Our flight to Paris wasn’t until later that evening, so we got up early and headed up to Parc Guell, way up on the highest hill in Barcelona.

The trek to get up the hill involved lots of walking, several sets of outdoor escalators, sweating, and much complaining. Once we reached the top Becca couldn’t help herself, she had to buy a fan from a tourist vendor stand. Then some officials came up the hill and the vendors picked up all their stuff and split. I guess it’s illegal to sell stuff there, but you wouldn’t know it unless you saw that happen.

Parc Guell is this crazy labyrinth of pathways that go up and down hills, and it all leads to a park full of structures designed by Gaudi way back when,

and benches with broken ceramic tiles,

crazy looking performers in little alcoves of the trails,

and then a big platform held up by these enormous pillars,

and then you walk up the stairs and this is your view.

Downstairs, there is another trail that led to the house Gaudi actually lived in.

It’s filled with furniture he designed,

as well as light fixtures, fabrics, pretty much everything was all his.

After Parc Guell, we were exhausted. I was in a bad mood because I’d accidentally ordered two sandwiches for lunch and had to pay way more than I’d anticipated, and Becca was in a bad mood because of the heat. Our feet were also killing us, so while roaming around near the beach we stopped in and bought orthopedic sandals. Best 50 euros I could’ve spent.

We picked up our stuff and got ready to leave, and then Becca (thank god) realized that the airport we were flying out of was a different one than we arrived at. It’s a good thing she was paying attention because it took about an hour to get to the other airport on a bus, in a different direction. If I’d missed one second of Paris I would’ve been so disappointed. Good job, B!

On the bus ride there, Becca passed out immediately, and I was left to take pictures out the window. There was a storm coming in and the sky immediately developed these insane clouds. It was straight out of The Nightmare Before Christmas (which was actually kind of fitting seeing as how we were in horrendous weather, headed to the perfection that was Paris in September).

What they don’t tell you about these cheap, short flights between the countries in Europe on Ryan Air and the like, is that there’s a very strict weight restriction, and the airports are way out of the city on the outskirts of a neighboring town. So it’s a pain to get there, and then they weigh all your stuff and you have to either throw some stuff out, or not get on the plane. Becca was way over the weight limit, so I had to shove three pairs of her jeans, 2 books, and whatever else we could shove into my massive purse and bag so that she wouldn’t have to throw it out. It was a stressful experience dealing with them because their airline philosophy is that you’re getting cheap tickets, so no customer service.

We flew into another out of the way airport in Beauvais, and took another long bus ride into the city. The heater on the bus was turned up to “boiling”, and so the two most overheated girls in France were miserable and didn’t know what to do about it. I think Becca complained audibly enough to finally get the bus driver to turn it down.

Once we got to the city, we took a taxi to the apartment we were staying at. Then we had to try to figure out how to get inside, because the key was hidden somewhere in the courtyard and we had the hardest time finding it. A nice rastafarian French girl came into the courtyard and helped us with the door code, and then I figured out that we’d been looking in the wrong place the whole time. It was a moment of panic, but we eventually figured it out.

We slept like queens that night, in the privacy of our own bunkbeds without strangers all around us.

All photos taken in Spain: