Day 4: Top of Tibidabo, Spicy Soup, Perfect Paella, & Dancing with a Dog

Sunday 2 January 2022

I walked 15.455 steps the day before. Rhianne helped me to break my record. Can you believe that I was hung over?

Maybe you recognized that Joe didn’t appear in the last story. He partied until late and still looked hung over in the morning when we met him for breakfast. Like a chick fresh out of the egg. His eyes were barely open and he was still learning how to walk.

This chick liked coffee, “What will you guys do today?” he asked.

Did you watch Friends? There is an episode where Joey explains that he uses this pick-up line, “Years ago when I was backpacking through Western Europe I was just outside Barcelona hiking in the foothills of Mount Tibidabo…”

Well, that was what we were doing that day. 

Picking up girls.

 “How will you go?” He continued.

“With the metro, and then walk,” Rhianne replied.

And we did, in the slightly busy metro, standing in the middle of the cabin, holding the metal rails.

Standing in a metro always gives me some time to think. I observe my surroundings and realize where I am in place and time. Almost like meditation. I was the only blond person in the metro. I got flashbacks from the time I lived in China. God that elevator, don’t get me started.

“This is the first time I see that the corona craziness isn’t only happening in the Netherlands,” I said, looking at all the people with mouth masks. You also have to wear a mouth mask on the street in Spain, but in Barcelona not many people obey to the rule. In the metro, it’s a different story. 

I hate talking about corona, let’s move on.

We left the metro and walked out of the exit on to a street. We were much higher than before, because we could look down on the city. 

The first street was almost vertical, and I slightly regretted the idea of going up the mountain. What an effort! Especially because Rhianne walked quicker than me, while she had heels on. She walked on those heels the entire time and no blisters, unfair! I still have to ask her where she got her shoes from.

If I moved to Barcelona, I would live in one of these huge houses on the hill. Some reminded me of buildings in Elswoud. I wanted to tell Rhianne, but she probably doesn’t know what Elswoud is.

We arrived at the mountain train station, which brought us up the hill quickly.

Jezus Christ greeted us on top of the Tibidabo, imitating an airplane.

“Vroom!” playing children passed us, laughing.

Religion drove people to build a church on the highest point in the area. How did they carry the stones uphill? They were truly devoted, or nuts. Probably nuts to become so devoted.

Pretty, though, the stairway to heaven. The Spanish, or Catalan, know how to make an impressive church.

The view on the city was less vivid. The weather changed from warm to cold and left a blanket of mist on Barcelona. Still, the view was worth the trip.

I saw a big antenna station and had to think of my dad, an amateur radio operator. If you don’t know what this hobby is, it’s probably because you are not old and male. He transmits radio calls to talk to people around the world, mostly about their locations and the weather. He would run downstairs all excited, “I just had New Zealand on the line!” Like a boy with a very fancy walky-talky.  

I looked for the quietest spot on the touristic mountain top. We took a moment to relax, take in the view, and enjoy a Dutch refreshment. You didn’t think that I only brought cheese, did you?

A red rash appeared on my hands, as if I had been stung by nettles. Must have been resin of the pine trees, I thought. Little did I know, that it was the beginning of a hives infection (netelroos) that would worsen throughout my trip. Nasty pictures will be shown in later stories.

On the way back, we stopped at a bar that was appropriately called the balcony, because it was at the edge of a cliff and overlooked Barcelona. 

It was cold and we both needed to pee. There was no lavabos around, or any other forest made of lava. We were left to die by bladder explosion.

“Quickly, let’s go back,” Rhianne said.

We walked the same way back, almost without mistakes. Cute pigeons were watching us.

The very steep street was terribly difficult for Rhianne to walk down. She was already walking on her toes on heels, so now she had to walk on her toenails.  

“Maybe turn around and try walking backwards,” I joked.

Eventually, hopping (forward) worked a bit better. She sounded like a horse that went down the street. She laughed when I told her.

After a short metro ride back, we returned to the hotel.

“Do you want to pee first?” Rhianne asked, as polite as British people are.

“No, you were the first to say that you needed to pee,” I said. I’m not so polite, but I have my rules.

After I went to the toilet, I looked at myself in the sizable bathroom mirror. The rash had spread over my belly, but had disappeared on my hand. Strange, I thought, I am definitely allergic to something.  

