So as I mentioned at the end of my last post, I had decided to do the Responsible Backpacker on a Budget thing and take the one super-slow ghetto train from Madrid to Barcelona, and thus a trip that could have taken 2 hours on a high-speed train at a cost of 125 euros instead took ten, for 55. Getting up really early has never been my forte, but I did make it to the station and on my train no problem. What a sad sorry bucket this train was though. Seats that did not recline, armrests that did not go up (so no sprawling across two seats), no tray table, no cafe car. Luckily I had anticipated this last given the price, so had stocked up on lunch, snacks and drinks at the station. Thank goodness there at least was a toilet. I don't think we made it over 50 miles an our the whole time.
Actually had a pretty okay ride though, believe it or not. Took two naps (I love you, inflatable neck pillow), ate my food and stared out the window. West-central Spain is breathtaking. I had no idea parts of Spain were such straight-out desert. I think I watched for well over an hour before seeing a natural source of water. Spain's colors are burnt orange and olive green, the orange soil fading to whiter limestone as you get closer to the coast. Eventually we reached the sea and traveled along that for the last few hours. I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking at the Mediterranean.
My hostel-provided directions from the station were extremely vague. I suppose I really am getting better at this though, and was able to figure it out with no difficulty. The only bad thing that happened is that Barcelona's metro stations and trains are boiling hot for some reason. And crowded. So of course I had no seat, and am standing in this packed car with the sweat literally pouring off my body. I look down and see that my arms have turned magenta, so I can only imagine how my face looks. Just one giant, unhappy moist tomato with a tremendous blue tumor that keeps bumping into everyone. The backpacker experience at its best.
At least I did not get lost.
BCN Casanova (don't be misled by the name, it's just on Casanova Street), had advertised themselves as being an exceptionally quiet hostel. That was why I booked it, and was quite pleased to see that they seemed to practice what they preached. There were signs everywhere warning folks not to get drunk at the hostel, and to observe the 11 PM quiet time rule. After the disaster that was Porto, I can't have too many assurances that a giant group of Germans won't be out to ruin my stay.
My long travel day on the SlowBoatTrain to Barcelona meant that I was pretty tired, so just picked up dinner at a local market with the intention of eating in the hostel and enjoying their Quiet Rule for an early night. However, I did not count on meeting Erwin, a truly awesome young man from Holland. We ended up staying up a little late, and yes, even getting a little drunk despite hostel rules. Crap, we were those guys!! We were super quiet though, so hardly on par with the Germans. :)
While drinking and chatting with Erwin, I decided that I wanted to spend my first day in Barcelona just hanging out on the beach. After the summer sauna that was Madrid, it just didn't cross my mind that I would wake up and find Barcelona cool and rainy!! :( Not beach weather. I was disappointed and kind of left without a plan for the day. I ended up having a slow morning, reading through my guidebook and just catching up on emails and what not. Sometimes the boring shit needs to get done, even if you are in one of the top cities in Europe. Also, it meant I got to wait out the rain.
When I finally ventured out, it was lunchtime already so I stopped for a quick pizza (again, sorry Spain), and then headed down to the famous Las Ramblas.
I shamefully forgot to mention this earlier, but I have actually been to Spain before. When I was 17, I went on a 10-day tour with my wonderful high school Creative Writing teacher, Doc. This woman remains one of my most important influences and mentors, and she was a very big part of my high school life. One of the amazing things she did was head off to Europe every Spring Break... and any students who wanted to could go with her. Of course I did not realize the magnitude of her selflessness at the time, but now looking back I remain just so utterly floored that she was willing to spend her Spring Break -- her time in Europe -- shepherding a bunch of clueless, ridiculous freaking teenagers. I. Don't. Even. It's nothing I would ever do, be sure of that.
We visited a bunch of places mostly in southern Spain, and this is a big reason why I decided not to hit up Granada, Seville, and Cordoba. We did visit Madrid, of course, but to be perfectly honest it was at the end of the trip and I remembered nothing about the city except Goya's Black Paintings at the Prado. But Barcelona, we visited first and I remembered quite a bit about this city. In particular, I remembered that it was my favorite place of anywhere we visited in Spain. So I was very excited to venture out and see how the city in front of me measured up to my memories.
One of the things I'd loved best about Barcelona (back when I was a teenager and an idiot) was Las Ramblas, a street with an usually wide median that has become utterly thronged with kitch of every type imaginable. Human statues, flower sellers, souvenir kiosks, caricature artists, hawkers selling this thing you put in your mouth so you could quack like a duck... and of course -- epic, epic crowds of tourists.
