Hola!

Hey! Remember me?

I've just come back from a week in Barcelona, which was spent in the company of none other than Euroboy. The night before my flight to the city, I had completed a 5K Race for Life in Battersea. EB and I went on to set, and possibly break, the record for most walking done by anybody ever.

You see, Barcelona is a small and neat city, like Amsterdam. You can walk to your destination in the time it takes to change over at a Metro station or get a bus, provided you know where you're going. However, despite various maps we got ourselves lost, and with alarming frequency. And probably did that 5k at least 3 times over, meaning that by Day 4 we were shattered.

One thing I noticed was that I got rather a lot of funny looks as we were walking down the street - especially if we were holding hands (EB is white). One woman who served me in a little caff looked well miserable when I walked in, despite being a relative ray of light to all the other customers. When I said I didn't speak Spanish (and therefore no Catalan) she was a study in sullenness.
See, there aren't that many black people in Barcelona, at least not in the areas I traipsed around in (The Gothic Quarter felt the force of my footwork). When we took a trip to a health club/spa in Barceloneta, the eyeballs were firmly on me. Not because of the fact I'd neglected to wear a swim cap rather than a shower cap or wear my flip flops everywhere (I was told that the Spanish and the French are very hygiene-conscious when it comes to public spaces). It was likely because I was the only black person in the building. And when I was in the local supermercat people were looking at me, maybe because I was laughing at a package of dark chocolate with the word 'Negro' emblazoned on it...

Speaking of the spa, we went down there last Saturday evening; while the UK basked in lovely hot weather, you'll be amused to know that EB and I battled biblical rain and winds to reach the place, almost turning back. (It rained last Friday and Saturday like a bitch.) Fortunately, an American tourist appeared from out of nowhere and told us that the high winds were due to the building, under whose entrance we had taken shelter. 'Just keep going, it'll be fine', he said. Said EB later: 'I think God sent that guy. Of all the places he could have been, and he turned up just as we were about to go back...' I had to agree, agnosticism be damned.

Oddly, the the bloody awful weather didn't stop us from going out and seeing at least 3 places a day. However, I wouldn't recommend buying an umbrella for 5 Euros from some random umbrella-selling dude if you can help it: they rank high on the 'Chocolate Teapot' scale of utter uselessness. The epic struggle to get into the spa was worth it, though. Warm, bubbling mineral waters and a sauna soothed our troubles away... until it was time to get back outside. Yep, still raining. Great.

Other highlights include 2 trips to the Sagrada Familia (pictured), a cathedral designed by Francisco de Paula del Villar, but taken over by Gaudi. And gaudy it is: It's taken 125 years to build so far, and projected to take another 25-40 to complete.The perpetually-unfinished cathedral is jaw-dropping, astonishing, fucking amazing, etc. It looks like something from a fairy tale or Lord of The Rings. We went during tourist hours to take pictures and gawp, then went back on a clear, dry night a couple of days later, where there was more photography and gawping, but less tourists.

We also took in the Dali exhibits (but not the Picasso Museum as I don't really care too much for his work) and saw the Roman ruins in the Museu D'Historia de la Ciutat (Museum of the History of The City). Some truly amazing pieces still remain - fragments of mosaics, buildings, and artefacts. When you go 5-6 metres down, it's as close to being in 12BC as you can get without packing a toga and getting in the DeLorean.

EB bought tickets to the Barca v Mallorca game last Sunday, and although the game itself was uninspiring (with the exception of some fancy footwork from some dude called Messi, whose name was sung with church-like reverence every time he was even near the ball), it was entertaining.

The fans are emotionally invested in their team, because they represent Catalonia. One of the scorers for Barca - I forget his name - was booed like nothing else, even after he put the team 2-up. EB explained that Barca is not called 'More Than a Club' for no reason; Catalonians are fiercely protective of their history, culture and language. So when you play for the team, the fans take it personally if you don't play well, especially if you seem more interested in partying and fucking away the wages that you pay them. Anyway, Mallorca handed Barca's arse to them on a tapas platter, and the home crowd erupted in anger, waving with of paper and bags, as they are wont to do when they are mucho displeased. Not pretty, but fun to watch. Just like the English guy wearing a bright red flamenco dress to the match.

We rambled down La Ramblas, which, if you know London, is basically like a long Covent Garden, with shops, restaurants and street performers. It's vibrant, busy, tourist central, with rip-off prices to match: er, 13 Euro for a plate of calamari, which is basically fried'n'fishy rubber? Fack off. Anyway, we walked right down to the Colom, with a proud statue of Christopher Columbus.

EB complained that he needed something to cover his head from the sun, but sadly did not take up my suggestion that he buy a Mexican wrestling mask, stubbornly buying a normal hat instead. Men, eh?

After looking at the Colom (and numerous failed attempts to mount one of the lion statues) we strolled down by the marina, but as it was cold we didn't stop by the beach for long; as I mentioned, we went back when the sun finally deigned to get its motherfucking hat on. The promenade is pleasant enough, but the bridge over the harbour is chock full of people just, you know, hanging out. Great place to do that! Naturally, EB and I cursed their inability to just fuck off and let people pass with ease.

We took in a boat tour, which I would recommend you never ever go on. After the second boatload of containers, I was suffering from rigor mortis. No business is going to advertise itself has having the 'World's Most Boring' anything, but this company should: 90 minutes of looking at boats and containers was, quite frankly, enough to drive this non-swimmer to threaten to leap aside and swim to shore.

Oh, and top tip: If you're planning a trip (Credit crunch? Isn't that a cereal?) get a Barcelona Card as soon as you land. It means discounted travel and free or reduced entry priced into tourist attractions which may otherwise be shite. (See above.)

We could have done with less rain, but when you're out exploring, it adds to the sense of adventure, si? And who wants to walk around in the sun all day? Oh, who am I trying to kid... in any case, it was a good trip. I'm starting to like this travelling lark :-)