Travelling Alone In Spain

I wasn't doing anything towards the end of 2009, so I bought a ticket for Barcelona, making a reservation in a private lodging with two Russian girls who were studying Spanish. I thought I'd save on costs but it cost me 40 pounds per night for a 5' x 10' hide y-hole. I may well have lodged at the local lock-up for the room, and at least I'd have been served breakfast in the morning. 

I lugged my bag up three flights of stairs only to find that my room was the size of a broom closet, with enough room for only a bed. One of the girls came in and slammed her bedroom door every time I saw her and I couldn't tell if she was smirking or smiling as she rushed by. The woman I had contacted about the room talked my ear off for two nights in a kitchen the size of a postage stamp. I bought some wine for her my last night there and I talked and didn't let up, gnawing to the bone every subject I tore into and then pawed and gnawed it all over again from top to bottom. Slack-jawed, she was amazed at how much I could talk. She never asked me where I was from, which was pretty amazing.  

The entire time I was in Barcelona not one person anywhere said hello to me and it was such a  difference after being in Jordan where people welcomed me constantly. I wouldn't complain so much except that I went to the bus station to get a schedule and even though my Spanish isn't perfect I can get by. When I asked about tickets, this woman looked at me from behind the booth and just waved me away from the window as if I were a fly and said 'no entiendo.' She didn't even make an attempt to understand what I was saying. Granted, they don't speak Spanish per se, but how can you miss with por favor, yo quiero un billetta una via por Valencia? Not perfect, but hardly indecipherable. So she blew me off and I went to another window and I started with por favor blah blah blah and dude also waved me away with  'no entiendo' and shut his wicket. By this time my veins were bulging. 

'Okay,' I said, 'no entiendo this buddy. Go fuck yourself.'  I was in meltdown mode.

I wandered around for two days visiting Picasso's museum, restaurants and shops, but I started to get depressed with an overwhelming sense of gloom. The final straw for me was now the train station for a ticket onwards and the fellow behind the counter stonewalled me when I asked him some questions about the schedule. He waved me off and turned away and I screeched  'What's with the hostility! You need an attitude adjustment!'  Did they think I was American, or was that just the way they were?  I never figured it out, but that night as I sat in a cafe by myself licking my wounds, the fellow sitting beside me talked to me! He asked how I liked Barcelona and I said that although the city was amazing, the people were kind of cool. He laughed, 'Catalans just like Catalans.' I don't remember where he was from, but that summed up my experience.
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Say what you want about the crazy Catalans, Barcelona is an amazing city.