I have finally started my exploration of the European mainland. “Why has it taken so long?” I hear some of you mumble to yourself. “What’s the big hurry?” I retort hotly, before quietly slipping out of quotation marks. I’ve never been a big subscriber to the’live every day as if it were your last school of life living’. If I did that I’d be broke and suffering from physical exhaustion. No, I plan on being around for a while, and a life is quite a lot of time to fill if you break it down. But no matter how you look at it, I’ve been dilly dallying around London longer than I intended. This is no bad thing, but with my energy levels restored to something of a normal level I found those old feet itching again, so I decided to join the rest of Britain in seeking cultural solace abroad.
The list of places that I want to visit has been steadily growing for years but my first choice was never in doubt. Barcelona is deeply embedded within my mind for a few reasons. The first reason is that my parents met there and imbue its streets with a mythical charm. Secondly, I have been there before on a childhood trip around Europe. When you’re seven years old the Sagrada Familia and Gothic Cathedral make an even bigger impression than on a fully formed mind, and they remain some of the strongest memory of that trip. Lastly, I feel an affinity with Spanish people. They’re not as stuck up as the French, more relaxed than Italians and the less said about Germans the better. So with destination firmly planted I risked the terrorist filled skies and flew to the Catalunyan capital.
When I arrived my first mission was to find a place to stay for a few days. Being new to this travelling malarky I just went to a cheap hotel. The old woman who ran it was used to idiot travellers talking in a language she didn’t understand and slowly guided me through the process. By the end of the transaction I had a room that most solitary confinement prisoners would have been pleased with, but I was only planning to spend a minimum amount of time there, so I really wasn’t worried about it. Unpacking consisted of throwing my bag on the floor as I could feel the pull of the street dragging me outside. I tripped down the 20 flights of stairs and burst out into the fresh Spanish air.
I may have been in London for too long but my first impressions were of the pleasant aroma. Everything was clean and there was room to move around in. It was a novel feeling after being hemmed in by London’s small streets and bad smells for so long. I was staying right on the Placa Catalunya, which is a large square and focal point north of the port. It is also the start of La Rambla, Barcelona’s main drag. La Rambla extends like a beacon of light from Placa Catalunya to the port. It is a wide street filled with people walking, stalls of flowers and birds, outdoor cafes and high stretching trees that provide a canopy of safety. It feels friendly, exciting, vibrant and was outside my front door.
With nothing in particular on my mind I ventured forth in the approaching dusk to get a feel for the place. As I sauntered downhill past the beautifully bright Spanish buildings I noticed something peculiar. The newsagent stalls were selling hardcore pornography. I don’t know why this stood out. I wasn’t looking for it and was aware of the continent’s looser attitudes to adult publications, but it still comes as a bit of a shock to see a double fisting video prominently displayed on the street.
The shock didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the walk. It’s a truly spectacular looking city and even though night had fallen I could see why so many people had fallen in love with it over the years. Delicate alleys led to squares dotted with palms and cafes. There was a sexy, lively feel, that no attempt to standardise or modernise could subdue. I was suffering the effects of a head cold but still managed to make my way down to the marina, which has become a massive entertainment complex. I’d just left a massive entertainment complex (London), so was content to go back the way I came. I aborted an attempt to go back through the Gothic quarter mapless, tired and at night. The stray cats were giving me funny looks and I know when to take advice from a cat. I was groggy and stuffed up from my cold so I retreated to my room/cell and listened to Spanish ads on the loud TV, and the even louder sporadic arguments from the elderly owners of the hotel.
When I regained consciousness the next day I revisited the coastal area. In my walk along the beach I was amazed at the Spanish man’s fascination with small dogs. I’m not sure if this is to make them feel more powerful but the number of them was beyond a joke. The water looked a bit brown and the smell whipping in off the sea breeze doubled my respect for the surfers braving it’s waters. You have to really love surfing to take it up in Barcelona. On the way back into the city I wandered into the Gothic quarter. Fate brought me to the Santa Maria church, which jumped out at me from around a corner while I was innocently walking along. It wasn’t open at the time but when I returned later the stained glass left me weak at the knees, which I’m sure is the desired effect. I also stumbled across the Picasso Museum. The man had a superb sense of humour. Barcelona feels like you’re walking along in one of his paintings – a beautiful jumble with objects jutting out where they don’t belong. It’s hard to tell whether they influenced Picasso or the modern structures have sprung up under his long-gone spirit.
My next jaunt took me inside the Gothic cathedral. It does it’s job of being an awe-inspiring spectacle. I havent seen many cathedrals, but this one rates highly on my list. I just feel sorry for the cleaners – stout little Spanish women with rubber gloves. They’re really doing god’s work. One of the female tourists near me fainted, but whether it was from lack of food or a vision, I couldn’t tell. One of the priests looked very excited at the prospect of a religious event but the woman’s friends were holding her legs up and splashing water on her face, so he wasn’t really much use. In the end she had to be stretchered away, so she was obviously one of the sinners. The old people in the area looked worried but I think it was because they knew it was their turn next and no amount of praying could prevent it. It made me feel good to be in a place with so many virtuous worshippers. Say what you will about them, they give off good vibes. Unfortunately my cold didn’t get any better. God must know I’m an atheist.
Everywhere you go in Barcelona you get a faint whiff of sewerage. It smells like the sea, which goes to show how much seafood the natives eat. It’s not a bad smell – it sums the city up. Even its shit doesn’t stink.
I made the obligatory trip to the Sagrada Familia Cathedral. For those who don’t know it, it’s that massive eight spired beast that has come to represent the city. I don’t know how the fuck they managed to put it together. The details are incredible. Huge stone angels are completely dwarfed by the enormity of it all and there’s an amazing amount of detail in the carving. I just had to lie on the ground and stare up at it for a while.
My first overseas jaunt has filled me with a renewed enthusiasm for travelling. I think Rome is next on the list, or maybe Edinburgh, and then there’s Germany …
Stay tuned for more in the ever expanding travelogue that is my life. Call me a Euro-slut and spank me hard Mary.
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