Catch a plane to Barcelona, ‘cause this city’s a drag
(Note: the title of this post is not meant to insinuate that Paris is “a drag”. Rather, it is the only song lyric with which I am familiar that mentions Barcelona.)
When in doubt regarding how to express myself, I humbly bow to the masters of language and gratefully borrow their words. This is the case with the above Charles Dickens quote. Barcelona was both wonderful, and at the same time miserable. But I am ahead of myself, so allow me to backtrack.
My flight touched down in Girona around 11 o’clock. Stepping off the plane I was immediately struck by the wealth of natural beauty about me. The weather was fair, the skies clear, and the horizon faded to green mountains in the distance. What I found so exquisite about these mountains is that they, in form, were quite different from the ranges I am familiar with back in the Northeast. My experience on the Appalachian have been with peaks that are gradual and smooth. Yet these were composed of sharp lines, rising and falling at random. The jagged peaks struck me as both quite dangerous and immensely beautiful.
An hour bus ride brought me to the center of the city. On our way in I saw we had passed Sagrada Familia, a church constructed by Gaudi (the Haussman of Barcelona I gather). Still under construction, the church appears to be melting like a candle. Having heard its description from a friend I was of the opinion that this was a contrived idea and not so excited at seeing it. Yet, strangely enough, it works! Pondering how it was pulled off I came to the conclusion that the natural elements it represents (a melting candle, but also a secret grotto) give it a grandeur derived from the replication of nature.
Having seen the church, I caught a taxi to my hostel. Sea Point Hostel is, as one would hope, situated right on the beach! The location was quite beautiful, especially with the fair weather, but as it was on one of the southern-most points of the city it required a decent walk to get anywhere. Here is a brief description of the things me and my friend Michael did and saw:
- Columbus Monument- a beautiful statue of Christopher Columbus rest atop a huge pillar. His hand is extended, apparently pointing across the world to the Americas. It is at the end of a long, beautiful boulevard that runs along the ocean. I greatly enjoyed strolled up and down this road at various points in the day.
- La Rambla- a touristy street that boasts shops, places to eat, and street performers. Fun to walk through, but not a great place to linger if you are looking to experience the city.
- University of Barcelona- beautiful university consisting of buildings about three gorgeous courtyards!
- Montjuic- a park high above the city on the water. We didn’t make it all the way to the top, just to where the gondola arrives. Still, the city is quite beautiful from above.
- Arc de Triomf- not quite the Champs Elysees, but I do enjoy seeing replicas of Titus’ Arch around the world.
These all contributed to the “best of times” part that Dickens spoke of. Let me tell you, however, of “the worst of times”.
I’m a pretty big guy and would be quite surprised with someone trying to mess with me, but knowing that pickpockets abound in big cities I adopted the policy of carrying my wallet in my front pocket. Yet while traveling in Spain, for some reason I felt comfortable with my wallet in my back pocket. With this back ground detail, allow me to set the scene:
Having finished dinner and ready to head out on the town, Michael and I start wandering through the medieval quarter of Barcelona. We saw an ice cream shop- what better way to start a night than ice cream?- and got some. As we went back into the street some guys came up to us and offered flyers for a sports pub where we could watch the Barcelona soccer game. “Football, you know?” they cried as they mimicked kicking a ball. While mimicking, one of the guys caught my foot and I stumbled. Balance regained, I tried to shake them off, but once more they said “Football you know?” and kicked their feet.
Suddenly, they were gone. Strange, I thought, they usually try hard. I wonder why….wait, where’s my wallet?! I had been pickpocketed! I turned around and yelled “Hey!”. I saw my wallet fly through the air and land at my feet; cards scattered everywhere. I collected it at fast as I could and took an inventory; IDs, credit cards… it was all there except for the cash. I had had a lot on me at the time and wasn’t about to give it up that easily.
I broke into a run and turned into the alley they had disappeared into. The medieval quarter is characterized by its small, winding, dark streets, so upon entering I couldn’t see them. I ran to the end- still not in sight- but upon screaming “Where’d they go?!” a group of people pointed out their directions. This was repeated several times before I whipped around a corner and saw the culprits slowing down into a trot.
They heard me, however, and began to sprint again. They had maybe a 50 meter head start on me, but I made sure that those every one of those 50 meters was full of curses and promises of their fates when I caught them. I would attempt to recreate some of my more “eloquent” proclamations, but I know my mother reads this blog and I would hate for her to think less of me.
The chase wore on for five minutes. I eventually lost track of them and was forced to give up the hunt. Perhaps it was for the best; I was blood thirsty, but three good sized dudes on one in a dark alley wouldn’t have ended well for at least two of the four combatants. Michael eventually caught up and plans were hatched as to what would happen were we to see the guys again; unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at their faces.
Angry and ready to rumble, I decided to calm myself down. I wasn’t going to let three punks (not one of the words that I had used in pursuit) ruin my stay in Barcelona! We decided to enjoy the night, and so we did! We made quick friend with two British fellows- Frasier and Pec- the former who is to be married in two weeks. Both Michael and I found it was a relief to speak English with some one other than a classmate for a change!
My other unfortunate experience involved a late night excursion to the bathroom. I awoke in the middle of the night needing to relieve myself so I started to climb down my ladder from my bed. First of all, I think height should be taken into consideration when assigning beds in a hostel; my frame was not meant to squeeze the small space next to my bed, onto a ladder, and down onto the floor.
Unfortunately, the lovely Australian girl sleeping on the bunk beneath mine had decided that my ladder was, in fact, her personal dressing room and so lined it with various articles of clothing. I slipped on a shirt, fell, and hit my chin on the windowsill, leaving a nice mark. Yet another reason I despise fashion- it hurts like hell!
In all though, the trip was awesome! I loved the city, the weather, and experiencing a new city. I suppose that in hind sight the lows weren’t that low, or rather they could have been much lower. Tomorrow I’m heading out on my last voyage; a three day trip to Florence to visit the most wonderful Kelly Hill for Thanksgiving! I return to Paris on Friday and then will be here until December 14th when I return to the United States. It is time to do all those things I wished to do for time is running out. And now, I must be off!
