No, I didn’t fall victim to the pickpockets but everyone had made me so paranoid it probably stopped me from really enjoying Barcelona as much as I would like to. On arrival in Barcelona, I again had to wait for a bus to the front of the port. People rushed to squeeze onto the first shuttle. I held back, with my ‘I’m on the other side of the world’ size luggage. There amongst the endless school tour groups that had caught the ferry, an Italian guy – Massimo – who was holding back like me. He walked with me to La Rumbla (despite the fact he passed the train station he needed to get to, and I managed to get quite a bit of his story, despite the fact that he said he didn’t speak English well. He is Italian – his mother owns a bakery just outside of Rome and he is working in an Italian restaurant in Barcelona. Apart from the many warnings I had already had – the guide books, Australians working in the embassy in Spain and the guy in the DFAT call centre who helped me with my lost visa card – Massimo also warned me to keep my eyes on my bag while in Barcelona. With that amount of warnings I walked around clutching my bag and taking snaps with one hand. [‘Hazy shade of winter’ – Bodyjar – sure it’s not the original but it’s a really good cover and the tune is perfect for cruising through Spain on a train as I write.]
Once I checked in I headed for the main rail station to book a reservation for the train to Madrid. Good thing I didn’t leave that until I was leaving. The system for booking involved a ticket, like the ones you get in the motor registry in Canberra. And you have to wait about the same amount of time. You can phone ahead to make the process quicker, apparently but as I thought there was a large possibility I would need to use hand gestures and write numbers on a piece of paper, I opted to wait. Initially I had got in the wrong line. Mistaking me for a Spaniard, people kept coming up and asking me questions in Spanish (or Catalan, I’m not quite sure). A girl standing in front of me helped out – she was American but unlike the other Americans I had encountered, was enjoying the experience of living here – she was studying in France – she was very helpful, pointed to what she thought was the right queue and came to check that I had got a ticket for the window. She was from Boston. Like the Dropkick Murphys. Further proving to me that Boston should be on my itinerary when I visit the US. [‘Curse of a Fallen Soul’ – Dropkick Murphys – the best of Boston, via Dublin (or the fighting spirit of Belfast)]
When it comes to service and infrastructure, there is a marked difference between Italy and Spain. In Italy, the train stations are filthy (and the Metros are worse), the drainage is mostly non-existent and finding water hotter than lukewarm is near impossible. In Spain, the water is hot, the drains work and best of all – the trains and metro are among the cleanest I have seen in Europe – even if the structure of the metro, with about eight different lines that seem to randomly intersect makes Sydney’s train system look like a walk in the park to work out.
One of the main issues with Barcelona’s pickpocket problem is that it is near impossible to walk around without having your passport in easy reach – to use a credit card here, they don’t look at the signature but they do require your passport as identification. I’m not quite sure how they can stop the pickpocketing without changing this system. [‘Mi Quinto’ – Los Papines – this is from my Cuba CD but somehow seems appropriate for the western coast of Spain. It has lots of drums and harmonies.] Just on the music here – along with the human statues, I have seen a large number of buskers in both Italy and Spain playing the didgeridoo, none of them indigenous Australians and very few Australian at all. The souvenirs are also quite extraordinary (although nobody chose Spain as their tacky souvenir destination). You can buy a flamenco outfit for four year old, underpants with Spain, Barcelona or (strangely) Brazil on them and most bizarre of all – a fridge magnet shaped like a thong with La Sagrada Familia and the word Barcelona on it. Except for the picture and the word, it is exactly the same as the ones I brought back from Perth last year. So apparently West Australians have a commonality with Barcelonians. No cashed up bogans in hummers here though – everyone rides a scooter.
