But apparently the world is smaller than it seems. I ended up in a row alone for the flight to Reus, across from an American girl and a young Spanish guy she was asking, "How do you say, 'Hello?' Oh, duh, Hola. How do you say, 'Thank you?'" I met her after the flight when she turned to me and asked, "Are you taking the bus to Barcelona, too?" Half stunned, I replied slowly, "Yes." "Oh, sorry... Do you speak English?" Lol there was half a doubt in her mind that I was foreign. "Yes, I do. I think we just go out this way and the bus is right there, I'm American." Turns out, she's from West Hartford and has heard of Plainville. She was meeting up with friends, too, "They're gonna be waiting in the station with a drink for me," and would be going back to Paris the same day as me.
Emily and I went to our hostel once we'd found each other (running hug, luggage in tow). Our hostel was hilarious, we had to pay in cash but they claimed not to have any change *_*? and the whole place had sort of a... glitzy industrial feel. For example, the stairwell was cement with silver pipes running throughout, and purple glitter on the walls. We spent the first night just kind of wandering up and down the main street, turning down all of the cans of beer people were trying to sell to us. After about 3 rounds of the block, we walked toward the ocean and found a mall... and about a hundred people headed in and up to what appeared to be a night club in the mall. Uninterested, we walked around until 1 or so before going to bed.
The next morning we said, "Ok... what do we want to do?" We didn't have much to start with; Emily wanted to see the Museu de Picasso, and I wanted to get to the Sagrada Familia church. The museum was within walking distance, and we'd be inside for a bit which would allow us to wait out the rain... which never really stopped, just paused and recommenced. It wasn't too bad on the walk to the museum, it was kind of nice actually because it made all of the colors of the buildings stand out more. I always feel like Paris is rows and rows of cream colored cement and gray roofs, but Barcelona seemed full of color. Part of this impression could have been the number of plants on the street and pouring down from their ceramic pots on balconies and windows, or maybe just my hyperattention because I was outside of Paris and eager to take everything in. Whatever it was, the whole city just seemed more vivid.
I was skeptical of the Picasso museum at first, just because I felt like I knew what he was about and didn't really get it, but I enjoyed the museum much more than I expected. Most surprising to me was his early work, where he was very realistic in his rendering of people, landscapes, still lifes. From what we overheard one tourguide say, Picasso started painting when he was 14 (15? Young.) and most of the realistic paintings were from that time when he was first starting out. When we went into the rooms with more abstract pieces, they tended to be in a series and it was really cool to see what features were identifyable in one rendering but not in another of the same image. Apart from the amazing artwork, we were entertained by an elderly couple (most notably the wife) who came up on both sides of us and pushed right past to examine the painting for themselves. This was funny because I'd just finished explaining about one tour guide I'd had at the Musee d'Orsay who hated the Japanese tourists because many of them would walk right in front of you to take a picture of some or another painting, and then these this couple appeared out of nowhere and pushed us out of the way. We moved on without argument and joined another group looking at a monochromatic portrait of a woman, when the elderly woman reappeared and passed in front of the group. Without stopping, she glanced at the painting, indicated it over her shoulder to her husband with her thumb, and observed, "This iss pahta th' BLOO peeriuhd," and continued on her course. Emily and I had to excuse ourselves from the room before bursting out laughing. We visited the rest of the museum without interuption, although we did hear her from across the room tell her husband, "This iss a good one," in the same manner as before. So now you know, there's at least one good one in the Museu de Picasso.
The Sagrada Familia was a less succesful excursion because 1) it cost 10 euro to get behind the gates, 2) there were already 200 people in line to get behind the gates, and 3) it was pouring. We managed to get a few pictures from the outside which was almost entirely under construction and quickly decided to cut out losses and find lunch. Looking at the map, we saw something called the History of Catalunya museum and made that our trajectory. Since we were students, we managed to get in free and wandered through the displays, ignoring the early history since that's pretty much the same everywhere - nomadic tribes, discovering fire, using the first tools - but had lost interest by the time we got to the most recent century and were just talking at that point. 
I have a thing for old churches apparently, so we headed out in search of another church, Santa Maria or something like that, and found it after only 2 tries (I blame the map). This church was closed and locked, so we couldn't get in there, either. Discouraged, we agreed to investigate the "Museu de Xocolata" to see if it was what we hoped... And it was! Sort of, anyway. Entry is 3 something euro and comes with a dark chocolate bar to nibble on as you walk through the relatively small museum.
The exhibits are brief explanations about chocolate production, mixed with encased chocolate sculptures of horse-drawn chariots, bull fights, and even Asterix and Obelix! They posted pictures of past sculptures, including a chocolate replica of the Sagrada Familia and the Olympic stadium and grounds from 1988 in Barcelona. Of course, there was a gift shop/cafe, so Emily and I had a chocolate milkshake (thick chocolate milk) and hot chocolate (literally. as in, a chocolate bar melted down in your mug with whipped cream... Muy delicioso!) We walked by the Arc de Triomf to see if it really existed and I think it's prettier than the French one, again because it's colorful and not just gray on gray.
Museu/iglisia-ed out, we returned to La Rambla to take an Opera tour, but at 6:30 we had missed the last tour by about 5 hours. Instead I dragged Emily into a series of souvenir shops in search of a cool mug (because I insist my souvenirs be functional). We were staring at one rack, just kind of looking them over, and a worker came over to help us. As we struggling to guess at how you'd say, "Just looking" in Catalan, the worker said in English, "Where are you from?" "America." He looked surprised. "You are the quietest blonde American girls I have EVER seen." He went on to imitate them with his Indian-accented English, "I kind of like this one?What do you think?Do you think my mom will like it?I don't know.Oh look!This one has a donkey...Why do American girls like donkeys so much?" We had no answer for him, but I bought a mug from his store. No donkeys.
Dinner was amazing, we had huge skillets of paella, sangria, and dessert at a nice little restaurant, but by the time we'd finished we were both exhausted and Emily had to leave early the next day. We were going to go to the beach in the morning, but had forgotten about the time change and didn't account for the lost hour. Luckily, she made it to her train on time and I wandered around a little bit more before meeting the American girl in line again for the bus to Reus. They'd eaten at "this amazing Asian restaurant/bar" and almost slept in past check out time the next day. She asked if I'd gone out at all and I started to say, "Yeah, we went to the Picas-- oh, like nightlife go out? No, no we didn't do that." I was half surprised we had so little in common apart from travel plans, but it was nice to have some company, even if it was half-interested company who just wanted to cut in line to make it on the bus.
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