Getting There, and Two Days in Barcelona

Third day into the trip, and now that I’m sitting on a high-speed train to France, I have time to write. The train isn’t moving yet, but we should be leaving any minute now.

The trip started off well enough, although Rufus didn’t want us to go. He laid down in the yard with his belly in the air, limp as could be, so  Barry had to pick him up and carry him to his pen. We left home about 20 minutes late, but Gywen was waiting at the curb with her bags so we made up some time picking her up. Barry bought some new headphones in the Indianapolis airport before we zipped through security and stopped for a quick bite at Harry & Izzy’s – shrimp cocktail and Bloody Mary’s. Gywen added soup, Barry had a salad, and I had some amazing filet sliders.

Sunset over the Atlantic.

The flight to Atlanta was fine, and we switched terminals to get on our flight to Paris. On that flight we got dinner and I watched some animated Story Corps stories… alternating between uplifting and really sad war stories. I lightened the mood by watching Baywatch before mostly falling asleep for the remainder of the flight. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, but at least I could doze. At one point Barry pointed out the beautiful sunset over the Atlantic.

We arrived in Paris early in the morning, and apparently about 11 minutes ahead of schedule. We were almost at the far end of the international terminal, for we walked quite some time before getting to a spot I recognized, where we quickly used the restroom and headed down the escalator to the main section of the airport. We kept following the signs for the F2 terminal, finally getting to the security checkpoint. That line took a while, but at least we kept moving and we didn’t have a major hold-up. On the other side of security was a mess. The Border Patrol lone for international visitors extended beyond the snaking stanchions and double back on itself in front of the entrance for the European visitors. On our side, out of 10-12 potential lines, there were four officers checking passports. The line was NOT moving. There were some airport workers directing traffic, when they felt like it. By this time, our flight was boarding. We asked a woman if we should stand in that line if our flight was boarding, but she seemed unconcerned and said she guaranteed we would make our flight. I asked for her name, and she covered her name badge and made up a name, and then told me if there was a problem I should come back and find her.

It was obvious it would have taken another hour to an hour and a half to get through that line, so after about five more minutes I walked to the front and asked another woman if we should continue to stand in that line while our flight boarded. I was persistent enough that she took pity and we jumped ahead, with about 5 people in front of us. Still, the officer was in no hurry and it took us forever to get through. The “nice” woman reassured us that it wasn’t a far walk on the other side; the gate was just at the top of the stairs. Not true. Once we finally got TO the stairs, we had to take a left past a long line of shops to get to the actual gate area, and our gate was the last one. By the time we got there, the plane was still there but the gate was closed and we could not board. It took us just over an hour and a half to get from one gate to the next

We found the AirFrance counter, where the unsympathetic agent booked us on the second flight out later in the day – the next flight out was already overbooked by 10. We had a four hour wait until our new flight, but he refused to give us a meal voucher because the delay “was not the fault of the airline or the airport.” Regardless, we found a café and grabbed a quick bite.

Upon arrival in Barcelona we were supposed to stash our bags with the apartment management company and then visit the Picasso Museum at 1:00. With the flight delay, I called the museum when they opened and changed our entrance time to 4:45. I read for a while, and then shortly before boarding Barry and I got some pretty nice chair massages. Finally we boarded, and then we sat on the plane for about an hour and 10 minuets while they changed a tire on the plane. My frustration and anxiousness increased by the minute.

When we finally landed in Barcelona, I felt rushed as we made our way to the ground transportation with a sense of urgency. We took a bus to Plaça Catalunya, which was quick and efficient, and we saw some interesting sites along the way including Plaça Espanya. I got the sense that I was going to like Barcelona, although I wasn’t exactly relaxed. From the bus,w e took the Metro two stops to La Ramblas, which looked lovely, and found the spot to drop our bags and pick up the apartment key. I kept trying to rush the woman who checked us in, but her English was not excellent and she insisted on going through every step of check-in and explaining how all of the keys worked. It was now past 4:50, and I finally got it across to her that we were supposed to be at the Museum in about 7 minutes before our tickets would be no good. We took off walking up the street toward the Museum, but it was clear we wouldn’t make it, so Barry finally prompted me to call them again. Now our 4:45 entry was switched to 5:15 and I could stop worrying about missing it. About 5 minutes later we arrived.

The walk was interesting, even if I couldn’t enjoy it. I felt like our vacation had a “soft opening.” We were there, but I didn’t feel like I was on vacation yet. Nothing but worry from the time we landed in Paris until we got to the Picasso Museum 11 hours later. But the walk through the Gothic section of the Old City was nice. Lots of crooked little streets to look down, plenty of tempting looking shops, stately municipal buildings, and lots of people. Very European, obviously. The street to the museum - one long straight path - changed names twice, and I couldn’t properly pronounce any of the street names to the poor woman on the phone at the Museum. But in the sense of the changing street names, at least Barcelona has something in common with Bloomington.

