Not all Spaniards can sing

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It wasn’t easy to leave Peniscola today, as the shone beat down and we could feel the tan taking shape even at 9am as we gave the apartment a final going over and set about leaving.

We had given ourselves plenty of time to get to Barcelona so decided to take the N route (the secondary route, below the toll roads). Generally these roads are pretty good (the equivalent of SH1 in NZ, or better) and you can hum along at 120km/hr, but today was not a good day for the N road to Barcelona. We got stuck behind truck after truck after truck, cruising at 60km/hr with bursts of 75 km/hr. So we hit the A route and raced into Barca in under 2 hours, navigated the inner city with the consummate ease of the locals, and found a park literally around the corner from our apartment. It was in fact in a Police carpark, and even after being told by two officers that we couldn’t park there we just kept unpacking the car and walked off to the apartment. We were in our apartment and sorted by 2.15pm.

Then the realisation struck that we had to get the car back to Peugeot at the airport (wherever that is) in 15mins or we would have to reschedule for later in the evening or Saturday which would cost us about half a day or precious “tourist time”. Gabor grabbed the relevant docs and shot out the door, hoping the force was strong in him today and would guide him through Friday inner city traffic. Three minutes later he dashed back demanding to know where the ‘other’ car key is, as we had to return both. After a quick unpack of the suitcase it was recovered and Gabor set off again.

Gabor got back to the car to find a) it had not been towed away, and b) it had not been ticketed…surely a sign that the traffic God’s were smiling this afternoon. Straight into the gridlock down by the Port and after making what seemed like a ridiculous decision to head towards La Rambla and getting diverted down a one way detour that for all money looked like a dead end, suddenly from behind the shade of a large eucalyptus, a sign began to appear. Cutting across 7 lanes of traffic to get a closer look, it quickly came into focus, and read: Aeropuerto.

Ten minutes later and with the fuel light beeping furiously, a few tentative corners later and we were at the airport. The Peugeot lady appeared from nowhere jumping out from behind a parked car to flag Gabor down, and with the paperwork completed (including collecting BOTH keys) it was off to the bus stop to head back into town.

Jumping off the bus at Catalunya Place, with the car seat under one arm, Gabor walked with a bit of skip in his step having completed perhaps one of the most difficult and pressurised task of the Amazing Race - Sixeyes Edition. And after asking someone for directions he strutted down La Rambla back to the apartment to tell Sarah and Kaspar of the miraculous achievement.

But as he walked, with the sun beating down on his left cheek he felt a little uneasy, even after stopping to ask someone if he was heading in the right direction. It almost all made sense…La Rambla is a pedestrian dominated street, or so they’d read, with traffic taking a bit of a back seat. Gabor looked around and sure enough there was a big strip in the middle of the road where tables were being laid out and the rich beautiful people of Barca were having a drink during, er, after work. But something wasn’t right, and as a bead of sweat rolled down his left cheek, Gabor couldn’t help but run another check.

Sure enough, he was on Rambla, but it was Rambla Catalunya, La Rambla’s poorer second cousin that pointed in completely the opposite direction. The sun should’ve been on his right cheek, as it set behind the hills!

The realisation of this schoolboy error hurt, and hurt bad. With an about face, Gabor’s hip soon stiffened and is back sloped to the left. The car seat became leaden, as the walk back to the apartment covered nearly 4 more kms, on top of the 2 or so already taken. A few of Gaudi’s stunning landmarks along the way certainly helped ease the pain somewhat.

Back at the apartment Sarah and Kaspar had been busy and the beer was cold and lunch was made, and Sarah told Gabor excitedly of the walk they were about to undertake in the warmth of the evening through the Gothic quarter. Super! (in case you missed it, no matter how well you think you’ve done it aint over til the fat lady sings - there’s a lesson in there for all premature celebrators).

So after a very quick bite to eat we packed up and went for a stroll - it was Friday night in Barcelona after all. And it was certainly worth it. We made our way across to Placa Reial where the locals were slowly coming out to play. Then onto the Cathedral which was scaffolded from the outside, but immense on the inside. Perhaps its most surprising aspect was the cloister…a veritable outdoor oasis, complete with frogs and geese, in the middle of a dark and eerie monstrous church.

We started in Placa de Sant Jaume, where the city is administered from. We were surprised that such a big city could be run from such a seemingly small hub, especially given the equivalents of other mega cities such as Paris. Off this square we
wandered Carrer Llibreteria, where books had been sold for over 200 years, and in some cases still are from original stores. But to be honest the gelato looked better than the old literature.

So with gelato in hand we quickly lost our way through the rest of the winding and dead end streets that make up the old town, some so narrow and aged that they lean inwards and almost touch each other as they rise no more than 2 or 3 stories.

Along our haphazard wandering we did manage to stumble across the Roman walls from the 4th century AD, that have now been joined to form the Catalan Hiker’s Association (?) - our info was a bit light on the area, but you don’t need much to appreciate the general significance and beauty of the place, even after 6 weeks of it in Hungary, France and Spain. And while there is so much of the ‘old’ in this part of town there is also a lot of ‘new’ art and architecture that has been introduced to make these spaces more user friendly. And people come and enjoy it. Already we sense that the Catalans are very good at melding their ancient past with their burgeoning modern arts. And there’s just so much of it it’s hard to know where to point the camera sometimes.

We also discovered the Casa l’Ardiaca, a 15th century mansion, built over the Roman wall, now appropriately housing the city’s acrhvies. And just outside was band taking advantage of the incredibly natural accousitics provided by the tightly over hanging buildings, very emotively playing what we can only describe as modern Spanish folk music.

It was then back to Placa de Catalunya and then down La Rambla back towards out apartment. For those of you that don’t know, La Rambla is the party part of town, and is definitely worth a wander or if you can hack it a few nights. But as we’ve been warned numerous times keep an eye on your stuff and do not keep any cash in your pockets, because it won’t be there for long.

Surprisingly the Champions League madness had all but disappeared, especially after seeing on the news that it got a little out of hand last night. But that could all change tonight and tomorrow.

We arrived home to find the people in the apartment directly below us were having a karaoke night. Trust us when we say, not all Spaniards can sing! Especially when they cant really speak English and they chose from some of very distinguishable tunes including ‘Words’ (BeeGees), ‘My Way’ (Frank) - after hitting a couple of bum notes to start with and then restarting Jose decided ‘what the heck’ and just belted out the worst version I've heard of this since I tried it! And there was a Cat Stevens number in there, but it was so bad we couldn’t stop laughing long enough to focus on the actual title of the song.

Luckily Kaspar (and hopefully we) had such a big day that no amount of rumbling from La Rambla is going to keep us awake tonight.

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Photos

any idea where we are?
so helpful for those forgetful tourists

going down?
underground labrynith we'll be checking out later