A lady flashed me today, or was it yesterday - I always wanted to start a post that resembled Camus’ start to The Stranger. Las Ramblas really is a tourist trap, and she was a prostitute, as mentioned in yesterday’s blog post.
After our siesta, we headed out to find the World Cup match between Spain and Paraguay. We searched and we searched. We walked through our barri, and then to the next. We jumped on the metro and headed to BCN Sports Bar in Las Ramblas to find they were charging 10 Euros just to enter (about 15 U.S.). I knew there had to be a place to watch it for free. We found an Irish pub farther down La Rambla. We made our way in and watched the screens from the outer edge of the smoky pub. At half, when people headed out for a quick breather, we wormed our way to back of the pub. We didn’t hear one Spanish speaker in the entire crowd, so we bailed and watched the second half at home. Yes, we bailed. But what we got at home was much cooler than what we could have witnessed in a touristy bar.
GOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLL! Fireworks! Screams from all the balconies in the courtyard. Yells from the street below us. When Spain scored, the city erupted. We watched the flickering lights of televisions from our balcony and the silhouettes of raised hands and kisses and hugs. When the game ended, we could hear the city open up. Doors flung open. The streets became avenues for celebration. When I woke up at 4:00 in the morning the next day, Spaniards were barely making it home, still waving the flag in the streets, and cheering for a goal that happened half a day before.
(We are already making preparations to find a genuine Spanish bar to watch the match on July 7th. We will not be put down. For those who are following my training - we hit the streets for three miles today.)Views from the run.
