Tragedy strikes!

And I'm not talking about Ray Bradbury, though that's super sad too. I'm talking about the fact that my travel companion, Margaret, has fallen ill with an angry cold of some sort. Alas, alack. This leaves me to adventure on my own, at least in the evening hours when she's in sleep mode.
Don't get me wrong, I've got no problem adventuring alone, I'm actually pretty fond of it, but it's different to be a solo traveler than it is to know that you have a friend who is missing out :-/
Anywho, when last we spoke, I was in search of tapas...And oh what glorious tapas I found!
Margaret went on a food tour while she was in Venice (while I was in Berlin) that was lead by a local foodie who, as luck would have it, had lived in Spain for a number of years. When she heard that Margaret's itinerary included a stop in Barcelona, she gave her a few food recommendations. We decided to check one out, a tiny, though apparently very well known and happenin' even on a Wednesday, tapas bar near the Picasso museum.
A glass of wine later, we were able to snatch up a table near the back. We asked the waiter to bring us a selection (best sellers, his favorites, whatever he thought we'd like) and a glass of wine that he thought went best with them universally.
He poured us each a glass of the house white and filled the table with small plates of sausages, cured meat, smoked fish, hot peppers, and potato omelets. When we had devoured everything, he brought out little puff pastry custard cakes, biscotti, and desert wine.
No complaints from the peanut gallery.
Full and happy, we returned to the hostel and readied ourselves for the night's festivities.
"We leave at 11, sharp" does not mean the same thing in Spain as it does in Switzerland, so at 11:45, the group headed out, leaving a very tired Margaret behind, and made our way through 3 metro lines to a beach bar where a group of us gave up on the bar part and ventured into the water.
Apparently, it's a big thing on the beaches of Barcelona for people to approach you selling 1€ beers. It's a pretty sweet deal.
From there we moved on to "one of the most exclusive clubs in the city"...they let me in in my t-shirt and Birkenstocks..exclusive my ass.
The whole place was decorated with Moroccan flare, and above the bar, something was written in a language you were supposed to think was Arabic...I would put money on it being LOTR elvish...
After a couple hours of dancing, my people and I took the party back out to the beach where we built a sand turtle/mountain/cave/volcano. When we decided it was time to go, we walked back to the hostel...with little idea of direction...and by the grace of graceful things, and after an interesting stroll down the highway, we eventually found our way back. Small victory!
A cup of tea, a peach, and a de-sanding shower later, it was sunrise bedtime.
Today we pretended to be cultured and visited the Sagrada Familia church. It was churchy and strange and under construction...yeah...
I think I get less interesting at the end of every post...