Barcelona

May 15, 2008 – Marseilles
A rainy and blustery day…a good day to stay aboard. And that’s exactly what we did. Enjoyed the ship, packed and had dinner with our Lake Bled companions. As always there was a large exchange of email addresses and promises to keep in touch. Who knows, we may even do that.

May 16, 2008 – Arrival in Barcelona

The entire debarkation went smoothly. We left the ship at the new cruise terminal and stood on what seemed to be an interminable line waiting for a taxi which would take us to our hotel – the Monte Carlo located right on La Rambla. My immediate reaction to the city was that of a busy ‘happening’ place: people strolling, sitting in cafés, riding bicycles, scooters, mopeds, chatting, laughing, honking their horns. Our hotel which is so perfectly located in the midst of everything is still wonderfully quiet. Our suite was large and provided every known amenity we could want: a sitting room with wet-bar and TV; a dressing room; a large bedroom with another TV and a little nook holding a desk with FREE WIFI…a major bonus which we had not encountered until now; the tiled bathroom with its clear glass-enclosed shower providing more nozzles and spray outlets than anyone could ever imagine and the largest Jacuzzi I’ve seen since our hotel in Dresden. But with the severe water shortage in Barcelona requiring water to be brought in, we couldn’t quite see ourselves availing ourselves of all these sybaritic pleasures. So instead we unpacked and headed out to walk La Rambla from one end to the other on a sunny, warm afternoon…what a scene!!

  It’s been compared to the Champs Elysee, but that doesn’t begin to describe this one mile of tree-lined boulevard that runs from the harbor to Place Catalunya. The Champs is an old stodgy lady compared to this spritely, energetic vamp. Within that one mile we saw all manner of small animals for sale (baby rabbits, chickens, iguanas, turtles, and singing birds), all manner of tourist stands selling soccer paraphernalia, post cards, magnets, brochures, travel books and newspapers), and best of all a vast variety of costumed characters frozen in position until encouraged to move by someone putting a Euro in the contribution-pot that sat at their feet.

We saw a valentine with a lovely red nose that hugged any manner of person who approached; an ethereal bare breasted sprite that manipulated a clear glass globe with a smoothness and dexterity that had us staring in awe;

there was a small black dog-like monster with a huge gaping mouth that scared little children, but if one was brave enough to approach and throw a coin near it, it would act quite docile; there was a totally gold person who was frozen until paid, and who would then flip the pages of a magical gold book whose pages appeared empty when first flipped, but when flipped again had etchings in pencil and when flipped a third time had pictures in full color; there was a silver-coated medusa with silver snakes as its hair that leered in a menacing way until paid, and would then hug a person in a still threatening manner; a large Dracula like creature which hugged people under its caped wings; a truly skilled soccer player who could bauble a ball endlessly on his thigh, then toss it from toe to toe with never a pause in action; and on and on and on. Of course, one was obliged to stop, and while distracted one became a prime victim for the many pick-pockets that roam the street.

We had been warned by the hotel reception, previous visitors, and all manner of literature to be wary of these people who while not dangerous, were most adept at taking your belongings. So Bob and I were prepared, and had stripped off all important objects and left them in the hotel safe. Feeling a wee bit thirsty and hungry, with breakfast on the ship seeming eons ago, we found ourselves in a lovely Plaza Real surrounded by sunny cafes and people watching people or simply absorbing the sun. A quick beer (Guiness and Duvel) and some snacks, and we were re-energized and ready to wander around again as tourists. When we were finally exhausted, we found our hotel and our magical bed whose head and feet could be raised automatically to any odd position one could want….and that was it.

May 17, 2008
The hotel breakfast room located off the lobby provided a wonderful spread made to match any nationality’s desires. There were meats and cheeses, Danish or toast, eggs and sausage and freshly squeezed orange juice that tasted magnificent. Well fortified, we headed to the tourist bus – one of the great recommendations we had received from the internet. When we arrive new to a city, we find that these open-topped busses, where one can hop on and off whenever and wherever they stop, are the best way to get one’s bearings. The Barcelona bus tour provided three distinct routes (Blue, Red and Green) and we decided we’d try at least two of them. We bought our bus pass, found the blue line, boarded, plugged in our ear-pods, and off we went listening to the background music which was a dull repetitive new-age theme and as we approached an intersection or important site, a voice would tell us the salient information about what we were viewing.

