Europe 2009, part 5

Wednesday, May 6, continued

• We had great seats on the train – right smack in the middle of a punk rock band that was headed to Barcelona for a job. They were actually quite well behaved, but when they first sat down with their black clothes, chains, and piercings, we thought we were in for a long, long ride.
• Barcelona's train station is pretty confusing, so we had to ask three or four people before we found our way to the Metro. Yes, we could have just taken a cab, but what fun is that? As it turned out, the Metro wasn't all that much fun either. It's pretty quick and efficient, and thank goodness it wasn't too crowded, but there are lots of stairs that have to be negotiated when going down to the platform, when transferring from one train to another, and when climbing back up to street level. The stairs would be tough enough on a couple 60+ year old passengers, to say nothing of a couple 60+ year old passengers schlepping 4 heavy bags. (Yep, 4. We're traveling light this time.)
• The Metro dropped us off about a 2-minute walk from our very nice hotel (Gallery Hotel). Or it would have been a 2-minute walk if we had come up the right exit from the subway and had started walking in the right direction once we reached street level.
• After checking in for two nights complimentary stay, courtesy of a friend, we took a walk through the nearby Gracia part of town, admiring (because the guide book told us we should) several Gaudi buildings and some Modernista apartment buildings.
• After supper at a restaurant near the apartment building -- seafood paella for Mary Ellen, grilled tuna steak for Dan -- we wandered down toward La Rambla.
  

Thursday, the 7th

• We walked to, and the length of, la Rambla, visiting the open-air market “Boqueteria” along the way.
• Wander through the Gothic neighborhood and enjoy a visit to the church of Santa Maria del Pi, even though it is undergoing some serious reconstruction.
• Visit Sagrada Familia and Guell Park. I enjoyed Sagrada Familia more than I thought I would. Guell Park was basically a nice park with a nice overview of the city and a couple funny looking buildings in it.
• The park also had small parrots flying around. Or large parakeets. I thought they were parakeets; Mary Ellen corrected me: “They're parrots!” (Next day, we saw the same damned birds as we were walking toward the marina and she informed me in no uncertain terms that they were parakeets.)
• After dinner, we return to the hotel and go into the bar in time see Barcelona tie Chelsey in the semifinal match of the soccer championship. A tie was all Barca needed to advance to the finals, so there was much whooping and hollering when they scored, whooping and hollering that we participated in fully. Afterwards, we walked down toward Placa Catalunya, enjoying the scene as car horns honked, scooters beeped, and passengers and pedestrians cheered and sang and waved flags and banners.

Friday

• Checked out of hotel, at 11:00, leaving our bags there.
• Metro to the Arc de Triomf, walk along a wide, pleasant pedestrian thoroughfare, stopping to enjoy the sight of some old men playing Bocci (is that how it's spelled?), and ending in a lovely big park (Parc de la Ciutadella).
• After lunch, return to the hotel to collect our bags and catch a cab to our apartment – our last (!) stop on this trip that seems like it will never end.
• The apartment is small, nice, and clean. It's located in the working class neighborhood of Poble Sec. The address is “Elkano, 16,” if you care to look it up on Google maps.
• Walk to the marina. The best thing we saw was a monument to Christopher Columbus.
• Back to the apartment, where I left Mary Ellen to rest while I explored the neighborhood. In the process, I found a lovely pedestrian area just one block away that had lots of neighborhood cafes, bars, and restaurants.
• We return to that area later and share several tapas for dinner – the best was shrimp. And it was pretty darned good.
• Afterwards, Mary Ellen rests, and I go back out to walk around the marina.
• We head into bed around 11:30, deciding to leave the balcony doors open to let the fresh air in. Despite the occasional shout on the sidewalk below – “Hey, Carlos, where's the goddam beer?” – falling asleep wasn't a problem.
• Staying asleep, however, was not quite so easy. It must have been around 2 a.m. that the town decided that would be a good time to empty the dumpsters (all 7 of them) on our block. The dumpsters that are located right below our bedroom window. It makes a hellacious noise when a truck backs up to a dumpster, lifts it high, and pours it contents into the truck. The noise isn't nearly so bad when workers empty the dumpster by hand, tossing one bag (CRASH!) at a time (CRASH!) into the nearby truck (CRASH!). The noise isn't nearly so bad, I say, but it's pretty damn bad nonetheless. And it lasts a whole hell of a lot longer. Like about 4 hours. It ends just about the time Carlos discovers where the goddam beer is and starts informing Juan and Pedro and Salvatore and . . .

Saturday, May 9

• Some pastry and espresso from a local bakery for breakfast.
• Walk to the library, which is about 4 blocks west of the apartment, to use the free WiFi service that we noticed last night. The nice young librarian confirmed that it was indeed free – if we had a library card.
• Plan B. Walk to a cafe, which is about 4 blocks east of the apartment, to use its free WiFi service. Read e-mail, and get some information on a day trip outside town to Girona.
• Metro to the train station to buy tickets for a ride to Girona on Monday.
• After waiting in line 15 minutes, be told by the clerk that they do not accept credit cards. It's a cash only operation.
• Get cash from an ATM machine.
• After waiting in line 15 minutes, be told by the clerk that there are no advance ticket sales. You have to buy them on the day you are traveling.
• Ask the clerk, “Are you %^&*ing kidding me?!”
• Decide to investigate a bus ride to Girona. It doesn't take any longer, and it must cost less.
• Manage, with a lot of help, to take Metro to the bus station.
• Manage, with even more help, find our way into the station.
• Manage, with only one or two false steps, to find our way to the counter that sells tickets to Girona. It's the one with a big sign over it, “Tickets to GIRONA”.
• Tell the clerk, in a mixture of English and pidgin Spanish, “We want tickets for Girona for Monday.” She says, in a mixture of Catalan and Spanish and even pidgin-er English than my Spanish, “Sure, no problem. What time is your flight?”
• I say, “?!”
• Turns out she thought we wanted to go to Girona's airport. When we explained that we wanted to visit the town of Girona, she said “Oh, I understand now. You can't buy those tickets in advance. You have to buy them on the day you travel – from the bus driver.”
• Again I say, “?!”
• As we walk away from the “ticket window,” Mary Ellen kindly explains to me for the fifth time that day that this is crazy – the railroad and the bus company really should sell tickets in advance. I thank her.
• While leaving, we stop at an information counter to ask a question we forgot to ask at the “ticket window.” “Is smoking permitted on the bus?” “No, never, in the station or on the bus. No Smoking!” And as we were leaving, we walked past drivers sitting in their buses, smoking.”
• So? So, if we wake early-ish on Monday, we'll head to the train station, buy tickets, and then have breakfast while we wait for the train.
• It's now about 1 p.m., and we have accomplished absolutely nothing.
• On the bright side of things, however, we're now close to the park we visited the other day, where we saw a sign for a rose festival. (What's that tell you about how exciting Barcelona is – that we are happy to find that we're near a rose festival?) Except we're not near it, we eventually discover. We're near the sign advertising the rose festival; God only knows where the festival itself actually is.
• So we walk, not all that far, to the Picasso Museum, which Mary Ellen (the artist) enjoys more than I. And then down to the beach – finally, we get to the beach – where Mary Ellen is fascinated by the young boys stripping naked to shower the sand of their hard young bodies. (It couldn't have been 70 degrees today, but lots of people were on the beach and some were even in the water.)
• And then back to the apartment.