Barely catching my breath after our family trip to Egypt, I hopped on an EasyJet flight to Barcelona. I did not want to miss seeing my former colleagues and lovely friends, Susan and Cynthia, who were spending time in Barcelona, before a road trip to Valencia, Granada and Sevilla. Susan was my boss, but she’s become a bit like my California mom. (I wonder if that’s a description she’ll welcome, but I’m throwing caution to the wind). Here’s my tale of 42 hours in Barcelona.
I got off my flight and wimped out on public transit, opting for a quick taxi ride to the Rambla Catalunya in the Eixample neighbourhood, where Susan and Cynthia were staying. There was a Nespresso shop below and a wine and cheese store next door. What more does one need?
I loved Susan and Cynthia’s “My Space Barcelona” apartment. They had some critiques. There was no debating the incredible location. And we lucked out with sunny spring days.
After catching up with a baguette and some jambon and manchego, we set off for the Gothic Quarter to wander around. Barcelona’s one of my favourite cities and I think it’s the combination of great and distinctive food, glorious shopping and weird art. There’s no better place for wandering.
We stopped at the Mercat de St Josep de la Boqueria and admired the colours and textures of meat, seafood, produce and sweet treats. Susan bought specially spiced salts as a gift.
The shopping mission, which we chose to accept, was shoes. Espadrilles of course, ballet flats and, for me, Birkenstocks. After years of loving both high heels and running, I am now contending with plantar fasciitis. I am in the market for an English-speaking, Swiss-based podiatrist should anyone know of any.
We visited the Museu de la Xocolata, which smelled heavenly, and featured intricate chocolate sculptures of famous sculptures, animals, buildings like Sagrada Familia and cultural figures. Sadly none of my chocolate pictures turned out, so more weird art.
We then wandered over to the restaurant Cal Pep, and enjoyed an apero in an outdoor cafe nearby while we waited for the restaurant to open. We were stalking Cal Pep’s unreserved bar seating. Susan and I discovered that we’d both recently re-read To Kill a Mockingbird, she on the plane and me out loud on an Egyptian beach to Jacob. We talked about our shifting opinions of Atticus. As we were talking, about 20 firefighters gathered and put ladders onto a nearby building, hoisting with some kind of crane a normal-sized man down from the top floor on a stretcher. The complicated (and perhaps inefficient) operation drew a crowd and seemed very Spanish. I have developed what I think is a Swiss disdain for complicated, inefficient operations.
Success! Susan and I were among the first seated at Cal Pep. (Cynthia opted out). We told the waiter/bartender to bring us whatever tapas he recommended: delicious fried artichokes, clams, tuna tartar and sublime tortilla de patata.
Walking hime, we passed a Flamenco spot and our timing was perfect: the next show would begin in five minutes. We quickly bought tickets and enjoyed the drama and guitar playing.
After a good night’s sleep for me and something less than a good night for my California friends, we hit the town again to Gaudi-it-up. We walked to and admired Casa Batllo and La Pedrera (also known as Casa Mila), Gaudi’s architectural jewels before he began the Sagrada.
Then, after a croissant and cappuccino, we marched on to the Sagrada. It is amazing and weird with fluted pillars that look like enormous trees and beautiful coloured light passing through the stained glass. Of course the experience prompted a conversation about psychedelics and Michael Pollan’s latest book. Try as we might, we found no evidence that the religious Gaudi was ever under the influence. Though he may have been regularly fasting. Is this the result?
I took too many pictures. I probably have 35 more and am showing great restraint by not posting them. After leaving Sagrada, we had a quick lunch and then walked down La Rambla and met some friends.
After a gelato, and possibly some other shoe stores, we went to the Museu Picasso. I cannot contribute much to the cultural conversation about Picasso, but my lord was that man prolific. After this Museum visit, I’ve become obsessed with Picasso’s 58 variations on Diego Valezquez’s Las Meninas, all painted in 1957, including about 10 paintings of a pigeon.
After Picasso, we did some more shopping, replacing a lovely perfume Susan bought years ago in Barcelona, and headed back to the apartment. My visit ended as it began, with jambon, manchego and good conversation. I am so grateful to Susan and Cynthia. I landed in their vacation with no plans. They took me in, fed me lots, and made it really difficult to pay for anything. Susan woke up with me at 5 am to put me in a taxi and told me to text when I got to the airport. I look forward to returning to these wonderful ladies in California.
Swiss Family Lang-Newkirk 