of 7 ambled, bellies full, from our no-name restaurant to the sandy shores of the Mediterranean. It was still warm despite being close to 11 at night and we all took our shoes off and ran to the water's edge. It was by no means swimming weather, but each of us rolled up our pants and stood in the cold, foamy waves as they washed up on the shore. We remained on the beach for at least an hour and a half - talking, laughing and enjoying nice evening. Finally, though, it was time to head back to the hostel since we wanted to see and do as much as possible the next day.

In the morning we all go up around 8 and hit the lobby for our complimentary breakfast. After showering and getting dressed we headed out into the daylight. The girls wanted to do some serious shopping since Barca is quite a bit cheaper than Aix. Filippo and I were more interested in seeing the famed Camp Nou, so our posse split up for the morning.

The two of us hopped on the subway and took it to the stadium's stop and followed the signs to the massive cathedral of football. The line to get into the stadium was already long at 10:30 a.m., and we had to wait about an hour to finally get our entrance pass. Once we got inside, though, it was worth it. Upon entering the stadium we found ourselves in a gigantic FC Barcelona museum highlighting the clubs humble beginnings and current grandeur. Cases upon cases of awards lined the walls with league titles, tournament cups and the beautiful champion's league trophy behind class. Messi's shoes were in one case, while Ronaldinho's jersey lay in another. The displays were ornate and beautiful and many were interactive - entire touch screen walls would play historic goals on command.

From the museum we headed into the stadium, which couldn't have been more impressive. Imagining 90,000 people filling the stands and chanting in unison made me wonder how anyone on another team could even dare to walk out of the changing room. On pitch level the grass was immaculate - seed had been thrown on some warn spots and portable incubators were giving the little baby grass all the sunlight they could handle in order to speed the growing process.

After seeing the stadium and glimpsing the city, it's easy to see why the best players in the world want to play for FCB. If you had an offer on the table from Manchester United or Barca - even if the contract at Man U was worth more - the appeal of living in the Catalunyan city (with incredible weather, great food and wonderful people) would outweigh the prospects of settling in Manchester in a heartbeat.

After we finished our tour of the stadium - which took about two hours - Filippo and I headed back downtown to meet our friends. They were still shopping when we got to the meeting place, so we decided to head to the market and finally grab a slice of that jamon Iberico. At four dollars a pop that stuff isn't cheap - but you're only in Barcelona once (at least that's what we told ourselves when we parted ways with 8 euros for 2 slices). We wandered around the market and snagged a couple more things to snack on - Filippo got a packet of freshly sliced mango and I bought some mixed fresh fruit - before heading to the big square at the end of the avenue to sit and eat our luxurious pork. 

Since, the ham and fruit didn't exactly constitute a full-blown lunch, Filippo and I cruised the market stalls looking for something to stick to the ribs since we knew we'd be doing a lot of walking before the day was over. There were a ton of fantastic looking tapas places selling everything from raw fish, to roasted peppers to beef heart, but we opted for a tiny little lunch counter that was packed with locals and selling sandwiches you could walk with. We both ordered a sausage sandwich - it still blows my mind that something so simply can be so wonderful.

The lady behind the counter cut an awesome spanish baguette in half and brushed the insides with olive oil before laying it on the flat-top grill to toast a little. She then slashed a couple of links of incredible Spanish sausage and threw them down to fry. When both were cooked she pressed the glorious mystery meat between the bread with a little big of manchego and sent us on our way. This may very well have been the single greatest sandwich I've ever eaten. It wasn't served with artisanal pickled veggies, or wildflower-whole-grain-stone-ground-mustard. It was just excellent bread. Excellent olive oil. Excellent meat. And excellent cheese. The combined effect was mind-blowing.

