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So kayaking and snorkeling went well. If you call a swarm of jellyfish well. Which I obviously do.

It all started quite unassumingly. I saw something that looked like a white piece of trash bobbing innocently on a rock. I peered into the depths and after a lot of pondering, decided that it was a jellyfish. I told the guide (BJ) and he dove down and confirmed my suspicions. I wasn't surprised and had already named the jellyfish squisherwhistle.

BJ swam us over to another area to get away from squisherwhistle. Which I thought was a bit dramatic, but I suppose that's why I'm not the guide. Thank god he swam us over there, because we were promptly surrounded by a swarm of yellow jellyfish with purple spots. Which also sting. So we cried uncle and swam toward shore. On the way, I saw a small pink jellyfish with loooong clear tentacles looming menacingly... A FOOT in front of my face. Something about that jellyfish struck fear into my heart. I think it was the color.

Also, we kayaked through some caves on the way back to shore. Jessie and I led the way into a cave that was pretty much exactly the width of a kayak. And exactly the darkness of black. The Australian guys with us wanted to keep going so we let them go around us because we weren't too keen on sitting in a pitch black cave/coffin on a kayak of doom. When they returned, they complained that there wasn't anything to see in the cave. Um, duh?

We slept on the hour drive back to Barcelona and then walked to the "Travel Bar" to eat dinner. Jessie might have infected some guy that wanted to finish her bread for her. Did I mention we're sick? Just the plague, nothing to worry about. Before we went out to go kayaking we had purchased some cold medicine that contained a european dose of pseudoephedrine. The only side effect I got was alertness but Jessie felt weird for days after taking the meds. So we won't be giving her those pills anymore.

As a result of the medicine/lack of sleep/day long workout, we decided to sleep it up. You know, just a short nap before we were going to go out to the club. 17 hours later, it's noon and I have no idea what day it is. I start freaking out because I think our flight to Paris is that night. Took me about 3 hours to realize it was the 16th and our flight is on the 18th. My sense of time has taken a nosedive in Europe and it wasn't so great to begin with.

Upon waking, we did laundry (cleanliness is an underappreciated quality, lemme tell you) and went to a cafe. Drank up some sangria and befriended a waiter who invited us to a fiesta. Didn't make it to that, but I am pleased to report that we managed to successfully contest our bill when they charged us for one too many liters of sangria. Yes, we drink THAT many liters of sangria. But not so many that we don't know when we're being overcharged. We're high functioning alcoholics.

Then we went to the hostel, got ready to actually go out and... get this... we went out. Yep, we stopped at a smoky bar and ordered cheap beer and got free shots of tequila to boot. Then onward to the metro to find the club. Got distracted by some kebab and then we were on the road again. We managed to take one metro before they closed the whole system on us. So now we're stranded atop La Rambla with no real clue how to get where we're going. Thankfully, this guy lied to us and told us we were an hour and a half from the club we were aiming for and convinced us to go to his, called DMix.

We made it into the club and took some chupitos and befriended the DJs. Got them to play Stereo Love. We were a little offended when they wouldn't play it on repeat. But all was forgiven when they gave us free drink coupons and even told the security guard it was cool for us to come and go into their DJ booth as we pleased. We're incredibly cool people. So cool, in fact, that we managed to develop a foolproof method of keeping the men at bay. BOTH of us dance with our eyes closed. Genius. However, eventually, we made friends with some french boys and they taught us how to french dance. Which is a lot like normal dancing, except fancier.

On the way home, we tried to take the metro but when Jessie fed her ticket into the machine, it made some spastic noises and... no ticket. Probably had something to do with the fact that we were sweating all over them. The guy let us onto the metro and told us where to go to get a new ticket, implying we should go right that minute. Well what time is it? 5:00. Well what time does the office open? 8:00. Hahahaha, no.

The next day, around noon, we wake up and walk over to the metro office. They give us shiny new tickets and we walk down La Rambla, stopping at an upstairs cafe. We managed to snag the one window table with a view of the street and sat eating paella, drinking beer/sangria and people watching. Despues, we walked further down La Rambla, stopped at an outdoor market and smelled some very fishy smells and saw some very fishy things.

We continued down to the beach and successfully avoided some very expensive establishments in our quest for an outdoor cafe. We eventually found one and enjoyed tapas and sangria and the company of children. I.e. one another. Also, got called guapa for about the one millionth time. Not complaining.

We then metroed to get some more kebab. We're pretty huge fans of kebab. We tried to fight it for a while, pretending it was only a drunken excursion, but today we admitted to ourselves and each other that no matter how much we ever love a man, he could never surpass kebab.

We have a flight to France in a few short hours (flight leaves at 6:55 AM, so we'll need to catch the bus at around 2 AM). Should be quite the adventure...


Opus #6 said…
Of course you ladies are guapas, but it is interesting that they are so bold as to tell you that repeatedly. Different culture than in California.
Babbo said…
Not sure what time it is there, or when you officially kick over to the 20th, but here's wishing you a very happy birthday in Paris (yeah, like that could ever not happen!)

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