Sant Jordi

I'm writing from the red bean bag chairs that litter the floor of my second hostel. I wanted to extend the stay in my first hostel, Casa Gracia, knowing that it would be a while before I had a private bathroom again, but they were booked so I made a reservation at nearby Sant Jordi Gracia. Sant Jordi hostel is named after el Dia de Sant Jordi, which was Tuesday. It is a holiday honoring the death of Saint George, Barcelona's patron saint. As if I didn't miss my boyfriend to begin with, Sant Jordi's day is celebrated by an exchange of gifts between lovers. Men give their ladies red roses and women buy their men books. The streets were scattered with stands selling roses and paperbacks. Everyone who was anyone carried a flower around all day. I bought a pair of red hand-crotched rose earrings to not feel left out.

At Sant Jordi, I am staying in a room with three bunk beds. The bathroom the entire floor shares is clean and the people who work here are friendly. I'm sharing my room with a magician from Miami, his best friend the tennis coach and an Australian doctor. She is a kidney specialist and the same age as me. After I spent my day walking the Barceloneta boardwalk and sticking my toes in the Mediterranean, my roommates and went out to dinner at a place I had read about in a travel guide. Over octopus and salmon tartare we talked about where our travels had taken us and where they were going. The boys have just come from Feria de Sevilla in Seville. A crazy week long Andalusian festival complete with bullfighters and flamenco dresses. The doctor, Crystal, will be on a ten month journey; going everywhere from Barcelona to Nice and Switzerland to Croatia. Her trip to Florence over laps mine for two days and we plan to meet and have dinner together. We'll be able to reconvene and chat about our solo vacations. While I've enjoying sight seeing alone, with only my camera, it is nice to be able to talk with other people and share an experience. After a surprisingly inexpensive yet delicious dinner we headed to our hostels sister hostel, a Sant Jordi in a different neighborhood. What this hostel lacked in space it made up for in liveliness. I took welcoming shots of bad rum and met a Moroccan girl who lives in France as well as a guy from New Orleans. Here I am, halfway across the world, reminiscing of old college hangouts. The hostel had organized a pub crawl and we headed to a cramped bar where most of the 2 Euro shots were lit on fire. It was pyrotechnics mixed with alcohol and I loved it. The mob of over 20 hostelers moved to nearby club, Jamboree, and we danced the night away. I met more lone female travelers and we all made a toast to our bravery. I have not yet felt alone. So far, strangers have only been friends that I haven't met yet.