The Picasso Museum was nice – beginning with some incredible portraits and landscapes he painted as young as age 13. He really was quite talented. The collection progressed chronologically through different stages of his life, often corresponding with a change in residency. I really enjoyed some of his sketches and drawings, which I thought often showed his sense of whimsy and humor. I was struck by how he could capture a form with amazing accuracy with a few simply strokes of the pencil. The works moved into the Avant Gard from the time he lived in Paris, and began to take on elements of pointillism and expressionism. We saw a number of works from his Blue Period, and a few from the Rose period, before reaching a display of works from 1957, the year he spent making 40 interpretations of the Velázquez painting Las Meninas. He was really into the Cubism at this point, and the works were colorful and fascinating in their variations. What an obsession. Shortly before leaving we saw a collection of his pottery, which was brilliant and, I guess, revolutionary.

At Correfoc.

We left the Museuam as it was closing and headed back to pick up our bags. To my delight, we ran straight into the little devil’s Correfoc, or Fire Run. A highlight of the festival la Mercè, this parade featuring and intended for children and young people is a procession of costumed people, drummers, giant spinning sparklers, and loud firecrackers. The marchers delight in spraying the onlookers with sparks, and we had to duck a few times to shield ourselves from direct hits. We took this in for a while, getting our fill before crossing through the parade to get back to our luggage. As we approached the place, we encountered a Gigantes parade coming directly at us. This parade featured a series of small bands – one quite mariachi-like, and another heavy on trombones – and giant figures with papier mache heads representing various characters like knights and royalty. This was a lot of fun, but the parade was a bit stalled, maybe because of the other parade, and we finally got back to the office in the midst of the chaos and picked up our bags.

Casa Battló.

A short Metro ride later and we were in the Eixample, the neighborhood of our apartment, which dates to the early 20^th Century and features a grid of wide streets and boulevards. We exited onto the street directly in front of the Gaudi masterpiece Casa Battló, lit up beautifully for the evening. We walked about three block to find the apartment where we discovered that the “second floor” was four flights up the stairs. We sent Gywen up in the tiny lift with the bags while Barry somehow figured out how to open the door. I had already failed that test. We were all starving by this point, so we quickly turned on the AC, opened the windows, dropped the bags, and headed back out to get some dinner.

A couple blocks away we found a sit-down place that might have been a little more expensive than we initially wanted, but it was a nice Don Quixote-themed place that was comfortable and relatively quiet. We ordered a much-needed bottle of Cava and shared a number of diches including two salads, some shrimp, and a baked sea bass. Satisfied, we made our way back to the apartment to get settled in and to stay up a bit too late utilizing the WiFi.

In the time it took to write this recap of the first two days, the train made it to Perpignan. I’m now getting back to writing after a full day here. We’re exhausted. My feet are tired. We are crashed at the apartment, where the TV only carries programming in French and the trash has not been emptied. It has been raining off and on. Barry ran out to the supermarket – I think to get wine – so I hope the rain holds off.

Our second day in Barcelona started with us leaving the apartment about 18 minutes late and grabbing take away breakfast on the way to Casa Batlló. This is one of the most famous homes designed by the Modernista master Antoni Gaudi, and one of the three Art Nouvou homes making up the “Block of Discord” on Passeig de Gràcia. I expected the home to be funky. I did not expect to find such a brilliant, innovative, intentional, and functional design. Excellent use of light. Thematic consistency. Sculptural details. Human-centered design. Excellent craftsmanship. Color and beauty. Creative solutions to air flow. Elegantly concealed water tanks and rainwater drainage. Nods toward sustainability. I was in awe at every turn, and actually felt very emotional experiencing such architectural brilliance first-hand. Adding to the tour was the “enhanced reality” audio-tour. We could look at the devices in each room and see what the house would look like with period furnishings, moving windows and doors, additional fixtures, etc. The tour was time well spent, and they had a really nice gift shop where we spent some cash, but not nearly as much as I could have.