Joe knocked on our door, and we drank some red wine in the hotel room. I wanted to book a hotel for the following night, but I couldn’t focus. Perhaps because Joe and Rhianne were gossiping next to me. Something that they are great at. A brother and sister kind of thing.  

I asked if Joe could recognize a very famous pop song that they remade with an orchestra.

He recognized it immediately and could sing the Spanish words that belonged in it.

The playlist “Pop Goes Classical” is one of my favourite playlists on Spotify now. ¡Dios mío! I’m getting old.

“Fuck it, let’s just go out,” I said and closed the laptop rapidly.

We had cocktails at a little square with a big tree. It was nice, even without claustrophobia. For the first time in my life, I ordered a Bloody Mary. I was always curious, but it sounded so disgusting, a woman on her period, even if she’s holy.

I googled it out of curiosity. It turns out that Bloody Mary is named after Queen Mary I of England that used bloody practices with the persecution of protestants. Still doesn’t sound so tasty, especially not if you look at her.   

I should have ordered it sooner, because it was amazing. Exactly how a like my tomato soup, cold and spicy with a strong kick at the end.

We went out for Paella at a fancy restaurant that Joe picked out. It was at a square in the neighbourhood next to the beach. In the beginning we sat inside, Joe’s decision, and we had to show our corona QR-code for the first time. At least I didn’t print it for nothing.

Soon, we all decided it would be nicer to sit outside. The terrace was covered by a big fancy party tent, and we choose a table next to a flame heater. We ordered a bottle of white wine, something I usually don’t drink, but I wasn’t on my own.  

The paella was very good, darker and saltier than I’m used to, but filled with flavour.

Even better were the bombas, super soft potatoes stuffed with greatness. Just try the next time you’re in Spain.

The waiters outside, we're having a lot of fun with each other. One was tall, the other short, like a bad comedy.

The Irish coffee we ordered, turned out to be so sweet that my face twisted. I had to give it to Rhianne in order to avoid a sugar overdose. For some reason, she was able to drink it, maybe she secretly put some milk in.

When I paid for the meal, the waiter was surprised.

“The woman pays? Because you are Dutch?” He asked, or something like that.

“Yes,” I said, laughing. Call me boss lady!

The real Dutch way is to split it, and that’s what we did at the end of the journey. With the app Splitwise, a great way to give everyone insight into the expenditures.

Rhianne paid for the hotel, which was a lot, so I had to pay every time at restaurants, bars and supermarkets in order to make up for it. Not such a great strategy, although Rhianne probably liked it. Hopefully, at the end, we would be even.

I ate all the paella and had the worst after dinner dip. All my energy was in my stomach, trying to break down the oily food. Joe and Rhianne were not feeling tired at all, they wanted to go out to a bar. So we went. 

In the bar, I immediately sat down at one of the few tables. “Water!” My belly screamed at me. “In order to break this shit down, I need water!” Alright, I thought.

I only got up from my chair in order to get beers for Rhianne and Joe and bottles of water for myself. They were dancing, and the mood and music in the bar was right, with a DJ and fun people. That I didn’t feel like dancing, showed that something was wrong with me. 

A guy walked to my chair and asked, “Are you having fun?”

Fuck off, I thought. Even when I’m not dancing, I’m still being bothered. 

“The only one who can take me home tonight is the dog,” I said to Rhianne. Someone brought their dog to the bar and it was not the first time, because the dog was enjoying it. He was dancing within a group of people. 

“I don’t mind going back to the hotel alone, you guys are obviously having fun. I just don’t feel like it tonight. I will go back,” I told them honestly.

Still, they wanted to leave when I left. I felt like a party pooper, but I gave them the chance to stay, so they pooped on their own party. Suckers!

Back at the hotel, we had a few more drinks, until Rhianne passed out. Finally, I had the peace and quiet to look for my hotel for the next night. Now it was a piece of cake.

Satisfied, I had a cup of tea on the balcony and looked down on the dark streets. Drunk people were going home, or at least tried to.

I looked up to the sky and wondered about the next day. Rhianne would leave, and I had to continue the journey on my own, just like Frodo did.

I hope it doesn't contain a freaking spider cave.