... in Barcelona

 

Adventures of the Anonymous Two in Barcelona

The alarm went off early on a cold December morning. We got up and drove to Bournemouth airport. Despite being a tiny airport, they had a canteen from which we got a rather good, and much needed cooked breakfast. Unfortunately they had fritters rather than sausages, but even so, it was more than you could get at Southampton airport at this time in the morning.

Having breakfasted we wandered through to the departure lounge, through pre-fabricated buildings which had the appearance of a school before boarding the plane. We spent much of the flight asleep but woke up as we came towards Barcelona, nestling on the coast between snow capped mountains.

As with all Anonymous Air flights there was a bus service into the city – a drive of about an hour. During the journey we looked at the map given to us with the tickets, detailing where the bus stopped. Normally the buses go to a train station or bus station. Here they seemed to deposit passengers randomly in the middle of the city. Trying to identify on our larger map where exactly we would find ourselves, it transpired, rather conveniently, that it would be a mere two blocks from where our hotel was. That established, Boyfriend dug out the phrase book to brush up on his Spanish – most importantly memorising the vital phrase '2 beers please'.

We arrived at the bus stop, and walked the short distance to the hotel – which was extremely nice. Our room was large and spacious. After spending a few minutes settling in we armed ourselves with a map and set off for a late afternoon wander of the city. We started by walking down to the cathedral which was surrounded by a maze of narrow winding cobbled streets that looked as though they hadn’t altered since the middle ages, particularly as the darkness closed in on the unlit alleyways that became shadowy as they weaved their crooked path around the cathedral. The gothic quarter is in fact one of the best preserved medieval areas in Europe. The cathedral fronted on to a huge pedestrianised square, on the corner of which was a rather smart looking establishment unfortunately called Hotel Colon. There were churches everywhere. Each courtyard we peered into seemed to be the cloister of yet another church. Several cloisters had been decorated with nativity scenes.

We paused at a bustling café for a beer and sandwich before ambling on to Maria del Mare. This church, with Norman style architecture was, like the others we had seen, extremely high – the soaring central nave reaching eternally skywards, and completely sparse. Dimly lit, the cold stone interior reached out into the distance. Huddles of candles in red glasses added some colour. Along the length of the church were a series of side chapels, each of which was richly decorated with gilding and paintings. However, these were out of sight as you looked down the nave. The floor was also plain stone. It was incredibly different to the churches in Italy – another fervently catholic country – where all the churches were overwhelmingly decorative and filled with paintings in a display of both huge wealth and praise to God. Here, in Barcelona, the churches were almost puritan in their understated glory.

Having scoured our guide book to find somewhere appropriate for dinner we picked on Cal Pep’s. Although not cheap it was considered to be an excellent place to go for tapas. We walked to the square where it was meant to be. It was only a small square with minimal lighting. After walking around it for several minutes we eventually found Cal Pep’s written faintly on one of the corrugated door fronts. It was not due to open until a bit later on so we wandered on to a nearby bar, in an old building. We went to the mezzanine first floor up a narrow rickety staircase. In Spain everyone seemed to smoke, and with winter temperatures keeping doors shut the pub soon filled with smoke making my eyes sting. I could also detect a fairly strong whiff of marujiana.

 

Needing some fresh air we left and wandered through the dark, quiet streets of Barceloneta on the sea front before heading back to Cal Pep’s which would be opening shortly. When we arrived there was already a queue forming outside. The door opened soon afterwards and we filed in, sitting at the tapas bar on the first stools we came to.

Having sat down I looked around me – the bar was completely full, and there were already people starting to queue up and wait for spaces to become free. Apparently there is also a restaurant out the back, but most people would prefer the bar. Not knowing what to order we asked for a selection of tapas. To start with we were given brushcetta that had been brushed with olive oil and had a fresh tomato rubbed over it. This was followed by a dish of cockles in a delicious sauce. We had asked for a bowl of olives and were regularly dipping into these, which had a wonderful flavour. Our next dish was calamari – I was beginning to suspect that the whole meal would be fish. Barcelona was by the sea so really, all the clues were there. So far I was being very brave and eating it – this was helped by the fact that everything was delicious. This was followed by prawns with small whole white fish. The prawns needing dismantling so I left them for Boyfriend. However, I really met my match with the next dish – squid with chick peas. It was again served in a wonderful sauce but I couldn’t cope with the tentacles and focused on the chick peas instead. Boyfriend gobbled up the squid, letting the tentacles hang out of his mouth jokingly – which wasn’t helpful. Our final dish was a huge white fish served with roasted garlic and potatoes. The waiter expertly sliced the fish in half and removed the bones. It was again, extremely tasty. We followed this with a chocolaty dessert and then considered ourselves properly stuffed.

