Toss it back to BarSHAWLona 2011… This short piece is a lil sum sum  i wrote up for my Photojournalism final – until i realized that all my final really required was 5-8 pictures on a power point – in a scurry post Vouge’n with my main squeez Maddy-Mo this is what i had come up with ! S/O to my barca betches !! and the four months that we treated our flat like a jungle gymnasium – living above a nightclub may do that to ya…..!

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Tribe Astoria

One by one five mustard yellow taxi cabs perform a kindergarten line up in front of Club Astoria, 193 Carrer de Paris. “Um, excuse me sir, we are trying to find our apartment, not a club” exclaimed Rebecca. Dragging two stuffed full duffle bags each, the girls wheeled their way into the teal and lilac run down building. Little did the group of Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority sisters know that they would be living above a club for the next four months. The tacky foyer to the building has two port-o-potty sized elevators, how in the world were the ten over packed duffle bags going to make it to the fifth floor. The tribe devised a plan, one person would stay put and guard the bags, one person in each port-o-potty elevator to shelp the bags up and down, one bag girl to move the bags to the elevator, and one at the entrance of our festive new apartment to receive the duffels.  Five bags were successfully unloaded before Liza’s shrills awoke the entire apartment building. This began Liza’s forty-five minute adventure bobbing back and forth between floors four and five.  There was no maintenance man or bellhop to come get Liza out of the elevator. The tribe’s first instinct was to “flip” Liza being stuck in the elevator. The footage would commemorate our “meet and greet” with the neighbors. The staircase was flooded with Catalan couples of all ages. Side tracked from rescuing Liza, the tribe explained to the neighbors that they were study abroad students from the University of Michigan, who were going to be living in apartment 5’2 for the next four months. An elderly man, Enrique was able to bring the elevator to floor five. A man with no visible muscles pried the elevator doors open, setting Liza and a 70 lb duffle bag free. Swearing to never ride in the left elevator again, the tribe switched ups the roles of the plan.

Once the tribe completed the mission of getting the duffle bags into the apartment, their appetites were ravenous. The tribe hit the streets and made it about 20 feet before plopping themselves outside of Bar Paris. Shinning silver tables with bright red chairs lined the corner of C/Paris and Aribau. Awaiting our server, our mouths began to drool as the people seated two tables down were receiving their bocadillos and tapas. The server brought menus and an ashtray to the table. None of the tribe would ever be caught smoking cigarettes, no matter what the circumstance was. Glancing at the menu the tribe recognized a few items, patatas braves, Spanish omelette and hamburgesas. It was predetermined that the “Burger me Barcelona” tour would begin here for Lindsey. Post placing the orders for the first official Barca meal, the tribe’s day in Barcelona was filled with yet another surprise. With no shame, the hairy hippy man seated at the table next to the tribe sparked up a joint. Pungent aromas of Barcelona Bud filled the air; Madeline questioned “what? People can just smoke pot on the streets?” apparently you can. The tribe instantly became distracted and amazed by the fact that no one was stopping the man casually smoking next to them. One hot plate at a time, the dishes came out, much smaller than expected. The hamburger looked comparable to one from Mcdonalds, thin and greesy. Lindsey was debating ordering a second hamburger that was before she took a bite of the funky unidentifiable meat patty. She debated ending the “Burger me Barcelona” tour right then and there. The rest of the tribe laughed as they dug into their “safe” meals of potatoes and eggs.”