Barcelona
May 31st, 2007, 06:13 AM
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Barcelona
Barcelona
I took the train half way across Spain from Madrid to Barcelona. I had not taken a Spanish intercity train in 35 years. Then the compartments were filled Spaniards headed home from factory work in Germany and the Guardia Civil parading up and down the aisles with machine guns. I always think of Garcia Lorca’s description of the Guardia, “Men in patent leather hats with patent leather hearts.” Every time a compartment door opened you thought Humphrey Bogart, complete with trench coat and cigarette, would enter rather than on old Spanish woman in a worn sweater.
The mystery and romance are gone from the Spanish trains, they are quiet, well lit, and each seat has a little place to put up your little feet. A mechanical voice heralds the next station and signs announce the stops. As you travel the countryside you see tiny battered stone buildings with orange tiled roofs, now abandoned for modern agriculture techniques. But you also see strange rock formations and as you approach Barcelona, the Mediterranean as large as it is, sneaks up on you on the right.
The train stations in both Madrid, Atocha, and in Barcelona, Sants, have also lost there World War II look of dirty glass roofs and frightening bathrooms. Twisting a thought from a friend who loves Barcelona, Madrid is world capital but it is very much a Spanish city, the way Washington, DC is a world capital but a very American city. Barcelona is at once a provincial and an international city, bigger than San Francisco but smaller than New York.
Tired, I found a meal at a Mom and Pop restaurant on a quiet street. The roasted chicken and potatoes were tasty and honestly prepared. The woman who served me seemed thrilled that a tourist stopped at her establishment and went out of her way to be kind and helpful
The next morning I headed for Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s concrete erection to piety. I wanted to see how much progress they made without me. The last time I checked in was 1999. As you ascend from the Metro, your eyes and nose fill with sand and the smells from the work. The sound of construction drowned out by the murmuring of tourists. There was great progress, although I can only pinpoint certain places. There will be twelve spires when complete, one for each apostle. Currently there are only eight, but I did not ask who was not represented. Most descriptions of the spires allude to melting food usually ice cream, or chocolate. They rise over Barcelona and taper as they grow. The oldest façade looks as dirty and worn as any 13th century Gothic cathedral even though it less than 80 years old. On one pedestal a new white plaster intruder replaces a broken saint.
They completed the Passion facade in 1977. It is an ugly grotesque interpretation of Gaudi’s intentions, austere and geometric. Fortunately, the newer work is in keeping with his sensibility. When you visit the museum in the basement of the Cathedral, you get the distinct impression that the Catalans would like to see Gaudi made into saint. He was killed by a trolley and left unrecognized for a few days. This would make an interesting painting as opposed to other saints like Sebastian, with the arrows piercing his beatified flesh. I would commission Francis Bacon if was not dead himself.
Next year they are considering holding the first service at the Cathedral. Unless things change dramatically, the parishioners would be huddled together with metal scaffolding and the plaster sculptures waiting to be hoisted to their permanent spots. The new high speed train from Madrid to Barcelona will pass within yards of the foundation and some engineers are concerned about vibrations. The Cathedral is now expected to be completed in 25-35 years, at least 100 years ahead of schedule.
The food is significantly better in Barcelona.
My splurge meal for the trip was Cal Pep. It is on a small square near the water and people gather outside a shuttered restaurant until 1:30 when the metal gate is pulled up. There is an immediate frenzy. You are seated around a counter and the workers scramble to feed all the dinners who just arrived simultaneously. Unless you ask otherwise you get the tapas specials of the day which this day were fried mixed seafood tapa and another of small clams. The fried seafood contained many fish with whom I was not familiar. For those I just removed the heads and ate was left. It was not their best dish. The clams were garlicky and fresh. My main course sea bass was perfectly poached, unfortunately I ordered the razor clams. It was my fault. My Spanish is awful and English has deteriorated. The meal was 40 Euros.
I also ate at the 4 Gats. This was once a gathering for artist in the first third of the twentieth century. I sat under a copy of Roman Casas bicyclists. The food which decent and I would venture that more than half of the patrons were Catalams/
On the walk back to the apartment, I intentionally passed the statue of Columbus at the end of Ramblas that must rise 50 feet. There man who “discovered” the new world is majestically pointing toward Libya. I think if get 40 or 50 guys together we can swing him around and point him in the generally direction of west.
