But of course, I can’t go more than a few days without writing something, and honestly, there’s nothing I want to write more about than Spain; what’s happening here, what this trip is doing to me, the things I’m seeing, et cetera. The problem is that so much happens every day, even when I do nothing at all, that if I lapse a few days (or four, like this week!), I end up having to do so much catch-up, it feels unwieldy.
But again, this is for my benefit. Maybe I’ll try to restructure things and really work this through. I think I may dedicate the rest of my morning to this.
So on Monday, I went on a little trip to recharge my cell (i.e., pay Vodafone some money), and while I was in the area, I took a walk to this spa I’d heard about to set up an appointment for a facial. From there, I was off to L’Arc d’Trionph (honestly, I keep forgetting how to spell this – it’s in Catalán, and I’m too lazy to pick up one of my guidebooks right now).
It was a nice little walk, and as evidenced by my facebook photo album, I took a ton of pictures of the areas I visited. When I got home, though, I was really struck by an awful sense of homesickness and malaise. Doubtless precipitated by my agitation from not having internet over the weekend, even with my restored connectivity, I still felt lost and lonely, and – honestly, I haven’t even fully parsed through it all yet. I don’t like to write during times like those, because generally it ends up being a bunch of maudlin, hyperbolic drama. Nobody needs that, least of all me. Instead, I ended up talking at length to Leez, whose words once again proved invaluable; she just talked sense to me in a way that was both comforting and calming, appealing to my sense of logic in such a way that managed to subdue my heightened emotions.
So, between talking to her and consulting various websites on how to combat homesickness, I was even more determined to carry out my plan for the following day; a facial, the Museu de Picasso, and La Boquería.
The facial was phenomenal; not exclusive to Spain, but I think a lot of times vacation is the time when we give ourselves permission to indulge in luxuries that technically we could have at home, but good sense and pragmatism prevent us from enjoying. Fortunately, good sense and pragmatism only extend so far on this trip (and in Spain, I’m starting to suspect), so I got my damn facial, and I felt like a million dollars afterward.
I walked toward the Picasso museum, and on the way, saw a free art gallery, where I went in and took some more pictures.
I love that these things exist; again, I can’t express how much I love how highly art is regarded in this city, how encouraged it is, how much of it exists. After the gallery, I got myself a damn fine bocadillo de jamon serrano, which is basically like fresh prosciutto except even more delicious, in my estimation (sorry, Italians!), then trotted off to the Picasso museum. The thing was that once I got there, I saw a sign that said the Picasso museum is free on Sundays, so I was all, “eff that, see you Sunday, fools!”
(suckers! hope you didn't like that 9 Euro! LOL)
and started walking to la Boqueria, taking side streets, because I kind of love the way the streets are in Barcelona. Extremely narrow – many it doesn’t seem like you could fit a car through without scraping the side-view mirrors (which explains, in part at least, why there are so many itty bitty teeny weenie Citroens and Peugots all over the place!). The paths are twisty, the buildings tall, and there are balconies everywhere, which gives this really interesting feeling. If the buildings hadn’t had the balconies – if they’d just been very tall buildings with narrow streets between them – it probably would have been quite foreboding, unwelcoming, and sort of inhuman. (And to be honest, there were streets where the narrowness blocked out the light to the point where I did feel a little sketched out – and on the two occasions that happened, I didn’t hesitate to turn my ass around and find some other way to go).
In any case, there are balconies, which make all the difference. The buildings aren’t monolithic structures, inaccessible stone fortresses, or worse, just objects that exist to fill space. The balconies create an unmistakable sense of openness, maybe of curiosity or interest (whether in the occupants of the balcony or the people walking below), and they are implicit reminders of the fact that life and people inhabit every corner of this city – horizontal and vertical. This is only helped by the laundry drying on these balconies everywhere you look. People live here. In other cities, in the city centers, I’ve not had such a strong sense of the people, the residents, in commercial districts, in places where business happens. Not so in Barcelona – I am reminded of the people of Barcelona everywhere I go, and I really love that.
So anyway, the Boquería is lovely, and there’s something I really like about the way food is bought here. Yes, they have supermarkets where you can get all the stuff you need in one clean shot – and that’s convenient sometimes. But that development of modernity does not seem to have adversely affected the popularity of the old-school market in Barcelona – there are markets everywhere, places with a vendor for every taste. A stall for each food category (often more than one):fruit, nuts, meats, veggies, sweets, pastries, tapas, seafood, vegetarian foods, organic foods, cheeses… I could go on.
So you can find these kinds of stalls at any market (mercat), but the biggest and best is off La Rambla, the main drag, La Boquería. I can’t tell you much about La Boquería that hasn’t been written in travel guides over and over again other than to say that it was really cool. I was not overwhelmed with wonder, but at the same time, I was impressed (and tempted!) by the variety and freshness, and charmed by the liveliness of it. I can only seem to make it to market in the hours between 1:00 and 4:00 PM, which is, of course, when half the market’s taking a siesta – but I’m going to try again today and see how I do.
After I went to the Boquería, I walked down La Rambla, and enjoyed the sights. I’d previously (and uncharitably) compared it to Times Square in New York, and that was really a base, inaccurate description, and highly misleading. At the time when I wrote it, I hadn’t yet seen enough of it to make a call – I’d just been aggravated by seen a McDonald’s sign and the proliferation of tourists than crowd the place into a clusterfuck. So in those ways, it is like Times Square – also in the sense that it’s rife with overpriced restaurants and shops full of cheap, tacky, and overpriced souvenirs. But it’s also quite lovely – a tree-lined route in which pedestrians are the priority, though there are car lanes on either side, and jesus, the sun. The sun in Barcelona is so strong, it’s hard for me not to enjoy myself when I’m outside during the day.
So I bought tickets to a tour of Girona, a city about an hour, hour and a half outside of Barcelona, and Figueres – where the Salvador Dalí museum lives. I went to the Corte Ingles, bought pretty much the awesomest cherries ever, as well as a book in English, and wandered around that area a bit before heading home, sweaty, exhausted, and content.
Though less so once I got back and realized my air conditioner was still busted.
Goddamnit. LOLOL!
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