I get to Barcelona Saturday morning after sitting upright in a train all night. No fun!

The luminous Chelsea Neville fixes me coffee and breakfast. A real breakfast! With eggs and spinach and onions and toast. Never underestimate the power of a truly good breakfast. 

We then bugger off to Mercat St. Josep La Boqueria to get our dinner items. According to Wikipedia, there is first mention of this market in 1217. Joder! I love a good market. The colors! The smells! The sights! Take a peek…

We cook a proper meal with pumpkin soup, salad and fish. I was so excited about the prospect of a real salad that I forgot to get any pictures. Just know that it was good.

In fact, due to wine consumption, I didn’t get any pictures all night! So I’ll tell you what we did.

Around midnight we head out to Betty Ford’s 

Growing weary of that old chestnut around 3am, we meet up with one of Chelsea’s friends at Sutton, the hottest club in Barcelona at the moment with a 15 Euro entrada to prove it. There was a long line, and oh how I abhor lines. So I grabbed Chelsea and did something I NEVER do in the States cause I never have the guts – I marched right up to the very front and told them that we were there with Andrea. As soon as I said it, any remaining shreds of confidence I possessed went out the window as the bouncer’s skeptical eye appraised me. “Who is Andrea?” he asks. “Andrea!” I simply say, and shake my head in disgust that he doesn’t know. Just as I’m about to hang my head and go to the back of the line, he miraculously opens the velvet rope and we go in. WTF??? I’m still not sure I pulled that off alone. Chelsea must have been winking at him behind my back.