After securing my reservation (which cost almost as much as the hotel train by the way a reminder yet again – unless you are planning to meander through Europe for months at your leisure, you can save time (and money) by making sure all your reservations are booked before you leave Australia), I set out back to La Rambla and discovered the concept of the siesta achieves something more than a rest in the afternoon – the city comes alive in the evening. The shops are open and people are out wandering the streets and eating in cafes. Remember this is winter – it isn’t even the start of spring here yet. It is certainly warmer than other places I had visited and I am now wishing I packed my cord jacket instead of the very warm fleece jacket. I could probably almost manage to do without a jacket altogether except that then there is no way I would not stand out as a tourist (or have a secret stash pocket).
I had planned to visit the Dali museum in his hometown which is apparently just north of Barcelona, but given the difficulty I had with sorting a ticket to Madrid, and the fact I probably only had the morning to do it, I decided to give it a miss. I also passed on visiting La Sagrada Familia, which meant two changes on the metro and, reportedly a huge queue. Looking at the outside of the Gaudi designed apartment building Palau Güell (also with an extensive line) just off La Rambla and the supremely ugly lamps in the square outside my hotel that were his first commissioned work, I had seen enough of Gaudi. I am supposing this is where the term gaudy came from. Give me Milanese, Swedish or Bauhaus design any day.
Just like Rome, Barcelona is a city of churches – there’s a church everywhere you turn. My favourites though were of course Santa Maria del Mar and, although it was under renovation, the gothic spires of La Catedral completely outdid Gaudi’s haphazard approach to ornamentation. [‘The Torch’ – Dropkick Murphys – I’m having a bit of a Dropkicks Day and this, predictably, is their lighter tune (or the 21st century version – the mobile phone light. For the dropkicks though I think the lighter is more appropriate.)]
After my tour of churches I headed to one of the most famous produce markets in the world, Mercat de la Boqueria. This place is a foodie’s wet dream. The centre stalls are piled high with fresh fish and seafood. They are surrounded by butchers who cut all manner of meats to your specifications, including either sheep or goat’s heads with the eyes intact, rabbits and whole suckling pigs. The delis are to die for – from chorizos to cheeses and olives and the produce is the freshest I have seen since I arrived in Europe – it’s not hard to see why this is the food basket of Europe. What was really intriguing though was the marinated, glace and candied fruit. They’ll candy anything, including kiwi fruit and watermelon (and then make the small piece of candied fruit look like a slice of the real fruit). [‘Forever’ – The Dropkick Murphys – I have always thought this would make a good wedding waltz song – at least for the kind of wedding I’d like to attend. Fun Dropkicks fact – Ken Casey is actually able to marry people.]
From the market it was time to go back to the hotel and check out and head to the railway station. There is very tight security at the railway station (I imagine due to the Madrid bombings a few years ago). You have to go through a screening point like at the airport. That’s not the only difference with the Spanish train line renfe. Now I bought a first class ticket so I could sleep in a cabin during my overnight journeys but renfe are the first ones to provide a level of service above comfortable seats and on board power. They give you a gourmet lunch including wine (which was better than the airline food) and had an onboard movie – Michael Clayton (not so good for me as it was dubbed in Spanish with Catalan subtitles). And there are heaps of friendly attendants to tell you which carriage to get in, to provide you with coffee, tea or other beverages and be generally helpful.
A note here on the Spanish – unlike the Italians, they are friendly and helpful and embarrassed if they can’t find the English words. I find this incredible – I am in their country where I can’t speak their language and they are embarrassed not to be able to find the correct word in my language, even when it is one of four or five languages they speak.
As I write I am on a train speeding toward Madrid where I will meet up with my friends Scott and Edward and enjoy their hospitality and the sights of Madrid through their eyes. It will be strange carrying on a conversation for more than five minutes. My communication over the past two and a half weeks has largely been one way through my blogging. In some ways (and I know no one will believe this) I will miss the silence, where I am experiencing everything and just having to take it all in and process it. While I think next time I will choose to travel with a companion, this has been a great way to travel for my first lengthy trip. By traveling on my own I am definitely paying a lot of attention to what is going on around me. Of course after Madrid things will change slightly as a I head to Ireland and the UK, where English is at least most people’s first language (even if the Irish do speak it with an accent that’s hard to understand).
