Imperial stout

I don't feel like imperial Russian royalty. But I was thinking about imperial Russian royalty as I convalesced in the little mountain town, hoping the clean air and good tap water and extra sleep would help me finally kick this flu or whatever the hell virus I have that doesn't want to go away. When imperial Russian royalty got sick they would take the reeeeaaallllly long trip from St. Petersburg to the Crimea to convalesce. The Barcelona-Viladrau trip on Cercanías plus bus clearly doesn't compare, but getting home today was a little bit of an adventure. The bus, which is the only public transit way out of the little town, wasn't running because the road was closed for some kind of bike race. Luckily I wasn't the only one waiting on the bus, and when the other two figured out what was going on one of them decided to go by car on a different road. "You coming?" (or something like that) the driver asked me in Catalan. So I saved the bus fare and got a little tour of some Pyrenees back roads. They are super twisty. I sat in the back and tried not to get nauseous and really tried to understand the conversation in the front but I'm pretty terrible with Catalan. At one point they were definitely talking about Chinese-owned bars and the price of beer, but I couldn't even tell if they were complaining or praising.

And now I'm back. I didn't even fuck up Cercanías this time. Still not 100% convalesced, but I bet the Crimea would not have done any better.