This just in

Last ship breakfast.  Now back to yogurt smoothies.

And so the voyage ends.  We docked in Barcelona early this morning, disgorging around 800 people a a few thousand suitcases, backpacks, duffels, and cardboard boxes.

It's quite a logistical feat to get us all off.  Everyone had to be packed by 1 PM on Wednesday, with just their hand-carried luggage left.  The luggage was color-coded and brought to one of two holding areas, fore and aft.  Tymitz Square filled up with all the stuff left behind.  All day long, the crew carted off our detritus--backpacks, water bottles, clothes, toiletries, notebooks.  A big freecycle.

As we came into port, we could see friends and family waiting.  Many brought signs and flags.  My shipbaord daughter Keani's parents brought a Hawaiian flag, making them instantly recognizable.  (They are actually German, and will travel with Keani to Germany to see their extended family.)  One girl picked out her parents and her aunt, who had come as a surprise.  She was shrieking (fortunately, a happy surprise).

If anyone came to meet me, sorry I missed you.  I could have used some help with my bags!

Adios, Explorer.  So many memories.

I had booked a room not far from the port, in a building with an elevator, a block from a train station.  Barcelona is a city of charm, but also steep streets and buildings with many stairs.  So I had my priorities!

First stop, the apartment to drop off my luggage.  I had made the arrangements with Andrei, but it was his father who greeted me.  "You are alone?" he said, surprised.  I do not know whether this was because the room was a two bedroom suite or because I had enough luggage to last for, say, a four-month trip.  With souvenirs.  (One whole suitcase is stuff I bought, including a queen size comforter.)

After showing me the room and the rest of the apartment, he left to find the password for the wireless, closing the door behind him.  I admired the view from the balcony, sorted out what I needed for the day, and started out.  The doorknob would not turn.  Then it came off in my hand.

My friend Betty says this is what happens when you complain about hotel rooms.  Ghana may not have had water, but it did have doorknobs.

I have taken apart a doorknob or two in my time, and I have broken into rooms with credit cards, and I have even taken doors off hinges, but I was quite firmly stuck in the room.

Ayudarme?

The apartment is long and skinny, and there were four closed doors between me and the owner, but he finally did come to let me out.  "China," he muttered.  (In China, the hotel used fancy pants plastic cards as room keys, and it came with not only doorknobs but combs and toothbrushes.)  "I will fix."

In the meantime, I got the internet password and downloaded my location to my phone.  I got onto FaceBook, as did dozens of Semester at Sea folk.  The Hawaiian-German Keani downloaded 170 pictures from South Africa alone.  I had half a dozen new friend requests.  We are starved for internet.

I found a book in my hotel called "Barcelona ist einmalig [first of all, fundamentally] Katalonien." Which is true, and proudly so.  I picked up some children's books in Catalon.  (When Catherine was little, I picked up a children's book in German for her.  I apologize in advance if this causes my granddaughters grow up to live in Barcelona in twenty years.  Chickpea also has books in Dutch, Greek, Italian, German and probably several other languages by now, so I think one in Catalon will not hurt.

St. George is very big this week in Barcelona

I planned to drop off my luggage and spend a day wandering the sunny streets of the city, but sun was sorely lacking today.  I learned my water resistant jacket is optimistically labeled.  Last time I was here, Catherine went swimming the first week of April and we baked in the Mediterranean sun, but today was chilly at best.  When it started pouring rain, I came back to take a nap.

Cold and dripping, I stopped on the way home at a small grocery and bought milk and a chocolate bar. Hot chocolate sounded like just the thing.  The man behind the counter started a conversation:

Where you from?
US.
Where?
America.  Los Estados Unidos.
How long you stay.
One day.
How long?  One week?
No.  One day.  Una día.
Una día?
I come from boat.  El barco?  Par avion [but that's French, right?  Oops]  Mañana, USA.
You have husband?
No.  Tres niños, no esposo. Una vez, tengo esposo, pero ahora, no.

So now I wonder, is it wrong to travel alone in Barcelona?  I had two conversations today, and both of them led to the traveling alone question.

Back home again, I was heating up my milk and the landlord offered me a bowl of the soup he had been making.  I had planned on a good local meal, but a bowl of soup and some fresh bread filled me up.  Romanian soup, from the stomach of the cow.  Six hours to cook.  My landlord for the day is from Transylvania.  He sells "artificial salt."  I didn't try to make sense of that.  He's never heard of Unitarians.  I didn't even try to explain.