When Pipo and I found a place to sit and enjoy our lunch it was like celebrating a wedding, or maybe the birth of a child, as we unwrapped our jam. We each picked up our slice and gave a little cheers before taking that first succulent bite. I won't get too food-porny here, but let me put it this way: take the best prosciutto you've ever had (probably pretty spendy stuff, too) and multiply the flavor, the indulgence and the satisfaction by 10. The meat was tender and moist and not overly salty. I can't do justice to that little sliver of porky goodness, but trust that it was as close to life-changing as ham can be.

By the time we finished the rest of the group was ready to meet up so we made our way to them. We wandered around in the old town together - admiring some ancient churches and doing some serious people watching - before we found a decent looking cafe and plopped down for an afternoon coffee.

Eventually we found ourselves back at the hostel, where we relaxed for a bit before getting ready for dinner. We'd read about a place that served excellent paella and it seemed sacrilegious not to eat some before we left Spain. 

The restaurant we chose was comfortable and nice, but a bit fancy for us. The prices were right, but the atmosphere was nothing like the night before - instead of whitewashed walls, extravagant frames surrounded portraits and landscapes. The restaurant served several kinds of paella and one order was for two people. Emili and I split the classic - seafood and sausage - with the table consuming a bottle of decent red wine. The paella was excellent, and dining with good friends always makes things taste even better.

After dinner we shot back tot he Mercato de la Boqueria before the stalls had closed for the night. We found a small shop selling wine and grabbed about 4 bottles of Vino Turbio for later in the night.

Filippo, on his last visit to Barcelona, had made the trip across town to a massive club called RazzMatazz (or RazzaMatza if you're Emili) and he'd assured us the place was a blast. We split a couple of the bottles of wine between the 7 of us before catching the subway and rushing to the club.

The place was massive - housed in what looked like an old industrial warehouse - and had 5 or 6 different rooms on 4 different floors, each catering to a different interest and music type. The main dance floor was filled with people and the speakers were blaring music that I actually loved (not typical in discos) with The Strokes, Passion Pit and other bands streaming out the the sound system. We made our way around the whole "complex" and stopped off in each distinct room to check out what was offered: punk, techno, hip-hop, jazz and probably a couple others.

Ultimately, though, we made our way back down to the main floor and more or less danced the night away. We hadn't gotten to the club until about 1 a.m. and when we finally made our exit it was about 7 in the morning. Tired, sweaty and somewhat out of it we all sagged down into the chairs of the first subway train to arrive and got back to the hostel at about 8. 

Breakfast ended at 9:30, and checkout was at 11 - so it goes without saying that we didn't get much sleep. After about an hour on unconscious slumber alarms around the room started going off to signal that it was time to rush downstairs and get some food before it was all gone. We then had to shower, clean our room and pack before 11 so we could get our 15 euro deposit back. We stashed our gear in the storage room again and, this time more begrudgingly, headed out into the morning sunlight. Sunglasses were worn all around.

We wandered around in old town until we found a cafe with tables outside on the terrace where we relaxed and ordered coffee. Our haggard crew - running on fumes at this point - stayed at the cafe for a while before venturing out in Barcelona before the day got away from us.

After battling the crowds in the city center, we finally tired and decided to finish our day in Montjuic - the small mountain/large hill that rests aside Barcelona and straddles the coast. We opted to take the tram up to the top because the view on the ride was spectacular. As we gently ascended the mountain the city came into view below us and spread out into the distance.

At the top an awesome old military fortress sits solemn and monolithic. At the corners, massive canons left-over from WWII stand watch over the bay and port far below. In the afternoon sunlight the scene was breathtaking. At one end of the mountain you could see all of Barcelona. At the other, the ocean stretches for eternity (or less, considering it's just the mediterranean). We all sat and enjoyed the sunshine, snapping pictures and exchanging "oohs" and "awws."

When it was finally time to head down no one wanted to leave. It was such a beautiful evening and the prospect of officially ending our vacation was depressing. We descended the mountain on foot and wandered through manicured parks, playgrounds and terraces - stopping off for 10 minutes to each take our turn flying down a couple of huge slides.

