The first time someone invited me to a tapas bar a few years ago, I was intrigued. Actually I thought they’d said “topless” and was curious as to why they wanted me to go with them. Once I found out what tapas actually were – small, savory Spanish hors d’oeuvres – I was dying to try them. On a recent trip to Spain, I ate my heart out.
The idea for the trip started on a whim. After arriving in Germany earlier this year for a new contractual work position, Vera, one of my colleagues, approached me, eager to begin her travel adventures.
“A friend and I are meeting up in Barcelona in a couple weeks. Come with us!” Still half groggy and jetlagged from the plane ride over from the States, I hesitated.
We scrounged up one more colleague, Florence, to even the number to four, bought Lufthansa tickets from Frankfurt, Germany, to Barcelona, Spain, for less than $200 each, slung on our backpacks on and were off.
Upon arrival, a heavy smell of sweet vanilla clung to the air. Everyone seemed attractive and stylish in slim-fitting pants and heeled boots with flowing hair or trendy hats. You could always tell the Americans, though, usually clad in bulky clothes and solid athletic shoes. After a brief bus ride to the center of town, we disembarked in the cool dark of the evening.