Christmas in Spain

Christmas in Spain was just plain weird. After arriving into Barcelona early on Christmas Eve after a long drive down, we got into our hotel rooms, got changed, had dinner and then we hit the town for the Christmas Eve pub parties. Apparently the night life is huge in Spain and doesn’t actually start until around 1am when the clubs open. Yes, that is open, not shut. The Spainish have a whole different idea about working and playing... and drinking, as I found out. They don’t have any measuring system for alcohol, so when you order a vodka and lemonade, it is free pour. Half a glass to 2/3 a glass of vodka and a bit of lemonade for taste. We were meant to go to a club called Fairyland where apparently the whole place is dressed up like a fantasy fairy world. Alas, that was closed, so Jen told us to all go off and do some looking about at the street performers and the like. A bunch of us walked about ten metres and found a seedy pub and more alcohol. We stopped in and had cocktails. I had Sex on the Beach. Very tasty but with the Spanish free pour in practice is was also in a huge glass and was very strong. We soon realised that we had missed the deadline for catching up with the tour group so three of us decided to go for a little walk to find the bar the rest of the contiki were at. We left the bulk of the group behind and off the three of us girls trundled. Now, what we hadn’t really anticipated was this: that where as three women walking down the street in Canada, NZ or Aussie will not garner much attention on a busy, well-lit, city street, at night, but apparently to the less than sanitary men of Spain, they take this to be an invitation to a) solicite us b) make inappropriate comments in Spainish or c) start saying ‘Aye, pussy pussy’. Gag. We soon realised that perhaps it wasn’t the smartest of moves so we turned around and went back to the bar to get the men folk and the rest of the posse before heading out again.

We ended up meeting up with the rest of the contiki group at at bar called Temple, where it was still happy hour at 10pm. So another cocktail later and feeling very drunk, I celebrated Christmas day with the group. We got back to the hotel about 2pm. I slept well (no doubt the alcohol played a role) and got up the next morning to do a walking tour of the city. It was very nice but very stinky.

Barcelona smells like raw sewage, it ain’t pretty and the never pick up their dog poo either, so the streets are mottled with grey and brown. Eek.
I spent Christmas day shopping and looking about with four others. I bought a painting of a flaminco dancer. It is funny when I think of it. I walked up and said, “Oh, these are lovely, did you paint them?” and he said to me that yes, he had. I bought one for 25 Euro. Then I walked two stalls down and low and behold there are the exact paintings. Dammit! We walked all over Barcelon and we must have walked about 10 times up and down La Rambla (a street full of cafes and tourist shops).

In the evening we were booked in for a Flaminco show. There are no words to describe how amazing the dancing was. So full of anger and passion and pride. I loved it. After a massive meal that must have had about 5 courses, and the dance was over, then it was time to go back to the hotel. Before we got back though, they stopped and dropped us off to get some photos of a fountain that splashes about to Christmas carols. While there, a woman was selling flaminco shawls... and surprise, surprise, I bought one. A bargain at 10 Euro.When we got back to the hotel we opened our secret Santa pressies and ate lollies before heading to bed. It was a fantastic night.

The next morning we had to get up bright and early for our trip up to Nice, Monaco and Monte Carlo Casino. Woo Hoo!