I don’t want to get sick of doing all the touristy sights so I’ve so far limited it to some nice ol’ buildings and a museum or two. The Salvador Dali one is pretty fantastic, probably the only one your kids would have a ball in too. No sterile white walls here, just a winding maze of rooms filled with his grotesque, warped artworks backed on luscious red velvet or lilac wallpaper. Plus the gardens and building itself, a huge red castle topped with yellow eggs, is pretty extraordinary.

I’m nowhere near getting sick of soaking up the Barcelonian lifestyle, strolling the lovely narrow streets of the Barri Gotic and El Raval area, popping into the occasional kooky little shop, eating cheap doner kebabs (they’re legit here!), sipping hot chocolates, slipping from bar to bar while going nuts in the nightclubs and using the hostel for just sleeps and showers – as it should be.

Although I broke that wise rule last night and, participating in the hostel trivia night, was reminded by how the breed called backpackers is an ugly lot, just a bunch of drunk, mindless, dumbass idiots – the kind which you find everywhere exacerbated by the fact that they’re away from home, their responsibilities, cares, jobs and families. Conversation goes in circles – where are you from? where have you been? where are you going? yawn…

But then there’s always a diamond in the rough and L., who I met in my dorm room was an absolute gem. The click was quick, and we had no trouble spending an almost constant period of time together, despite being complete strangers. One of the few I’m sure I would have been friends with at home too – good luck to her, hope the rest of her travels fare well!

So enough of the travelers, what of the Spanish people? Frankly, not too friendly when the first thing you ask is “Hablo Inglais?” — or “Do you speak English?” for us dumb foreigners. Plus, I’m getting sick of these Spaniards staring at me, whether that be because of my, ahem, colourful dress or Chinese appearance (they’re rare here) or a combination of the two.

Although I don’t mind so much when said Spaniard happens to be a cute boy, of which there is an unusually high number of in this city! Barcelonians are known for being a bit hip, a bit cosmopolitan, kind of like our Melbourne to Sydney (Madrid being the latter) and there’s been much boy perving going on. And it’s not just the style, it’s the scruffy dark often curly hair, the svelte build, the delicate face — oh it’s all so good!

For more photographic evidence, visit my flickr page.