For some reason what I remember most about Barcelona was walking up and down this stupid street, paying way too much money to the human statues so they'd change position, buying overpriced cheap junk, and even getting a group caricature done of my friends and I which we later presented to Doc.
Ugh.
At any rate, I amused the hell out of myself, walking through this madness and remembering how awesome I thought it used to be. One thing that was kind of neat -- I remembered this plaza where you could pay undoubtedly too much money and get birdseed to feed the throngs of pigeons. Somewhere in a box in a drawer is a photo of me in all my stupid teenage gothness, covered in pigeons. Somehow, miraculously, I did not get pooped on. Pigeon poop would have been really embarrassing against black velvet.
Well, turns out this plaza is the Plaza Catalunya, right at the top of Las Ramblas. And yes, the birdseed-sellers were still right there, along with all the fat happy pigeons and fat happy tourists.
Anyway, I got myself a big tourist ice cream cone and walked all the way down to the end of Las Ramblas, next to the port. I explored that for a bit, then found my way to the beach and decided that, cloudy day or no, I really did just want to sit for a bit. Got a "drink deal of the day" tequila sunrise at a beach bar before I noticed the market where I could have gotten a big beer for a euro instead. So I did that next, and went out to get my feet all sandy one more time.
Then I had to head home because I had signed up to do a Tapas and Flamenco tour that evening. The tour began at a bar off of Las Ramblas, a bar that proudly and loudly advertised that they catered to the backpacker and budget traveler So I was a little surprised when my draft beer was 3.60 euros. That is... kind of a lot. The tour started late, and then they started to go out the door without ever having gotten around to me with the sign-up sheet, even though I'd told them that I was here for the tour. So I had some sardonic enjoyment politely calling them out on that. They took us to this tiny place filled utterly with tourists. I don't think there was a single Spanish person in the audience. Beer was four euros. My unimpressed face was just getting grimmer and grimmer.
Then the show started. There was a longish instrumental piece and then finally the dancer came out. Wearing a very modern and subdued black dress. Not exactly what I was expecting... she danced for maybe four minutes, then the male dancer came out and they did a short number together.
Then they went off and there were another two or three long instrumental numbers. Finally the woman came back on again... to stand behind a microphone (for some reason, because she never actually sang), and the guy did a long dance number by himself. And that was... it. The whole show lasted less than half an hour. I'm sorry, but no one goes to a flamenco show to see men. I was so disappointed I can't even tell you. I felt the entire show was nothing but a grudging bone thrown to the tourists. Bah. All I could think of was the tremendous Fado that Yes! Hostel had recommended back in Lisbon, and just kept saying to myself "Dammit, Yes! would have known better than to send me here."
After that, I was pretty sure our tapas would consist of maybe two or three dishes and one very tiny glass of sangria... but actually both the food and drink flowed plentifully. That made me happy because I was starving but once again was disappointed because the food was just brought out in big bowls with no presentation or explanation. I would have liked something along the lines of "So this is a traditional Catalan dish, and is made by..." but no. I was also kind of way too old for this crowd. I sat next to a young girl from South Africa and it took me something like four or five tries to get her to understand that -- yes, there is a country named Georgia, and I teach there. Not in the American state of Georgia. When it finally sunk in, she tried to cover her embarrassment by saying flippantly "Well, if I talked about Durban you wouldn't know where that was either," and I politely refrained from telling her that yes, I had in fact heard of that city in South Africa, and also that there was kind of a difference between knowing about a random city in a foreign country, and knowing about an entire country.
I left when they started to do the pub quiz. I'm too old for this shit. But I sure learned a lot about plunking down my money for hostel tours in any hostel that isn't Yes!. I walked in the rain through the awesome alleyways of the gothic district and found a metro by a miracle.
Actually had a pretty okay ride though, believe it or not. Took two naps (I love you, inflatable neck pillow), ate my food and stared out the window. West-central Spain is breathtaking. I had no idea parts of Spain were such straight-out desert. I think I watched for well over an hour before seeing a natural source of water. Spain's colors are burnt orange and olive green, the orange soil fading to whiter limestone as you get closer to the coast. Eventually we reached the sea and traveled along that for the last few hours. I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking at the Mediterranean.
My hostel-provided directions from the station were extremely vague. I suppose I really am getting better at this though, and was able to figure it out with no difficulty. The only bad thing that happened is that Barcelona's metro stations and trains are boiling hot for some reason. And crowded. So of course I had no seat, and am standing in this packed car with the sweat literally pouring off my body. I look down and see that my arms have turned magenta, so I can only imagine how my face looks. Just one giant, unhappy moist tomato with a tremendous blue tumor that keeps bumping into everyone. The backpacker experience at its best.
