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Published: February 18th 2013
Barcelona – history and history in the making. Swingent cuts to education and health due to the economic crisis in Spain gave rise to a well attended nighttime protest outside city hall. The Christmas decorations and lights lent a surreal touch. The Catalonians are not that happy at propping up the rest of the country. They are campaigning strongly for secession. Historically Catalonia was unified first with Aragon and then Castile. Ferdinand and Isabella had a summer palace here but otherwise did not do much to keep the Catalans happy, introducing a form of the inquisition which drove the Jewish merchants out of the town taking all their money and business acumen with them. Seven centuries later they once again wish for autonomy; flavour of the month in the world today. But the protest we witnessed was orderly and after a time dispersed without police assistance.
We found ourselves staying in Barceloneta, a grid-like barrio of narrow lanes and tall buildings dating from 1754 where sailors, fisherman and working class folk were moved to facilitate the building of Fort Ciutadella. A long sandy manmade beach stretches from the fondly named Hotel Vela or W Barcelona a sleek sail
shaped marker past the Olympic village, past the marina and round the bay to the Carrer Joseph Pla. A wide esplanade filled with runners, walkers and cyclists. We ambled. The sun was setting as we watched surfers clad in wetsuits surfing the unusually high Mediterranean waves, a legacy of an earlier storm. The sun set and the sand sculptors carefully dusted off their sculptures, placing firelighters in the mouths of dragons, sea creatures and even in the mouth of a giant rasta smoking a spliff! Inventiveness pays dividends – his box contained the most change. The injured Star by Rebecca Horn also titled Homage to Barceloneta 1992 stood sentinel behind. Its higgeldy piggeldy cubes celebrating the shacks which used to line the beach.
The beach is not the only showcase for art. At the confluence of the two major port roads on the very site where Columbus is supposed to have housed his shipyards stands the large head of Barcelona by the pop artist Roy Lichtenstein. Bright and cheerful, with signature dots it marks the gateway to Barceloneta.
Back in September we visited the Catalonian Art Museum in Ceret where we had chanced upon
a retrospective of Antoni Tapies a Barcelona born artist. The quest for the installation of his Hommenatge a Picasso near the Parc Ciutadella took us cycling up and down before we spotted it by the side of the boulevarde, conveniently called Passeig Picasso if we'd been more observant! An impressive four metre cubic glass structure with cascading water partially obscuring an artfully arranged chair, bureau, rope and various other items whose significance was lost on me. I liked it though!
Being such party people we are usually getting ready for bed by the time the restaurants open in the evenings in Barcelona. So when we went out to find a local restaurant on our first night it was quite surprising to us that they were all closed! By night of course, I mean early evening. We walked around until 8.30 when we found one open. It was not worth the walk; the tapas were oily and not that wonderful. Given it was a bar, not a restaurant really. Served by old men in dirty white shirts. The walls plastered with posters of Brazil designed to take your attention from the greasy fried octopus.
It
got better. We booked to go to Xiringo, a very small restaurant with five tables and a perching bar, it had been recommended as the place to go in Barceloneta. They were right. Food was cooked fresh by the husband and wife team and presented with care to your table. Potato omelettes, fresh sardines and spicy mushrooms were lovingly arranged and gratefully received.
After another heavy day of sightseeing we decided to eat at the apartment. The local shop provided us with fresh mushroom pasta and Romesco sauce. I had discovered this wonderful nutty sauce on our earlier trip to the north of Spaina and was excited to try some more. Not as good as homemade, certainly, but it sufficed and meant we could go to bed at a decent hour!
One night before the guitar concert we traipsed the streets looking for food. Near to the Avinguda Portal de l'Angel on the Carrer Comtalwe came across 5J – cinco jotas. The hanging cured hams nearly put me off but the décor was smart and I sat facing the street watching pink clad runners streaming past. Must have been a breast cancer run. The
tapas at 20 euros seemed a good bet. A beautiful platter arrived with so much food I thought they must have misunderstood my Spanish (surely not) and given us two orders. Two little bowls of gazpacho soup, olives, deep fried shrimp, extraordinary Catalan fried fish, houmus with 5J ham and crisp aubergine, patatas bravas, pork bruschettas and cous cous, ciabacca with Catalan tomato sauce and potato salad with breadsticks. The bill came and no it was only 20 euros. A great find!
Don't miss the Palau de Musica. I did. Its extraordinary interior remains a mystery saved for another visit. If the coffee shop and what you can see of the lobby is anything to go by you are in for a treat. I sat wistfully sipping a coffee and debating with myself the merits of joining the 12 'o' clock tour. I begrudged paying 19 euros for a tour which apparently consisted mainly of a video and a short tour. But by all accounts the stained glass ceiling and decorated columns are worth it.
I got to thinking about which had been the better value. 81 euros for a 90 minute football game
with an audience of 68,000 (attendance that night) or 18 euros for a 75 minutes classical guitar concert with possibly 60 in the audience?
The answer is not easy. With the homogenisation of life as we know it, I feel it is good to enjoy the differences that travel offers. Being middle class travellers we were able to afford to go to the Barca game but I would have been equally happy with just the guitar concert as a quintessential Spanish/Barcelona experience. Just don't tell Graeme, I think for him the game was a highlight of the year!
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RENanDREW
Ren & Andrew
a longing for spain...
your blogs on spain make me miss it very very much! i'm certainly not telling andrew about these posts...it usually only takes a mere suggestion of anything spanish to get him saying 'next trip, back to spain?!'; so this post will really get him going! :)