This has been quite the week of interesting of interesting events…definitely blog worthy.
After a month of claiming that walking everywhere and running twice a week was a legitimate work out, I broke down and joined the gym. Most people in Spain (especially the women) don’t bother working out and still manage to have perfect bodies. It must be nice…But some people really do work out in Spain.
I don’t know what exactly I expected, but I didn’t expect that it would be exactly like 24 hour fitness….trophy wives, overly ripped men, the few super hardcore women that need to lay off the ‘roids. I love it.
Well, it’s exactly the same on the surface…
I took a cycling class and when the instructor walked around after saying thank you, he reeked of cigarette smoke. I don’t know how he manages it, but his lungs must be made of steel. Then there’s the locker room…You know those couple of women that feel completely comfortable in the locker room being naked?? In Spain, I’m the awkward one because I keep a towel on while blow drying my hair.
Not only did I take a cycling class, but I also took a pilates class. Considering I’ve never taken pilates and the class was taught in Spanish, I think I held up pretty well…Okay, that’s a lie. I spent the class rolling around in weird positions while the instructor continually asked me, “Entiendes?” I nodded and went with it. The class made me practice my Spanish for body parts and directions…basically I could tear it up in a game of Spanish Simon Says.
I woke up the next day kind of sore and made my way to my art class. The class involves sketching architecture around Barcelona. The concept of the class is amazing. If I could manage to draw anything more complex than a stick figure, I would be thrilled. I met my class at the Arc de Triomf ready to go with my sketch book. I’m not sure how many of you have seen my artistic abilities, but most people wouldn’t even use the word “art” to describe my “talents”. As we sketch, our professor walks around and looks at people’s work. When he looked at mine, he said it was “charming”. I’m pretty sure that’s the word you use for a second grader’s art when the fruit bowl she attempted to draw looks more like a blob with some circles on top of it.
The next thing I know, three Spanish men walk up holding a purse and asking who’s bag it is. The first thing I thought was, “Hey, I have that purse too!” Then I realized that my purse, which was supposed to be right next to me, was no longer there. It turned out that two of the men were undercover cops and witnessed the other guy take my bag. I have absolutely no idea how he managed it. I was sitting on a bench with my bag right next to me with kids in my class sitting all around me. He must have managed to swoop it as we were ALL looking up at the building at the same time. It was a huge strike of luck to get my bag back. Barcelona is known as one of the most dangerous cities for pick-pocketing. Most people I know here have had something stolen. I gave the cops my information and then went on my way with my purse and sketch book full of “charming” pictures.
I was feeling pretty fantastic about the whole occurrence until my wallet got stolen yesterday. Unfortunately there weren’t any cops around and instead of having another cool story about getting my stuff miraculously returned, I no longer have a credit card, debit card, or license. Luckily there was only about 10 euro in my wallet, so it definitely could have been worse.
The next note worthy experience was our night on Thursday. We ventured to a Mexican restaurant. Yes, Mexican. Jacqueline and I constantly complain about the lack of chips and salsa in our life. We decided to celebrate Paige’s “birthday” because “you only turn 21 once” and Mexican restaurants are the ideal place for birthday celebrations. Besides the quesadilla with mozzarella cheese in it and the burrito that looked more like a taquito, it was pretty fabulous.
A few 4 euro frozen margaritas later, we made it to a bar recommended to us by a couple friends. The bar was above a churro restaurant thing, so we had to climb stairs to get in. As we walked up, the ENTIRE bar stood up to scream and shout and cheers our entrance. We were celebrities….I thought the whole thing was pretty cool until the next group walked up and the bartenders came around and told us to stand up and yell for the next group coming in. Apparently we weren’t that special.
The bar was still amazing. They came around with squirt guns and squirt delicious drinks in our mouths. They gave us shots that literally tasted like Wendy’s frostys. Mexican + Wendy’s frostys….such a solid combo.
My week in a nutshell: Spanish pilates, robbery, Mexican, squirt guns.