So, a lot has changed since 1974, no? Though my departure tune of Never Been to Spain was not quite accurate, and I don't think there is a Never Been to Catalonia out there, nearly three and a half decades is like going to a city for the first time. Though the hazy wisps of memory made it even more enticing.
So before I post more detailed recollections, slides shows (from 850+ still images plus video) and reflections, I thought I'd start with the barest of details for my week's itinerary, knowing that I've left of many of the shorter stops from the various days.
DAY 1 - Arriving around 7:30 p.m. or 19:30 allowed me plenty of time to get rest before even thinking about the evening meal. My home for the week, Hotel Dante on
Mallorca, was located in the near left side, or
L'Esquerra, of
L'Eixample. Everyone seems to have a comparison for Barcelona, especially
L'Eixample. Its east or right, rather
Dreta, is considered more fashionable not unlike the Upper East Side. The main boulevard,
Passeig de Gracia gets compared to everything from Champs-
Elysées,
Michigan Avenue and Park and Fifth avenues. None, of course, can claim two significant
Gaudi buildings on their resume. I can't remember much about the restaurant where I had my first meal, and my main criteria was being able to have a table outside to enjoy the crisp autumn Mediterranean air. The broken Catalan/Spanish of the Asian waiter improved my confidence that I would be able to communicate for the week. The most striking image from my evening's stroll (besides the countless striking
catalaniste men) was the number of elderly people on both sides of
L'Eixample and their incredible grace and sense of style. No grannies in tennis shoes and sweats in this city, and most of them were out walking fussy, pampered little designer dogs.
DAY 2 - I decided to get a couple of the most annoyingly touristy spots out of the way as soon as possible. The queue outside of La
Pedrera/
Casa Mila was not as annoying long as I'd dreaded, and it was only five blocks away from the Dante. Seeing the panoramic view of the city, the hills, the Mediterranean at 9 a.m. on your first full day is a breathtaking way to start a tour of the city.
Sagrada Familia, the
Gaudi (or alternately
gaudy) cathedral under construction for a century came next which may have been a mistake since the queue was even longer, the panhandlers aggressive and the sun bordering on a bit intense. My time there was fairly brief.
I spent the rest of the day doing a
Modernisme tour of less
austentatious works of
Gaudi in the
Dreta. And, as with trips to Chicago and quick burn out on Wright (whom I've always considered a pretender in the shadow of Sullivan), I was soon falling for the charms of
Puig,
Domenech and other lesser known architects. More importantly, I enjoyed just taking in daily life in the
Dreta, following elderly couples would home with a loaf of pa, watching a wealthy dowager descend the marble steps of her building to get into her
Citroen being dusted artfully by her driver.
As evening arrived, I spent a limited time on La
Rambla (as if I needed Pier 39 style
touristas on my own holiday) and enjoying the sort of Columbus Circle feel of
Placa de Catalunya.
DAY 3 - Since I'd made reservations for
Set Portes, I planned to spend most of the day in that art of the city, though I ended up being along the waterfront and Barri
Gotic and saved the Born for later in the week.
There are certainly parallels to the waterfront and San Francisco, and by this point the phalanx of tourists was getting to me. Set
Portes was memorable, and I can now say that I've eaten in at least two restaurants where Catherine
Deneuve (the other being Cafe 49 in Hanoi) has also dined, but I was disappointed that I could not track down the evidence of a visit by Che
Guevara mentioned on their website.
I also took in
Casa Battlo, which amazingly was not nearly as jam
packed at La
Pedrera.
DAY 4 - Though I did virtually all the rest of the visit on foot, wanting to get as much of the details of the city that way, I did take the 24 bus to
Parc Guell, after a fairly late start since I'd had my first full night of sleep after having more jet lag than usual.
Parc Guell is an inevitable part of any Barcelona journey but not necessarily relaxing until you get fairly far up the hill. I opted not to take the bus back and strolled through parts of the blandly suburban Gracia which was fascinating to watch for glimpsing
Cataliste middle class life.
I later checked out a bit of
el ambiente ( the atmosphere, as the gay scene is called in most Spanish meccas), since my hotel was in the heart of it. Called
Gaixample (which, depending on one's Catalan or Spanish sort of sounds like Gay Shamble), it had some of the usual shops and rainbow flags and knowing glances of men I passed on the street but also had a comforting sense of irrelevance, none of the annoying self importance of the Castro, and I saw a lot more male couples holding hands on
Passeig de Garcia than in this much more subdued neighborhood. I did have a couple of drinks at a bar called La
Chapelle on Casanova that greatly reminded me of a couple of Upper West Side bars of the late 1980s to early 1990s, though much less intense and desperate, more brightly lit and with a much more welcoming neighborhood feel. An British woman sat drinking a coke while her eight-year-0
ld son sat on her lap intently watching Some Like It Hot that was playing on a monitor with the volume down and English subtitles.
DAY 5 - I wanted to experience the Born by walking down
Passeig Saint Joan, passing through the Arc
de Triomf and into
Parc Ciutadella which proved to proved the quiet, urban refuge not afforded in
Parc Guell.
It was too early to visit the zoo, and I really don't enjoy seeing animals caged, so I spent most of the morning in the Born just before businesses were opening up and enjoying watching the neighborhood wake up before going to the Picasso museum.
Since my time was so brief this trip and my sense of geography was a bit off, I thought I was not going to have time for
Montjuic and was sorely disappointed but decided to head over just to say I'd at least glanced at it and was pleasantly surprised to realized just how close it was and that I had enough time to see the bulk of
Museu Nacional Art
d'Catalonya.
The Romanesque collection lived up to its reputation, but I tend to agree with those who believe that it should not be there but back in the Pyrenees. What excited me more were a wealth of 19
th century and early 20
th century Catalan painters I'd never heard of, Claudio
Lorenzale and Roman
Ribera being two absolute favorites.
As a finale, I had my last meal at
Casa Calvert, a wonderfully subdued
Gaudi building that restored my respect in him and, to me, ranked a notch or to above Set
Portes.
DAY 6 - Not a day really, but departure at a civilized 9 a.m., but leaving me at once sad to leave but inspired to return.
Labels: Barcelona, Catalonia, joy, Spain
One of the great things about having a dog in your life is that you have a series of familiar routines that shape your life and give it order.
