2007: Where We Stayed, Ate, Went

So I was in Barcelona in 1971, but I didn't appreciate it then as much as I did this time with Paul, who arranged a lot so that I was free to keep a journal, which I will post here, marking in red where we stayed, ate and went for those interested in our doings but not our thinkings.

Wednesday, 19 September 2007 - We arrived at the Barcelona train station, which had a lot of construction going on, but clear signage and even people standing around to give directions. We got a cab that dropped us off at the end of Pontaferissa, which we navigated easily enough with our wheeled luggage to Hostal Rembrandt, where we were met by the omnipresent Kamal. This place is inexpensive, clean, and close to the Ramblas; with several balconies overlooking the din, it houses lots of young people, most who lodge and some who work here, and we enjoyed their energy and some chats with them. The hostal is not pretty or quiet, but it is friendly and  the only hostal we stayed in with its own little inexpensive internet station. Our first activity was to ramble the Ramblas. At one end, we stopped for coffee at Cafe Zurich, where we marvelled at the waiters who remember all those drink orders, and we realized that the cigarette smoke of the city, even seated outside, was going to kill us-- not so much that of the Catalans but the other Europeans who smoke constantly, seated or walking and always holding the cigarette away from themselves, into your space. We had very mediocre tapas to tide us over for our much-anticipated dinner at Tapioles restaurant, a private restaurant given an enthusiastic write-up in The Boston Globe. Before describing the meal, I'd like to mention the one huge flaw here: the cigarette smoke. There were about six tables in the place, and we ended up in a corner, pinned in by two tables of two smokers each. These were not smokers who lit up at the end of the meal. No, between every course, and sometimes mid-course as they ate, they smoked, and as I noted before, holding the damned white stick desultorily away from their space and into ours. Okay, now the better part, the food. The restaurant cooks two menus a day, a three course and a five course, and Sara Stothart, the chef-owner came to the table and described each meal at length, including where the ingredients came from and how prepared. We began with bouches of bread cubes with olive oil and Egyptian dao, a dip of ground sesame seeds, ground almonds, and spices. Then Paul had the three course meal: first, shitake mushrooms sauteed in olive oil; second, pumpkin ravioli with arugula in sage butter, and for dessert, apple pie, while I had five courses: a thick slab of salmon on butter with lemon first, then gnocchi and cheese, then quail with black rice and green beans; the fourth course, a plate of three cheeses, included a Navarra with membrillo, and finally, while Paul was eating apple pie, I was having goat cheesecake with fig and a nectarine sauce. Oh, a bottle of Artisan Rioja. The food was exquisite, the three-person staff so nice, it was the best meal we had in Spain, except for the smoke, from which I was sick all that night and for two days afterward.

Thursday, 20 September 2007 - We began the day at Starbucks, where we never go, but it forbade smoking, a real plus in Barcelona. Refreshed, we set out to tour La Pedrera, an apartment complex designed by Gaudi and featured in The Passenger (a favorite film of Paul's) and Gaudi Afternoon (surely no one's favorite, but fun). We had a terrifc guided tour through one unit, as it was at the turn of the century, and then we were set free on the terrace. (See photos, right.) From there, we walked to Sagrada Familia, which used to be wide open but now is fenced and gated with long lines of tourists waiting to see it--and we passed on that one. In the evening, we rambled Las Ramblas for ages and had paella outside at the restaurant of the Hotel Oriente, which  the Jack Nicholson charcter exits in The Passenger, mediocre paella at best, but the waiter was very nice even to the French couple sitting next to us who screamed at him in very bad Spanish and smoked the whole meal.

