Docked in Barcelona, early morning, before disembarking

Inside our state room before our last breakfast on board

We got up before dawn to complete our packing, and found ourselves docked next to a beautiful modern bridge not far from the tourist center of Barcelona. After a hurried breakfast, it was time to disembark. We found our bags in rows of hundreds in the exit hall, and then had our usual problem of how to manage so much luggage. We found a porter - with a large dolly - who got us as far as the very long line of people outside waiting for taxis.

Our taxi driver, when we eventually scored a cab, was an irascible, argumentative man who spent almost all the time during our short drive to Plaka Reial either arguing with us over the price, or arguing on Ben's cell phone with the representative of our apartment rental company over where to drop us off in Plaka Reial given that the area is closed to traffic.

Club kid crashed out in Plaka Reial

By ten in the morning, the day was already unpleasantly humid, and we found ourselves and our bags waiting in a corner of the Plaka for a man named Mariano, who was to let us into our apartment. During our long wait, we saw numerous groups of people from the cruise (and waved to or spoke with those we recognized) - it was clear that Barcelona was going to be even more gay than usual for a few days.

Plaka Reial, which is supposed to be a lively, central public space was very sleepy, not to mention filthy and somewhat squalid. Vagrants sat or slept two to a small bench, or on the ground depending on how much they'd drunk the night before. Not a good first impression. But at least there was a Starbucks a block away - I'd been craving a frappucino for days.

Mariano, once he arrived, was friendly, helpful and polite, and helped us lug our bags the short distance to our apartment, just off the Plaka. Big shock, no air-conditioning (although the apartment could be otherwise classed as deluxe).

Settled into our apartment just off Plaka Reial

So, tired and sweaty, we set off for a little bit of exploration; but there was a distinct lack of new-city excitement in our steps. The day was rather frustrating in the end. We had chores to do: mailing our large angel wings home, and trying to change our rail tickets. Nobody seemed able to give us clear directions to the post office, so we trudged around disconsolatedly for over an hour until we found it. We did get ourselves, soon thereafter, over to the train station (after an unpleasant journey on Barcelona's ugly, dirty, dusty, smelly subway system), only to find that the upgraded cabin on our upcoming night train to Paris would have no more space for our bags than the cabin we'd already booked. Finally, discouraged by fatigue, the humidity, and our initial lack of delight in being in Barcelona, we retired to our apartment for a long siesta. We were back on dry land with a bit of a thud. The ten day escape into a gay fantasy world, with exotic ports of call, an environment in which all your needs are instantly met, already seemed like a distant memory.

A taste of the narrow, winding, colorful streets around Las Ramblas, the main tourist street in Barcelona. It stretches for a good mile or two, and has a central walkway between the two roads filled with cafes, kiosks and street performers.

In Plaka Reial

The thing about Spain is that they eat awfully late. Last time I was in Barcelona, I could never figure out what people do between 6 and 10 or 11 (the typical dinner hour). On our first evening in Barcelona, we napped for as long as we could before going out, optimistically, not long after 8 p.m. We thought we'd walk around the gay neighborhood for a while, and find a place to eat. The gay area is off Casanova, in a rather featureless, drab section of town, and there was nobody around in the stores (the neighborhood has tons of mostly tacky gay clothing stores) or on the streets except our fellow cruise-goers. When we finally found a nice-looking restaurant that was open, it was after nine, and before long, the restaurant, called Iurantia, was filled with people from the cruise ship. It turns out we hadn't left the cruise behind after all.

Ben was having a rare cranky period. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him in a bad mood before; he's usually always so cheerful, and easygoing. I think that part of it was due to the length of our vacation - he's never spent more than two weeks on vacation before, whereas I'm an old hand at ridiculously long vacations. He was also missing his dogs, of course. And then waiting back home is the research lab he directs, as well as the impending sale of his house, and the tricky legal situation his friend is confronting. I think all these things contributed to making him edgy, but I think there was also some reaction going on to withdrawing from the sleeping medication we've both used, from time to time, on the trip.

Mind, I was a little pissed off myself when Ben abruptly got up, before we'd started eating, to go outside to call his lab on his cell phone; I've always considered it rude to use your cell phone while at dinner, and he didn't even do me the courtesy of asking if I minded. But I decided not to get bent out of shape over it; in actuality, remembering that he had his lab to check in with made me a little bit proud of him; because I frequently forget that this sweet, cute boy-man has a Ph.D. in microbiology, and is an Associate Professor at an elite university.

After dinner, we had ice cream at an overpriced cafe on Las Ramblas, and talked about the cruise. There was lots to talk about. It was the first time we'd spent more than four days in each other's company, for one thing. And if the cruise proved anything, it's that we're great company for each other; we barely had a single disagreement throughout the trip (although I had a few episodes with my personal demons). In fact, we've already booked for next year's Meditterranean cruise, which has a different itinerary. Overall, we learned an awful lot about each other. I learned how outgoing Ben is, and also how kind, generous and loving he is. I'm sure he learned how darned complicated I am.

