This afternoon was spent walking along downtown Barcelona surrounded by the city's oldest and most magnificent cathedrals built within very short distances from each other in Barri Gotic and all all I pretty much did was brace myself for what seemed inevitable: the splatter of my own bile mixed with all the liqour I had imbibed last night.
The smell of old stones basking in glory of the only bright sun-shiny day of my Barcelona trip was charming, yes, but I was more overwhelmed by the smell of Jack Daniels seeping out of my pores.
There were plenty of moments that I so badly wanted to look up and take pictures of Barri's great gothic structures. And I did--well, I kind of tried. Each miserable effort was countered with the goddamn earth swirling on cue.
As if it wasn't enough that it took me an hour to find Barri Gotic because I was too dizzy to read the map, much less maneuver my way around the labyrinth that is Las Ramblas, I didn't even know if the nausea I was feeling whenever I stepped in to a cathedral was because I was really sick to my stomach from being so intoxicated the night before or if I was getting a "no trespassing" message direct via satellite from heaven.
Don't get me wrong--I enjoyed this afternoon a lot. I merely regret not being able to see and enjoy more of the city simply because of my lack of moderation last night.
Did I learn a perfectly significant lesson today? Si. Am I going to remember it the next time I go on a drinking spree? Hellz no.
Am I having the absolute time of my life? You betcha!
Hasta luego.
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