A weekend in Barcelona

 Catalonia is a region in the northeastern area of Spain, vying for independence since the last couple of centuries, revolting the imposition of Spanish language and laws on the Catalans who take pride in their language and culture. It was designated an autonomous community when Spain became a republic. The beautiful city of Barcelona is the capital. The archrivalry between the Barcelona and the Real Madrid Football clubs stems from these differences. I was rather pleased with myself that I remembered these details that I read in a series of articles on football legends in a Malayalam weekly a year ago.

 On a beautiful sunny day, I sat right in the front on a bus enjoying the views of the French and a few hours later, the Spanish countryside from Toulouse in southern France to Barcelona, not too far away. The lady seated next to me, with a smile as bright as her pink jacket eagerly answered any question of mine in sign language since the only French I knew was ‘Bonjour’ and ‘Merci’ meaning ‘good day’ and ‘thank you’.

 Unfortunately, when you google ‘pickpocket capital’, the first link that is displayed mentions Barcelona too. My friend’s repeated warnings and the suggestion to wear my backpack in the front while taking public transport reinforced this image. Having lived in India where the crowd almost always sets the perfect stage for petty thieves, I was surprised that no Indian city shows up in the list of the top ten cities notorious for pickpockets.

 I still chose to walk from the bus stand to my hostel through the streets of this vivid city. It took me about half an hour to get to the hostel and what really struck me was how there was an air of nostalgia and modernity in the air, with classy, stylish eateries and old, beautiful buildings fitting into one frame everywhere you looked. The grand buildings against the backdrop of the setting sun did make for a spectacle. I walked amidst parents and children heading home after a busy day, trying to eavesdrop to know how different the Spanish was from what was spoken in South America, with no luck. What I did notice is that most people at restaurants and the like greeted me simply with an ‘Ola’ instead of the more elaborate ‘Buenos Dias/Noches’ like they did in Peru. Maybe people were just busier in this part of the world.

 The hostel looked flashy, what with the transparent doors and the neon lights letting passersby peek into the common area and the restaurant. I was not sure what some kids were doing there. Was it like a place where they waited for their parents after school? I am not sure. The reception had a sign that warned us against pickpockets too. This was my first time ever in a hostel. I did not end up talking to anybody in the room since most people came and left while I was asleep. I reckon hostels are not really for people like me who like to go to bed and wake up early and be somewhere instead of spending some time hanging out, getting to know others over games or a drink or two.

 I walked around outside again, heading to La Rambla, touted to be the most happening and famous street in Barcelona. I stopped everywhere to take pictures of the decorations on the streets. Only then did I realise that it was Black Friday. Although I had assumed the sales to be an American thing, it seems the rest of the world is catching up. Who does not like some good old consumerism! I tried partaking in the shopping frenzy, but my stomach seemed to think otherwise, and I quickly retreated to a quiet restaurant to enjoy a delicious vegetarian Paella.

 And then it was time for an hour-long Flamenco show which I was told is must-do in Barcelona. I arrived a few minutes before the show and joined the rest of the audience being spoken to by a couple of the dancers. They introduced us to few basic moves, making us feel like we could all pick it up easily and at the end, ushered us in, encouraging us not to try these while the show was going on. Flamenco hails from Andalusia, another autonomous community in southern Spain. Since nobody gave any introduction to the art form, that and whatever we have seen in the movies is all I had in mind while enjoying the Sangria, an alcoholic drink made of wine and juice that was served while waiting for the show to start. The show was splendid, with a lot of energy, some amazing dancers and singers. Although I am all for strong women, I am surprised I did not quite appreciate was some of them who were really muscular (because of years of Flamenco?) who seemed to make it more about the floor thumping rather than the grace. I hit the bed soon after the show, the sangria only heightening my exhaustion.

 I had managed to be outside the La Sagrada Familia well before my stipulated time of entrance at 9 AM, the next day. It is a basilica that is under construction since more than a century, expected to be completed by 2026. Like most iconic buildings in Barcelona, this project was transformed into its current form by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí too. As soon as I reached, I started clicking photos from every angle, only to recognize that I was not in the front of it. It is truly a sight to behold, the painstaking attention to detail on the facades (I learnt how to pronounce that, thanks to the audio guide) capturing all our attention right from the second we lay our eyes on it. We can see the modernism (Art Nouveau) that Gaudí was a proponent of inside the structure, the colors and the sharp angles rewarding us with a look that is quite different from what we would expect in such an old building.

 I hopped on a tourist bus from Plaça de Catalunya, the busiest square in Barcelona. I was on the bus only because the two-day Barcelona pass that I had purchased included this bus ride as well. The open-air ride was enjoyable, taking me through places I might not have time for later. We passed in front of the La Sagrada Familia again. The crowd made me thankful that I had already been inside. I got off at the stop for Parc Guell, another major attraction with more architecture by Gaudí. I visited the Gaudí house museum but decided to skip the rest of the park that required a fee, simply strolling around. Somehow, this place did not quite capture my imagination.

 After a quick sandwich for lunch, I was back on the bus, on my way to Camp Nou, home to the Barcelona Football club. The museum that we pass through before entering the stadium was thronged by people taking pride in the achievements of the team and great players over the years. As I walked through the press room and towards the gates, I was ecstatic, the cheers playing in the background reminding me that I was where many greats had played and won the hearts of fans in Spain and around the world. Once at the stands, I had to share my excitement and made a video call to my brother who guessed I was at Roland Garros since he thought I was still in France. A Messi jersey that I bought for him cost more than a 100 Euros, quickly halving all my enthusiasm.