In part of our conversation, it sort of came out that Ben apparently didn't think I was as good a dancer as I thought I was. He never came out and said I was a bad dancer, or anything, but it was sort of implied that there were a few things I do on the dance floor that maybe I could rethink. I was considerably flattened by this conversation. In a way, it's good information; but also a terrible blow to my ego, since, as an extremely tall person, I'm unusually self-conscious (like all very tall people). You're always visible; there's no hiding, so if I'm not a good dancer, then everybody sees it. For many long minutes, I sat and pouted, thinking privately to myself how could I ever go out dancing again without being scared of making a fool of myself? Then Ben reminded me strongly of all the positive attention I receive whenever we go out together. And I had to admit that my height was a double-edged sword; everybody sees you, so if they like what they see, it means I get a load of attention. To complete that argument, a pair of complete strangers we didn't recognize from the cruise came up to me and said that they loved our costumes on the night of the White Party on the cruise, and thanked us for helping to make the party so festive.

There was a dance-club event that very night, arranged for both local people and the cruise-goers, and we toyed with the idea of going. We returned to the apartment, though, and before long, Ben declared himself too tired to go out, a decision which met with my approval. He crashed in the bedroom, and I could hear him snoring within a few minutes, while I stayed in the living room writing my journal about our final days at sea. There were two bedrooms, and since I can rarely sleep well in the same bed as Ben, I slept in one of the twin beds in the second bedroom.

I had one of the best sleeps I'd had since the trip began, finally sleeping a full night through without interruption. Sleep is a terrible problem for me. The only time I'm sure of a good sleep, no matter how tired I am, is in my own bed, with absolute silence, and nobody else around. When Ben and I are visiting each other, one of us frequently sleeps in the spare bedroom for this reason (Ben is a dedicated snorer). It's really not an ego blow to either of us to do this, despite society's effort to frown upon couples who sleep separately. I usually lie with Ben in my arms, as he falls asleep, then creep off to the second bedroom. In the morning, I steal back into his bed before he's awake. I admit I'm somewhat envious of Ben's ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. On this trip, I've been taking half an ambien most nights, to help me sleep, which seems to do the trick. On the worst nights, I've been adding half a xanax to the mix. But I'm not at all happy that my sleep is becoming ever more problematic. The lack of good sleep, however, has never made me so tired on the trip that I can't enjoy myself.

After our first night in Barcelona, Ben kept sleeping in the morning, despite my (usually successful) efforts at awakening him by rubbing up against him in a provocative, pointed fashion. It was ten o'clock, and by this stage Ben had already been sleeping ten hours. Denied my morning dose of sex, I flounced out of bed suddenly, rather annoyed (unjustifiably, I think), intending to march off to Starbucks. Amidst his dreams, Ben must have registered my getting up, and while I was fixing my face in the bathroom, he came in and asked me what was wrong. I tried not to show my annoyance at his lengthy sleep, but he picked up on it. Anyway, it was the start of a second rather bad day in Barcelona; both of us were again tired and out-of-sorts. I was so unused to Ben being in a bad mood; I think I let his bad mood influence mine, and I hadn't the emotional energy to help lift him out of his. I felt a little cut off from Ben for the first time.

We walked around the gothic quarter, and visited the Basilican Cathedral, where we ran into Bill, Stefan and their new boyfriend Jose (yes, I meant "their" boyfriend), and made dinner plans with them for the evening.

In the Basilican Cathedral

In the Joan Miro Foundation

Later on in the day, we took the horrible subway again, this time to a station that looked as if it was near to the Joan Miro Foundation. We both like Miro, so we were excited about seeing a whole museum devoted to his work. It was very hot and humid again, and we found that our walk to the museum was a fairly long trek, uphill, through another ugly, drab neighborhood. Since neither of us were feeling that great to begin with, we were not in the best of spirits when we got to the museum. But the simple, peaceful beauty of the interior of the building, not to mention the works themselves, seemed to sooth our souls. Afterwards we returned home, had wonderful, hot sweaty sex and a great conversation about our seeming disconnectedness since arriving in Barcelona. Later in the evening, Ben was still out of sorts, and non-conversational during dinner with our friends (it's unheard of for Ben to be non-conversational in social settings), but we felt close to one another nonetheless, and frequently held hands under the table.

Speaking of dinner, we did make an honest effort that night to adapt to the customs of Spain. We had a late afternoon meal, and took our siesta in the evening, intending to meet our friends for dinner around eleven, after they'd been to the ballet. But our stomachs aren't used to this treatment, and by nine o'clock they revolted, and we gave in and headed out to the Plaka for paella and desert. At eleven, we did indeed meet up with our friends for dinner, but ordered just a few tapas each.