We left Cal Pep’s – to the delight of the queue and wandered back towards the hotel stopping at a café for a nightcap. I decided to have a whisky for medicinal purposes as I was suffering from a cold. It was the largest whisky I have ever seen, a good glassful. I liked these countries which didn’t use optic measurements.

We finally staggered back to the hotel for a long bath and bed. It was a huge bed, and I was cold as Boyfriend was further away than usual.

I warmed up in the morning with a shower, steaming up all the windows in the bathroom that Boyfriend then tried to clear using the hairdryer.

We went downstairs for a sumptuous hotel breakfast where there was an incredible array of cakes, breads, cereal and fruit. There were even whole garlic, and Spanish omelettes. Alternatively you could select your toppings and have an omelette freshly made for you.

Today was going to be Gaudi day and it started with a walk to the Sagrada Familia (Church of the Sacred Family). It was an incredible and imaginative construction – and had been in construction for 100 years now. The columns in the nave were in the shape of huge long trees, reaching up into a spread of leaves, the thick foliage forming the ceiling. Most of the nave was filled with a spider web of scaffolding.

 

 

The two ends of the cathedral were decorated in different ways – one end being the birth of Christ and the other end, his Crucifixion. We came in at the Passion Facade. The sculptures had been done by a modern artist. I found them extremely powerful, huge, simple,  angular structures, and Christ on the Cross seemed to lean right out over us, looking like it was falling on you as you glanced up to see it. Having walked through the church we admired the Nativity Facade, which had been done by Gaudi. It was in a completely different style, very ornate and lots of curved edges giving a craggy appearance.

The cathedral had a number of tall bulbous spires already built and yet more in construction to make a total of 12. It was possible to climb the spires, which we decided to do. It was slow progress – not because it was difficult but just because the queue of people spiralling upwards seemed to keep stopping. for entirely unexplained reasons. The lower part of the towers consisted of a spiral staircase which was incredibly steep.

And, rather curiously, instead of a central stone pillar for the stairs to wind their way around, there was nothing. The staircase simply curled its way up around the edge of the hollow tower. There were frequent openings to the outside – through which a winter draught was blowing. Some of these opening actually went out onto small balconies – ideal for taking a few pictures from. At the top of the rectangular tower we were able to walk across from the tower we were climbing, over the top of the doorway to the neighbouring tower on the other corner (which had a lift shaft running down the middle of it) through an extraordinary labyrinth. 

We returned to the climb upwards. The interior of the tower was very dark, and it was sometimes hard to see the steps – then a window would come into view and we were blinded by the brightness of daylight – and consequently still unable to see. As we neared the top of the tower its structure changed. Instead of being a narrow spiral staircase it opened up into a huge hollow space, with the stairs still running around the outer walls. There was another wall between us and the drop down the middle; however this was peppered with ascending windows providing an excellent view at all times of the hollow – and the stairs on the opposite side of the tower. What made it slightly alarming was that the level of the gaps varied – sometimes being at waist height and sometime at ankle height, so the open space would suddenly open up next to you in quite unexpected ways. There were iron bars across the spaces limiting the danger of falling down the hollow, but it still gave me a jolt now and then.

Having finally got to the top we walked along a narrow humped bridge, passed the Tree of Life high up on the Nativity Façade, to a neighbouring tower in which were climbed down. We had a fantastic view of the pinnacles of the spires, marvellously complex, varied and alive with colour.

 

 

Having thoroughly limbered up, we walked on to Gaudi Park or Guell Park as it was commissioned by Eusebi Guell. According to our map, it should have been quite simple to find, and we also assumed that being such a tourist attraction, there would be adequate signposting. On the map, it looked quite a long way off. And as we walked, we realised that it really was a long way off – and the walk was continually up a steady hill. Finally getting to where we thought it would be, we actually struggled to find it. We followed a road up a steeper hill and eventually came in at the side of the park, near the top. We were then faced with another dilemma. The park is enormous and the Gaudi structures, although spread about, do concentrate in a particular area. We had no idea where that area was. Having already climbed so far up, I decided that it would be preferable to continue upwards rather than go down only to find we had to turn around and climb back up. However, I was wrong. There was nothing further up the park. So we turned back down, and stumbled across some Gaudi structures. There was an avenue of stone palm trees with a path across the top, as well as a path running between them. It was imaginative and unique. We then came to a huge plaza backed by more stone trees, fronted with real palm trees. It had a very prehistoric look. The edge of the plaza swirled with mosaic seating. Boyfriend and I sat down – the seats were actually rather comfortable, and because of the undulating design, very private even though it was essentially one long line.  The plaza was above the hall of a 100 columns. There weren’t a hundred, but the effect was of a vast number of pillars – and looking at them gave you a peculiar sensation as the last pillar in each row was at an angle, making the whole thing look a bit wonky. Each pillar was elaborately decorated with tiny multi coloured tiles.

