You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May, 2009.
March 15, 2009
Woke at 8:30 this morning. Dawn doesn’t seem so appealing after a night of cheap beer. When it peeks through the windows, I shut the blinds on it and say sorry not today, maybe tomorrow. The sign on the coffee machine in the lobby reads “I haven’t had my coffee yet. Don’t make me kill you.” That pretty much sums it up for me this morning. Coffee helps some but I have a feeling it’s going to be a few more hours before the brain decides to join the land of the living. Andy & Phil eventually roll out of bed. It is their last day in Barcelona so we set out for a day of fun in the sun. In reality, we give a whole meaning to the word lounge. We add a new layer of lazy to it. We perfect the verb and all its cousins: loaf, loiter and loll.
We walk down to the beach where Andy proceeds to point out all the boats and Vespas in sight (and let me tell ya, there is no shortage of either in Barcelona). He once met a man with a Vespa who loved his darling scooter so (sounds like an Irish ballad) that Andy now feels inspired to get a Vespa of his own. We watch men play hand tennis over a volleyball net (kind of like ping-pong without paddles, except you’re standing on the table and the table is made of sand, if that makes any sense). They appear to be in their 60s with big round sun-leathered bellies but they are rocking that game, throwing their whole bodies to the ground for a perfect play. Children play in the sand in their underwear, people jog along the boardwalk behind us, an inexperienced rollerbladder, arms flailing, crashes to the ground, an old man rides his bicycle, tugging a little cart in which his Pomeranian sits in a regal manner. Colorful people abound on the beach.
We eventually wander around the Gothic quarter and grab a gigantic crunchy tuna sandwich and picnic in one of the many plazas. Crumbs fall everywhere on my shirt. I am the crumb lady. Soon pigeons will land on me and start pecking away, feasting on my buffet of crumbs. Andy says we should collect them and sell them as tapas on Ryanair.
The entire city is a smoking room so I join in and smoke a few snouts with my English blokes, because if the cigarettes don’t kill me, the second hand smoke will. I learn a few new English expressions. I discover that Phil is impatient in patisseries. I’m not impatient, he says, I just can’t be bothered to wait around for a cheese stick. I say, cheekily, isn’t that the very definition of impatient? I am, of course, one to talk. I would probably feel the same on home turf but I’ve acclimatized to this pace over the past 2 weeks and have grown used to waiting 15 minutes for a cheese stick.
Down Barcelona alleyways, up daisy-filled roads, passed l’Arc de Triomf we go. Me and me side kicks. We’re like modern day musketeers, except our only mission is to do as little as possible with maximum enjoyment. We talk all day, stopping occasionally for the odd photo. I struggle slightly with the fact that I am not photo focused because everything is so beautiful, but in the end, today isn’t as much about seeing the sights as it is about hanging out with my new travel buddies until it is time to say good-bye.
Back at the hostel, Andy & Phil get ready to leave for the airport and I meet the last three standing boys. I cave into beer pressure and we head over to La Cerveceria on Parallel avenue for a drink (hair of the dog). Tonight, I am sleeping at Violeta’s, a couch surfing host and photographer from Barcelona. Around 8:00pm, I strap on my day pack, walk to Princessa Street, find my way to a grungy building, ring 2*1a, climb up a tiny dark staircase all the way up to the 3rd floor where I meet V.
She is a very sweet girl but she’s so tired and I can tell she isn’t up for hosting. Still, she tries so hard. And me? I’m easy. I can fill the silences with nonsense or be quiet… whatever you need me to be. You open up your home to me, hell, give me a bucket and water and I’ll wash your floors if you want me to. We have tea on the red couch in her living space and chat a bit. She works part time at a friend’s shop and studies literature (except she says litooratoora, which is so endearing). She slowly wakes up and warms up to me and we end up having a lovely evening together.
We go to the roof to take her clothes off the line then hunt down some pizza for dinner. She makes a lovely spinach salad with fresh mozzarella and raisins and mustard dressing. We dip the pizza dough in her homemade chili oil and enjoy a couple glasses of red wine. I get up to do the dishes but she insists that I wait a while longer because it’s not good for digestion to wash dishes right after dinner. God I love the European way. She shows me her amazing portfolio and around 11:00, she heads to her room to study. I do the dishes, get my little bed set up and pass out in no time. I must say that my first couch surfing experience was lovely (thank you, Violeta). Highly recommend it to anyone who wishes to travel on the cheap.
Though it may not have looked promising when it started, this day turned out to be the dog’s bollocks (aka outstanding – like bee’s knees but more Canterbury boy, wouldn’t you say?) Tomorrow is my last day in Barcelona before heading off to bella Italia.
