¡Te adoro, Fanta de limón!

Lemon Fanta is perhaps the biggest reason that Europeans are better than Americans. (Bigger than the fact that they didn´t spawn Dubya or Britney, even.) Lemon Fanta is what I missed the most after my last trip to Barcelona. And it´s what transformed today -- what would have been otherwise just your garden-variety Saturday in a fabulous Eurpoean city -- into ¡El Sábado Gigante!

Lemon Fanta, I have missed you. And I promise to make love to your carbonated, sweetened-with-real-sugar, flavored-with-real-bits-of-lemon goodness EVERY DAY I´M HERE. And I promise to give you full tongue while I´m at it.

Oh, we also saw the Royal Palace today. Normally, extravagantly rococo European palaces with themed rooms and chandeliers bigger than most cars and manicured royal grounds and ACTUAL THRONES make me as wet as a pubescent schoolgirl. But not today. I had me some LEMON FANTA.

And, quite frankly, nothing else measures up.

(Oh, we ran out of time to see the Prado -- I spent too much time drinking Lemon Fanta, I guess -- so it´s first thing on our agenda for tomorrow. And I dragged all three of my traveling companions to visit the green shoes I wanted to buy, and all three of them told me I was crazy. Which just means I´ve freed up money in my budget for more, even BETTER, shoes.)

Now we´re off to dinner at a restaurant with a Flamenco floor show. There better be lemon Fanta on the menu. Otherwise I´ll have to cut someone.