Saint Madeline

So I'm going to let you in on a secret and I don't know whether I should because I like hoarding secrets.

Margs and I have found the best hostel in the world. Big call, right? It's true.

Let me explain: we arrive - gorgeous apartment on wonderland street front - did I mention the location? Because we're right near the centre; I saw a Gaudi building just around the corner.

As we're putting our bags away in our brand new room (this place only opened Friday), Alessia (part owner) comes in and says, have you had dinner yet, girls? Jimmy, another guest, is looking for some people to eat with - I'm just taking him down to the printer's and we'll be back in fifteen.

Sounds promising - did you get that bit about the printer's? Where do you find service like that?

So while we wait we meet Mikey and Anna, American and Finnish, respectively, two extra-nice students studying in France.

Alessia and Jimmy, lovely Englishman here for a conference (as a side job he caters at England's Womad) return to hostel, and we learn Alessia and Mirko, her partner, are taking us out to a favourite Spanish restaurant for dinner. They used to own a restaurant - Mirko is a chef - voted third best in Barcelona so they know their food.

We eat cod salad, octopus, ribs, veal, a creme caramel-like dessert (sauce has alcohol, Dad; might be something to try next time), homemade rum-raisin-type ice cream, coffee and wine for under ten euro each. Is that even possible?

We listen to Alessia (Argentinian) and Mirko (Italian) - learn of their wonderful adventures in New York and Europe. I want to be a traveller just like Alessia - she's been everywhere.

They drive us home - Margs and I retreat to our room to scream in glee. Lovely hostel with too-good-to-be-true-hosts and fellow guests. What on earth have we done to deserve this?

I must have been a saint in a past life.

p.s. I'm keeping the name a secret for now.