 

 

We wandered over to Gaudi house to look around. It was a beautiful house with fantastic views over the park. Although the living room areas were beautifully decorated and filled with ornate furniture, the bedroom was extremely sparse.

On either side of the park entrance (which had previously eluded us) were pavilions with roofs that looked like ice cream and swirling windows. There was also the little waterfall that ran through the glistening tile-covered Gaudi lizard – a popular thing to sit on and have your picture taken judging by the crowds.

 

 

Feeling we had done justice to the park we started the long walk back into the centre of the city, stopping off on the way for lunch. The restaurant we picked was Lebanese – which we only realised after we had sat down. We were also realising that Spanish isn’t that easy to translate – and this was compounded by the fact that Barcelona is Catalan rather than Spanish. So we ordered without really having the slightest idea what would be served as we understood almost none of the menu. Quite by chance we ordered a kebab and a burger – which were delicious and served the purpose admirably. This was followed by little bakewells and thus replenished we carried on our walk.

We steered a course towards the wide Passeig de Gracia. This was sweeping boulevard, lined with wrought-iron lamp-posts and terribly expensive designer boutiques. The area was built in the 19^th century as an extension to the city after the old city walls were finally tumbled. It was just off this road that we found the Gaudi apartments. Casa Mila, which was quickly christened La Pedrera (the stone quarry) when it was completed in 1910. The construction of the building was incredible – almost impossible. It was hollow, built like a polo mint, but with curves everywhere. There wasn’t a straight wall to be seen. Our guide told us that when it was constructed a column from the building had meant to reach out onto the pavement, but had to be cut back as it infringed on local council property. Gaudi dutifully cut back the offending pillar and attached a plaque explaining the reason.

 

 

We went inside to look around the building and tour one of the apartments. The apartment was tiled with green hexagons, each one carved. I noted that the Pg de Gracie was paved with identical stones. The apartment only had curved walls, and weaved its way round and round so that when you thought you should arrive back at the beginning it still carried on. I couldn’t completely get my mind around the layout of the apartment.

We climbed up to the roof of the building. The sun was setting and cast a stunning orange light onto the sentries of chimney pots which clustered together among the undulations of the roof. We had a fantastic view over the city, and watched the sun set.

We returned to the hotel for a quick siesta then went out for dinner down Las Ramblas, via Placa de Catalunya – a huge square humming with people and with large flood lit fountains. Boyfriend had already established that there was a Hard Rock café nearby so we popped in to buy a badge and then walked down Las Ramblas which is built on the site of an old river. It is Barcelona’s most famous promenade and stretches for almost a mile towards the sea. We walked the full length of it, to the statue of Christopher Columbus by the harbour.

Las Ramblas is probably much busier during summer months, with many outside cafes. However, as it was December is was dark and quiet.

 

Other piazza’s led off from Las Ramblas and we wandered into some of them, including the Placa de Colonade which looked resplendent in the dim lighting, the colonnade around the edge of the piazza appearing shadowy and eerie. It was hard to tell the age of many buildings as the modern ones were built along the same style as the old, so they all blended in together and indistinguishably,

We were ultimately in search of dinner. We wanted to try more tapas but our limited Spanish and their not quite so limited English as well as our not really knowing what we wanted did hinder us slightly. We had seen a restaurant on the way which we liked the look of and went in to see if they had room for us. It was 10.30pm and they told us there would be a table – in an hour’s time! In the end we had dinner in a place near the hotel which looked like a Victorian front parlour and we were served by a waiter who was the spitting image of Will Young.

The following day – our last full day – we had intended to take the cable car via the funicular which went from the top of one of the cliffs above Barcelona down to the harbour. However, it wasn’t running – presumably undergoing winter repairs. What’s more, due to the previous day’s exertions, our legs were most achy so we opted for a gentle amble instead. It was a warm and sunny day. We looked at our map for any places of interest and accordingly headed in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe and then off into the Parc de la Ciutadella – which was lined with orange trees and the ground was scattered with fallen, squashed fruit. In the park was a fantastic Victorian style botanical garden, filled with tall, rich green trees and bushes, which we spent some time walking around.