Friday, 21 September 2007  - The nearby Sant Josep market had croissants, late Valencia oranges, whole wheat rolls and then, for less than a Euro, three hefty slices of a very soft Gouda, some of which we ate, along with coffee from--deep sigh-- Dunkin Donuts--from our balcony. At noon, we experienced one of the highlights of our trip, a tour of the Palace of Catalan Music, a very Art Nouveau (in Spanish, called Modernismo) concert hall, lush with mosaics and stained glass, and despite the name, it has always featured classical music along with folk, international as well as Catalan, music. It was recommended to us by Harry Bartnick (artist and professor at Suffolk University), an  intrepid traveler, and we are grateful to him because this place is fantastic. It seats over 2000, though it seems much more intimate from the first floor. From the Palace, we walked to the Picasso Museum, which I visited in 1971 and liked then and now for giving a sense of Picasso's development as an artist, from his childhood bullfight sketches to his Meninas, which make me smile. Looking for lunch as we left, I saw a place I had seen advertised for Basque food, Txirimiri, and we stopped at their spread of "tapas," reallly more like small open-faced sandwiches, going for 5 and a drink for 5 Euros, which Paul went for, while I got a salad, steak with potatoes and peppers, red wine, and a good dessert described as "sheep's curd with honey" all for 15 Euros. Best of all, it was a no-smoking establishment. In the evening, we returned to the Palace of Catalan Music to hear a guitar cocert by Manuel Gonzalez, all classical Spanish guitar music, by an excellent musician in a beautiful space, so different at night than by day, and I'd recommend seeing it in both lights, if possible. And if the repetoire wasn't very innovative, that was going on outside at the Merced and Bam Festivals that Barcelona was in the midst of. We spread a poncho in the Cathedral Plaza and listened to Almasala, who places a fusion of Morroccan and new-wave flamenco.

Saturday, 22 September 2007 -We set out to replay another moment from The Passenger as we headed to the cable cars of Mont Juic. As usual, we were there half hour before it opened and ended up in the first crossing. Given my nervousness with closeness and heights, I didn't watch as much as Paul, who enjoyed this view a lot (you can see the cable in the upper left.) --------> I enjoyed the view more once we arrived, and the view of this lovely young French couple, World Traveler David Ball and his girlfriend. We sat in the drizzle at the cafe, walked the fading gardens, then walked the neighborhood, then out to Plaza de Espana where a Pet Fair was taking place, Festival de la Mascota. I don't know why a pet fair seemed like so much fun in another language, and Paul didn't think it was al that much fun, but it was one of my favorite things in Barcelona, especially when we ran into other Scottie owners, and the word, "terco," (stubborn) which I had forgotten till now came up over and over. There were agility demonstrations and gift shops, fish and birds but mostly dogs and their clubs and their human and canine packmates. Leaving the Pet Fair, we actually took a cab back to the Ramblas, got a terrific drive, a woman from Leon with two kids who discussd the difficulty of the local laws that require all schooling to be in Catalan. Then, we had lunch at a place I had stumbled onto the day before in our Santa Ana neighborhood, La Lluna. There were no tourists here, all locals, including a grandmother and her grown granddaughter whom we met walling in when we did. la Lluna serves two menus of the day, one with 4-5 choices in each of three courses, and a vegetarian menu. So I had a chilly pale green melon soup while Paul had a spicy, creamy gazpacho. Then I had thick slices of very tender calamari steaks while Paul had some wonderful sauce on pasta, while we also consumed a carafe of wine and bread. Then four choices for dessert: tiramisu for Paul (who thought it the best he'd ever had) and banana cream tart for me, just enough cake to hold together very finely diced, very sweet bananas with a creme anglaise, for 12 Euros total. Sated, we went back to the hostal to sleep, That lasted only until a a whole phalanx of drummers went drumming down our street as we hung over the balconies and eventually found them out on the Ramblas, joined by Catalan dancers in high, cone-shaped hats. At 6:30, we went out for the Running of the Fire Devils. You can imagine the event this way. Say it is 4th of July and instead of sitting and watching the fireworks, you are going to go out and run in front of men, dressed as devils, who are not setting the fireworks off so much as splaying them about as they chase you down the street. Of course, what is actually happening is that the devils are breaking out the gates of hell and running through the world--which is to say, Laetana Street--terrorizing the citizens, who line the sidewalks to watch or run in the street to participate, teeny children, grandmothers, everyone wearing old scarves and hats to keep from getting their hair burned. As the fire devils actually run into the crowd, the the sparks land everywhere. After that, we roamed the streets where BAM music went on and Merce crowds ambled, and then went to pack for an early morning trip back to Madrid.