After arriving 81euros lighter in Montpellier where we hung out with the locals (one old dude took us into his house to show us his family of ferrets who live behind the washing machine) we repacked our bags and tried to hitch a lift to BCN. And let me tell you, it’s not as easy as it might seem.
Even with the mini skirt rolled up to the max after 4hours of thumbing NOBODY on the A9 to Spain wanted to give us a ride. But finally, when spirits had hit rock bottom, God sent us Stephane. Far from the Dolly Parton-loving, juggernaut-driving tattooed lorry driver that I’d been fantasizing about, Stephane, a meek and mild airline pilot with the cleanest Renault Megane I’ve ever seen, drove us silently through the Pyrenees to Barcelona.
So, what can I say: we salute you Stefano! And I’m really sorry I slept most of the way here…
BCN is fully prepared for Primavera Sound; it’s plastered all over town. We’re eating as much tapas as we can in the meantime, topping up the tan/burn and getting mentally prepared for an explosive set from Israeli band Monotonix who will probably destroy the Primavera main stage from 19h tomorrow. Keep yourselves posted…

barcelona primavera from Private on Vimeo.