Oof. Hello, all! This ought to make for an interesting entry, typograpically speaking...the keyboard I'm using appears to be lacking its enter keys, semicolons, hyphens, etc...so we'll have to make do with elipses. Lots and lots of elipses. That, however, is the only complaint I can levy against our current digs, Mambo Tango Youth Hostel in Barcelona, Catalonia...the ingeneously pierced staffers here are all into community...they play reggae at all hours, hang Canadian flags from the banisters, and talk openly about vibes. What's more, they both organize mixers and observe rules, respect being the foremost...so it's possible to both socialize and sleep (not all at once, of course...but you get my meaning). Just last night, we were referred to a very local tapas bar where we munched on creepy little squids, bug eyed prawns and (of course) heaps of sliced ham in the company of a Canuk, two Aussies (brothers, in fact), a couple of enamored expats working for NATO in Belgium, and a Brazilian journalist. Eclectic, no? BUT...before I give y'all the dish on Barcelona, I'd better talk about Pamplona and the Running of the Bulls. 'Twas loads of fun. Loads. Every man, woman and child was sporting spiffy white pants and red kerchiefs and making a pass by the town's cathedral to honor the town's patron saint, San Fermin. So, after dudin' up accordingly, we joined some friends from the train and hit the old town, where we stayed up late into the night...not nearly so late, however, as many of the local youth, who were already sitting atop the barrier when we got there at seven the following morning to watch the encierro. We tried to catch a glimpse of the action by peering out from in between the slats, but ultimately, saw nothing (I did hear the tinkling of a cowbell as the steers rushed by). Afterwards, we squeezed into the packed arena to watch a horde of drunken buffoons go toe to toe a with an angry, young bull. Much to the crowd's approabation, the bull won...after bucking four or five contenders, he was escorted out of the ring by the mounted picadores and a big ox. We didn't stick around for the bullfight...seeing as we had a train to catch, we spent much of the day seeking shelter from the sun, which was bearing down quite hard and hot, exacerbating countless hangovers. Around six o'clock, we boarded the train to Barcelona...most everybody aboard, us included, still wore his/her kerchief in a futile attempt to hang onto that one, precious little piece of the fiesta for just a little while longer. 'Course, our train was delayed...we were well on our way when, all of a sudden, the damn thing grinded to a halt and, inexplicably, started moving backwards, toward Pamplona. Oddly enough, nobody aboard the train seemed to be too happy about it...go figure. But anyway...after checking into Mambo Tango quite late, we hit the hay and slept soundly, in spite of the positively equatorial humidity. The following day (Tuesday, I believe), we ambled up and down Las Ramblas (fresh fruit, fresh cut flowers...a market of the senses, no doubt), popped into the city's centuries old Gothic Cathedral, and took a tour of Antoni Gaudi's Sagrada Familia (well worth the price admission). Today, we did Fat Tire's bike tour of the city, which took us from the former residence of Ferdinand and Isabella to the beach and the wine dark Mediterranean. Whew...well, I think that about covers it. Tonight, we plan on enjoying a much appreciated free meal here at Mambo Tango...here's hoping whatever we eat doesn't eat us (or look at us, for that matter). Hasta luego!