I set off with Ying Ying from her place to St Pancras at about 2.30 am, determined not to miss the connection to Gatwick. Exhausted from 3 nights of under 5 hours sleep and the early start, I slept most of the train journey but was semi-conscious enough at the precise moment when the entire sky was the murky pink of a world changing from night to day.
I slept the whole flight too, and in that sleep the anxious knot of tension I'd been feeling over the idea of journey melted away and was replaced by excitement and calm, accompanied by Rogue Valley and the gentle lull of the aeroplane.
Cleared security, and walked out to Nat waiting at the arrival gate, bicycle helmet strapped to her dark blue pull-along suitcase, just as mine was to my own dark blue pull-along suitcase! A quick text to let Dad know all was well, and then through a dusty metallic bridge to the train station, T-10 cards, and we were off in our first, crowded Barcelona metro train to our hostel in Clot Argo.
Everything felt slightly surreal - meeting Nat who I hadn't seen in months, being in Barcelona, a city I only knew from the Cheetah Girls Movie, which is coated in a dusty, sepia-toned haze that magnified the impression that I was in a city out of a story. After putting our suitcases in a locker room, we walked down La Ramblas to the Mercat La Boqueria, a cornucopia of fruit, vegetables, meat and spices. Because it was 27 degrees, we both went for fruit, but also got falafel from Maoz later on.
The walk from Las Ramblas to Placa Angel where our walking tour began was beautiful. If I could capture Barcelona in a snapshot (which is impossible) it would be its winding alleyways with steel balconies on the buildings either side, often draped with clothes, and everything tinted slightly ochre.
Our tourguide was Andrew, a British Man who'd moved from a -7 degree London winter to 22 degree Barcelona to live with a Catalan girl he was in love with. He fell out of love with the Catalan girl, but in love with the city, and his love was clear from how much he knew about it and the ease with which he talked about it - there is this way someone's eyes light up when they speak about something they are passionate about which is unmistakable.
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| Neither of us could get a proper photo of him, and this photo definitely doesn't show the passion in his eyes or how entertaining he was, but it's the best we could do! |
After our walking tour, we ate watermelon in a park (what would soon become a Barcelona tradition) - Nat really got into the backpacker life by using a fork. Perhaps a slogan we saw printed on a banner applied to us 'We were once strangers, now we are strange'...
We saw the Arc de Triomf before heading back to the Placa in front of Barcelona's beautiful Cathedral, which contains, among other things, a 'dancing egg' fountain to symbolise a constant flux of life and death, a statue of Jesus casually avoiding a canon ball, and no less than 13 live white geese to symbolise the 13 trials of Eulalia. We wrote postcards, sitting on the pavement with a blues-y band playing behind us and, after they'd left, a woman in a white leotard and a man in a black leotard performed a beautiful dance-in-a-hula-hoop to 'To build a home' by Cinematic Orchestra.
The postcards were posted at a small shop in a narrow alley under the eyes of a man who watched us like a hawk. Several narrow alleys, some chance finds, and a few bananas later, we were seated in a crowded, dark bar, watching a flamenco performance of such intensity and angst that it became comic at some moments, especially one male singer, whose earnest vocals made his eyebrows form a mountain on his forehead.
11 June 2016
Today we walked to Barcelona's most iconic landmark and the picture on the postcard I'd sent the day before - the Sagrada Familia. It is immense, and so detailed, some parts painted and sculpted with heaps of fruit or words like 'Sanctus' on its side. The Sagrada is built entirely from donations, including ticket sales. Gaudi, who built it, was a devout man who, in prayer, received divine instruction to sell all he possessed and build a church, a people's church - the Sagrada. Later in life, he also believed those same divine voices were telling him to live simply, not buy clothing or shave. One day, while crossing the road, he was knocked over and left for dead by the driver, and only discovered later and taken to a poor hospital, where he remained anonymous until someone chanced upon his architectural designs in his pocket. He refused to be moved from the poor hospital, wanting to remain with the people, to be treated as his fellow humans were treated, and he died there soon after.
Our next stop was Barceloneta Beach, where we had tapas (hummus), a spinach and tofu burger, and something that tasted like vanilla-y pannacotta. The beach was golden, beautiful and crowded with people enjoying the tail-end of a hot day, as did we until it begun to get chilly.
Back in our hostel, we met two Spanish girls from Madrid ('9 a.m.. A.m., P.m.? I don't know these things! 9 of night!') to join the two Australian girls ('Ah Shit!'), Erin from America, and ourselves.
12 June 2016
I didn't sleep too well, waking up in the middle of the night as the Spanish girls returned from their 'crazy party'. Nat and I set off to Horte de Labyrinth, a park with many Spanish families and few tourists. We entered the labyrinth, and after some dead ends and wrong turns, we found the center which displayed a statue of Eros. Labyrinths are fascinating constructions, having symbolic meanings ranging from a trap for evil spirits to the pilgrim's path toward God or enlightenment. Neither of us were enlightened in any divine way after reaching the center, but it was an accomplishment nonetheless.
We had our lunch in a shopping mall that used to be a bull fighting ring (bullfighting is now banned in Catalonia, and hasn't taken place in Barcelona since 2011) and then climbed to the Montjuic fountain, stopping on the way to take photos and to help a woman take photos 'for the Facebook picture'. She was very exact in what she wanted. The Museu Nacional Catalunya was closed unfortunately, but the view of the fountain, Barcelona spread out below us, and Tibidabo castle and Ferris wheel in the distance on a hill was worth it.
We walked to the Spanish Village, a collection of buildings and artisans in the different styles and varieties from Spain's different regions, which have vastly different traditions and cultures. This reminded me of Andrew's parting words to us on the first day, when he talked about how Catalan has been seeking independence. If they do achieve it, Spain will be liable to break up into its different regions and people groups because each is so different than the other that without an unapologetic unity, fragmentation becomes an easy process.
We were quite tired, and had sore feet, but we managed to walk round the entire village, and even stop by a museum that contained pottery by Picasso and other modern art. We ate Paella for dinner, and left, forgetting to pay. Thankfully Nat was entranced by some flowers near the restaurant and while she took pictures of them, the restaurant owner came out to remind us!
We went back to the Montjuic fountain for it's music and light show at 9.30pm, but what really stole the show was a break dance performance that happened before the actual light up. 'We don't dance for money, no!' the break dancers chanted, 'We dance for love!'
The fountain was magical - water, gallons and gallons of it, shooting into the air in sprays or thin streams or arcing curves, pink, yellow, green, blue, purple... our last night in Barcelona.
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