Barcelona

We've seldom been less prepared for a destination than we were for Barcelona. Normally we try to know at least a little of the language, a bit about the place and a vague idea of what we're going to do there, but because this part of the itinerary was finalised at the last minute none of those could be ticked off.

First impressions were great, the sights of the King's palace and the old converted bull ring (now a shopping centre) on the drive in from the airport were very cool. Our apartment also looked good, despite being once again in a slightly 'bohemian' part of town, with some nice little touches like a welcoming bottle of wine and our host Esther meeting us there and taking us through everything. There was also some useful info about what to do and local restaurants and such which helped to partially lift the lid on our complete ignorance.

Fortunately my friend Cristina lived in Barcelona for a few years, and had visited there again in the past month or so, and I got a timely email from her with a bunch of suggestions of some things to do to experience the 'real' Barcelona. None of these required me to institute radical austerity measures, which was appreciated.

Austerity measures are having a noticable effect on Barcelona however, apparently having competely removed all trace of taste from the coffee. I'd been warned previously that coffee in Barcelona wasn't good, and that turned out to be all too true. I'd been lulled in to a false sense of security by the first coffee I tried - at the popular Ciudad Condal tapas bar on the evening of our arrival - which was actually pretty good. Most of the rest we tried unfortunately ranged from very ordinary to completely undrinkable.

First night at Ciudad Condal

I've been meaning to comment on European television ads and keep forgetting to, but some seen in Barcelona were too remarkable to go, er, unremarked. Admittedly the language barrier adds a layer of obfuscation that separates the viewer even more than normal from the ad maker's creative vision, however the general level of 'what the.,.?' encountered is quite heroic. A favourite of mine was a complex narrative involving a Roman senator, a baboon and a man in car which was utterly bewildering.

Anyway, Barcelona. Our first full day was spent doing the obligatory wander down La Rambla from the Plaza Catalunya to the Port, along with every other tourist in the city. We searched in vain for a good lunch option down at the Port, since we were too hot, hungry and lazy to walk back to La Rambla. (My train of thought was interrupted here by being crapped on by a pigeon while trying to finish this blog entry while around the pool at Jack and Laura's hotel in Mallorca).

Struggling to think of too much of interest for this. The second day was largely taken up with Gerri and Tara doing a trip to the zoo, while I stayed back and did a bit of work and blog writing,

Tara working out what she's looking at

Good intentions of cooking meals failed to be realised yet again and most meals ended up being out at restaurants still, which were cheap enough so it didn't really matter. We had a local Moritz brewery/cafe/restaurant just around the corner from our apartment which turned out to be a good option for decent cheap meals and relatively drinkable coffee (and of course, beer!).

Moritz brewery

Tara and reflected Gerri at Moritz

On our last day we finally got out and saw a bit more of Barcelona. Starting with a brief visit to Gaudi's impressive Sagrada Familia we then headed to another of Cristina's recommendations - Café Mauri - for lunch, which was really good. On the way home we walked along the Rambla de Catalunya, a beautiful boulevard lined with shops, where we picked up a couple of things to increase the strain on our baggage allowance. Tara did very well by walking almost all the way from Mauri to our apartment, which was a decent hike.

Finished any year now...

Slightly better than the one in Melbourne

The next day we were travelling to Mallorca, and the combination of looking forward to this part of the holiday coupled with a relatively ordinary experience with our accommodation in Barcelona meant that we weren't all that sad to be leaving. Barcelona airport did nothing to increase our remorse, being as humid as I suspect it's possible for an airport to be that isn't actually under water. It also provided the most expensive and least enjoyable meal we'd had in Barcelona (or Europe so far, for that matter).

Vueling Airlines delivered the final coup de grâce by running our flight over an hour late and providing no information to passengers what so ever between the original boarding time and the final departure. In hindsight this seems less surprising given that my query at the gate lounge about whether we got boarding priority with a small child was met by the response 'which flight?'. Insert stony faced look of disbelief.