Holidays in Barcelona! Public Holidays that is!
Trip Start
Sep 15, 2006
1
24
80
Trip End
??? ??, 2007
Barcelona,
Spain
Monday, December 18, 2006
Anyhow, we retrive our bags and stagger out into the terminal to discover that the phones here are going to be even more frustrating than in Finland. They have stickers on them that proclaim they need a minumum of 3 Euros inserted to even think of bothering to connect you. We try to buy a phone card from a machine, but it doesn't like any of our bills. Finally, we just start begging people to use their cell phones. A nice lady sitting with her family lets us use hers, so we call Franco, our host for tonight only, and get directions. While Cierra talks, I fumble with the map, and the lady shows me the best way to get where we're going.
The train from the airport is slow and piled high with bags, but once we're up and out into the station it's only a few minutes wait by a restaurant before Franco walks up. He's early thirties, bearded, and very relaxed. Strapping on our luggage, we stroll to his place only a few blocks away, on the top floor of a building.
When I say "top floor" you may be thinking of a high rise, but I was surprised to find that these are almost unheard of in Barcelona. There are only 2 skyscrapers in the entire city, and most buildings seem to be 6 to 8 stories. When you think about it, there are good reasons not to build monolithic office blocks in a city with so many architectural treasures from previous centuries.
Franco stays up with us until midnight, finding out more about us, and giving us great tips on what we can do with 3 days in Barcelona. It turns out that he's from Peru, and he's got a trip planned to visit family there for the exact same days that we're planning to be there! We agree that we should keep in touch and see if we can meet up again on a different continent. It's really amazing the connections you make when you're traveling this way.
The next morning, we attempt to leave early and start exploring, but Franco has a free internet connection, so we have to stay and conduct some business first. The key to surviving Europe is definitely to find more free accomodation, so we make a bunch of requests in Malta and London, all of which will eventually come up empty. Curiously, here we don't even recieve "No"s, making us think that Hospitality Club's system is not working as well here as in Asia. Well, Franco has a contingent of 3 Polish girls arriving tonight, so we'll have to clear out our bags before then, but we leave to find a hostel and see the sights.
Now this is nice! I remember last time we took a trip to Spain, we felt like such foreigners. It took forever to decipher the signs, we had so much trouble communicating... well, this time it feels like coming home. Hey, there's a sign I can figure out, instead of weird scripted writing in Thai, or a symbol language that my eyes can't even discern. Traveling from Asia to Spain really brings out the similarities between our two languages.
The intersections in Franco's newer part of the city are interesting too. Here, they've lopped off the corners of what might normally be right angles as two perpendicular roads come together, so that there's a larger square of asphault turned 45 degrees. Then in the unused sections of pavement, they've put additional parking space. This makes for a unique walking pattern, as you have to track either left or right, depending on which sidewalk you're on, cross a street, then walk back in towards the center to continue on. It does help you keep track of the number of blocks you've walked, however.
The gothic quarter turns out to be a really magical place of old buildings, with a few ancient Roman walls mixed in. Tight alleyways thread through the dingy treasures like a cobblestone maze. We find a cheapie pension (a small hotel on one floor). The walls are all paper thin, and are constructed so off plumb that you can look down the corridor and see it weave back and forth like a drunken man, but the price is right, so we pay for 3 nights.
Here's a little tip from us. Don't pay for multiple nights at one of these places until you've tried sleeping there for at least one night. Turns out that the next day is a big national holiday in Spain (Again? Hey, who planned this trip?), so drunken revelers would continually wake us each of the next two nights, partying right outside our 2nd story window. When fellow guests weren't slamming doors in the hall, we managed to get a few winks... But more about that later.
We had lunch at a great little cafe right near the Cathedral, doing a little thing called the Menu del Dia. This is just about our favorite part of travelling in Spain. For one low price, you can pick one of several first dishes, and a second course from another list. You also get bread, dessert, and drink... which in Spain, inevitably means wine. Here, Cierra and I both order white, and out comes an entire bottle for us to share. Whoo. Well, okay, if you're twisting our arm, I guess we can drink a free bottle of wine.
Later, we weave our way back to Franco's and retrieve our bags. We had thought about staying to meet the Polish girls, but decide that Franco has quite enough on his hands welcoming 3 new guests, so we beat it back to our new hovel for an early bedtime.
The next day, it was time for an architectural tour of Barcelona, and that can't be done without a mention of Salvadore Gaudi. This man was a creative genius living in the late 19th century and creating grand yet playful structures speckled all about Barcelona. We started at a park he designed in the northern part of town, Park Guell. After a breakfast picnic at the top of a central hill, it started to rain on the way down and we ducked underneath a strange stone overhang, not noticing until later when the rain slowed and we could step away from the cliff that it was part of a network of archways cut into the mountainside. Below, a pavilion ringed with brilliant ceramics was supported by a forest of columns. Leading away was a brilliant covered walkway of stone, a sort of cresting stone wave with circular support columns every few feet. At the bottom, strangely designed chapels with frosted and sculpted steeples completed a gingerbread village effect.