Following the tour, it was Festival time once again. We headed into the Old City to Plaça de Sant Juame, just between where we experienced the Correfoc and the Giant’s Parade the day before. As this was going to be one of the highlights of the festival, it was extremely crowded. Lots of good people watching, of course, which was true across Barcelona. Anyway, there were thousands of us trying to get up the narrow street between the Metro station and the square in front of city hall. There was a constant stream of people leaving the square (a surprising number of them pushing baby strollers), but almost too many people to move forward behind those exiting. We continued to press our way forward for 10-15 minutes until we finally reached the entrance to the square, at which point there became a lot more room to move around in spite of the massive crowd. When we arrived there were a couple Giants dancing in front of the municipal building, and a concert band was playing while dignitaries sat on the city hall balcony. An announcer spoke in Catalan, and when the band played an anthem or a “Catalana popular song,” many people in the crowd sang along. Several chants of “Votarer” broke out, along with other patriotic chants calling for the upcoming vote for independence. There was a lot of energy surrounding the upcoming vote and the Spanish government’s push to stop it. Shirts and flyers promoting Democracy, Catalan flags on buildings, flags worn as scarves, hand symbols… Everyone is pretty fired up about it. The Canadian expat we spoke with said she’s not leaving her apartment on the day of the vote, because she expects things to get crazy.

Approaching Plaça de Sant Juame.

Finally, the main event started: The human pyramid display, or the Castillers. From a small street next to city hall, individual castiller teams were introduced and built single towers 4 people high, then moving them to the front part of the middle of the Plaça. It was impressive each time, but the final team actually ran to the center of the Plaça and elicited huge cheers from the crowd. But the best was yet to come, when the teams began, simultaneously, to build pyramids 8 people high. Each time, the smallest person climbed to the top and over the next level before immediately sliding down the other side of the tower. I wanted more – I would have loved seeing them stop there to stand upright. Is that too much to ask?

Before that event wrapped up completely, we moved a few block to the north to the front of the impressive Cathedral to catch some of the traditional Sardana dance. There were two large circles of people in the street with hands joined, doing the steps of the dance. We watched them go through the dance a couple of times and, although I hadn’t been paying close enough attention and Barry said he hadn’t figured out the steps, I was just about to go join them when the dance ended.

View from the lunch table.

From there we walked around a bit – more then Gywen would have preferred – to find some lunch. We ended up seated at a café just outside of the Royal Palace where we selected a set menu of shared tapas that came with a pitcher of Sangria (described on the menu as a “Litter of Sangria”). It was a large assortment of good food – more than we could finish. It was lovely just sitting, with shade, good food, drink, and people-watching.

Lunch!

View from Montjuic Castle.

After lunch, we took the Metro to the Funicular up Montjuic, then took the Cable Car to the Castle at the top of the mountain. At the top we found the Circus portion of la Mercè. There were lots of families there, and dogs, and stages with solo performers, and some people in papier mache big heads, and food trucks. Barry and I walked the perimeter of the very large castle and on the back side we discovered the docked cruise ships and the port. We watched the port operations for a while, which was of interest to me after having recently read Door to Door. We walked past the crowds of people lined up to enter the castle and met up with Gywen at the cable car station. We took the scenic ride back down the mountain with a nice couple from Minnesota and then took the Metro back to our apartment. We crashed there for a bit (and approved time sheets). Gywen stayed in for the rest of the night, but Barry and I ventured out again for the evening.

Slightly refreshed, we ventured back out to the Metro to head down toward the beach. We got off at the Barciloneta station and followed the crowd down the impressive street of restaurants toward the large, brightly lit Ferris Wheel. We stopped for Gelato at the first shop I saw, a promise I had made to myself when we left the apartment. When we reached the beach, we found a large crowd of people waiting for the finale Fireworks show of le Mercè, scheduled to begin at 10:00. We walked down the beach toward the jetty and finally found a few square inches of wood to sit on facing the jetty. A guy came by selling Mojitos, so I made an impulse buy of two over-priced and watered-down drinks to “enjoy” during the show.

Going back down the mountain.

The fireworks were impressive, with multiple cannons and typically many simultaneous explosions of dazzling color. It was fun to hear the entire beach-front react to the most impressive fireworks. My favorites were some that left a bright orange trail as they spiraled up, then exploded into thick showers of orange sparks falling gently to the earth. As good of a show as it was, Barry and I were surprised to see some flubs – and so was the rest of the crowd. A couple of tubes must have fallen over, as at least two exploded on the ground. It was certainly impressive to see something that large light up the sky from the ground, but also a little worrying. A couple others shot off over the water and exploded from the surface beyond the Jetty. All things considered, it was a fun show and a memorable experience.

Gin selection at Lime House.

After Fireworks, we walked to a wine bar Barry had discovered online and had some nice regional wines and amazingly delicious tapas served up by a friendly wait staff, with free Wifi, a lively soundtrack and a dancing barkeep. They also served us free shots of a caramel flavored vodka that was as good as candy. We had a great time at le Dissent, but finally moved on to check out the highly-recommended Lime House bar. It was funky, with some Modernista flair, but the kitchen was closed. They only took cash, so Barry had one IPA from Scotland and I had a yummy drink made with Vanilla Gin and lemonade (more like a lemon Schwepps). We were out of cash and it was way too late, so we headed back to the apartment and crawled into bed.