A Weekend in Barcelona, Spain
Day 1: Friday, October 16, 2009
For a variety of reasons—well, actually, two reasons: a required World Drama performance in Utrecht and a cheaper flight on RyanAir—my weekend in Barcelona was shorter than most; instead of leaving late Thursday, we (me, Brett, Erin, Rachel, Iman and Eric) had a leisurely mid-day flight on Friday. The flight was uneventful excluding some beautiful scenery seen from the air, and we landed at Girona Airport at the beginning of siesta. We caught a transfer bus from the airport to the city center (about an hour’s ride) and we all caught some Z’s in the warm, balmy sunlight that permeated the bus windows. Upon arrival at the bus terminal, Iman helped us find our way since she knows a bit of Spanish. Still, there was a bit of a language barrier with the Spanish-Catalunyan translation. We ended up taking a left out of the station when we meant to go straight, but it was one of the most gorgeous detours imaginable. Even weighed down with our luggage, we found ourselves strolling through a city park that Gaudi himself had designed, filled with beautiful fountains, a forum-like structure, and even an elephant (not alive, of course, just a sculpture). After unsuccessfully asking a few locals for directions, we got our bearings and made our way to the hostel, Itaca Hostel, in the Gothic Quarter, passing Barcelona’s own Arc de Triomphe along the way. We arrived at the hostel and checked in. And to our surprise, when we opened the door to our room, Kristen and Hallie were already in the room! They had come from Brussels and we were all happy to see familiar faces. We caught up and relaxed in the room for the remainder of siesta, and later on went out to explore Las Ramblas, the main commercial street in Barcelona. We happened upon an amazing street market, the Mercado de San Jose, with everything you could ever want to eat, fresher than you’ve ever seen it. And cheap, too!—two smoothies for a Euro, all featuring crisp, fruity flavors—we were definitely in Barcelona. After exhausting the market, we walked a ways and finally sat down at a sidewalk restaurant to get sangria. With a 9 Euro price tag, I decided to pass, but when the drinks were delivered, I wish I hadn’t. They were literally half-gallons of sangria, served in an oversized wine glass about the size of a classroom globe. Needless to say, I stole a few sips here and there! Afterwards, we went to a different restaurant for a traditional late dinner of delicious seafood paella (writing this now I honestly have no idea why we didn’t just stay where we were, but oh well). We were pretty full and lethargic by this point so we explored Las Ramblas a bit more and headed home to sleep a deep, paella and sangria induced slumber.
Day 2: Saturday, October 17th, 2009
Today, we started the day off with the hostel’s surprisingly good breakfast, and I had my first taste of Muesli, an amazing European cereal. Not only did today mark the beginning of my obsessive infatuation with this delectable breakfast item, but it was also the monthiversary of my departure for Europe—looking back, it’s incredible how much ground we were able to cover in a month, and the two and a half months after this point. Today, I was on the hunt for Gaudi—a wonderful Spanish architect whose gems can be found scattered around the city. First, we made the long trek to the Sagrada Famiglia, which has been under construction for 200+ years (and it ain’t gonna be finished anytime soon, folks). What trip to Barcelona would be complete without visiting this truly astonishing landmark? After Rachel and Eric finished their unavoidable photo shoot, we walked to Casa Battlo, a Gaudi house that was designed to look like a dragon—and in fact, it really does if you look at the details. After this, we made another wrong turn (my fault this time) and started heading straight out of town. We realized this quickly, however, and turned ourselves around. First, though, we managed to find a hole in the wall churreria, where we sampled tiss quintessential Spanish treat. After this, a lot of us went our separate ways, but some of us decided to go to the Picasso Museum. On the way, we found ourselves in a…well, let’s just say it could have been a questionable location, although it didn’t appear to be on first glance. It was something like a plaza (but not paved—just reddish sand) that seemed to be a community hub for all the buildings that surrounded it. It was much like an inner-city enclave, detached from the traffic-laden thoroughfares. It was a near-surreal experience, there was a large bonfire burning in the middle of the day, and hand-painted banners hung from the windows proclaiming “Freedom!” for something or other in Catalunyan. And all this was just a 5 or so minute walk from the Picasso Museum. The museum was really fantastic, an incredible collection of Picasso’s works, from the early days right up until the end. Picasso himself spent quite a few years in Barcelona, so it’s a perfect place for a museum of this magnitude. The building in which the museum is housed is a sight to see in and of itself, so it’s well worth the admission price. After spending a good couple hours at the museum, Rachel, Erin and I decided to make the hike all the way up to the northern end of Las Ramblas (mostly so I could try to buy a jacket that I should’ve bought in Paris at a store called Celio, but that’s beside the point). After that failed attempt at clothes hunting, we meandered through the park at the top of Las Ramblas—the Placa Catalunya—and Erin found a heavily wounded (e.g. dead) pigeon to stand over and take pictures of for a good 5 minutes while Rachel and I awkwardly stood far enough away so that we wouldn’t immediately be associated with her by any random passerby. By this point, it was the height of siesta, and in true Spanish form, we decided to head back to Itaca and take a nap. After all, it was Saturday, and in Barcelona that means club night. Well, in Barcelona every night is club night, but just go with me here. After our nap, I’m sure we must’ve eaten but I don’t remember so I’m just gonna fast forward to the exciting part. We started off easy, choosing a lovely outdoor bar in a plaza just off Las Ramblas and ordered a round of tequila. Or maybe the mojitos and Sex on the Beaches were first. Well, I guess the order isn’t important, just the happy feeling we got from all these lovely concoctions. Hawkers came by, offering roses, etc, but one drew a caricature of Eric that was absolutely hilarious (I hope he framed it). After getting “happy” enough, we went to a club. We chose the one we did because it was free, and I guess you get what you pay for. The club itself was pretty cool, but over half the crowd was in the 25-35 range and that killed a bit of the vibe. I’m sure we must’ve done more, but all I can really remember was barging into a convenience store 5 minutes before it closed and ordering pizzas with Kristen. Clearly, I was feeling really happy. The pizzas were delicious, by the way.
