08h22 GMT+2
…reluctantly crouched, at the starting line…
Good morning! Buenos dias! I had a terrible sleep lastnight and am now curled up around a cup of coffee in an IKEA Poäng chair, unsure what I think of the day.
I have little red raccoon eye outlines on my face from my sleep mask – which, (though it was not able to block out the sound of five people coming and going from my room through all hours of the night), has been doing some WORK. Many years ago Aidan gave me a neoprene mask that sits up off the eyes and this is the first trip that I’ve really employed it. Another 6/5 star rating: I wake up totally unsure what time it is, and it seems more willing/able to go back to sleep should I so choose. I think I’m going to try it out at home when I get back.
Why the poor sleep? Well, I’ll take most of the blame due to the two glasses of wine I had with supper BUT the poor design of the sleep phones (a little head band with stitched-in flat ear phone speakers) must take a portion of the blame. It does not shut off automatically when it hasn’t been in use for awhile … which means it was on for hours and hours during the flight to Dublin and then the first night I was here… and who knows if I remembered to turn it off yesterday morning? Anyhow, it was dead when I went to go to sleep lastnight, which left me vulnerable to the comings and goings of my room mates throughout the night. Which is funny because, had I finished my post from yesterday I would eventually have gotten around to expounding the virtues of hostel travel. Which I think I stand by, just with a grumpy scowl and mask-eyes this morning.
Speaking of, I am staying at Soul Backpackers in Barcelona, unfortunately my only hostel stay this trip. It is overall great: clean, quiet, well-located, reasonably-priced, excellent communal areas, breakfast is fine (bread/buns w marg/jam, apples and coffee), wifi is mediocre (I frequently have to turn it off and use my eSIM data – which has thus far been a star, go Holyfly!), and the beds are good – (not great. The set up is great [sturdy bunk systems and the curtains are 👌] but the mattresses are foam. Normal for hostel but I wake up sweaty now when it is cool out, I can’t imagine what it’s like when it’s 40C here). Unrelated, but I’ve apparently almost aged out of hostel-life. This hostel has an upper age limit of 45yo. I know why, but also: so only rich people over the age of 45 should be travelling?!
Oh, this hostel <is> humorously difficult to find. There is the world’s smallest sign tucked into a doorway, which I walked past twice at 23h00 when I first arrived and eventually had to ask a neighboring hotel where the hostel was.
21h30: GMT+2
Today followed a similar pattern to yesterday. The morning was largely disappointing (though admittedly more so than yesterday’s) and the evening was lovely (with fewer tears and God this time).
After breakfast I took the Metro to the Gothic Quarter and had a humorously difficult time finding the Barcelona History Museum. This museum had high billing on the travel websites I consulted and I was eager to A) know more about Barcelona and B) specifically to know what happened in1936 that resulted in the destruction of Gaudi’s work room at the Sagrada Familia (apparently riots associated with the start of the Spanish Civil War). I admit I know more about Barcelona than I did when I entered the museum, but I’ll say it was hard won.
The first mistake was listening to the direction of desk person and starting with the upper floors/“modern” Barcelona instead of going downstairs and starting with the archaeological site of the ancient Roman colony “Barcino”. By the time I got down there (which was probably the coolest part of the museum honestly. I mean, a city built on top of a city, humanity no different from the archaeology of dinosaurs etc) I was exhausted and feeling a bit annoyed. Besides, had I started there, and then taken in the upper part of the museum in the order it was intended, the whole thing would have made more sense and been less intellectually exhausting to put together.
Which brings me to my second mistake: I turned left instead of right. An easy enough mistake to make since there were no arrows on the wall after you walk between the television screens and curtains of the introduction room. This meant I started somewhere in the 1900s, and observing artifacts and commentary in detail about specific moments in the 1900s and only receiving the broader, more over-arching narrative after 1-2h of wading through the minutiae.
Finally, I think overall the museum suffers from the mistake of those with expertise:
I was supposed to head to the Picasso museum after this, however, I realized I had spent almost four hours in the Barcelona Museum and I wasn’t sure my head could handle more museum.. also I was hungry.
I ended up eating at a restaurant across from the Barcelona Cathedral.. which I knew was a mistake before I even sat down. Never eat somewhere that does not have to rely on repeat business and which can lean on its surroundings to attract first time patrons. But it was another case of collapsing into a chair because it was 4PM and I had eaten breakfast at 8AM.
From there I decided to go to the Cathedral. I figured it would not take as much mental fortitude as a Picasso museum and it was right across the way. .. it was also a fortune. They charged me 14E entrance fee. And actually asked for donations in countless little boxes throughout the building. I’m mostly just going to post a bunch of photos I took of the inside of the cathedral and the cloister beside it BUT my one over-arching thought throughout was “is it too much to dust the place?” Like, was the dust structural? It was THICK. Is the building in such a state of disrepair that the exorbitant entrance fees are eaten up with foundational issues? Though, sorry, side (and important) note: the cathedral had an audio guide included in the entrance fee and it was excellent. Okay, photos:
Oh, I forgot, one small moment of light in my morning. During lunch, as I watched the pigeons keeping the floor of the patio spotless, some of them hobbling on pirate legs, it occurred to me to google why so many pigeons have such terrible feet. As follows:
Okay. So that was the beginning of my day and it was mostly sort of grumpy and dissatisfied-feeling. I tried and tried to come up with something to do that would be pleasurable but could think of nothing. So I gave up trying to.. orchestrate my day, and just started walking. And found myself having a lovely evening.
First I walked down a street (called “Carrer del Portal Nou” and/or “C/ dels Carders”) that was just full of little independent artist’s shops. It was late in the day so some were closed but it was lovely poking my nose into the ones that were open and seeing their accomplishments. If you’re following in my foot steps I’d going in the afternoon and maybe have lunch on the street too.
At the end of that street I was confronted by the Arc de Triompf, and the giant promenade extending between it and the Parc de la Ciutedella. I had such a nice time strolling the promenade, watching the groups of old men, families and young people socializing in between the tourists and selfie-takers.
I headed into the Parc and continued to watch the locals use their public spaces. There were a half dozen exercise groups doing tai chi, tai bo, CrossFit etc. etc. There was a movie filming taking place in one area. And of course, seemingly random architecture and landscaping:
Contrary to the video above, the parrots are definitely top of the local pecking order. They are FIERCE. I have a great video of a parrot squabble but the internet thinks it is too big to upload. Interestingly some of the parrots have little dog tags around their necks, and some of those have little… solar panels? on their backs:
As dusk settled I walked back to the hostel, stopped in at a little bakery and bought a bun/breaded+seasoned chicken/swiss cheese sandwich [4.50E] (I specify so specifically because there was zero lube or vegetable included in this sandwich and it was perfectly representative of what I saw every time I had previously stuck my head into a bakery to see what was available. Aidan’s distrust of sauce and other sandwich adornments is apparently come by honestly.) I sat on a random street corner and watched the people – friends, lovers, and food-couriers – go by, before eventually making my way to the hostel and bed.
Notes 