Where I've Been and What I've Eaten

Or, My Trip To Barcelona. But first, the bad news. It is raining here. It is raining here, a lot. This rain is the cause of my first piece of bad news, which is that the camera which has so graciously been on loan to me from Grandma Anne has stopped working properly. I know I didn't drop it, as I am especially careful with it, and it still turns on and the batteries are freshly charged. However, the buttons no longer work. The screen works, so the camera's harddrive must still be functioning. The lens comes out, so the zoom is working. However, it says "Press OK to set date/time" and when I try to press OK - or any other button - it doesn't respond. If anyone has encountered this problem before, please let me know. While my Canon from the early paleolithic era is still functioning (Hell, unless it gets crushed in an asteroid impact, it'll outlast me), it relies on real, live film which is expensive here and since the light meter is not functional, I am worried that I am under or overexposing shots. I certainly hope not. I usually have a good feel for lighting now that I've had a year or so of practice. And I am good for film at the moment. I got a bunch in a care package from Dad, etc. a week or so ago (I am enjoying the Swedish fish as we speak). If you want to send me film, be my guest, but black and white is considerably cheaper to develop and print, as I can do that all by myself at Mac, whereas color requires me to go to Walgreens, and the perpetual $7.28 per roll adds up in a hell of a hurry. Speaking of which, does anyone know where to get color film developed cheaper?

That is really the only bad news. I am healthy, which is surprising since everyone around me seems to be suffering from sub-pneumonia colds, and I am sleeping and eating well. Speaking of that... I just got back from Barcelona! (Okay, so I got back three days ago. I've been wiped out since, and took at 4 hour nap today) Where to start. Well, the whole reason for going to Barcelona, other than that it is a beautiful, metropolitan city, is because the rest of the Minnesota program was going, but it was going to cost 120E just for travel and hotel, and it would be in Pineda del Mar which is about 50km outside of Barcelona. I, being crafty, thrifty, and competitive, decided that I could go for cheaper, get closer and do more. My logic being I could find a transport (Eurolines) and housing (Sant Jordi Hostels) for less, for what in the end was about 89 euros. Not bad. This was only half of it though. The rest of my success in beating my program at its own game would lie in my secret contact: Señorita Martha Truax, former resident of Barcelona.

I don't like traveling in large groups (The Nîmes train debacle, for example), because it inevitably slows you down and me, being a Minnesotan, has to be polite and wait while everyone catches up, has to be democratic and agree to what other people want to do, etc. etc. Which, when you only have a weekend, is really too short of time to get everything in. Still, it is nice to have someone with you, as it removes the awkwardness of having nothing to do after all the museums close and generally prevents me from talking to myself and appearing crazier than I need to be. My accomplice for this Foggean adventure was Kristina Merrick, who herself is of like mind to me when it comes to traveling, but doesn't speak Spanish (not that I do either) and didn't really have any idea what there was to do in Barcelona (whereas I did). Travel activities during the day in major cities can usually be figured out using Wikitravel or reading up on guidebook websites and the like. For evening activities and the real scoop, it takes a local perspective. Thus, Martha was instrumental in me and Kristina having a good time. She wonderfully prepared a long list of suggestions of restaurants, bars, clubs, places to see, etc., all while on the job at Augsburg I think. Thank you sweetpea! Without Martha, I doubt we would've had quite the time we did.

