Arriving in Barcelona

The landing was awful. Luckily most pressure had been taken of my ears by the pills I got, but my eyes were still burning as hell. I thought they would pop out of my head, and I couldn't see anything clearly anymore. I was so glad when we finally touched down.

Everything that happened on my way from the plane to the hostel seems to have passed in a haze. Probably because of the pills and the fever. I don't remember it clearly. But I remember the signs and advertisements in the airport, in both Catalan and Castilian, and I loved that. I remember asking for a round trip ticket on the Airport bus to Placa Catalunya, but the driver wanted to sell a one way only. If it hadn't been to late for the last train, I wouldn't have taken this "expensive" bus. Especially because I asked the driver to stop at Placa Universitat, as I didn't know when to ring the bell to make the bus stop. I asked him in Spanish and he made very clear that he understood, but yet he didn't stop. Or maybe he did stop, but didn't tell me it was the Universitat stop. That's how I ended up on Placa Catalunya in the end.

Catalunya wasn't far from the hostel either, so I knew I could easily walk. But as I felt ill and tired it wasn't so easy. At first, it took minutes for me to figure out on which side of the square I was dropped of. And then I had to ask at least 3 people along the way for directions. In the dark, I couldn't see a street sign anywhere. I later found out that there aren't that many street signs on the way to the hostel, but they were there still, I just didn't see them in my sleepy mood. The last girl I asked directions to, walked with me for a while and showed me the way. So I fairly easy got to the hostel, where the staff was really friendly and I soon went to bed. I took my giant pills and drifted away in seconds.