I stayed at an apartment in Barcelona. It was small, modern, and clean. The bed is about six inches off the ground, so I had to plan my exits carefully. Graceful is not the word I would apply. One night a drunken husband argued with his shrieking wife. The next door neighbor decided to explain something loudly at 3 AM. But nothing made more noise than the floor. Originally I thought it was wood, but it was a veneer that wasn’t glued down very well. So when your feet were the least bit moist, they would stick to the veneer and create this sucking sound. It was afraid one night I was going walk off with the floor.
Spanish TV has it’s version of Survivor, American Idol, Wheel of Fortune and other game shows. I did not see anyone thrown off the island, there was no nasty Englishman, and their Vanna White led the crowd in rhymic chanting and applause.
The strangest thing I saw however was the Spencer Tracy version of Jeckyll and Hyde. It was dubbed in Spanish with Spanish subtitles. We can only suppose why.
The first morning in Barcelona I went to a newsstand and asked for the Herald Tribune. The woman handed me a porno magazine. I wanted to say that NY Times owns the Tribune not Rupert Murdoch.
Finally, the turnstile to enter the Metro is on the right of where you insert the ticket. New York and just about every other subway I remember the turnstile is to the left of where you place the coin or ticket. Some young guy had to show me how to enter the subway, since I kept pushing the wrong turnstile.
Everyone learns the inner logic of whatever country they are visiting just as they leave.
I took the train half way across Spain from Madrid to Barcelona. I had not taken a Spanish intercity train in 35 years. Then the compartments were filled Spaniards headed home from factory work in Germany and the Guardia Civil parading up and down the aisles with machine guns. I always think of Garcia Lorca’s description of the Guardia, “Men in patent leather hats with patent leather hearts.” Every time a compartment door opened you thought Humphrey Bogart, complete with trench coat and cigarette, would enter rather than on old Spanish woman in a worn sweater.
The mystery and romance are gone from the Spanish trains, they are quiet, well lit, and each seat has a little place to put up your little feet. A mechanical voice heralds the next station and signs announce the stops. As you travel the countryside you see tiny battered stone buildings with orange tiled roofs, now abandoned for modern agriculture techniques. But you also see strange rock formations and as you approach Barcelona, the Mediterranean as large as it is, sneaks up on you on the right.
The train stations in both Madrid, Atocha, and in Barcelona, Sants, have also lost there World War II look of dirty glass roofs and frightening bathrooms. Twisting a thought from a friend who loves Barcelona, Madrid is world capital but it is very much a Spanish city, the way Washington, DC is a world capital but a very American city. Barcelona is at once a provincial and an international city, bigger than San Francisco but smaller than New York.
Tired, I found a meal at a Mom and Pop restaurant on a quiet street. The roasted chicken and potatoes were tasty and honestly prepared. The woman who served me seemed thrilled that a tourist stopped at her establishment and went out of her way to be kind and helpful
The next morning I headed for Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s concrete erection to piety. I wanted to see how much progress they made without me. The last time I checked in was 1999. As you ascend from the Metro, your eyes and nose fill with sand and the smells from the work. The sound of construction drowned out by the murmuring of tourists. There was great progress, although I can only pinpoint certain places. There will be twelve spires when complete, one for each apostle. Currently there are only eight, but I did not ask who was not represented. Most descriptions of the spires allude to melting food usually ice cream, or chocolate. They rise over Barcelona and taper as they grow. The oldest façade looks as dirty and worn as any 13th century Gothic cathedral even though it less than 80 years old. On one pedestal a new white plaster intruder replaces a broken saint.
They completed the Passion facade in 1977. It is an ugly grotesque interpretation of Gaudi’s intentions, austere and geometric. Fortunately, the newer work is in keeping with his sensibility. When you visit the museum in the basement of the Cathedral, you get the distinct impression that the Catalans would like to see Gaudi made into saint. He was killed by a trolley and left unrecognized for a few days. This would make an interesting painting as opposed to other saints like Sebastian, with the arrows piercing his beatified flesh. I would commission Francis Bacon if was not dead himself.
Next year they are considering holding the first service at the Cathedral. Unless things change dramatically, the parishioners would be huddled together with metal scaffolding and the plaster sculptures waiting to be hoisted to their permanent spots. The new high speed train from Madrid to Barcelona will pass within yards of the foundation and some engineers are concerned about vibrations. The Cathedral is now expected to be completed in 25-35 years, at least 100 years ahead of schedule.