No journey is ever faultless though. Whether it was buying our tickets twice (she bought them for us online, I bought them for us in person at the Eurolines office), or waking up in a blind panic not knowing if we'd make the bus, or getting perpetually lost in El Raval trying to find obscure, out-of-the-way bars, we had our downs. Of course, these were always corrected and often times lead to wonderful ups. We got started at 6:30 in the morning on Friday, October 17th - got packed, got ready, and bolted for the tram station by the gare. The gare routiere, the bus station, is located on the outskirts of the city and is accessible only by the Flower Tram. I was terrified we'd miss the bus by mere seconds and would be utterly screwed. We ran. We both realized how out of shape we were, and Kristina was not exactly wearing running shoes. Of course, the bus was nearly an hour late, and we made it with oodles of time. The bus ride through the Pyrenees was particularly spectacular, and I am sorry I do not have pictures of it. Catalonia is a lot greener than Languedoc-Rousillon, even though they are right next to one another. That's because Languedoc-Rousillon is in the rainshadow of the Pyrenees, and it really shows. Catalonia has amazingly beautiful forests! Unfortunately, we were heading in the wrong direction for good weather. The forecast and actual weather were rain and clouds. It wasn't crippling, but it did mean there were no street performers on La Rambla, and it is so much more pleasant to see Barcelona in the sunshine.

My having been in Montpellier for over two months now and not leaving with the exception of going to Geneva (which is of similar size to, but architecturally too different from Montpellier to compare) has made me forget that there are big cities out there. Barcelona is roughly 8 times larger than Montpellier, and unlike French cities of its approximate size (Lyon, Marseille - which are actually bigger), it has impeccable mass transit, beautiful, spacious boulevards, and lovely parks. Adjectives I think of when I think of Barcelona - art nouveau, Gaudí, the sea. Adjectives I think of when I think of Lyon and Marseille - dirty, sub-Parisian, immigrant dumping ground. Maybe I'm secretly in love with the Spanish. I mean, it's hard not to be, especially since they only tax you 7% and not 19.6%, they have little portions and big portions, both for reasonable amounts of money, sangria, paella, and on Saturdays the metro runs all night. Also, after two months of French (and English), it's lovely to hear Spanish. They do wonderful R's. The only thing I can fault them on is the everpresence of mullets. I don't know what the hell decade those came from, but it's over now. Go to a barber, today!

We saw: Parc Güell, Sagrada Familia, La Pedrera, La Rambla, the CaixaForum where there was an exhibit of Alphonse Mucha, and the Contemporary Culture Center of Barcelona. We didn't see, but wanted to: MNAC, the Dalí Musuem, the Picasso Musuem, the Gaudí Musuem, Parc Montjuïc. I guess that means I gotta go back! Other than that...

We ate like Gods.

We ate starting at 9 and ended at midnight.

We ate cheap, delicious food that in France or the US would not be cheap.

We drank and ate in nice restaurants and knew what we were doing. None of this, oh, the Corner Café à la Bumblefuck or An Indian Restaurant with Tandoori and Giardia. Again, thank you Martha.

I have never eaten so well in my life, except perhaps that one time I was in the al-Khali and the Bedouins cooked an entire camel for our expedition. Major Sparling was instrumental in translating, and I remember darling Susan was ever so afraid to try the brains, and then... wait, that wasn't me. That was T.E. Lawrence. In that case, I haven't eaten so well in my life before then. The first night, we went to Les Quinze Nits, which Martha and I had been to before, and is reputed to be the best restaurant in Barcelona. It is affordable, linen napkin, French food (yes, I had to leave France to get French food), and since they don't take reservations, if you're willing to stand in line long enough, you're guaranteed a table. We finished dinner at about 12:30, having arrived at 9:20 and started eating at about 10. We were not the last to leave by any stretch. Afterwards, we tried finding the Bar Marsella, which Martha told me we should go to. Ernest Hemmingway used to go there, and its famous for its absinthe. Unfortunately, I had not made good notes as to where it was, and we didn't find it that night. We went back to the hostel, collapsed, and slept soundly.

The next morning, we went the Boqueria to get fresh fruit and pastries for breakfast. I really hope my pictures from here turn out. It is so colorful, although I'm sure markets in other parts of the world can still beat it. At a truly good market, you should be able to spend all day there. You should be able to buy spices and teas, fresh vegetables and fruits, confections, breads, various odds and ends like a samovar or parts for a Unimog engine, and last but not least, meat that earlier in the day was still walking (or swimming, as in the case of seafood or the legendary aquatic pork chop beast). The Boqueria fulfills about half of these functions, which for me, is half more than I usually find in the United States.