At least I did not get lost.
BCN Casanova (don't be misled by the name, it's just on Casanova Street), had advertised themselves as being an exceptionally quiet hostel. That was why I booked it, and was quite pleased to see that they seemed to practice what they preached. There were signs everywhere warning folks not to get drunk at the hostel, and to observe the 11 PM quiet time rule. After the disaster that was Porto, I can't have too many assurances that a giant group of Germans won't be out to ruin my stay.
My long travel day on the Slow
While drinking and chatting with Erwin, I decided that I wanted to spend my first day in Barcelona just hanging out on the beach. After the summer sauna that was Madrid, it just didn't cross my mind that I would wake up and find Barcelona cool and rainy!! :( Not beach weather. I was disappointed and kind of left without a plan for the day. I ended up having a slow morning, reading through my guidebook and just catching up on emails and what not. Sometimes the boring shit needs to get done, even if you are in one of the top cities in Europe. Also, it meant I got to wait out the rain.
When I finally ventured out, it was lunchtime already so I stopped for a quick pizza (again, sorry Spain), and then headed down to the famous Las Ramblas.
I shamefully forgot to mention this earlier, but I have actually been to Spain before. When I was 17, I went on a 10-day tour with my wonderful high school Creative Writing teacher, Doc. This woman remains one of my most important influences and mentors, and she was a very big part of my high school life. One of the amazing things she did was head off to Europe every Spring Break... and any students who wanted to could go with her. Of course I did not realize the magnitude of her selflessness at the time, but now looking back I remain just so utterly floored that she was willing to spend her Spring Break -- her time in Europe -- shepherding a bunch of clueless, ridiculous freaking teenagers. I. Don't. Even. It's nothing I would ever do, be sure of that.
We visited a bunch of places mostly in southern Spain, and this is a big reason why I decided not to hit up Granada, Seville, and Cordoba. We did visit Madrid, of course, but to be perfectly honest it was at the end of the trip and I remembered nothing about the city except Goya's Black Paintings at the Prado. But Barcelona, we visited first and I remembered quite a bit about this city. In particular, I remembered that it was my favorite place of anywhere we visited in Spain. So I was very excited to venture out and see how the city in front of me measured up to my memories.
 |
| Catalunya Plaza |
 |
| ... yeah. |
Ugh.
At any rate, I amused the hell out of myself, walking through this madness and remembering how awesome I thought it used to be. One thing that was kind of neat -- I remembered this plaza where you could pay undoubtedly too much money and get birdseed to feed the throngs of pigeons. Somewhere in a box in a drawer is a photo of me in all my stupid teenage gothness, covered in pigeons. Somehow, miraculously, I did not get pooped on. Pigeon poop would have been really embarrassing against black velvet.
Well, turns out this plaza is the Plaza Catalunya, right at the top of Las Ramblas. And yes, the birdseed-sellers were still right there, along with all the fat happy pigeons and fat happy tourists.
 |
| Did not get covered in pigeons this time around. |
 |
| Never gets old. |
Then the show started. There was a longish instrumental piece and then finally the dancer came out. Wearing a very modern and subdued black dress. Not exactly what I was expecting... she danced for maybe four minutes, then the male dancer came out and they did a short number together.
 |
| Not exactly a spectacle. |
After that, I was pretty sure our tapas would consist of maybe two or three dishes and one very tiny glass of sangria... but actually both the food and drink flowed plentifully. That made me happy because I was starving but once again was disappointed because the food was just brought out in big bowls with no presentation or explanation. I would have liked something along the lines of "So this is a traditional Catalan dish, and is made by..." but no. I was also kind of way too old for this crowd. I sat next to a young girl from South Africa and it took me something like four or five tries to get her to understand that -- yes, there is a country named Georgia, and I teach there. Not in the American state of Georgia. When it finally sunk in, she tried to cover her embarrassment by saying flippantly "Well, if I talked about Durban you wouldn't know where that was either," and I politely refrained from telling her that yes, I had in fact heard of that city in South Africa, and also that there was kind of a difference between knowing about a random city in a foreign country, and knowing about an entire country.
I left when they started to do the pub quiz. I'm too old for this shit. But I sure learned a lot about plunking down my money for hostel tours in any hostel that isn't Yes!. I walked in the rain through the awesome alleyways of the gothic district and found a metro by a miracle.
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