Drunk on life.

Day 4. We return to Sagrada Família to get inside. It’s beautiful, astounding, insanely detailed. For more information, redirect your attention to Wikipedia… We’ll move on.

We had our final coffees at Cafe Zurich, marking four days in a row in one of two similarly placed tables facing the center and the exit of the metro. A perfect place, and surely a future poem subject. Dad and I already had tired laughs on the first day as we tried to artfully describe it and came up with “epicenter of the people.” We’ll go with that.

Get to the train station, I continue this pathetic search for tape. Ive collected my tickets/passes/receipts along the way, all with the idea they’d be taped in my journal and written around. On day 5 now, I still haven’t found it. Anywhere. Got myself trapped in a pharmacy yesterday as the cashier insisted I buy Dr. Scholl’s medical tape. “YES, it’s tape! What you want!” Soon though… The journal already looks well traveled. Because it’s been around town. 

Also because I left a half-eaten chocolate chip granola bar in my purse on a hot day. Come on, Janae.

We took the high-speed train to Madrid and arrived just before eight o’clock.

For someone about to live in hostels for three months, and fairly comfortable anywhere, I’ve been living comfortably these first few days. How you ask?

An hour after checking into the hotel, I’d gotten myself hammered from the complimentary bottle of champagne. Realized this as I slipped on my post shower robe, reached for the glass for another sip, then reached for the towel and realized the towel bar was heated. HOT. 

And giggled my rear off. And made a call to share bottle-of-bubbly giggles with America. Ten minutes later, I’m standing locked out of the room as the metal key the size of my hand spins in the lock (yeah, you have to push and twist).

My standards haven’t changed. I mean, I won’t go anywhere that doesn’t have a bidet and three closets now, but other than that.

Life is good.


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