After the Boqueria, we went to La Pedrera, which is an apartment building built by Gaudí and now serves as a museum. An apartment inside has been redecorated to period times to see what life was like in Barcelona at the turn of the century, as well as a display in the attic of Gaudí and his inspiration from nature and elsewhere. It was cool, but I was sad we couldn't go on the roof (cuz of the rain). After La Pedrera, we were both getting tired and hungry, so we went to a restaurant nearby called QuQu. I forget what it stands for. Ask Martha. We had tapas, and it was quite delicious. Tapas, for those who don't know, are basically little plates of food that one or two of which will fill you up. Tasty and cheap.

I wish I knew how to type more concisely/do less things. Sometimes it feels like this adventure journal is more like an epic. After lunch, we went to the Cultural Center, which had an exhibit about the author J.G. Ballard. I was hoping for art and stuff. Instead, it was very conceptual. Or, to put it more succinctly, it sucked and was a waste of time and money. Don't go to exhibits about authors. It's the wrong medium. Should've gone to the National Musuem of Catalan Art. Next time. It was going to be dark in about an hour, and I still wanted to show Kristina Parc Güell. Throughout all of this, she had been very good about blindly following me where I went, and trusting me to show here stuff. I believe I pulled that off fairly well. If not, well, I apologize. We got to the park just as it was getting dark, and we got to see Barcelona at dusk with all of its lights starting to come on. Quite pretty. So, at this point, the sun had set, but it was only like 7:30 and not nearly dinner time yet (in fact, the restaurant we went to didn't start serving until 9). We decided to go see the Sagrada Familia, which I must admit I liked much more this time around than the last time. I guess it looks better at night. And maybe one day they'll finish construction. Maybe.

As we were leaving the Sagrada Familia (we didn't actually go in since it was already closed at that point), we heard explosions nearby. Were we about to be caught up in some terrorist attack? No, it was a street festival! Lots of people running around with flares and firecrackers with drum teams. I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I'm glad we stumbled across it. I'll have to ask Kristina for the photos she took. That occupied us for a while, and once we got back to our hostel, we changed and headed out to dinner. We ate at a restaurant in El Raval called Anima, again which Martha had recommended. It was very chic and again, tasty. They gave us potato and coconut milk soup served in little glasses as appertifs (I don't know or care how to spell that word), and we had cava, Catalonian champagne. It was quite carbonic in flavor, but what can you expect? I liked it. We also had tons of deserts for every meal, as well as subsisting on chocolate cookies, which are a hell of a lot better in Europe than in the US. No time for magdelenas, alas.

Once dinner was done, we went to the Bar Marsella. It hasn't changed since Hemmingway has been there. Neither have the bottles. They are covered in several inches of smoke, soot and dust. Everything is brown. They must pay off the fire inspector there, especially since you are allowed to smoke inside in bars in Spain. I had absinthe, which I liked. It does indeed taste a lot like licorice, and contrary to popular opinion, you do not hallucinate at all. I suspect if you have more than two glasses though, you might go blind... After that, we tried to find a place called l'Ovella Negra, or the Black Sheep. We eventually made it there after an hour of wandering. It doesn't help that it is in a side street and the sign is entirely black and not at all well lit. But it was a nice place with a good atmosphere and good sangria. After that, it was nearly 3AM, and we were both quite beat. The clubs, the other bars, everything else, will have to wait for the next time I am in Barcelona. Hopefully, it won't be too long. The next morning, we woke up, packed up, checked out, got on a bus and came back to Montpellier. What a nice weekend it was! This next weekend, I think I'll go to the Camargue for a day, and in less than two weeks now comes our week-long break and me going to... Belgium! Yay!

May the Force be with you.