|Zooming past a platform||Marco and his good friend PSP|
We arrived at around 4:30 pm, checked into our hotel and immediately headed out in search of pre-dinner drinks. We found a record shop sporting helpful flyers for searching out the evening's entertainment as well as hilarious graffiti. We found strong mojitos among the crumbling alleys at the end of La Rambla near the Plaça del Portal de la Pau.
|From this (London suburb)…||…to this (First glimpse of Barca)|
|First shop||Westside! (Record shop)|
|Dodgy badly lit back street||Passatge de la Pau|
We left the very hip bar once "Tarzan" was over – it was being projected onto one of the far walls – to meet Marco's work friends for dinner. They're all American and don't speak Spanish. At the recommendation of yet another work friend (who's Spanish and lives in London), we sought out mamacafé, a curious fusion restaurant that allowed us the opportunity to approximate Thanksgiving dinner via the medium of pumpkin soup. Our Swedish server (not chef, sadly) warmed up to us immensely pretty much because of Marco, his fluency in Spanish, and his ability to chat with just about anybody. He rendered our flyer-collecting trip pointless by telling us exactly where to go that night.
|R&R at mamacafé||Classic Marco|
Somehow the meal took three hours. We hit the streets again after midnight and found "Trece" (Club 13) with little trouble, although it didn't start to pick up until 1:30 AM.
|Barça after midnight||Alley, neon, hooker|
We chilled in the electro room, shook our stuff to "Thriller," and bailed just before 3. The others went on to a club, but Marco and I went back to our hotel, not having an urgent need to pick up girls.