Tenth Stop: Barcelona

I apologize for the delay on this post (like anyone really cares), but rather than getting situated in front of a computer the night before I left town, I was pressured into going to the bar. It happens.

One of the more unfortunate side effects of traveling to London was the fact that I actually had to back track my way to Paris before I hopped on a train to Barcelona. This means that I willingly opted for a 24-hour bus-ferry-train-night train trip that left my utterly exhausted. Luckily, I finally got to experience a proper night train, bed and all.

Because the ferry was late, I didn't get to take the train from Calais to Paris that I had hoped, but I managed to hop on another TGV that got me to the Paris train station with plenty of time to spare. The night train itself was interesting to say the least. You enter into a small room, not nearly large enough to comfortably house two, only to find that there are three other full grown men that are going to be sleeping in the space with you that night.

As it turns out, the other people in the cabin were very friendly and I felt a certain camaraderie by the morning. I met a guy named Ryan from Portland who was a graphic artist and we got along quite well. Weird things happen in Europe. Oddly enough, Ryan will be mentioned later in this blog as this was not the last time we saw each other. The train employee came in and laid out our four tiny beds like a mother telling her kids that it was time for bed. We obliged.

The hostel, Sant Jordi Arago Hostel, was located in a fairly ritzy area of Barcelona near many shops with Italian names selling over-priced jackets and watches. It was right down the block from Gaudi´s Casa Batllo and across the street from the Antoni Tapies museum with its crazy wire sculpture adorning its roof. The hostel itself is really nice - the people are friendly, the bathrooms and beds are clean, and there is a common room with a huge TV if that´s what you are into. I shower and put my bag in the room and I take off.

Having taken the night train, I have the whole day ahead of me to do some serious sightseeing. I take a walk down Barcelona´s most famous street, Las Ramblas. It is a pedestrian area that extends from a plaza near my hostel a few kilometers to the ocean. The whole street is packed full of people as far as the eye can see. There are cafes and pet shops and, of course, obligatory street performers dressed in their costume of choice. Interestingly enough, the first thing I see is a man covered in tattoos all over his body. One in particular resembles underwear that fails to cover the genitals, actually drawing attention to his enormous, Dirk Diggler genitals. I did a double take because this is not a typical sight for me. Then I realized he was actually wearing socks and sandals, so he wasn´t completely naked. Barcelona is a weird place.

I walked down to Barceloneta, a seaside neighborhood, and found a cheap seafood place to grab a meal. I end up getting some paella with mussels, scallops, prawns, pork, and some other assorted meats followed by a light-as-air piece of fish. It was exactly the kind of meal I was expecting from Barcelona. Accompanied with an ice cold beer, the whole meal cost me 8 euro. London is missed, but not missed that much.

I hop on the metro to head to Barcelona's most popular landmark, La Sagrada Familia. Whether you love his work or hate it, Antoni Gaudi has laid the plans for something truly amazing in this building. The attention to detail is unparalleled - the designs oozes religious symbolism and references to nature. The most interesting aspect of La Sagrada Familia is that in its present state, it is decades from completion. Construction crews are omnipresent (most of the buiding is a construction site), but the head project coordinator believes they won't finish for at least 20 years, which I think is an underestimate. However impressive as it is now, the size and stature of Gaudi's masterpiece wil increase tenfold when finished. I just hope I am alive to come back and see it.

Back at the hostel, I meet a guy named Tom who is going with a few Korean travelers to a cheap flamenco show later that night. I decide to tag along and I am glad that I did. The show was well worth it: a half hour of musicianship and flamenco tap dancing. Check out my pictures when you get the chance to see the raw emotion expressed in this show.

Excited after the show, the four of us decide to drink some wine and head out on the town. We eventually go to a bar called Dow Jones at which the prices are constantly displays on screens above the bar. Supposedly, the prices fluctuate based on market forces of the bar patrons, such that if whiskey is popular, the price of whiskey will rise and vice versa. I doubt the true free market nature of the system, but I enjoyed the novelty of the periodic "crash" in which all drinks got really cheap for 15 minutes.

Jae and Si Jun had an early bus the next morning, so Tom and I decide that we will stay awake until the morning with them. This proves short-lived as we put on the hilariously bad Hancock and fall asleep almost instantly.

The next morning I head over to the Parc Güell, another one of Gaudi's creations. The walk to the Parc was largely uphill and grueling as hell in the Barcelona heat. The trek was well worth it. The main entrance is marked by two buildings which would fit appropriately in a tripped out Magic Kingdom. The main staircase and pavilion are packed full of Gaudi's famous mosaics, vibrant and sparkling as always. The oddities don't stop here - there are curved asymmetric tunnels and jagged columns and, at the highest point of the hilltop park, three stone crosses atop a monument that offer a 360-degree panoramic view of the city.

After a short stop at the Picasso Museum, I returned to the hostel to find a totally new crew of people who had just checked in. They were mostly Americans from the West Coast and, as often happens when Americans get together in large groups, we all played drinking games until we could barely walk. Let me tell you, cheap gin can do some serious damage when consumed without taking breaths between drinks. I'm just glad I remembered to eat dinner.

After what felt like a fortnight of nonstop alcohol consumption, the entire hostel decided to head to a club nearby. We entered the club around 2 AM, early enough so there wasn't a cover charge (no typo there). I wish I could elaborate further at this point, but all I know is that I was doing quite a bit of dancing, most of which was probably done without a dance partner. I like to keep it simple. Fast forward three hours (because that's how my mind reconstructs the night anyway) and I was asleep in bed, fully clothed and sweaty, ready to awake the next morning in a dull-minded stupor. Dammit, Barcelona is fun!

The next morning I organized a little trip to the beach, a much needed relaxation period after a night of partying. The Oregon crew came, as did a few from L.A., and two brothers from Minnesota (a mechanical engineer my age and a biomedical engineer my brothers age - crazy coincidence). We took a metro down the coast a few stops rather than going to the densely-packed Barcelonetta beach, a popular spot that is notorious for small time pickpockets and thieves.

As we walked on the sand toward the water, I heard a voice call my name. I turned around and saw my buddy Ryan, the travel with whom I shared my sleeper train. As it turns out, Ryan went to school with one of the guys in the hostel; they even worked on the school newspaper together. So Ryan and his girlfriend joined us for a few cold beers on the beach.

I neglected to mention that this beach was a nude beach. I have heard the arguments against this sort of "clothing optional" rules at beaches. They usually go something like this: "Naked people are great and all, but there are some people that just shouldn't be naked in public". I guess that includes the overweight and unattractive - the should nots. Luckily, Spanish people are uncannily attractive in all regards - fit bodies, bronzed skin, sharply defined features. These people look much better than I do, with or without clothes. If they choose to sunbathe nude, there will hear no protest from me.

A beach day was muched needed. The pace at which I have been travelling has been grueling; sun-soaked respite accompanied by a few cervezas frias was a perfect way to end my time in Barcelona. No sights, no hectic metro rides, no exorbitant fee for entry. Just a regenerative, soul-soothing day en la playa.

I leave for Granada in the morning on a train that is entirely too long given the relatively short distance between Granada and Barcelona. The trip is coming to a close and it scares me!