A Night Out in Barcelona, Spain - "The Broken Locker"

A Night Out in Barcelona, Spain by Aubrie Ford:

It was late, and I was drunk. The Barcelona nightclub thumped with music, a blur of young faces, cocktails, and whirling bodies. I looked at the stranger across from me – a handsome Frenchman whose name I don’t remember now – and smiled at him, saying something I felt was very clever in French (My French was always better when I was drinking. Less inhibited.). I felt so exotic, so assimilated speaking to him in French at the bar foreign to both of us, like we were meant to find each other.

We were, however, not meant to find each other for much longer. I realized this when my friend Matt arrived (drunk as well) to the remote corner of the bar where I had been charming the stranger and bluntly and loudly announced that Thank God he had found me, and that it was Time. To. Go. He peeled me from the man before I could protest, and we were out the door.

My ankles threatened to break the whole way back to our hostel as I teetered over ancient cobblestones in heels (Never worth it.) Matt was ten paces ahead of me the entire walk, intent on sleep and annoyed with my slow pace. The night air failed to sober me up, and we arrived sometime later to our medium-sketchy destination, going our separate ways into the women’s and men’s entrances.

I looked up the steep set of stairs leading to my dorm room and blew out a sigh. I unstrapped my heels and climbed the semi-public stairs barefoot. Then I not-so-quietly stumbled into the room and saw nine women sleeping in their bunkbeds. Glancing at my own lone empty bed, I contemplated how I would get into the top bunk and quickly put it off for later. I needed to first get into my pajamas. I went to my locker, shoved the key in with force, and turned it to the left. Blinking several times, I looked at the key in my hand and then at the one in the locker. It had broken in half. Fuck. I looked around for help and saw the sleeping strangers again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Summoning mental clarity, I made my way to the front desk, still barefoot. I gave the man my broken key and tried to explain. He looked mostly apologetic. “We can’t fix it until tomorrow,” he said. I wanted desperately to wash my face, put on clean pajamas, and crawl into bed.

“There’s no way you can fix it?” I asked.

“No.”

I made my way back up the stairs, found my bunkbed, shed my sweaty nightclub clothes, and crawled into the hostel bed naked. As soon as my head hit the pillow I was out.

The next morning, Matt came to pick me up and found me in my same clothes as the night before, still barefoot, sitting on the front stoop of the hostel. “What happened,” he said.

I smiled, “Oh, it’s a good one.”

THE FACTS

I met Aubrie (and Matt) in college. At the time, Aubrie was visiting Matt while he was “studying” abroad in Spain. Despite the shenanigans of her story, Aubrie remains a wise, creative, best friend of mine who makes every adventure, travel or otherwise, a fun and memorable time.

If you enjoyed reading about Aubrie’s night out in Barcelona, Spain, you might also check out the following stories related to other European cities:

“A Secret Garden: A Walk Through the Alcázar of Seville, Spain” by Tommy Hibbs
“Brown-Bagging: Lunch and Tennis in Monte Carlo” by Tim Ghazzawi
“Without a Tent: Camping at Wimbledon in London” by Tim Ghazzawi

I’m not sure Aubrie or Matt can remember the bar where they partied this night so here’s a blog post with some potential options for all of us: “13 Best Night Clubs in Barcelona in 2019”