(Sheila) Well, let's see, it's 1:30 am. We've been here about 8 hours at the most. It's raining (lluvia) too - Alberto promised me hours ago that it wouldn't rain in Barcelona this time of year but lo and behold, it is raining and I am without my paraguas (umbrella, my first new word in Espanol).

We're back in our dry apartment from our first evening in Barcelona, which we capped off by checking out a Spanish band right down the street. The band played "Paint it Black" in Spanish. Patrick's only comment was, "can't beat that!" I'm exhausted, it feels like I haven't slept for 2 days.

(Dan) TOUR NOIR: It's late on a fall night and the rain-splattered streets of old Barcelona glisten under the tires of the passing cars.

Alberto pauses under a streetlight, consulting a folded-up envelope for its scribbled directions. He directs our little gang across an avenue, down one of the narrow, crooked side alleys that seem to lead back into centuries past. The rain picks up, and lightning darts behind old buildings. The air is sweet and mild, smelling faintly of sea and the old, old city.

We push through the door, and into a crowd filtered through eye-watering blue. A small room, a live band. "Paint it Black" in Espanol, or Catalan, how can we tell? A strange feeling of displacement comes over me as we join in with the drunken audience: "nya, nyah-nyah nya-nya nyah-nyah nyah-nyah nya, nya-nya nya..."