¡Barça, Barça, Baaaarça!

Monumental shit happened last Saturday.

Every Saturday is phenomenal here -- then again, every day is if you take the initiative. This was a day where I both fucked up, as well as did things right. Keep reading, you'll see.

So, as I mentioned in the last part of my previous post I missed the bus to Girona. While it is true I set a few alarms to wake myself with ample time to make the necessary metro transfers to the meeting point at Plaza Universitat, it's also true that I went out and had a few drinks the night before at an Irish pub called Ryan's. Two other people in the program -- Tracy and Andy -- and I weren't content with a quiet night in, and opted to partake in three or four rounds of 2€ beers and 5 for 5€ tequila shots. We met some Austrians, who were happy to partake in aforementioned shots as we had odd numbers for the three of us. I wasn't aware tequila was popular in the country. The two Austrians chicas -- both sweethearts and both attractive -- told us to let them know if we were going to be travelling through the area. The two Austrians dudes suggested the same. Pretty sure I'm Facebook friends with them now. Also, the Austrian dudes were REALLY into metal. But...like...odd, Euro black metal and shitty American tunes a la Korn. We couldn't relate on that, but it was engaging to speak English...in an Irish bar...in Barçelona...with Austrians. Those are my favorite moments -- when I find myself in situations where to sheer level of cultural diversification causes me to step back and reflect for a moment. Okay, wait. what was I talking about again??

OHHH YEAH. Missed the bus to Girona. In my half-conscious state at around 4:30AM I'd set my phone alarm, iPhone alarm, and had instructed una amiga to call me to make sure. She did so, at approximately 8:32 and 34 seconds in the morning, and I -- in a state of sheer panic -- realized I would have to haul ass to make the bus. I threw on the first articles of clothing I could find, which thankfully included both a shirt and pants. Here's where I really fucked up: after walking halfway to my metro stop I realized I'd forgotten my camera. This, necessary for recording memories as well as sharing with you guys, seemed vital at the time. I ran back, adding another 5 or 6 minutes to my mad rush to get to the meeting point, and by the time I burst out of the metro and sprinted to where the busses SHOULD have been...I had to call Will only to be informed that I was minutes too late. That being said, I will be taking a day trip to Girona via train one of these weekend. It's cheap, and I will hate myself forever if I don't get to see the Dalí museum. So, that's that. No regrets, no shame. Qué será, será. Although, it was probably a little strange for anyone within a 50 yard radius of me to witness an American shouting a wide vocabulary of profanities into a cell phone at 9 in the morning. Seriously, as you might gather from this blog...I could give Tourette's guy a run for his money.

Anyway, I returned home to explain to host madre how pissed I was and proceeded to sleep -- honest to Dios -- until damn near 5PM. I'm not sure how that happened, but it did. As a result, I felt great, went to the gym, and got ready for an opportunity I couldn't miss a bus for -- Barça v. Real Societat at Camp Nou that night.

I'd gotten tickets at a discount through my friends' dorms. Fifty bucks a seat instead of the typical price, which can be upwards of 100-300€ depending on the match. This night -- a Liga matchup -- wasn't anything special. It was a must win, as Barça is behind Madrid a few points in La Liga, but Societat isn't much of a squad. Either way, we were pretty goddamn excited. I mean, my first Barça game. Fucking BARÇELONA. Shit was about to get real.

I met everyone at the Melon District -- the dorms de mis amigos. Down by the entrance, my friend Aaron and I met this guy Jeremy. The dude has lived in London for 10 years and is not studying in Barça. He's originally from France but we forgave him for that and invited him to join the group. Buena gente.

We proceeded to eat and drink in preparation for this monumental day night in my life. A bowl of pasta and a couple Red Labels (sin hielo -- I swear the Spanish don't believe in ice), we were on the way. What follows is a series of photos from the night, which tell the story better than I do. If some explanation is needed I'll put it in the caption, but this post will primarily be photos. And Scott, if you're reading this: chupalo, cabrón.

Some incredibly good looking man and Tracy.

Jeremy y yo. Note: sangria in hand.

Peter y Garrett.

CAMP NOU.

This place fits damn near 100,000 people, but was only around half full tonight. Still amazing. Still loud.

I'd only ever seen this playing FIFA.

Right after a goal. 

Corner.

Multiple cameras taking pictures.

I look like Sloth from the Goonies.

L-R: Sam, yo, Aaron, Tracy, Julia, Bryan.

¡Lo fue de la putra madre! Loose translation: it was the shit!

Pretty sure this is a strange Spanish symbol meaning "soccer."

Metro was packed. Seriously, people gave zero fucks and boarded until movement was impossible.

Tracy was not amused.

So, that's it. It was fucking FREEZING. Couldn't feel my legs or face by the end of the match, but there was NO way we could have left early. It was too much of a defining moment in my life. I'm going to another game in March through ISA. Again, 50€, and we (I can say that now, right? I mean...I live in Barça.) play Bayern Leverkusen in a Champion's league matchup.

I've learned all the words to El Himno de FC Barçelona. They sing it before and after every game. También, it's helped me to make a few Catalan friends when I just so happen to belt it out whilst leaving concerts and bars. So, I fucking love sports, and this is a great piece of tradition. The club means more to this city than just a team -- I mean, look at the words in the stadium: "Mes que un club." It was the only piece of Catalan culture than persisted through the Franco years, and it's amazing how intertwined the city and the team are. It's more than sports -- it's an identity which exists in tandem with the unique nature of the city. Pasión, passion, however you say it, lives here.

Life is good, and I hope that things are going well back in the States.