The flight was long. And the amount of space I had for my feet was as big as your computer (unless you have, like, the first computer ever made that filled a room). But we finally landed in Barcelona and Jake surprised us by meeting us at the airport (he’d said he’d meet us at the hotel). I screamed, sort of loudly. And the embarrassing Lansbury’s hit Barcelona.
Exhausted, but also running on the adrenaline of seeing my kid for the first time in three months, we got to our hotel, which is great place and right off La Rambla, which I would translate into “Big Street of Shopping and Stuff,” and changed into warmer clothes to go see FC Barcelona play soccer.
On the way, we hit La Boqueria for a quick look and our first, but I’m sure not our last, taste of Barcelona’s famous ham. Delish. And off to the metro, which is almost exactly like the T. A crowd of 70,000 watched the most excellent soccer I’ve ever seen. 4-zip, we win. And how about this–they don’t sell alcohol at the games–completely straight fans! Just a bunch of people high on their team. Pretty cool.
Home to sleep. Like a rock. Up for dinner at 10, but not feeling well, I let the fam enjoy their first spanish meal, and I sleep more. I’m never good in a jet lag situation. I am so grateful to be here. Jake seems so much more adult than when he left. Day 1, Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.