Day 3: Sunday, October 18, 2009
I know you’ve been reading for a while, and since you’ve made it this far I extend to you a congratulations of Magna Cum Laude proportions, but stay tuned because I promise today’s antics won’t let you down. Today, we went to the Mediterranean. The balmy and breezy walk to the sea offered us palm-lined boulevards, beautiful Spanish architecture, stimulating sculptures, live street music, and a few yachts in the harbor (don’t worry, I called dibs on the best one). But truly, the piece de resistance was laying eyes on the azure waters and saturated sands of this Mediterranean beach. To our right, the stunning new W Hotel towering over the water; to our left, the Pyrenees Mountains curling around the periphery; and straight ahead, the sea and sky vying for the horizon’s affection. But enough of being rendered incapacitated because of unfathomable earthly beauty, let’s go swimming! And swim we did, even though the water was freezing. We didn’t really have many other options, though, because to lie in a lounge chair cost 5 Euro. Oh, and by the way, I wore a speedo. Well, not exactly a speedo, they’re technically “swimming briefs” and I thought they looked pretty damn good except that I was so freaking cold. But hey, that’s what they do in Europe, so…when in Rome, right? The whole speedo experience was exhilarating alright, but after freezing myself half to death I put my clothes back on and took a walk down the beach, seeing some really incredible sand sculptures along the way. After we all felt that we had paid adequate homage to the Mediterranean, we grabbed lunch, all the while the sea salt drying on our skin. As it was our last meal in Barcelona, sangria and seafood paella was ordered by all, and I tried fried calamari (a first for me) and loved it! This beachside lunch was a wonderful way to end the weekend. After paying the bill, we sauntered back to the hostel to catch our bus to the airport. As we were emptying the sand out of unknown orifices, Erin comes into the bathroom with some bad news. Our flight doesn’t leave at 7 like we thought; it leaves at 5:45. Hoooly crap. We all kicked it into high gear and threw our keys at the receptionist as we bid farewell to our hostel and the sunny Gothic Quarter. We had to take the Metro to the bus station, and with only one transfer we didn’t think it would be that bad. Little did we know that that transfer required entirely exiting that station and following a yellow dotted line along the sidewalk for 4 or 5 blocks, and reentering at the next station. Barcelona’s Metro was officially on the shit list. We sprinted along the yellow line, which was mostly faded and hard to follow. Half of us lost our tickets and had to buy new ones to reenter the Metro. It was a mess. We arrived at the bus station to find out that the next bus wouldn’t get us to the airport in time to make our flight. A taxi was our only option, and keep in mind this airport was over an hour away. But of course, the taxis would only hold 4 people and we had 6, so we split up 3 and 3; I was with Iman and Rachel. Our cab fare was 140 Euro; the other cab paid 185. We made the flight, and were unsure whether Erin, Brett and Eric would make it. Once we got onboard, I desperately asked the flight attendant how long we had until the gate would be closed. She said they decided to close the gate whenever they felt like it. Thank you RyanAir for being the most ridiculous airline in existence. The three of us waited nervously. After about 10 minutes, we saw Eric board the plane, and with the light streaming in behind him it seemed almost angelic. It was probably just how ecstatic we were that half our group wouldn’t be left behind somewhere in northeastern Spain. After that monstrosity, we all passed out before our plane even left the tarmac. All’s well that ends well, and it certainly makes for a good story.
