I can't say I made any strides to balance out my sleep patterns over the past week...I mean, does anyone sleep in a hostel, let alone a hostel in Barcelona? Yes, my insomnia in BCN was entirely voluntary and actually had the opposite effect...I've been revved up and giddy ever since I got home. Here's the rewind:The Arrival: Travelling alone has never given me reason to be afraid, so arriving at 2am in Las Ramblas after a delayed flight from Venice didn't really rattle me. It wasn't until I turned down Carrer Sant Pau, the street where my hostel is located, that I my internal radar went off.
ABORT, ABORT!
Spilling out of each door, balcony and alley were prostitutes and their creepy admirers with paper-bagged liquor and beady eyes. But there was no turning back."It's too late now" I thought. "If I do a 180 I'm an obvious target."
So I went forward, rolling my suitcase down the center of the narrow street looking as hard-ass as possible, which mustn't have been too convincing given my flowing bohemian skirt and wooden bangles.
After 5 harrowing minutes, there it was...#80 Barcelona Mar. I never thought I'd be so happy to arrive at a youth hostel...you'd think I just entered The Ritz. No wonder the hostel's website advises you to arrive from the other direction.
At the front desk there was a mellow French guy, Julien who gave me the lay of the land, key to my locker and sheets for my bunk bed. He told me about a cool party that was happening the next night - I heard "French DJ" and "Salsa" and agreed on the spot to join him.
At the front desk there was a mellow French guy, Julien who gave me the lay of the land, key to my locker and sheets for my bunk bed. He told me about a cool party that was happening the next night - I heard "French DJ" and "Salsa" and agreed on the spot to join him.
