Barcelona's Weird Attempt at Disneyland

Tibidabo is a mountain on the fringe of Barcelona that is famous for its views, church, and ancient amusement park. This is my last weekend in Barcelona so I figured I would cross off the final item on my To-Do checklist and enjoy what it had to offer. We all awoke in the afternoon feeling abysmal. Spirits were low as we took three trains, a trolley, and a lift up to the park. Upon arrival, our mood instantly changed. The amusement park was not the run down, tacky, mess that I expected, but instead, a very legitimate, wonderfully designed complex of classic rides. After admiring the views, we purchased the all day ticket for the rides and slightly descended down the mountain, unable to wipe the smiles off our faces. We began with bumper cars, and the hilariousness commenced. We followed that with the chair swing carousel which twirled you over the edge of the mountain, circularly gliding you above the park. It was inexplicably euphoric.

We then attempted to go on some sort of flipping, spinning contraption, but I was stopped at the front and told I could not partake due to my height. I watched from the sidelines. It was humiliating. We made our way through the Pirate ship swing, two roller coasters, and a log flume. We had time for one more ride and hesitantly chose the haunted house. It was called “Krueger’s Hotel” and appeared to have not been culturally updated since 1986. This was appealing to me. We waited far too long and eventually entered with our enthusiasm at a pretty low level. At first, the actors spoke Catalan and wore ridiculous face make-up. We could not help but laugh. However, things quickly turned around and we found ourselves transported into the setting of movies like Silence of the Lambs, the Exorcist, A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Friday the 13^th. One after another, the settings changed drastically to perfectly match the movie’s atmosphere. The actors had no moral code; they swung their blades inches from your face and cornered you relentlessly, shrieking and moaning with all their might.

The piece-de-resistance was the second to last room. It was a dark, unassuming child’s bedroom. Beneath the window sat an array of dolls. This was it, my 5 year-old self’s worst nightmare. I knew what was coming. Suddenly, one of the dolls stood up. A little person dressed as Chuckie drew a knife and sprinted our way. It was the most terrifying thing I have ever witnessed. Afterwards, we descended the mountain and stopped at an all you can eat Chinese buffet for dinner.  I am writing this, bracing myself for the digestional storm that is heading my way.

Ruined in Rome

Homelessness is something that has surrounded me my whole life. However, until my visit to Rome I didn’t realize the horrors that it brings. Upon returning from Florence, my friend Lawson and I found that our presupposed spots on our friend’s floor were no longer an option. They had decided to travel for the weekend in order to avoid the hectic atmosphere of Easter in Rome. Due to that fact, almost all the hostels were taken except for an unrated bed and breakfast on the other side of the city. It was 40 euros for the night so we braced ourselves for sketchiness as we took the terrible Roman public transportation further and further out of the city center. We arrived in the sweltering afternoon heat, only to find an unassuming apartment building with a small, hand written “Bed and Breakfast” label next to the buzzer of the 4^th floor. I rang it with a sigh only to receive no answer. We stood there, allowing the feeling of hopelessness to sink in slowly. Finally, an old woman with a heinous amount of facial hair exited and used her phone to call the owner of 402. Ten minutes later we were greeted and let in to a surprisingly nice bed and breakfast.

We used the rest of the day to tour the city, culminating in a Pope sighting at the Coliseum for the Stations of the Cross. The giddy nuns and priests placed amid an atmosphere that was entirely ominous created a spectacle I doubt I will witness again. We slept at the B&B that night and were kicked out the next morning at 11am. Our flight was not until 7am Sunday morning and we were what society would call “homeless.” We talked our way into keeping our luggage at the B&B until midnight but had to occupy ourselves during the day. We were out of energy, money, and things to see. This resulted in perhaps the longest day of my life. Highlights included playing cards and reading in Plazas, falling asleep on a sidewalk next to the river, waking up dusted in irritable pollen and seeking shelter in the Pantheon from the unwelcome Italian rain. It was hell. We picked up our bags at midnight and had to wait an hour for a taxi. This time was spent at a gelato shop where we drank the remainder of their seemingly untouched Jack Daniels bottle. By 2am we arrived at the airport only to be greeted by locked doors. We, however, were not giving up after coming this far. On the third try we got the attention of a machinegun-clad, Italian soldier who graciously checked our passports and let us sleep on the marble floor. We awoke, boarded, landed, and returned home with nothing but a bitter taste in our mouths from the putrid ending to our Spring Break.

Beaning on the Coast

The Almafi Coast- I only knew it as that place where Matt Damon killed Jude Law with an oar, however that was my destination for the first leg of my Spring Break. Thirteen people, including myself, rented out a villa just outside of Positano for the first weekend in April. To say it surpassed my expectations is an understatement. The Villa sat alone on a treacherous road, perched along the jagged decline of the coast, peering out upon the chilly Mediterranean. Its permanent residents were a never-ending family of Italian simpletons. The woman of the house was at least eighty years young and was still doing daily farming and household chores. She spoke no English but loved to smile and tug on your ear, it was fantastically stereotypical. The villa had a chicken coop, lemon trees, and a herd of sheep, led by the aptly named Clementine. Our openly rambunctious crew brought nothing but positive vibes, and that made all the difference. It was four days of lounging, drinking, leisure-diving, and soaking in the 360 degrees of nature that sensationally overwhelmed one’s senses. Behind us, the evergreen drenched mountains climbed into the clouds, disappearing into what we called “King Kong Land”. The face of the coast was littered with vegetation reaching off the rocky façade, extending their limbs to the warm Mediterranean sun. In the distance a small island rested alone, garnering the name “Shutter Island.” It was a weekend that no one wanted to end, however, with another day we would have assuredly run out of food and momentum. Nonetheless, I was willing to proclaim it as one of the enjoyable memories of my life only minutes after watching it disappear behind the first bend of the coast.