At the bottom we caught the subway back to our hostel, grabbed our stuff and found an awesome Pakistani restaurant for dinner. Yet again, no frills or gimmicks, just good food. The place was full of Pakistanis and local Spaniards, so we grabbed the free table and enjoyed an awesome meal of curry, lentil soup and excellent naan. The waiter was awesome - super friendly and spoke great english. By the time dinner was over it felt like he was our new best bud, and he told us to come back the next time we were in Barcelona.

From dinner our band of friends finally trudged to the bus station where we checked in, stored our luggage and took our seats. No horrific snoring kept us up this time, thank god, and after about 5 minutes on the bus everyone was passed out after the long, but wonderful day.

When we got back to Aix at 6 a.m. the next day we all hobbled to our dorms for another couple of hours. On the walk back from the bus the station there was a hushed atmosphere over the group. I think everyone agreed that it was an unbelievable weekend. I know that Barcelona is now my second favorite city on earth - only losing out to Portland. I can't wait until I can go back and explore it some more - we did so much in three days, but we didn't even come close to scratching the surface of such an incredible city.

Tobey, Charlotte, Filippo and Lili in front of our hostel.

Jeroen, Filippo and Teresa looking at the square in front of Kabul.

The walk to the port.

Boats docked in the harbor.

Jeroen, Tobey, Charlotte, Teresa, Lili, Filippo and Emili relaxing in the morning sunlight on the Barcelona harbor about 10 minutes from our hostel.

The Segrada Familia from a distance - work is still being done on the structure.

Looking up at the ceiling of the Cathedral - the pillars branch off and are supposed to represent Gaudi's favorite trees that line Barcelona's streets.

Filippo in the light of the stained glass window.

Rainbows of light cast by the stained glass.

View of the city from the spires.

The park across the street from the church - as seen from atop the Segrada Familia.

The opposite facade of the massive building.

Men playing pétanque on our walk to Parc Guell.

A pretty cool mural on the way to the park.

One of the many houses that support anti-spanish separatism. 

The pathway up to the summit of Park Guell.

Looking out over the city - Segrada Familia looms up out of the streets, with the ocean in the distance.

Jeroen, Emili, Teresa and Lili enjoying the view.

Cactus!

The top of the park's iconic hill.

Terrifying mural as seen from the summit of the park.

Our lunchtime friend - his name is Carl.

Carl just relaxing.

The fatigued four.

The square at Park Guell.

The paraguayan group performing excellent Buena Vista Social Club covers.

The view of the city - and some more of the park - from the plaza.

The famed entryway to the park - the plaza sits atop those pillars at the top of the stairs.

The square in front of our hostel at night.

Delicious pigs face.

Even more delicious Jamon Iberico...so good.

Fruits of all kinds adorn the stalls of the market.

Chocolates and other treats for sale.

Salt cod by the kilo.

Beautiful spring onions.

In the back, the frito mixto - french fries, ethereal fried eggplant, fried tomatoes and peppers. In the foreground, the fried baby artichokes that made me see God.

The best calamari I've ever had.

Whole grilled sardines with parsley and lemon.

Grilled lamb ribs.

Our handy work coming to an end.

The front of the restaurant as we left.

Myself, Jeroen, Filippo, Charlotte and Teresa at the playa after dinner.

Barca's Champions League trophy.

The Camp Nou - honestly more than a club.

The chapel in the tunnel that leads to the pitch - get a pre-game pray in.

The entrance to the Mercat de la Boqueria.

The square in front of our hostel on the last day - it was filled with an antiques market.

Orange trees pop up at random intervals around the city.

The Gaudi apartment building.

Gaudi's studio.

The roof of Gaudi's studio.

View of Segrada Familia from the roof.

View of Barcelona from the tram.

The ancient military building.

Canons from WWII.

Barca from the top of Montjuic.

The port from Montjuic.