Beer Log #1

I like drinking beer. I also like telling stories. Furthermore, I really like showing my friends back home that I can drink legally and they can’t. With that in mind, I’ve decided to start what will hopefully be a weekly segment to this blog, called “The Beer Logs.” With this, I will tell short stories about the trials and tribulations of living in Barcelona, some good, some bad, and some downright exhilarating, while testing different beers from around the world.

So it’s my first day of school. The previous night, I made sure to set two alarms, excessively early, to make sure I get to class on time and give a good impression to my teachers.

I wake up, strangely well rested, to the fact that neither of my alarm clocks went off. Perfect, that was exactly what I wanted to happen. Class started at 8:30, it is now 9:30, and I am sitting in my bed, an hour away from campus.

I hustle out of bed, throw on clothes and nearly sprint out the door of my apartment building. I say nearly sprint because it wasn’t exactly a sprint, but more of a sleepwalk, or leisurely, half awake stroll. While walking across the street, I nearly get hit by a car, missing it by mere centimeters. Sweet Jesus, close call.

I get to my metro stop and head to the transfer that will take me to school. We’re okay for now.

I get on my train, and I feel okay. 20 minutes later the train reaches the end of the line, and I realize that I took the wrong train to some Spanish strip mall outside the city. A man tells me I can transfer to the right station if I stay on this train, but me, being American, and not really understanding what he said, get off at that train station. I contemplate just going home. Then I remember I have no idea how to get home from here.

I wait for the next train for 10 minutes, thinking about my life.

I get on the next train, and take it backwards 20 minutes, to what I think will be a shortcut.

It turns out that it is not a short cut by any means whatsoever, but I get off anyway.

I wait 10 minutes for the next train, and decide to just go all the way back to the beginning, to Provença.

Once I’m finally there, I get on what I hope is the right train and head to school.

Even though I missed a class and got to my second one an hour late, I’m proud to say that the death stare given to me by that teacher was easily the most incredibly angry, scornful, soul-crushing look I have ever received in my entire life. That teacher might have very well put a curse on me.

Beer: San Miguel 1516

(accompanied by a rather delightful plate of spaghetti and chorizo)

Word of the Day: Tarde - Late

Llegue tarde a mis clases en el primer dia. I arrived late to my classes on the first day.