Oh, The Places I Have Been

By the way, I'd like to thank the readers I can count with not just one hand, but one-to-two fingers of that one hand, for putting up with my 'travel stories.' I didn't go that many places. And I hardly spent any time anywhere. Yet you humour me and pretend to care.

Now what was I saying? Oh, right. The glories of my voyage. Our hostel in Barcelona, the Sun and Moon Hostel, sounded like it was run by peaceful hippies. Peaceful hippies with bloodied bandages. And apparently, a hole in the ceiling.















But honestly, other than that, and the fact that towels and blankets cost extra, it really was a swanky place fit only for the most extravagant of travelers, travelers like myself. Hey, at least, due to booking errors, we got to have a room to ourselves. That was pretty nice.

Speaking of blood. How cool are bloody oranges? They're orange, but they're blood red, too. That anthocyanin is crazy. I almost didn't want to eat mine.















Like I've already said, all troubles aside, Barcelona has a fond place in my heart. My worst hostel night, however, was Nice. Yes, let's all smile a little at how Nice wasn't great. But my immune system should take the most blame for that since I tossed and turned most of the night, coughing, aching, and shivering. The actual hostel was nice and friendly and didn't smell like BO until someone shut the windows in the morning. Although it was weird that there was a guy in our women-only room (well, we didn't know it was a women-only room until the hostel receptionist told us. They've got to stop telling false promises). I spent most of the night trying to figure out if he just looked like a guy or if he actually was a guy. But the next morning, others confirmed that I was indeed not crazy and he definitely looked and sounded like a guy. But then the others thought I was crazy because I kept talking of my travels in the plural, forgetting that Megan and Lauren were staying at a different place. My hostel had a no smocking policy, and I respect that.




















Lastly, in this excuse to show you my miscellaneous travel pictures, you didn't think I'd leave bathrooms out, did you? Italians loved to press big buttons instead of push a little flush handle, which I kind of dug.




















Again, I found Europeans branching out of regulation-shaped toilets, this time in a longer, straighter design. Why, people? Why mess with a good thing?