Barcelona

Friday 25th September

Barcelona.

Leaving France was a bit tricky with a few transfers involved: dropping car, catching train to border between France & Spain, changing train at border, finding metro train connection & finding hotel & confirming reservations. But this physical relocation coupled with glimpses at/of the changing landscape – the Mediterranean, buildings (Perpignan where we dropped in the hire car and bought lunch – looks a bit like Spain) did not prepare us for the full on blast of sounds, smells, grime, heat and energy of Barcelona – having a ball in its own nightmare.

Michael did a wonderful job of driving 2500 km zig zagging across France on a brilliant itinerary prepared by Karol. All the rooms and meals were lovely and each town had spectacular gifts to share which all contributed to the culture shock of Spain. We were bowled over by the arguments happening all over the place, between passengers and train station guards, women and men, waiters and their bosses. Just bloody amazing and then to add to the tension we had arrived in the middle of the Barcelona festival – a celebration of being Barcelona by Barcelona (a perfect excuse for Barcelonans to say, “I am a Barcelonan and I am proud of it” and they did - with every step they strode out aggressively, with every look sizing you up). And the stress increased by the non-stop stories of the past 12 months that the pick pockets of Barcelona were the best in the world and to watch out because any interaction with the locals no matter how innocuous or innocent could be a set-up for getting your pockets picked – bloody hell. Get me back to France right now – immediately and back to the safety of the myriad thousands of grey power tourists, all ambling along at their jolly own peaceful pace, serenely queuing at their latest tour hotspot – yep France was lovely, peaceful, spectacular and clean with brilliant attention to detail.

Our disposition on arrival after 10-11 hours of travelling was not assisted by the reception at our hotel – the young beautiful woman behind the counter made it obvious that our presence was not to be dignified by her gloriousness and there was a total lack of the graciousness, understanding and friendliness which we had become used to in France (and this manner / attitude was to be experienced again and again – obviously the Spaniards begrudgingly accept the outstretched tourist hand and reluctantly, with a slight distaste, pluck the euros from our fingers). Also it seemed as though the receptionist had marked our score card and apparently we had failed our first test, whether we were worthy human beings or what? And as our balloon gently deflated, they were well and truly flattened as we struggled into the stale, smoky, grimy, bare, dark, smelly, little rooms. OH dear what are we doing here? We all must’ve thought and the dawning realisation that although there was heaps of energy in Spain it was not directed to maintenance and customer service. And no WiFi!

No matter but, we headed out into the darkening streets and the endless throngs of crowds doing La Rambla which was full to bursting with an endless sea of arguing, shouting faces all trying to pick my pocket. But we continued our aimless wandering, got some cash out without mishap, let a doorman talk us into his tapa establishment, had a litre of sangria each, but what was that drumming sound gradually getting louder and louder – the Barcelona festival parade of dragons and groups of drummers of course. There must’ve been about 30 different bands of drummers all dancing to a different beat, fantastic & amazing. So as expected Mary (Connors/Verwey party animal) was out first and I followed after paying the bill which was grossly inflated by Spanish method of creative accounting (I suspect the pick pockets have left Barcelona because the waiters are fleecing their unsuspecting tourists whilst face to face with delightful smiles ) – however, whatever, we watched the whole parade clapping and shouting our approval “BARCELONA IS THE BEST”. We tramped along behind the last float and salsa drumming band to the Placa di Reial where there were fireworks, men, women, children and families (our first rave, haha) AND the Go Team was going to play, but we headed home instead. Where we passed the pimps, prostitutes and porn shops at the corner next to our hotel without mishap and fell asleep.