March 14, 2009
Sometime around dawn, I get off at Lesseps station and walk the 300 something stairs leading to Park Guell. Today is dedicated to exploring the works of Gaudi, his fantasy worlds, organic shapes, colorful mosaics, gothic structures, funky curves, unconventional designs and all around eccentricity. He is, in my mind, the architect version of Dali. Dali in 3D. I try to picture what it was like to be Antoni Gaudi, to live inside his head, to tiptoe across the tightrope between reality and imagination. Surely he must have been trippin’ 24/7. His buildings look like they arose from one big acid trip, a lucid dream, a colorful subconscious, a genius madman’s mind.
“The secret of Gaudi’s art is that he succeeded in grasping the patterns present in nature and the organic world and was capable of selecting from their infinite variety of shapes those that could be transposed into architecture. He pursued this course with great imagination: tree-trunks, branches, bones ribs, fishing nets and flowers all became ideas for designs which he used in churches, parks, schools and other buildings.
All his work was based on logic and reasoning and was thought out down to the smallest detail. Underlying the exuberant fantasy of the shapes he used, there was always a rational calculation and a far-reaching study of the loads and forces involved and of the function of all the structural elements which he brought into play.” by Daniel Giralt-Miracle, Unesco Courier
I follow the curves of the park for hours. Parrots squeeze their way into nests high up in palm trees, vendors sell jewelry on the plaza. Gaudi’s buildings stand like something straight out of Alice and Wonderland. I buy a ticket to Casa Batllo, which is one of the best 16 euros I’ve spent on sightseeing so far. I want to live in a gnome-like home built by Gaudi; room after room of magic, all fluid and inspired by nature and sea. It may look like a topsy turvy funhouse to the untrained eye (including my own), but behind all the fancy mosaic is a sound structure. So even if you don’t find Gaudi’s designs aesthetically pleasing, you still have to give the guy credit for being a phenomenal architect.
After lunch at a little side street bakery, I make my way to La Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s great unfinished masterpiece. I pass shops closed for afternoon siesta, one garage door after another, most with graffiti, some colorful, some dodgy, not all indicative of what hides behind them. The cathedral is massive with 18 tall towers and spires topped with grape, orange and maize mosaics. Giant snails and snakes slither down the sides. Unfortunately, there are also a million cranes surrounding the church, which makes it challenging to take photos without some sort of visual eyesore.
Eventually, the call of the gelato stand in the park facing the cathedral is too alluring to ignore. C’est plus fort que moi… I pull away from one religious experience to savour another. I follow the scent of the waffle cones where I discover crème brulée gelato. Because crème brulée isn’t ambrosial enough, they had to make it into gelato, scoop it in a waffle cone and pretty much present it as a gift strait from heaven.
Back at the hostel, I check into room 205 and meet my new roommies, Andy and Phil, from Canterbury England. Phil is studying to become an architect. Andy is a carpenter. Both are hilarious. Within minutes of meeting him, I discover that Andy straightens his hair with a GHD iron that cost him something crazy like 100 quid. He informs me that many guys straighten their hair in London, to which I respond mmmm hmmm, you and the Gallagher brothers. We all have a good laugh and on that note, we hit it off immediately and end up spending the rest of the evening together. We head to dinner around 9pm with Simon, an engineer from Australia who is biking around Spain. We share a bottle of red and some damn good tapas. Cheese and cold cuts (these ain’t your ordinary cold cuts, son), tortilla de patatas, roquette, beef, corn chips and guacamole, fish paté with bread.
After dinner, we meet Ryan and Liam from Canada, two equally hilarious characters. At a pub, in a plaza, by a fountain, we share some pints and some laughs. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I walk back to the hostel with Phil around 2am. We stop at a little pizzeria and get a couple slices of pizza with corn. Strange, corn kernels on pizza, yet… good. And in case you are wondering… no, I did not kiss the boy at the end of the night. Sheesh. What kind of a girl do you think I am? (wink)
In bed, Andy passes me his iPhone from the bunk above and makes me listen to this sweet track by Paul Weller. There are a few more late night giggles and then we all fall into a deep sleep, bellies full of beer and heads filled with visions of a day well spent.
I’m only half way through my travel tales and am already planning my next adventure. Had to take a break from Barcelona to share with you that I bit the bullet yesterday and registered for Squam this September. I really wanted to go last year but wasn’t able to. It’s not like I have the means to go this year either, however sometimes you just have to set things in motion and do what feels right. And there was no way I was going to live through that regret again.
Things I’m most looking forward to about Squam, other than the mountains and the magic and the crazy creative energy?
- Finally meeting the lovely and amazing Elizabeth, who coordinates the whole shebang.
- Seeing her again and bunking in the same cabin.
- Taking a “through the viewfinder” workshop with this inspiring soul.
- Hanging out with a community of bloggers that I have followed for years.
Ummm. Is it possible to hyperventilate from too much joy? Because I am thrilled beyond words. I cannot wait to meet everyone.
Anybody else going?