Referring again to our map we noticed that we were near to the Chocolate Museum. Knowing I would lose respect of the chocolate lover at work if I didn’t go we decided to visit. The museum provided a brief history of chocolate from the early days of a bitter drink to the sweet we know today. We were reliably informed that hot chocolate was drunk by rulers before visiting their concubines (presumably to provide necessary energy) as well as by religious groups during fasts for similar reasons. There were also dozens of chocolate sculptures giving off a rich, sickly sweet smell. We bought some chocolate gifts in the shop and also sat down for a hot chocolate. Initially we were going to be served the hot chocolate in cups the size of espresso cups – i.e. tiny. We soon corrected that, but in hindsight this might have been unwise.

It was incredibly thick, sweet and sickly. More like a cup of melted dark chocolate that anything I would recognise as hot chocolate. It was too rich for me to drink and in the end Boyfriend drank both cups.

We decided to walk down to the sea front. On the way we passed – and went into – the railway station (a vast and largely empty building) before coming to the marina. Several people were out and about, enjoying the winter sun. Having seen Las Ramblas by night we walked back up it to see it by day. It was lined with stalls selling everything from newspapers (filled with worsening death tolls from the tsunami), flowers and jewellery, as well as human statues – including a man on the loo.

As we passed Placa de Colonnade we decided to sit at one of the many outdoor cafes in the Placa for a light lunch. Our table was next to one of the pillars which proved to be potentially dangerous – pigeons sat on the roofs and ledges above and occasionally attended to calls of nature. This could be boring if it happened once the food appeared. Every now and then a noise would disturb the pigeons, who would swoop in a huge flock across the square in an evocative way, before finding somewhere else to settle.

Entertainers – flamenco dancers, acrobats and jugglers – performed for each café, making some income from each. In front of the café we sat at was a collection of vagrants, some of whom were extremely drunk, and still drinking. One man, who could barely stay sitting such was the extent of his inebriation, was shaved by a friend.

The restaurant next to us must have been popular – there was a queue for it and although people got in, the queue never shrunk as more and more people joined it. Our café offered nice food accompanied by a reasonably appalling service, by which we were largely ignored any time we wanted anything (such as ordering or paying). We noticed afterwards it was called Café Taxidermi and weren’t sure if this meant that you would feel stuffed after leaving, or felt you had been stuffed by going there in the first place.

We of course couldn’t consider leaving without a visit to the Erotica Museum. The entrance (up some stairs and out of sight of passers by) sported a huge wooden erection. Boyfriend wanted me to pose hugging it, but the attendant was sitting right next to it. The museum had a history of pornographic images, from Victorian times to the modern day, as well as a selection of the huge range of pornography from Asia. There was also a display of primitive bondage equipment and chastity belts. In a small dark room, we watched a Victorian era porn film and I was surprised as to quite how naughty it was – although the women demonstrated their enjoyment of proceedings by coming over all faint. Once the group of giggling girls who had been watching had moved on, Boyfriend and I sat on the deck chairs and enjoyed the show, before hurrying back to the hotel!

 

 

On the way we popped into the Citrus – the restaurant we had tried to get into the previous evening – and booked a table for later, before retiring for our now usual siesta.

Dinner was superlative. We had the most enormous number of courses, accompanied of course by a few bottles of wine, and everything was delicious. My carpaccio starter was suspiciously similar to parma ham – but jolly nice nonetheless.  The main courses, however, was worthy of orgasms. Boyfriend’s fillet mignon will probably not be bettered by anything else he eats in the rest of his life. He was even adamant that it was better than sex. It certainly was extremely good, cooked exactly right, melting in your mouth and tasting just how a dead cow should. It would be worth returning to Barcelona just to eat at Citrus – and they had better still serve fillet mignon.

Although thoroughly stuffed from dinner we still forced down a coffee afterwards – and a very strong one at that. These Mediterranean types certainly like their coffee akin to tar.  But the situation was eased by the rum truffles that were served with it.

I mentioned to Boyfriend something I had heard along the lines of pigs hunting truffles. He laughed, rather doubting that pigs hunted rum truffles. Of course, that hadn’t been quite what I meant.

We returned to the hotel and retired to bed for our last night. As we were conveniently close to where the bus would collect us the following day we managed to squeeze in the first sitting at breakfast before setting off back to a wintry England. I was rather amused on our arrival at Bournemouth by the computer screens informing us that carousel Number 1 of a total of one carousels was where we would find bags for flight number – whatever it was – from Barcelona, which was of course the only incoming flight.

However, it had served its purpose and enabled our fairly last minute Christmas break. 

NOTES

The above is a true story. Some of the information about places visited is sourced from a variety of guide books. The author maintains rights over all other content.