The hostel staff that woke me up, stared, and waited for my response. I was in no state to rush and pack my shit in 10 minutes. I waved them off, "I'll pay for another day." I fell back to sleep, content with my decision. I would come to learn that this was the party vortex. I heard the same tale of woe from nearly everyone staying there. "I was going to leave five days ago, but I didn't want to miss ______, I got too drunk to check out in time." The hostels had figured out how to capitalize on the Fear of Missing Out.
Each night, around 8pm, the staff would cook dinner for the guests and serve free beer or wine. They would walk into our rooms and cheerfully announce that dinner was served. During dinner, the staff would tell us about the great night they had planned. There was always an event. Live music, festivals, light shows, bars, clubs, art galleries. It was their job to take us out and get us drunk. Hoping we'd get too drunk to want to leave at checkout. They left us each night around 2am, after words were slurring and poor decisions were being made. The bars and clubs don't close until 6am. By the time you get back to the hostel, it's usually 7-8am. Leaving you drunk, with three hours sleep. I got stuck in the vortex several days beyond what I intended.
Experiencing Leaving Las Vegas in real life is something I don't personally recommend. But, fuck it, I was in Barcelona. It's what everyone else was doing. Going on a bender is something you have to be committed to. Your death drive needs to be redlined. Your thirst for self-destruction needs to be as deep and wide as the Pacific Ocean. The energy in Barcelona is something to behold. The transitory inhabitants of this city come here to push their limits. They come here to do things they wouldn't do anywhere else. Vegas, without the distraction of gambling. The people around me offered inebriated encouragement, an intoxicated support system, a temporary dysfunctional family. Together, we accomplished what none of us could, or would want to, alone. Diffusion of responsibility is real, and powerful.
Of course, alcohol wasn't the only substance I was consuming. Luli and I had bought weed from members only cannabis shop, and I had my trusty nasal spray bottle filled with liquid LSD. The night I took acid with Luli in Barcelona had special significance. We were going to watch the Perseid meteor shower on the beach, while melting our minds. I had the pasta dinner and free drinks at the hostel, then met her at the MACBA (contemporary art museum). She decided against tripping, but was fine with smoking and babysitting. I dropped at the MACBA before heading to the beach to find a spot. The light pollution was awful and I wasn't expecting to see much. We found our place on the nearly empty strand of coastline and I set my GoPro for a night timelapse of the sky.
Before I felt anything, we saw the most intense shooting star I'd ever witnessed. A bright orange dot blinked into existence. It moved slowly to our left, then appeared to race away and turn into a star before we lost sight of it. We saw no other shooting stars the rest of the night. We were both so awestruck, it took a few minutes before we even asked each other about it. Witnessing an event like that, then feeling the quiet crackle of psychic energy spread through your body, kind of fucks with you. I was trying to make sense of an anomalous event on a hallucinogenic drug. I became convinced it was something other than a fiery rock that bounced off our atmosphere. Luli didn't disagree. It was too weird for words at the time. We didn't get a chance to dwell on it for long. At midnight, police begin spraying the beach with fire hoses to force people to leave. I was peaking. I was not happy. We walked for hours, waiting for me to be in a headspace capable of making it home. Eventually I was, and I did.
The vortex returned the next day in all its terrible beauty. The event this evening was a magic fountain show. I was skeptical, but my family of degenerates kept my head in the game. Dinner, drinks, out the door. We made it to the fountain in time to see a water show choreographed to lights and music. It was alright. We stopped at a Tapas bar on the way to a club. Two of our group got arrested for pissing in public. In full view of several police officers. One paid a fine on the spot and rejoined us. The other got taken to jail. Never did find out what happened to him. Note to self: Don't pull out your dick in front of police.
We arrived at Club Soko. Standing in line with my hostel group, I started talking to a guy from the UK. He praised me for my game when talking with some of the girls in our group and suggested we team up for the club. This guy embodied lad culture. He saw talking to girls as a Machiavellian enterprise. He played the aggressive bro, I played the sensitive artist. An unlikely duo that lent credibility to each other. As we passed the velvet rope I could smell the cigarette smoke and desperation. A place of ghosts and predators. Hordes of flesh, sweating and groping for a momentary connection. We lost track of everyone else in ten minutes.
We wandered from the dancefloor, to the patio, to the bar, and back again; looking for two bored girls. We eventually found them in the form of Kat and Alex, visiting from Austria. Kat is a quiet girl until you get her laughing. She loves being silly and talking shit about the other people at the club. Alex has a dry humor, and acidic tongue. She's mean as fuck, and I totally dig it. Me and the UK guy put on our show, get them laughing, then take the party to the dancefloor. I paired off with Kat, he, with Alex. We drank, danced, made out, and laughed at the attempts of the other guys trying to do the same thing. UK killed the mood at 4am by leaving. Kat and I continued to make out while Alex sat nearby, looking annoyed. I would've been too. I was having too much fun to be overly concerned. We exchanged facebook info when the club closed and I faded off into the next afternoon.
The twelfth day of my drinking spree was taking its toll on my appearance. My eyes were red and sunken, ringed in grey, My lips were chapped, my pallid skin pulled taught. I stared in the mirror for an uncomfortable amount of time, forcing myself to take stock of what I was doing to my body. I was making a conscious decision to hurt myself, I wanted to be honest about it. I shook off the chill and cleaned up as much as I could. I bought a sixer and drank on the porch of the hostel while I thumbed my tiny glowing rectangle, hoping for a repeat performance from Kat. There was a live music and street art festival going down, she was happy to have me join her and Alex. I cringed at the thought of forcing Alex to bear witness to our drunken pawing again. Self-interest quickly forced the guilt back to the compartment I keep things I don't want to think about.
I finished my beers, the hostel dinner, a few more beers, then hopped on the metro to meet the girls at the festival. Paper mache sculptures lined the confetti-strewn streets in a hidden pocket of the city. We stumbled through the crowds looking for the music while admiring the art. We came across three empty stages, with the last one being near a beer tent. We decided to hang out and see if something happened. We sat on the ground in front of the stage, because standing was getting difficult..Another four beers and a band started setting up. Sweet. Watching live music in a language you don't understand, has an entirely different quality I've never experienced. I spent more time watching the reactions of other people than the band on stage. Being in the middle of a happy throng of people and not being able to participate, is an odd form of isolation. Then, a band started covering Disney songs in Spanish. I was no longer a total outsider. I turned into a drunken toddler, singing all the songs of my forgotten childhood and thrashing in a Disney mosh pit.
As the band finished with I Just Can't Wait to Be King the crowd dispersed through the tight alleys and we got to see some more art,on our way back to our meeting point. We all decided pizza was a necessity. We found a place near their AirBnB and stuffed our gullets with grease and carbs. They invited me back to their place instead of taking a night bus back to my hostel. I'd be lying if I said I was disappointed. Alex took the couch. Kat and I didn't. The alcohol prevented the guilt from escaping its compartment.
I woke up early, still drunk, and went back to my hostel to get my shit and leave the vortex. The only way to escape, was to push through the stupor. Once I made it outside with my backpack I fell asleep against the wall for two hours. Waking up only because I was soaked in sweat from baking in the sun. I had a message from Kat inviting me to see her in Vienna. I don't remember much of the next few hours, I woke up when the plane touched down in Austria. I spent nearly two weeks drunk out of my mind. The longest stretch of my life. I'd like to say I learned something valuable from the experience. Maybe I did. I'll let you know if and when I remember.