I was electrocuted by the toaster in my hostel this morning. Twice. Now I’m having a bad hair day. I couldn’t be more excited to move into a real flat soon. Counting down the days.
This morning some friends and I have decided to go to the beach. I’ve been living in Barcelona for a full week now, and have yet to put my toes in the sand. Preposterous.
I wake up eager to go see an apartment. I’m finally kinda sorta maybe getting my shit together. This is probably the most questionable real estate engagement I’ve ever made in my entire life, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This time of year is Barcelona is the busiest for finding a flat, as students and teachers alike have all come to settle in at the same time. I’ve been told that it will be a struggle to find a place.
I wake up at 5am which isn’t ideal, but I’m feeling INFINITELY better so an early rise is a small price to pay. I just slept for the better part of 24 hours, so I should be okay. Maybe I just unintentionally beat the jet lag with all that sleeping?
Aaaaaaand I’m sick. Not sugary shots bar sick, like actually sick.
I think I’m dying.
Being sick in a hostel is the worst because I don’t want to be a big baby drama queen, but I also don’t want to just lay here all day and have people thinking I’m a weirdo.
Landing! I’m here! It’s allllll happening. I take my time getting out of the airport, as it’s 8:30am and I can’t check into my hostel until 2pm. I’m in no rush to do anything, but I’m also not a dawdler. I follow signs to the taxi stand at the airport before I realize it’s entirely unnecessary to waste my money on such a luxury form of transport.
Oh, the sweet, sweet high of beginning an adventure. The day is finally here. Today I board a plane to Barcelona, and attempt to create a life for myself. I have completed (well, have almost completed) the International TEFL Course, and am going to Spain in search of a teaching job. The plan is to stay for a year but who knows where this will take me?