It Monday night in Barcelona, the night time after the tapas-bar introduction to Kingdom of spain and a night out with a French styling group. Fiona and that I need issued it “posh products nights” with the W, metropolis’s many stylish first-class hotels. Isolated on a sandy peninsula that juts out into mediterranean and beyond, and with the cheeky motto, “Whatever, each time,” the W and its particular 26th-floor Eclipse bar offers just enough touch of scandal to motivate intrigue and explain a pricey cocktail. And, of course, both greatest girls of Vicky Christina Barcelona’s little-known and absolutely fictional follow up, Fiona Krystin(a) Barcelona, haven’t located their Juan Antonio.

Eclipse bar right at the W Barcelona

Fiona’s enjoying themselves narrating all of our trip because we head into the W after a late resort food:

*Krystin and Fiona enter the Eclipse pub, curious when they’ll locate their Juan Antonio. Krystin asks for the beverage menu, wishing she were greater familiar with this much more lively planet, one light-years beyond the girl recognizable one of plastic-cup rum-and-Cokes at a Midwestern status institution. Leia mais →