Barcelona, Day 1: Getting My Bearings

Definitely on Barcelona time now.  Went to bed at midnight, woke up at 9, puttered around until 10:30, praying for my luggage (no such luck). Decided it was time the face the world in the same clothes I had on yesterday and went forth to scrounge. Headed down to Las Ramblas just because it's a nice landmark to work from and "downtown" toward the harbor into the Barri Gotic. Only the tourists and the religious were out that early, I discovered. Barcelonans like their Sunday mornings either at church or in bed, apparently. These are definitely my kinda people. About two thirds of the shops were closed, and remained so, which was a refreshing change from the greed-induced hours New York keeps. It was nice to wander around in the relatively uncrowded back streets and soak up the atmosphere. I love the incongruities that living in a part of town that's been standing since the Middle Ages brings: tiny narrow streets of stone with a decidedly antique atmosphere punctuated by neighborhood convenience stores and the sounds of Spanish rap.

I'd forgotten how much I love Europe, and how very, very different it is from even the old parts of the States. You can smell how old it is, and not in a bad way: there's just a little mustiness overlaying everything, like a well-aged cheese. It's not dank and nasty but you know it's old. And it's hard for me not to think of how much this really must have stunk in the Middle Ages, with folks emptying their nightsoil out the windows into the gutters. Of course, I would think of that.  But it's hard to escape how old everything is, especially in that part of town. Anyway, I was so happy to be abroad again that I almost burst into tears in the middle of the street. Here's the pic of the day, of the Barri Gotic:

Barcelona is an eminently walkable city. I expected to get repeatedly lost in the warren of streets, but though I can't say I always knew where I was, it was easy to figure it out from a map eventually because there's a courtyard or plaza or landmark at regularly punctuated intervals. It's good to know my sense of direction and navigator's nose is still sharp too. Only once did I wind up going in a circle and that was only because the streets wouldn't cooperate and kept making me go left. And I still found my way around easily. Street signs are the hardest part of navigating around. They're not always easily visible, perched up around the second story of some building on the corner—unless it's been recently renovated with display windows, in which case, there might be an actual street sign on a pole instead. Maybe.

But the blocks are short, and I have a hunch I walked a lot farther than I'd thought I would today, with stops for window shopping, breakfast (the flakiest custard-filled croissant I've ever had and a cafe con leche), lunch (at a place called Navarro on Passeig de Gracia, which I think I might go back to when I'm in that area, to try the fish soup and/or pulpo) and general people watching. I kept running into stuff that was familiar from the guidebooks (Casa Batllo, Casa Mila, the Camper Store, certain streets), so I almost felt like I knew where I was going already. The people I've met so far have been lovely, and language has only been a minor problem when I stopped to buy postcards and couldn't get the correct change from the old man in his tiny used bookstore. My spidey sense was telling me he was trying to gull an extra two euros out of the tourista, but maybe I'm just a suspicious New Yorker. Didn't work, anyway, so we could both pretend it was just a mistake without leaving anybody feeling mean. It was an incredibly beautiful day: sunny, breezy, around 60, so I spent as much time outdoors as my dogs could take.

Stumbled into the Cathedral (not Sagrada Familia, which is a temple, not the city's Cathedral) but confined myself to the cloister as it was Sunday (didn't want to gawk and disrupt other people's time in church). This is definitely not an English cloister. It was much smaller than, say, Westminster's, more like a courtyard, actually, and filled with a fountain, orange trees, palms, and a flock of geese. The pond had koi, too. And there was the original medieval drinking fountain with running taps that people are still drinking from. Uh, except me. Not that adventurous. Anyway, nothing chilly about this cloister. It's almost Moorish, except that it's all Gothic fan vaulting. It's the vegetation that makes it feel Arabic. You're lucky if you got a scraggly tree (Salisbury) in the English cloisters. I wasn't looking that close, but there were gravestones from the 17th century too, and some kind of decorative flagstones with a boot, clearly very old, but without an inscription. I wonder if they mark a guildsman's grave or or a guild contribution or something. Took lots of pictures today, but not an obnoxious tourist amount. I don't really want to spend my vacation editing photos, so I'll upload one a day, and then have a link to a new batch on Flickr after I get home.

Came back for a nap about 3:30. Luggage arrived shortly after (big sigh of relief) after making a round trip to NYC. Just glad it wasn't me. Now I'm gonna go get me some Cuban food for dinner.

Comments

[Rob]

Yay! You're there! And so are your clothes!

This sounds like a heavenly place. And you're exactly right about how different Europe is -- I had the same feelings when I was in Edinburgh about three summers ago.

Looking forward to reading more about Barcelona. Drink a cafe con leche for me!

[Kristin]

No, you're not being overly suspicious about not getting the correct change. In Brussels once a ticket seller at the train station brazenly gave my husband and me insufficient change. Though we didn't speak French, we had a pen and a scrap of paper and demonstrated what the mathematics of our transaction actually was and the amount of change we were supposed to get. He then grudgingly gave us what we were due. So keep that in mind as a way to protect yourself against the occasional ripoff artist who emerges amid the vast majority of honest and fair people.

[Lee Kottner]

Thanks for reaffirming my suspicions, Kristin. My aggressive New Yorker persona was yelling (inside) "Hey, don't act dumb! You know you're trying to keep that 2 euro coin I gave you first before I realized I'd have to give you fiver instead. Cough up, dude!" My trying-not-to-be-ugly-American tourist with limited Spanish was gently insisting there was a coin missing. No harm done, anyway, as it all worked out. There's always one, isn't there?
Rob, I've had three cafe con leches today and one is yours, if I hope to sleep tonight. Here's hoping I'm pooped enough to buck the caffeine.

[Roger]

Well...TypePad managed to delete my previous comment on this post although I had already signed in. Now I am unable to sign in at all. Page not found. Hmmm.

Anyway, sounds as if your sojourn is going well, sans fresh clothes. Am playing catchup on your posts. Enjoy that wonderful city and its people. And yes, con artists are eveywhere.