Exploring Barcelona
Coffee, some fruit and a delicious potato from a deli along the way – roasted to perfection in olive oil till crisp on the base and sprinkled with pepper . . . so simple . . . so tasty. Sagrada Familia was just as awesome on the interior – perhaps even more so. The stained glass windows were massive and vibrant . . . blues, greens and yellows on one side of the building. . . reds, orange and yellow the other . . . alive with the sunlight streaming through and bathing the stark whites and pale greys of the pillars in a wash of rainbow colours. Organ music periodically filled the space with body-vibrating sound as people wandered in hushed silence – attempting to take in the splendour.
Our ticket included a visit up one of the completed towers – elevator up . . . walk down. The attendant, with deadpan face, asked (once the lift doors were firmly shut and escape was impossible) whether any of us suffered from vertigo or claustrophobia, now was the time to back out. There was just the tiniest of viewing sections at the top (we almost missed it) . . . but incredible views across the city and an up-close look at some of the bizarre coloured ‘baubles’ atop some of the spires. One section currently being constructed showed – what to us – looked like vastly under-engineered metal bolts with which to connect the next bit of spire. Not much more than toothpicks!! The narrow stone staircase spiraled down and down – giving glimpses of the ground far below. I started counting the steps, but there was young English couple ahead – she was chattering (more to herself I think) in order NOT to think about the cramped, almost mesmerizing spiraling down – he offering up humourous insights to distract her and wondering, with dry English wit, how difficult would it be to carpet these stairs. It’s hard to keep counting while laughing. Definitely more than 200.
New phone card installed – thanks to the Kiosk owner.. Apparently here you are required to enter info from your passport when obtaining sim cards . . . but no matter how hard he and I tried to locate ‘country of issue’ in his Vodaphone computer system there was nothing for UK, United Kingdom. Great Britain, GB, England, Inglaterra, British Isles . . . he finally gave up and put in Singapore – it was accepted!
We hopped on and off buses with our passes . . . first visiting The Arc de Triomphe . . . yes, really. Meandering through tall, narrow lanes festooned with wrought iron balconies, plants and shutters.
Crossing one plaza the strains of Recuerdos drifted past our ears, and there was a single guitarist.
Then out of nowhere was a community garden where everything looked as though it had been saved/salvaged/ donated/grown. It was a delightfully shady oasis . . . winding paths under a massive wisteria . . . a wall of planters made from old wooden pallets . . . an ‘insect hotel’ with bamboo stems, pine cones and drilled rounds of wood . . . several huge cactus and succulent gardens . . . and a children’s playground. (see below)
Beginning to flag somewhat, the smell of coffee and fresh bread instantly drew our attention, and we happily rested tired feet and tucked into flaky pastries and hot coffee (it would be a long wait until the dinner hour in Spain). Came across an unusual Gaudi building — The Tile House — quite striking. And then, walking back to the apartment, I noticed a red brick wall with a series of spaced gates . . . some reading Sol . . . others Sombre. This was an old bullring! Now turned into a museum about bullfighting . . . . AND it just so happened to be right across the street from where we were staying. The street was so tree-lined I hadn’t noticed the curved inner walls.
Dinner at Gigi’s was a five minute stroll. Highly recommended for its tapas, it was accordingly busy, but the camarero soon had us seated at one of the outdoor tables and we sipped dewy glasses of beer while perusing the menu of assorted tapas. We opted for Croquettas (ham and cheese balls, breaded and deep fried with an alioli sauce (one HAS to have croquettas!), Mussels in a creamed curry and white wine sauce, and lamb tabbouleh. The croquettes were excellent – hot and crispy . . . the mussels delicious with just a hint of lemon peel in the delicate curry sauce (wish they had brought bread to mop up the remains) . . . but the lamb was sublime. A thick chunk of fork-tender lamb cooked to perfection and nestled on a bed of tabbouleh salad and topped with wine-simmered onion marmalade. OOoohhhh . . . it was one of those dishes you wish would never end. So we ordered a second . . . and it was just as good as the first. The days of cheap tapas have long gone, as they’ve become more popular and upscale . . . but these were worth every penny. What a way to end our stay in Barcelona.
