Barcelona

Before our trip to Barcelona I had been singing the classic song with the same title as sung by Freddy Mercury and – Catalonia’s favorite daughter – Monteserrat Caballé for over two weeks. In other words, I was very much looking forward to the Easter holidays. By the end of it I had enough of all the tourists overcrowding this overrated, glorified and much hyped city, bored of the milked-to-death Antoní Gaudí and Salvador Dalí, and I inventively (and cleverly) changed the lyrics of the Barcelona song into: Barcelona, never was I so wet, the moments I walked through your streets you took my smile away (instead of, of course: Barcelona, how can I forget, the moment I stepped into the room you took my breath away). Needless to say my Madrid heart did not melt although it did get a bit wet. The thing was that it just rained everyday of the trip – two of which were totally washed out without much done. But you will not here me complaining (although the first paragraph might suggest this – this was however done to achieve a comic effect). We were received brilliantly by Carmen’s cousin Alberto and we met up with an Erasmus friend Pilar (from Galicia and proud of it!) and a fried of Alberto’s who we know from Amsterdam, also named Pilar (from Tarrasa and equally proud of it!). Their company was the highlight of the trip.

It all started the day after my 25th birthday party. I had got a bit carried away during the party with Ponche Caballero which is a typical Spanish beverage kindly brought by my American classmate – and classroom side-kick – Tyler. Carmen had warned me about the effects of this particular drink and the consequences it would have the following day during our 6 hour road trip to Barcelona which we would undertake with Carlos and Fred (by coincidence also heading to Barcelona). But it was my birthday and I didn’t want to disappoint Tyler (and I didn’t as we merrily could agree that Ponche Caballero really is the best drink in town!) You should know that Carmen – as a rule – normally is right with these home-truths and didn’t fail me this time. After ten rather uncomfortable and embarrassing minutes in Carlos’ SEAT Ibiza I had to indicate to Carlos if he could stop his car. I took some fresh air and after that I was fine, as right as rain. It was uphill ever since and after six hours of pedigree driving by Carlos we arrived – with a boot full of expectation and two neatly packed suitcases – in Barcelona.

Here we were met by Carmen’s cousin Alberto. He has been living in Barcelona for over four years now and he came to visit Carmen and me whilst we were in Amsterdam and was now valiantly returning the favor. He has a shared (with Oscar – a fellow Galician – and a girl from Ibiza with a funny name which I cannot remember) flat in Barcelona’s El Coll area close to Gaudí’s Park Guell.
Sunday was the only day that Alberto could actually join us as he did not have holidays just yet, so we decided to do a trip along the splendid Catalonian coast (We were accompanied by 4 very friendly and talkative Brazilians, friends of Alberto). We avoided the much famed – and equally feared – Lloret de Mar, Callella and Tossa de Mar and instead headed for Figueras, which is of course the birthplace of Salvador Dalí. Dalí turned the local theatre into his own museum and didn’t do that bad. As a rule I do not like Dalí as his surrealism fails to strike a cord with my mild but steadfast realist mind. However, his museum is a well designed piece of art and it entertained me and about 40 busloads of mainly American tourists. But as I mentioned earlier, Dalí (and Guadí to an even larger extent) is being milked throughout the entire Catalonia. This is not better demonstrated than a sign in a window in the small and quaint seaside village of Cadaques. There you can read the following in five languages: “Welcome to Cadaquez, a village which inspired Dalí to paint most of his masterpieces (a statement which is by the way repeated in most Costa Brava villages). As you can see this house hosts many cats (this was true). Dalí very much liked cats, actually he had one himself. Please make a donation in the box on your left to ensure that this rich history of cats can continue. Dalí would be very proud to see this tradition persist.” This falls only a whisker short of out-right begging. An American standing next to me was more impressed and approvingly donated some coins. “Dalí was a great man,” I could see him think. Fool.
The town itself was very nice and we continued our trip to Girona, well-known throughout the region for its colorful houses and castle. Although the day had turned grey (again) it was easy to see that this town has more to offer than the Ryanair Airport (Ryanair promotes this airport as Barcelona although there is a distance of over 100 km between the two) which is in the outskirts of this town and is the main arrival port of the Costa Brava army of tourists. Alberto did a great job driving us around and informing us on the ins and outs of provincial Catalonian dwellings.

Monday, our first day in Barcelona, started well and we walked up the main street of Barcelona Calle de Gracia and turned into a nicely built Victorian style food market. Carmen had a delicious fruit juice and I had a coconut (which is not as you might think a typical Barcelona tapa, although I did try to convince myself that this was the fact). Once we walked out of the food market our tropical mood was enhanced by a tropical storm. It had started to rain and it literally did not stop for 36 hours. Luckily our mood was saved by Pilar (from Galicia!) who met us and we chatted away in a bar which resembled more La Habana than Barcelona. I was fighting myself in believing that I was actually in Barcelona. Later that night we went out for a meal and to a Jazz café…nice! Next day confirmed our bad luck. More rain. Not to be bowled over we hurried off to La Sagrada Famlia – Gaudí’s masterpiece – which with its cranes and builders failed to convince me. We followed our walk back to the centre and passed the Bullfighting square on the way. Once we had arrived at the Arque de Triumfo (which I have been told is the only Arque de Triumfo to have been built without any purpose) it was decided that there was no sound reason in continuing the walk through the rain. We entered one of Gaudí’s houses, Casa Balló. Although packed with rain-avoiding tourists it was hard not to be impressed by the man’s creativity. After this we went back to the flat and met with Alberto and Pilar (from Taraza!)

Our last and most successful day in Barcelona was spent in the city’s two primary parks: Park Guell (you guessed it…that man Guadí again!) and Monjuic. Guell was nice but again packed with tourists. The rain had stopped you see and tourists flocked out of the museums and into the parks. Monjuic had my preference as we visited the Olympic stadium and the Pueblo Espanol, which – as the name subtlety gives away – houses Spain’s most influential building styles over the last three centuries (in 1929 - for some World Fair - they made a replica of a typical Spanish town representing all regions of Spain). Galicia was well represented with at least three buildings and these of course took Carmen’s interest. “Why do you so eagerly want to inspect these houses, you already have seen them 1000 times?”, I asked her. Always quick to defend the Galician cause she quickly replied. “Just to see if they are well done”. That’s one of the reasons why I love her.

On the way back to Madrid we stopped in Zaragosa – which is neatly placed between the two most important cities in Spain. Zaragosa is a well proportioned country town with its main attraction being the Nuestra Senora del Pilar – a massive church on a nice square. We were lucky as upon our arrival the Easter processions had started. These are rather scary if you ask me as they date right back to the inquisition which to me is scary business. Take a look at the outfits on the photos and you will quickly reason why.