Later on, we took a look at the outside of a Cathedral that is Gaudi's greatest masterpiece, and is still being completed nearly 100 years after his death. (They're working only off donations and the admission charges that kept us looking at the outside.) The Cathedral of the Family was the translation, I believe, and it is amazing. From any angle that you look at it, the building transforms itself into something new. What at a distance looks like your run of the mill Gothic cathedral, on closer inspection is actually an architect's playground, as well as a work of art. Stone figures depict biblical scenes, on one side in a traditional style, on the other in squared off, interpretive creations. The great towers turn into looming confections that open up to display huge piles of stone fruit as an offering to God. Not sure if this changes with the season, but the central tower above the main door turns into a giant Christmas tree, complete with stone doves flying around it. Just beautiful.
We went on to look at a few more buildings designed by Gaudi, but although interesting in their own right, couldn't touch the Cathedral. One had grand balconies that on closer inspection were made from pieces of scrap metal twisted into a vinelike effect. Col. Inside this one, we found a free Picasso exhibit, and another sculptor's work on display that was really fun to walk through.
Unable to find any restaurant for cheap that looks half as good as the one from yesterday, we settle for going back to the same one. They too have raised their prices for the holiday, but the menu looks better, and we decide to use the birthday funds from Cierra's Mom to give ourselves a treat. Another bottle of wine, and we leave a little of it on the table so that we won't need another early bedtime.
We call Franco and arrange to meet him and the Polish girls at a fountain near the Plaza Espana for a light show spectacular. When we get there, the fountain is dry, and Franco confirms a while later when he shows up that the show must be off. Two of the three Polish girls arrive nearly a half-hour late, tell us that they've walked all the way from the city center, and that they've lost the other one somewhere in Barcelona. Franco calls her on his cell and finds that she's still calmly waiting on the other two on Las Ramblas, the grand central thouroughfare of the city. Street performers pose as firemen, trees, ship captains, and many other things, and they can stay so still that you'd swear they were statues if you don't watch long enough to see them suddenly come to life for a second to change their pose. Anya, the final member of our new group, walked into it with a nonchalant attitude that said she got seperated from her friends in strange cities all the time. No big deal. We decide to go to dinner at a place that Franco had recommended to us days earlier, but we couldn't find. Turns out it's because he told us the wrong street, but it speaks to the complexity of the Gothic Quarter that we asked shopkeepers only 100 feet away about it and they had no idea.
When we sat down and had a look at the menu, the Polish girls decided that they weren't so hungry after all and would rather go for a walk and meet up with us later. No problem, we said. Most of the time, our budget prohibits us from a nice meal out, but we'd saved some today and decided to stay with Franco for what turned out to be a really delicious meal. There's lots of value with going out to eat with a local, because they know what to order from a menu that may be translated into English, but still represents so foreign a culinary landscape that you're likely to get lost without guidance. Bueno. Franco shares with us before dinner is over that the Polish girls are going to leave tomorrow morning, a day earlier than they originally thought. "Okay." we said. "Umm... can we come back and stay one more night with you?"
"Sure, no problem." he said, saving us a pile of money and another restless night's sleep. We proceed to make the pension operator very angry the next morning by telling him that we'll be leaving one day earlier than planned and we'd like our money back. He gives us half back and a lecture about our "reservation". I'd like to give him some advice back, but don't know the Spanish word for "soundproofing."
On our final day in Barcelona, we went with Franco to a free art museum set up in an old textile mill, then shared a hobo's lunch on a table in the park, consisting of canned pears, crackers and cheese, little cakes, and possibly one or two other unhealthy items. To his great credit, Franco partook just like a fellow hobo without a hint of embarassment. We arranged to have dinner later with Franco and a friend, and set off for a final tour of exploration in the city.
Passing through a Christmas market stuffed to the brim with people, we were shuffled by the entrance to the Gothic Cathedral we'd walked near before. Ducking inside, we looked around as a service proceeded, which consisted mostly of an older robed man speaking in some language, possibly Spanish, maybe Latin, but it sounded like Mumblese to me. I was looking around the grey, cavernous interior, thinking about the paltry congregation and deciding that it was time to get out of this dusty relic. It's so huge, for so few people, that it's amazing the Church can afford to keep the place up. What's all this space for anyway?
That was when the singing began, and the entire Cathedral sang with the choir. Not the people in the congregation, but the building itself, echoing and harmonizing with every note. A beautiful and resonant chamber... now I see why people spent so much money and time on these places, with some working their entire lives and never seeing the end results.
Franco's friend turns out to be Christine, a 22 year old German woman studying in Barcelona. She had a big paper due very soon that she was nowhere near completing, so naturally she welcomed the distraction of having dinner with 2 complete strangers. She was also still getting used to a new hairstyle... dreadlocks. If you want to experience a little cognative dissonance, try listening to someone speak with a German accent from under a big mop of dreadlocks. She turns out to be a lot of fun, very curious about our trip, and full of questions as well as very helpful suggestions, such as that I should grow a mullet. When I declined, she decided I needed to grow a mohawk. However, I like my hair low key and low maintenence, so I think it stays as is.
Franco eventually decided that we needed to go home and Christine had to resume her studies, so we said goodbye and rode the metro one last time back to Franco's apartment. In the morning, we slipped out in the wee hours, caught a much speedier and emptier train to the airport, and flew towards Cierra's parents, waiting for us in Rome.
