Morocco saved one last piece of culture shock for me at Marrakech Airport. After stepping through the metal detector without incident I was confronted by an expressionless Moroccan woman wearing a uniform who without warning rubbed my breasts all over, patted down my sides, and then reached between my legs! Dale was up ahead of me and turned to see the look of shock on my face. Puzzled by my expression he asked what the matter was and then noticed the similar treatment the young women behind me were getting. I'm not sure why it was only the women who got this added experience, or what the purpose behind it was - given that the guard at the baggage X-ray was facing away from the screen, security didn't seem the top priority - but I was pleased we were on our way to a less intimidating Barcelona!

As the Spaniards rushed to the front of the plane before it had finished taxiing to a halt we knew that we were back in Europe. In this part of the world queuing is optional - as we were again reminded when a group of Turks slipped into the line in front of us at customs. With no arrival cards to fill in or questions to answer about plants or animals we might be carrying, the line moved quickly and it was not long before we emerged into a balmy Barcelona evening.

From the cacophony of cymbals and drums in Africa, we now found ourselves in a city of music. From the rapper in our train carriage on the way in to the city, to the violins, clarinets, piano accordions, saxophones, and guitars of the other buskers we have already encountered. Even a man singing opera, a string quartet, and a brass band - music is everywhere. Another pleasant surprise was the young guy who as he departed for the airport handed Dale a train ticket with four days worth of travel loaded on it, so we have mastered the public transport system and are finding it very easy to get about.

Our hostel puts the flash in 'flashpacking'. Located on the paseo de gracia, a wide tree lined avenue which leads down to the pl Catalunya and the beginning of the famous la Rambla, the hostel is spread over 5 floors of a beautiful old apartment building. There is an old fashioned wooden elevator which moves between the spiral staircase to each floor. The high ceilings give a sense of spaciousness and the interior design is fresh and functional rather than tired or dated looking. Air con that works, a comfortable bed with crisp white sheets, and an ensuite bathroom? Luxury after the lumpy pillows, shonky plumbing, and fetid smells of Moroccan accommodation!

Barcelona is a beautiful city with lots of trees, interesting architecture, and historic old quarter. Of course it is Gaudi who is most famous here and already we have walked to the Sagrada Familia (his iconic unfinished cathedral), La Pedrera (an apartment building he designed) and Casa Batllo (Another residential building). Food is another priority here. Although there are the usual tourist traps offering all you can eat buffets, or fast food style tapas and sangria, there are also numerous cafes and bars tucked away a street or two behind the main drag which offer a more authentic experience. We have enjoyed some Spanish lager at a couple of stylish bars busy with local clientele and have found the waiters and waitresses very tolerant of our pathetic Spanish vocab and use of mime.

Our lack of ability with the local language means every mealtime is like Russian roulette. Ordering a tomato and mozzarella salad and getting a tomato and mozzarella salad - win! Ordering a hamburger with bacon and getting a hamburger with bacon, egg, and no top bun - we'll call that a win. Ordering a meat lovers pizza and getting a tuna pizza - a definite loss. We have even managed to satisfy our craving for sushi, ordering food at a Japanese restaurant from the Spanish menu.

Still on our to do list is to try some of the local vino with tapas - now that we are adjusting to eating dinner at 9pm, we may be able to stay out late enough to find where the locals go!