After lying miserably in bed with a headache, cough, aches and pains and general feelings of wretchedness, I managed to wrench myself up to walk around and see if we could find a Decathlon (sports superstore) store. It took us several hours of getting lost around the city to find it and discover that it was closed, but by then we didn't really care, and were just enjoying (well at least trying to while still feeling like crap) walking around.
The part of Barcelona we were staying in was very touristy to the point where it almost felt contrived. You heard more American voices on the streets than Spanish (one memorable phrase: “They hide like tomatoes on the floor” - we spent a while deciphering that one:P). Basically the only shops open on Boxing day were these tourist trap souvenir stores (I was hoping that amongst all the junk they might have a compass) with pushy employees that were so keen on us buying something that we just had to be rude to get them out of our faces.
Early night tonight.
27/12:
Woke up feeling a bit better, but still decidedly under the weather (which was rainy). We had to move hostels because the one we were staying in was booked out after Friday night. No biggie – the concentration of establishments was so great that we found one 50m down the road.
Leaving our baggage at the new joint, we rode down to Decathlon (didn't take anywhere near as long this time round!). The girl at the bike servicing counter was inept to the point where she didn't even know what my front pannier rack was for. I'm definitely sticking to real bike stores from now on (especially after the 'pair' of legwarmers I bought there for 16 euros turned out to consist of ONE legwarmer. Great! I just have to stop every now and then and switch it over to the leg which is getting a little bit more cold I guess:|)
I got some real assistance from a small bike shop on Carrer de Girona (much recommended if you're ever in Barcelona with bike troubles). The guy (who apparently is an ex-tour de France mechanic) was also a bit sceptical about the front rack. Seems they're not that popular in Spain – none of the shops have carried them. He claimed in very fast Spanish (luckily his daughter was there to translate for me) that putting weight on them would damage the suspension and it was dangerous to the point where I would at any second fly over the handlebars. Dramatic imagery, but I've ridden 1000km with it already and it is designed for suspension forks, so I politely dismissed his claim. What I'd come in for was a new rack, and since they didn't have one, perhaps he could have a go at fitting it properly. It took about five minutes of arguing (all five employees stopped work to join in and help translate) before he'd do it, but working incredibly quickly (he must've been a 6 espressos a day man at least), he put it back on (the girl at Decathlon had removed it), spun the wheel and said it was all perfect.
“What!?” I exclaimed.
There was a very obvious scraping sound from the disc touching the brake callipers.
It was all fine apparently, the brake was aligned perfectly, the noise was immaterial, just a small imperfection in the disc.
“But it slows me down, that's the whole reason I came in.”
And then he really did do some magic, adjusting the mechanism and doing something with a spanner to the disc which may or may not have straightened out some minor imperfection. In any case, it stopped scraping and that made me very happy:)
They didn't want any money for the service, but I wanted to in some way compensate for the good deed they'd done me, so I bought a spare set of brake callipers for when the existing ones do eventually (I think it will happen quite soon actually) wear down. I also left my helmet in the store, but that was unintentional.
Front brake issue now 'sorted', we dropped the bikes back at the hostel, had some lunch and then went out walking again. Luke let out that he didn't think he'd come all the way to Sevilla with me. I felt quite betrayed because two days ago, he'd basically said he would (or that's the way it seemed to me) and in the mean time, he'd given no indication of any inner turmoil. As travel companions, that sort of thing should be discussed the moment the whisp of the idea even appears in one's head, but I only discovered when he went to put back a Spanish phrase book saying he wouldn't need it as he wouldn't be in Spain for much longer. A heated discussion followed, which luckily turned out very amicably. He'll come at least as far as Valencia with me, further than that, he's not sure.
It won't spell the end of the cycle trip for me if he stops, but it is a lot easier and more enjoyable with two people I think. Simple things like going to the shops are so much simpler if there's a second person to guard the bikes. Accommodation is also cheaper for two. You're more secure with another body by your side. And of course, it's nice having someone to talk to now and then.
Two quite authentic Barcelonean experiences were had following that chat. After we'd managed to work out where we were, having neglected to follow any real directions while these issues were sorted out, I picked up my helmet from the bike shop and we walked back to the hostel. On the way, I spotted a Churreria, the first I'd seen in Spain.
What's a Churreria? Why it's where they make churros of course! Churros are also known as Spanish donuts. They involve flour, sugar and some other ingredients mixed up in a dough, which is squeezed out of a special churro press in a long squiggly shape and then thrown into a vat of boiling vegetable oil. They come served with sugar and taste so damn good! I bought 100g of normal ones for a euro and Luke got some chocolate coated ones (decadence factor + fat content somewhat increased). Later we went back and I got another 200g worth (half chocolate, half normal). My arteries won't be thanking me, but man they're delicious!
And the second authentic Barcelonean experience was going to the Manchester bar, where the beer costs money, but the Smiths (the band) are free (that's what it said on the price list:P). I guess it's not really authentic, because it wasn't a tapas bar, but when I think of Barcelona, I think of nightlife and bar hopping, so the one beer there (wasn't going to push it with my bug) has to count.
Random graffiti in BC
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