Today I made it my mission to find a free and working, open wireless connection in Barcelona. You would think this not to have been a difficult task. After all, plenty of coffee shops and cafes throughout the city prominently display WIFI signs on their premises. But after ordering a cafe cortado at no fewer than three of these (including one called "iCafe") before establishing a connection, I was buzzing from too much caffeine and no Internet.

Note to self: Don't make yourself at home at a restaurant and order until you know the "open wireless" actually exists and is functioning.

I spent the day walking and searching -- down Rambla Catalunya, up Paseo de Gracia, across Gran Via and Mallorca--while making the vain mistake of continue along the several kilometers without the benefit of proper footwear. Sure, those cherry pumps looked cute with my floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt, but by the end of the afternoon I had a berry-sized blister to match them. Believe it or not, at the ripe-old age of nearly 42, I am beginning to understand the flaws in my fashion-over-comfort mantra.

Maybe it was all the caffeine, but as I trudged along Barcelona's many sidewalks, a tune from Oleta Adams popped into mind serving as both the anthem and ear worm d'jour.

There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, then surely you would be closer
I need you closer

Yes, I have issues. But an expat without Internet is worse than a floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt without pumps.

And I have the blister to prove it.