When I woke up I discovered that my shoes and last remaining pair of clean socks had been rained on during the night (I had left them on the windowsill to air out), so I was stuck at the hostel for the next few hours while they dried out in the sun. I didn't mind too much because walking up and down the 161 steps to and from the hostel had really caught up to me, and I was sore.
Around 8pm I decided to walk up to the bunkers to get a good look at Barcelona one last time. Being a Friday evening, there were innumerable groups of young'ins that had had the same idea as myself, plus alcohol. For a moment, I reflected on how much better my Barcelona experience could have been had I stayed at a proper, social hostel.
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| After returning to the hostel |
In the evening, the Ecuadorian girl (Jerry's friend) that had flaked on me at the club a few days earlier texted me asking if I wanted to get some beers downtown. This time I was actually able to meet up with her and, along with her Moroccan friend, went to a bar called La Oveja Negra.
It was supposedly a "very spanish" pub, but halfway through our drinks chants of "USA! USA!" broke out at one of the tables, quickly followed by "España! España!" at two or three others.
It was a fun night out, and I made it back to the hostel around 1am.
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