I woke up early Thursday morning and hiked what seemed like 2 or 3 miles with all of my stuff to the bus station to go to the airport for my flight to Barcelona (Madrid was only a lay over so I chose to make it 2 days instead of 2 hours). I got there and found out that my flight was cancelled. Mind you, all of the signs are in Spanish and no one speaks English. This was about the time that I realized I know a lot more Spanish than I gave myself credit for. I’m definitely not fluent, but everyone I spoke to understood what I was trying to say. Plus, I was pleasantly surprised to find that even though no one spoke English, most people were very patient and willing to help (I think they liked my accent. Especially this girl in El Corte Ingles, but that’s another story). Anyway, I waited 2 hours for the next flight which was then delayed another hour. It’s not a good thing when you’re sitting in the airport longer than on the plane. So I get to the airport and, with the help of my Spanish and my trusty guidebook, I find the train station and the correct train to get me to the section of Barcelona that I had chosen beforehand practically at random – Barri Gotic, east of las Ramblas.