An amusing incident happened on our way over to the gay neighborhood for drinks after dinner; our taxi driver pulled up at a red light, and another car pulled up beside his window. A girl got out of the driver's seat and asked our driver for a light, which was immediately forthcoming. At the next stop light, both cars pulled up in identical positions, and our driver leant over and asked for a drag on what the girl was smoking, which turned out to be pot. So here's our driver smoking a stranger's pot, holding up traffic, while Ben and I sat and stared at each other with amused shock.

In the gay neighborhood, we met up with Bill, Stefan and Jose again, and a number of fellow cruise-goers, at the hot, crowded, noisy, smokey Cafe Dietrich. We had drinks, and I suffered through another awful conversation where comparitive strangers insisted on going on about my height as if I wasn't there. It bothered me that Ben enthusiastically joined in the conversation, until he noticed, nervously, the signs of my disaffection with it. Now it was my turn to feel out of sorts, and so we soon said our goodbyes and headed off home.

Oh, we also finally caught up with what had been happening in the world when we were on our cruise. We hadn't known about all the terrorist incidents, particularly the horrible school bombing in Russia. It came as quite a shock that all of this had been going on while we were happily off in our fantasy world, unknowing. I kind of feel that we should have been informed; but I did have (somewhat limited) Internet access on the cruise, so I've only myself to blame for not checking on the news.

Candy in the incredible market place off Las Ramblas

Perfectly arranged fruit ...

... And garlic

Peace at last, on the next day. We were both in a good mood, and comparitively well rested. It was our last day in Barcelona, and I think we were both really rather glad. We had time to spend a good chunk at time at the incredible Sacre Familia, the cathedral, still under construction, designed by Gaudi. When it's complete (at around the time of the twentieth anniversary of Ben and I hitching up) I'm confident it will be the most beautiful, awe-inspiring and moving building ever built. Even now, you stare up at the colossal columns, modeled on California redwoods, with shock that something so achingly beautiful could not only be conceived, but also executed.

A few side notes. I realized I knew more Spanish than I realized; just enough to make myself understood in most situations. And for more complicated matters, I've discovered that more people in Barcelona speak French than English, so I can pull in that language, in which I'm quite serviceable. Another thing, I'm drinking coffee again, without the side effects I've experienced the last eighteen months of getting short of breath. Finally, we've been spending way too much money on food; our cheapest meal in Barcelona was thirty euros (close to fourty dollars), and that was just a little snack.

Outside the Sacre Familia

Fascinating, organic architecture inside the cathedral

Finally our time in Barcelona was at an end, and I don't think we were too disappointed. If I've been unfair on the city, I apologize, but for me, Barcelona remains a city I've yet to fall in love with. With the help of Mariano, the man who managed our apartment for us, we made it to the train station in time for our overnight train to Paris. I gave myself a colossal whack on the head as we unloaded our bags from Mariano's car; almost enough to knock myself out, and certainly enough to bring tears to my eyes. Ben, meanwhile, had gotten himself drunk on our final Barcelona snack in the Plaka Reial (where we'd unwisely sampled the local sangria for the first time - it's deceptively fruity). So the two of us made quite an unsteady pair as we pushed our overloaded trolly through the station. We were very anxious, given our first experience of overnight sleeper accomodation in Europe (where we'd traveled in an old, uncomfortable train, and had too much luggage and were obliged to purchase an additional sleeper cabin), so it was a huge relief to get on board and find a brand new, spick-and-span train, with well-designed cabins large enough for both of us and, amazingly, all our luggage.

The whole train thing, with our failure to upgrade our cabin, and our sorry state upon our arrival in the station, the mad rush to board, and the anxious bargaining with the conducter (in my pidgeon Spanish and rusty French) to see if there was a late chance to upgrade; the whole thing had been grating, yet we managed to get through it without stepping on one another, and this confirmed my feeling that there's nobody else I'd rather share an anxious moment with than Ben, who remains easygoing and considerate in even the most challenging conditions.

We were late to sign up for dinner, though, and had to eat at eleven thirty. Fortunately, we'd forseen that possibility, so we'd bought some meat and cheese at the station, and we crammed it down hungrily in our cabin as the train pulled out of the station. At dinner time, we'd arranged to be seated with a couple who'd been on the cruise, and who'd been together for thirty years. We were too tired to be enthusiastically social, but we managed to make it through the indifferent meal in the restaurant without too many uncomfortable silences. Soon thereafter we were in our bunks, attempting to sleep as the train rushed through the night en route to the destination Ben had been most looking forward to, Paris. And I was looking forward to sharing Paris, a city I like immensely, with Ben.