Barcelona!

Our room in Barcelona

Inside the markets off of Las Ramblas

A little gaudy.

Down a winding labyrinth of streets called the Barri Gotic quarter of Barcelona, my roommate and I eventually stumbled upon our unmarked hotel.

The woman took us to our room. The hotel had no front desk, and we were instructed to pay in cash. We had to take our backpacks off in order for the three of us to fit into the small, rickety elevator. My roommate and I decided that after we got back to Madrid, with everything we came with (the ominous words of a friend telling us "everyone gets robbed in Barcelona" ringing in our ears) this would be fun to talk about.

View from our room

We got to our room, and the woman pulled out a map of the city and kindly highlighted the best and worst places to go. Port Olympico for beaches, "don't go here," she mumbled scribbling out a portion, "Unless you want drugs and hookers, then you want there." I did a quick check to make sure that wasn't, in fact, the very place we were. It wasn't quite, but close.

The floor was made from battered, once bright Mediterranean tiles. It contrasted with the wooden beamed ceiling, and thick glass and wooden door that led to a small balcony that looked over the mysterious, sleepy part of town.

The next day we took the required pilgrimage to La Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's masterpiece. In the end, it is a large empty room that you pay an obscene amount of euros to watch construction workers whistle at you. To the workers, it is a never ending "Bring your tourist to work day"

After, we trampled down to Las Ramblas, the Fanuiel Hall of Barcelona, where Irish Pubs are replaced by bird vendors ans hobos are replaced by elaborate street performers.

The real magic of Barcelona lays off Las Ramblas, down a narrow maze of cobbled streets where an array of artists, designers and vendors set up shop. It's the kind of place that you'll only see once in a life time, mostly because you'll never be able to figure out how to get back there.

Dictators, paella and bad drivers are the only things Barcelona and Madrid share.

Madrid is a bustling country capital, the people only speak spanish, and cater to no one. It is steeping in rich, authentic Spanish culture and tradition.

Barcelona is a window- a very pretty window- back to western civilization. The horizon on the beach is littered with glimmering cruise ships, the menus are in english and spanish, and the people are there only to cater to you. Both citys are great, but for very different reasons.