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Published: August 2nd 2012
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Trains
goodbye to a carless man's best friend in Europe. Oh lord. It can’t really be late July can it? Well apparently time slows for no man, least of all a hapless twenty-something college student. As my memory isn’t getting any better, it’s probably best if I try to tie things up with the blog. There may be one or two more entries after this, depending on how motivated I’m feeling. Life has gone on, I attended a wedding, actually visited a national park in the States, and wasted an awful lot of time demeaning myself for cash tips (no, I’m not a stripper). Digesting that in the broader context of life spent traveling there and back again will have to come later, for now let’s chat Barcelona.
Welcome to Barcelona! Let's not beat around here, the city's wonderful. I’d caught a train from Madrid, so myself, my luggage, and my hangover all got a decent feel for the place after walking the few miles from my station to the Hostel (I’m going through my own version of austerity). At times the city feels slightly schizophrenic, hills can be covered by old fortresses, brilliantly designed parks (more on this later), Olympic stadiums, or just nicely designed art
Bwuh
Well, alright then. This was happening sort of three blocks from my hostel. Great times. museums. The buildings around are also prone to changing, from old churches, to something akin to an architectural blunderbuss (take every neat idea, load, and fire at a church), to modernistic streets dotted by the occasional Gaudi building (again, more on this chap later). In short, for just a few days of wandering and looking, it was hard to beat.
La Rambla To focus in on things a little bit, my own hostel’s location was something like two blocks off Las Ramblas, sort of an elongated spot for bipedal travel. This was great at all hours, provided your definition of great accommodates the flock of aggressive hookers and drug dealers who lurk there at around 4 AM, but that's neither here nor there. What this meant in practical terms was I had no problem finding bars at any point in the trip, or eccentric folk to talk to (not the prostitutes). Everything from chill bars and Tapas places, to street performers far more dedicated to their craft than any two bit mime, to a full blown foody market could be found here.
In my case that meant browsing through stores selling the odd hamster, or
Barcelona Beaches Burn...
Wonderful. Even after pan searing myself this still felt like a good place to be. arriving just in time for another round of furious drum circles and student protests against new austerity measures. It also marked an area classy enough to sell 1.5 liters of Sangria in a plastic jug, and who could really say no to that? My one note of regret was I was mostly on my own for this. Normally that’s just fine and all, and at nights there was company aplenty (seriously, not the prostitutes), but Barcelona is definitely a city that should be enjoyed with friends.
We call that sizzling ball of death overhead the Sun Another detail that has to be thrown out about Barcelona, it’s on the water. Mind you, I’d been spending most of my time enjoying the delightful interior of Belgium and Germany. The few times the chance to visit places on the coast came along I’d generally bowed out for one reason or another. This probably does nothing to quell suspicions about my status as a vampire, but part of me had always enjoyed travelling, usually in places marked by cold weather and a heavy cloud cover.
There is a consequence for this.
Around day two I found myself
Sagrada closer
This is about four of the planned seventeen towers, I think we're up to eight or so completed. That's right, it still beats up normal works. with time on my hands, I’d already walked to a lot of the major sites, and a strong sense of apathy (read: hangover), I decided to spend one of my days chilling on a beach. With this in mind I bought a nice bottle of Sangria, wandered over, and after covering my tattoo carefully with my shirt lay down for a while by the ocean. Never before has putting on a shirt felt more like a napalming. Sufficed to say Barcelona’s lovely not-a-cloud-in-the-sky weather decided to punish my pasty form with a peculiarly shaped sunburn I still have two months later. Still, it was nice for a change of pace.
A special word for Gaudi My hat is off to the architect who best left his mark on Barcelona. Passing one house or another of his the word that most struck me was “organic”. For the most part he built only a handful of structures, and most of those for the Count Güell, his rather fabulously wealthy patron. Still, each juts out in the best of all possible ways. It’s just such a crying shame that the city knows this too, as the entry fee for
Interior Sagrada Familia
Well. It's hard to call this anything but a wonder. each of his buildings was somewhere north of fifteen Euro.
The two major highlights that stick out even in his exemplary work have to be Park Güell, a massive park on one side of the city where I got to spend some time lounging with a few Dutch friends; and Sagrada Familia.
To the Latter Church, still unfinished, I have a hard time finding words that do it justice. “Beautiful” or “serene” just don’t quite cut it. Basically I think I can say this, then dump a pile of photos to sum this up. The two most standout structures I’ve seen in my life are this and Hagia Sofia in Istanbul. In the case of the Byzantine Church, it’s hard not to think of how the structure looked in all its past glories, bedecked in gold and silver, or later in thick carpeting and paintings. Today it’s physically impressive and humbling, but sadly empty. Nothing could be further from the truth with Sagrada Familia, if anything the building seems to look forward to the future. Cranes stretch over its towers, speaking of the work left undone, and the newly completed interior shines with none of the dusty sense
Güell Lizard
The guardian of the park out front. of ancient history. In short, I’d love to see this place in a decade or so, when it finally tidies up.
I’m sorry I’m rambling aren’t I? I’ll leave it here. Basically I spent a long time just wandering around inside, and might have a permanent crick in my neck from looking up.
And another few for Hostel Living Living above a sushi place in a room with five other people might not sound glamorous, because it sure as hell isn’t, still isn’t without a certain charm. The Barcelona hostel I stayed at was typical for a lot of the ones I visited. The owners were friendly and chatty, and most of the guests were just as out of their element as I was, something that made us friends. I don’t remember most of their names, two Germans, a Sloven, a few Spaniards and Catalonians, and a pair of Hungarians were most of the company I ended up keeping. And that’s about par for the course. When it was time for us all to go our separate ways everyone said a fast goodbye as they left to start the whole thing over again in another
Hostel living
Farewell to the friends we barely knew and won't forget. city. Or in my case, as I went home. Still, it was a good few days spent wandering and commiserating, making this the first time Tequila has not been the bane of my existence.
I’ll come back to this topic, but I miss living like this a little. Do I miss the part where I danced for bus fare? Er, no not really, I can do without that again. The snoring roommates? Oh I could cheerfully dispense with them too. Still, there’s a sense of community I don’t usually find elsewhere, though maybe that’s only in a shared sense of liver failure and student poverty. Ah well. All told it’s hard to say this was the highlight of my year? But it’s definitely up there. Til the last time folks.
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