Our enthusiasm for our blue tour was somewhat dampened as it started to sprinkle and then to rain, but we just covered up, took less pictures, and enjoyed it as best we could. As with all such audio tours, the narrator is very proud of his city and tells the important history which is filled with bravery and valor, or great artistic skill. For example at one intersection dedicated to Pablo Casals, we heard about 4 measures of one of his famous cello concerti; we learned that one street was named after the first governor of a briefly free Catalan before the civil war and Franco. This governor served exactly two years. (We surmised that Peacham should be filled with the monuments to our selectmen who served longer terms for less fame and glory. Maybe we need to re-think the naming of our town roads.)

My over-all impressions of Barcelona were far more enthusiastic and laudatory than I had ever expected. Somehow I had linked Mexico and Spain into one type of place and I had imagined a manana attitude, poverty, dirt, and somehow second-world environment. What did I know!!

For all these years I never visited Spain because of fore-gone impressions and suddenly here I was in a vibrant, energetic, clean city that reminded me over and over of Paris. There were beautiful open squares with either a statue or piece of art in its center (most described by the narrator); wide, tree-lined avenues which provided shade in hot summer, and were just beginning to leaf out; row upon row of lovely well-kept apartment buildings with their varied wrought-iron railings; painted fresco work on walls which added a unique un-Parisian neighborhood charm; cafes located at most streets with people enjoying their morning strong coffee; and everywhere people walking, shopping, chatting, exercising dogs or children. I’m not sure that life here would have been like this in the days of Franco, when Catalan as a language was forbidden and their unique cultural mores were prohibited, but it is now a city I would gladly come back to.

Having gotten fairly soaked and feeling clammy and cold, we stopped back at the hotel, changed into more appropriate clothing and before starting on the red tour we decided to have some tapas. Our hotel concierge gave us the recommendation to go to Ciudad Condal (or in Catalan Ciutat Comtal) assuring us that it was authentic and not a tourist trap. And it wasn’t. It being Saturday (or maybe it’s any day), the Catalan were out in number. The chance of eating indoors at the actual tapas bar was impossible. It was jammed to the rafters and it required one to be able to converse quickly and accurately with the man behind the bar to order. Speaking not a word of Spanish, much less Catalan, we opted for the outside portion of the restaurant where we waited thirty+ minutes for a table which was located on the boulevard across from the actual restaurant itself.

We decided on a wonderful array including: A large pitcher of Sangria; fried potatoes with mayonnaise and hot red sauce; Grilled asparagus; small fried fish like Greek barbounia; squid Andalusia; grilled mushrooms; and toasted bruschetta with tomatoes and oil. It was a wonderful sampler, and had we been able to decipher the specials of the day, we might have done even more, but we were satisfied with every bite, and ended it with two cappuccino coffees before heading to the red bus route.

The red bus tour was equally delightful, mainly because it wasn’t as crowded and it wasn’t raining. Instead of showing us the main highlights nearer the harbor, it took us more into the suburbs where we saw some of Gaudi’s main buildings and churches; the soccer stadium where the team was described in such glowing terms that I’d believe they were the king of sports; some of the more wealthy suburbs where large houses were protected with cameras and alarms; the Olympic village from 1992 where the housing of that time is now the up and coming trendy neighborhood near the harbor; and enough churches, parks, and monasteries to satisfy anyone. We enjoyed every minute of our tours and really felt that through these two routes we had seen the highlights of the town and gotten our bearings.

On our next visit with more than one day to see it all, we’ll visit some of the sights in more detail… and that alone is a huge statement when I say we’ll visit again. In one twenty-four hour period my entire impression of a city, and a country, have been turned around and I only regret that I never came here before. Bob who had twice been here forty-two years ago while serving in the Navy remembered some of the sites well, but for him too it was a new and exciting city. (I think every major city should host an Olympics… it helps one spruce things up and gives pride to all inhabitants. Proof being: Athens, Barcelona, Munich, Montreal, to name just a few.)

Our only problem is that with every new city we say to each other, “well, we’ll see more of that the next time!” Our list of future travel plans may far surpass our available years, but we can certainly make a stab at checking items off over the next 10-15 years. But before I return to Spain, I’ll need to at least learn to count to ten, and be able to read a menu instead of using the point and gesture sign language that we employed today. Tomorrow is a long train-travel day as we head to Zurich. Twelve hours with three different trains, so once more we packed our bags and fell into bed with the alarm set to wake us entirely too early for two people on vacation.