Barcelona

I stepped off the train from Madrid at 5:00 pm. As I exited the Arc de Triomf stop, I was bathed in the warm light of a beautiful afternoon.

 The weather changed the following day and I found myself, once again, caught in the rain on the way to La Sagrada Familia. This time, we waited in the shelter of a pharmacy as the downpour telling jokes and stories from past adventures and the evening prior.

Searching for the best views of the city, I headed north with a roommate to Tibidabo after a brief jaunt through Gaudi's Park Guell. The clouds cleared just as we left the park and the heat taunted us, having dressed for cooler temperatures,  over the next hour as we made our way towards the peak.

Notice the slant.

Easy ride in the opposite direction.

We took a shuttle for the final uphill stretch, the road winding serpentine past large houses turned commercial. Moments before the shuttle arrived, local police had explained that Tibidabo was inaccessible. The funicular wasn't running. After our two hour hike North, we had to see for ourselves.

With overcast views of the entire city at our backs and an ominous layer of dense fog obscuring the peak, we approached the empty funicular station. Not far from the bottom of the track, three cars reminiscent of VW buses approached at a crawling pace.

Just too funicular for anyone else to ride.

The two funicular(s?) run in synchronicity, simultaneously reaching the single split in track halfway through their trip that allows them to pass.

As we ascended, I accepted that the views I'd hoped for would remain beyond my reach.

We were met with dense fog and cold winds once on Tibidabo and as we walked through the gates, the funicular unapologetically began its trip back down.

The place seemed better suited for a B-list horror film than a fun summer afternoon.

The church and amusement park rides, alike, sat solitary underneath their shrouds of grey, ignorant of the bustling city that lay below. As I rolled down my sleeves and longed for a jacket, I forgot that I'd been cursing the sun just an hour prior.

The wind blew incessantly, pouring fog across the empty streets.

We walked through the park equally fascinated, frustrated, and amused by our own meteorological misfortune and surroundings.

So you want to see him?

The weather stayed wet and grey until the morning I left for Marseille. I had been deceived by the city's radiant welcome, but the energy and pulse of Barcelona's clubs rejuvenated and exhausted us every evening; the flashing lights compensated for the drab colors during the day.

Despite the weather, having navigation issues that are unparalleled by any other place in the world I've been, and a variety of humorous and terrifying mishaps, I can't wait to go back someday. With a handful of Canadian hostel mates, I had some of the best nights (mornings) of my life, that is, until I realized I was saying, "eh?"