Arrival: Barcelona

Touched down in Barcelona. It was dark by the time we got to our apartment, which was just around the corner from the Alfons X Metro Station on the edge of Horta-Guinardó. The guy letting the flat (Atila) gave us a quick tour, before he returned to the bar on the corner to watch the end of the football.

This was the view from our balcony. I love how the back of some old apartment buildings can seem exciting and strange when you travel. It's no Gaudí, I give you that. But I liked the view. If you look carefully you can spot one of the ever-present Catalonian flags.

After a quick nose around the flat we headed to the same bar as Atila. It was a bit of a wreck and full of old Catalan fellas. Got the holiday swinging with super cheap beers and tapas (they even let us keep the bottle of red wine after two glasses).

Some initial scepticism to our presence from the clientele melted when the queery "¿Es inglés?" was countered with the well rehearsed "¡No, soy escocés!". Before you know it, you're toasting Catalan independence and Celtic brotherhood.

Good start really.