 The last place I wanted to visit for the day was Montjuïc castle, from where breathtaking views of the city were promised in a blog I chanced upon while doing some research for this trip. I switched to the city bus from the tourist bus since it was getting late, and arrived at the Plaça de España, another beautiful square with a fountain at the center. I stood in awe for a while and realized that the bus that I was supposed to board was not coming anymore. Google maps thought I could get up to the castle in under three-quarters of an hour and I decided to trust it. What started as a walk in the park quickly became arduous due to steep climbs. I wanted to be at the top for the sunset, but some turns that I was suggested to take seemed a tad too scary taking me through isolated roads. I happened upon a Greek theater which was not what I was aiming for, but looked beautiful, nonetheless. I realized I had to walk along the road instead of the way technology suggested to make sure I reach there safe as it was dark already. I reached just in time to take a one-way ride up the hill on a cable car. I was delighted I could see the sky turn different hues of orange and pink just before it became pitch black. The castle was closed, but the views from up there made up for all my trouble. I started walking downhill, stopping at every viewpoint to let out a gasp at how much electricity the port alone required if it had that many lights on for the entire night. It did not stop me from admiring and going for a click or two. Halfway down, my phone had nearly run out of charge and as I pondered if I should turn left or right, a Canadian couple came to my rescue. They kept me company until the metro station nearby, discussing everything from their jobs to how to tackle pickpockets in Barcelona.

 I spent the morning of my last day in Barcelona viewing more of Gaudí’s creations, namely the Casa Milà and Casa Batlló, both weird in their own ways, but not worth spending too much time exploring or writing about for me. I took a metro to a stop in the Barri Gòtic (Gothic quarter) and found myself walking down narrow streets flanked by medieval style buildings in the very heart of the city. I forgot about the cathedral that I wanted to get to and was loitering in a very deserted area admiring the walls when some signboards warning about pickpockets brought me back to reality. It cautioned about walking alone, so I turned around to find my way to the Cathedral of Barcelona, the most popular of all the attractions there. I lighted upon the Plaça de Sant Jaume on my way.  The crowded square had important, administrative looking buildings around and some Christmas decorations as well, taking away some of its sobriety. I later learnt that those buildings were the City hall and the Generalitat de Catalunya which roughly translates to the Government of Catalonia. I toured around the cathedral from its back and was astounded when I finally stood in the front studying the architecture of the structure completed in the fourteenth century. I had read a lot about and seen photographs of the marvelous insides, but it was closed at that time.

 The remains of the Temple of Augustus built more than 2000 years ago, well-hidden unless you go searching for it, was my most fascinating find in the Gothic quarter. As one of the websites that listed what you should not miss in the area described, it is one of the best-kept secrets of Barcelona. Only four columns of the temple live on today. A paella for lunch, a look at the Basilica de Santa Maria and a walk to the Plaça Reial later, I was on Las Ramblas again, hunting for souvenirs this time. I was let down by the innumerable shops that housed the exact same magnets and the like, not piquing my interest the least.

 I was to take a bus at 10 in the night. That meant plenty of time to spare without a plan. What best way to kill time than to go the beach, I reasoned. I walked all the way to the Barceloneta beach. What was unusual about this beach was how urban and extravagant it looked, to a much larger extent than most beaches I had been to in California, while the buildings nearby added a historic character. There were a lot of people around, still leaving the tranquility undisturbed. Tired after walking around for a while, I comfortably laid down on a stone seat in front of an outdoor workout area at the gym. I was amazed at how strong some people were and could manipulate their body to do everything they liked. I had not been there long enough, or so I thought, when a man walked up to me smiling and enquired if I was into all the street workout that I was watching. I said no, nervously clinging on to my wallet, thinking about what I had heard about pickpockets; they operate in groups, one person distracting you while the other person stealthily gets away with your valuables. He seemed to want to strike up a conversation and introduced himself as Italian. He was put off that I did not speak any Spanish or Italian, the two languages that he knew. Although he said he did not like the sound of English, he managed to speak in a few incoherent sentences so that I could understand him. I was astonished when he offered to take me out for coffee or drinks if I were not leaving that night. Since that was out of the way, he suggested we keep in touch through social media. He would teach me Spanish and Italian and I would teach him English (I thought he did not like the sound), how wonderful it would be! When I denied, he shook my hand and walked away, not appearing the least bit dejected. Maybe he was a schemer, maybe he was genuinely friendly, but I am glad he left when I gave him the red light. I quickly gathered myself and took off as well, this being a sure sign that I had been there far too long.

 I walked about for longer, losing my way and made it to the bus station nearly an hour before the bus to Toulouse would depart. Just when I thought I was falling asleep; we had neared the border. Unlike the Spanish, the French did not trust all who passed through and two policemen boarded the bus to check our passports. The policeman was extra nice and gentle to me while being the exact opposite to a man who nearby whose passport did not seem to meet his standards of being genuine. Perhaps I was enjoying one of the many perks the womankind has been bestowed with. Not the kind of perks we want though!

 Though the bus brought me back to France, my mind was still in Barcelona. It is a truly European, cosmopolitan city where the old-world charm goes hand in hand with the contemporary. The city regales a rather old-fashioned traveler as does someone who would love to party, the laidback environs and the hip and happening La Rambla welcoming them. I am curious about the other cities in Spain, Barcelona having opened doors to what appears to be a vibrant country and people. To the endless list of places, I wish to tour, I only add.