The flight from Granada to Barcelona was pretty entertaining, and definitely illustrated the chatty nature of the Spaniards well. The entire trip, everyone on board was chatting, laughing, kissing, etc. We hit some turbulence, and suddenly, everyone started screaming. When we finally land (abruptly, like a rocket touching down, I might add), everyone cheers, and says the Spanish equivalent of "Encore, Encore!" Contrast this with a predominantly American flight: yes, there's talking, but it's quiet, reserved, definitely no kissing. If we hit turbulence, there's some worried expressions and under-breath curses, but definitely no screaming. The comparison was interesting.
I was a little worried when we arrive at the suburban airport about an hour away from Barcelona: it's pouring rain! Totally unexpected! Fortunately, when we finally arrive in Barcelona proper, it's dry. That's a relief.
It's late; the flat owner Maite greets us, and is very friendly and helpful. We hit a grocery store nearby that she tells us about, eat a quick snack (no dinner earlier) and go to bed.
The next morning, we throw open the door to the balcony (she has us stay in her living room due to a scheduling mistake--all the bedrooms are full) and the following street scene greets us (photos above and below).
Below is the front door to the building our flat resides in. It's at least two hundred years old. The flat is huge, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and you can tell it was quite chi-chi in its time: fancy flourishes molded into the ceilings, pretty tile-work, etc. Actually, it easily could be now: it's fricken huge by European standards, actually, it's fricken huge by anyone's standards. But. But...there's no hot water. Attempting to shower (key word: attempting) was a bracing experience. It was just never upgraded to include hot water. The living room we're staying in has an ever-so-faint odor of mildew. The appliance don't exactly work right: the toaster has been rigged up with a rubber band by a Canadian guest in order to hold the toast down, and the door to the washing machine is broken, and I think required pliers or a screwdriver or something to get it open. But whatever. Aside from the ice-cold water, minor inconveniences. All the other guests staying there were very nice.
Unfortunately, I don't remember all of their names, but there was Colin, from Victoria B.C. who was there with another guy (also Canadian? Not sure.) to skateboard. Apparently, Barcelona is a big skateboarding city. There was a woman from San Francisco, originally from Mexico, and another guy from the O.C. (yup, like the tv show). There might have been one other person, but I'm not sure, and if so, never really saw him.
So we hit the streets, made our way to Plaça Catalunya (below), and then wandered down La Rambla.
La Rambla is a long, tree-lined boulevard which, I believe, was originally a market-street for the inhabitants. Now, it appears to be mainly tourists, although what many of the stalls sell would only make sense for locals to buy, so I don't know. Case in point: many, many stalls selling birds.
We happened upon this pastry shop that's been around since the 19th century, and apparently anyone who's
anyone has been there. And deservedly so.
We decided we needed to sample the wares, but, being the good, nutritionally-conscious people that we are, stopped and had lunch first. Lunch consisted of sandwiches and plums, nothing exciting, but Bruno always makes thing entertaining, even a boring lunch. I call it creative thinking in the extreme: he saw a cigarette butt on the ground, threw his plum pit next to it, and called it "art." It was hilarious! But maybe you had to be there. Nonetheless, his "art" pictured below.
Uh, anyway. It was time for dessert. Everything there was so beautiful!
This was Bruno's dessert, a chocolate-orange concoction:
And mine, a simple, but very delicious tartlet of strawberries and custard:
We wandered around again.
And then I saw this, the funicular. I decided we had to ride it. Bruno has a little fear of heights, so it took a little pleading on my part, but finally he gave in.
The tower from which you actually embark onto the funicular was actually scarier than the funicular itself. When the cars went by, the tower would sway. Yikes!
See the tall bullet-shaped building? The entire time we were in Barcelona, Bruno referred to it as The Tampon. Me, being an English major, thought it looked like something else, but henceforth, we shall continue to refer to it as The Tampon.
The cathedral with all the crazy spikes is Gaudí's Sagrada Família, his ever-unfinished life's work. Although we did see many Gaudí buildings (featured in my upcoming post), we never made it to Sagrada Família. I really wish I had seen it up close. It looks amazing, even from afar. Definitely unlike any other cathedral in existence. But hopefully next time. Yes, I said next time. I fully intend to return to Spain, I loved it. In spite of not speaking the language, I really feel like I fit in there.
The tree-lined street is La Rambla.
Here we are in the funicular. See Bruno, it wasn't so bad!
The funicular dropped us off at the top of a hill called
Montjuïc at a cafe with a very nice view of the city.
This former palace is now the art museum.
And here is the Olympic Park. In 1992, the summer Olympics were held in Barcelona. Quite the á propos reference, no?
This photo is back in our flat's neighborhood, the Gracía district. Actually one of the coolest neighborhoods, but we didn't realize that until the next day.
That night, we have mojitos at a silly beach bar at Barceloneta Beach. The beaches here are sort of gravelly, apparently there isn't really any sand, so it's all trucked in. Weird. Beaches in Tarifa are obviously far superior: sand like sugar, and not in the middle of a big urban center.
We have a yogurt emergency, so end up at the aforementioned grocery store again before we turn in for the night. Bruno loves those little shopping baskets with wheels. Also note the $5 WalMart backpack. It held up surprisingly well.
Not sure, but this might be a Gaudí building.
Last Monday, I went to Noble Rot for dinner (Malbec and Macaroni Mondays), and just as we were about to walk in, a couple of girls came by carrying kittens. Purrrfect! My parents really need a kitten, a little furry troublemaker to keep them entertained. So I got the girls' phone number, and said I would call them after we were done with dinner. It all works out, and we show up on my parents' doorstep that night with little Lulu (at that point she was still named Snowball).
