Hola! And welcome to the day 3 blog.
I’m up and ready first, natch. I’m becoming a redneck so getting the factor 50 on. It’s just after 9am and I’m back at SandwiChez for coffee. There’s four Gen-Z laptoppers here today. I pick out a cinnamon swirl for Lisa and what looks like a cheese-free sandwich for me. I’m served by a bloke who is a little too aloof for my liking, looks a bit like a young Joe Cornish. After my initial “Hola” he’s responding to me in English with a hint of disdain. Just give me my coffee fuckface.
The sandwich has been toasted and contains cheese 😕 with some brown sticky shite. I’m starving so I neck some lactase and get stuck in, to hell with it. We won’t be going out until 11am I reckon, so plenty of time for my guts to regret hunger management decisions. It tastes good and I’m none the wiser as to what brown sticky shite is.
After checking my credit card, it turns out I really have been charged three times for the metro pass Hola Barcelona thing 🤬. I spend a little time resolving that, and manage to get a refund after messaging via Facebook, a very backward way of communicating.
The girls are ready at 11 and we set off for more breakfast at SandwiChez once more. Joe Cornish had been relegated to back of house, where he belongs. My appetite is satiated, so need nought.
Primark beckons with it’s lure of cheap towels for the beach: €9. (Ale-Hop is charging €15).
Then a short walk, some browsing, and bus to Barceloneta, where we were last night. We stay on bus one more stop and find a handy little beach cafe which rents out beds and parasols. There is a nearby public WC, and my guts are gurgling so need to test these facilities.
They are the worst toilets I’ve seen in a long time. I had the good sense to take my own bog roll – there is none in here. Also missing is the seat; the floor is wet from the sink which looks to be blocked. Nowhere to hang a bag. My agility is tested to the maximum in hovering over the pan, bag on my front, shorts tensioned up between legs preventing them falling into floor pond. Then – nothing but farts. Phew. Anyone in the vicinity will have heard, but I’m happy because sharting could have projected anywhere. A bikini clad lady wants to get in right after me 😬. “It’s bad” I say. She takes one look and grimaces – water is pouring out of sink, topping up the pond of doom. “No paper” I say, to further qualify what was meant by bad, not bad meaning I left shit all over the place. Time to make a hasty exit. I meet up with others in beach bar.
We have a lovely time on the beach. I get my swim in the sea, Lizzie and Lisa have a paddle. Lizzie and I look for sea glass. We’ve hired beds and ‘sol so have a little base camp. Some Brits in scuba gear emerge from the sea and a guy with a Yorkshire accent tells his friends he farted at the bottom and the stink bubble made it’s way to his suit’s hood.
“Lunch” in the beach cafe is limited to Nachos with guacamole and squirted american cheese. I’m taking a risk with the cheese, given the WC scenario but reckon it’ll be ok, it’s heavily processed.
I was fine. Time to pack up camp and head back to main road to find bus stop.
On the way back past other sections of beach we notice some of the beach patrons have no clothes. The dirty fuckers! Ratio of nob:fanny is 4:1. One sleeping guy is right by the path with his meat and two veg sizzling in the Spanish sun for all to see. I guess we were lucky to land at the part of beach where they keep that shit under wraps.
Bus back to hotel, then siesta.
We are back out just after 8pm – the streets are more manageable at that time. We are determined to eat Spanish – tapas is the goal. I line up 3 restaurants to view which are in the cosy little gothic lanes. One by one, the restaurants are ruled out on vegetarian/Lisa grounds. We find ourselves outside a Pakistani/Indian place. We’re hungry and weak, and opt in. We’re the only ones there. The food is knockout. They had one more punter in the interim.
The plan was to go for cocktails after in a cool bar Lizzie found – but all are bloated and tired and we decide to head for Constanza. The way back seems long, and it’s still hot at 11pm, so it’s a happy return to our air conditioned rooms. No Gaudi today, so tomorrow will be the day for culture, watch this space.
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