The food is significantly better in Barcelona.
My splurge meal for the trip was Cal Pep. It is on a small square near the water and people gather outside a shuttered restaurant until 1:30 when the metal gate is pulled up. There is an immediate frenzy. You are seated around a counter and the workers scramble to feed all the dinners who just arrived simultaneously. Unless you ask otherwise you get the tapas specials of the day which this day were fried mixed seafood tapa and another of small clams. The fried seafood contained many fish with whom I was not familiar. For those I just removed the heads and ate was left. It was not their best dish. The clams were garlicky and fresh. My main course sea bass was perfectly poached, unfortunately I ordered the razor clams. It was my fault. My Spanish is awful and English has deteriorated. The meal was 40 Euros.
I also ate at the 4 Gats. This was once a gathering for artist in the first third of the twentieth century. I sat under a copy of Roman Casas bicyclists. The food which decent and I would venture that more than half of the patrons were Catalams/
On the walk back to the apartment, I intentionally passed the statue of Columbus at the end of Ramblas that must rise 50 feet. There man who “discovered” the new world is majestically pointing toward Libya. I think if get 40 or 50 guys together we can swing him around and point him in the generally direction of west.
I stayed at an apartment in Barcelona. It was small, modern, and clean. The bed is about six inches off the ground, so I had to plan my exits carefully. Graceful is not the word I would apply. One night a drunken husband argued with his shrieking wife. The next door neighbor decided to explain something loudly at 3 AM. But nothing made more noise than the floor. Originally I thought it was wood, but it was a veneer that wasn’t glued down very well. So when your feet were the least bit moist, they would stick to the veneer and create this sucking sound. It was afraid one night I was going walk off with the floor.
Spanish TV has it’s version of Survivor, American Idol, Wheel of Fortune and other game shows. I did not see anyone thrown off the island, there was no nasty Englishman, and their Vanna White led the crowd in rhymic chanting and applause.
The strangest thing I saw however was the Spencer Tracy version of Jeckyll and Hyde. It was dubbed in Spanish with Spanish subtitles. We can only suppose why.
The first morning in Barcelona I went to a newsstand and asked for the Herald Tribune. The woman handed me a porno magazine. I wanted to say that NY Times owns the Tribune not Rupert Murdoch.
Finally, the turnstile to enter the Metro is on the right of where you insert the ticket. New York and just about every other subway I remember the turnstile is to the left of where you place the coin or ticket. Some young guy had to show me how to enter the subway, since I kept pushing the wrong turnstile.
Everyone learns the inner logic of whatever country they are visiting just as they leave.
May 31st, 2007, 06:29 AM
#2
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Very, very funny report !! 
Glad you had a good time in Spain.
By the way, the subtitles are meant for deaf people, that's why they are in Spanish. In fact, there are very few films subtitled (for the deaf or not), all of them are dubbed, and I'm very sorry about that !!
Glad you had a good time in Spain.By the way, the subtitles are meant for deaf people, that's why they are in Spanish. In fact, there are very few films subtitled (for the deaf or not), all of them are dubbed, and I'm very sorry about that !!
May 31st, 2007, 10:15 AM
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Yes very nice read.
Gaudi said "God is in no hurry" to explain the long project.
I had similar experiences on Spanish trains 35 or so years ago. Kind of like moving in with the family - folks would unfold meal baskets, etc.
And i remember lining the tracks in madrid and barcelona thousands of third-world like shacks - terribly crude shacks the poor lived in. What a change in trains and poverty!
thanks for your report
Gaudi said "God is in no hurry" to explain the long project.
I had similar experiences on Spanish trains 35 or so years ago. Kind of like moving in with the family - folks would unfold meal baskets, etc.
And i remember lining the tracks in madrid and barcelona thousands of third-world like shacks - terribly crude shacks the poor lived in. What a change in trains and poverty!
thanks for your report
May 31st, 2007, 06:39 PM
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Aduchamp - if you are checking in - what neighborhood did you stay in?
We'll be in staying in a guesthouse in Tibidabo - anything interesting you've seen in that neighborhood over the years? (Anyone else care to weigh in?)
And what are razor clams??
Thanks for the priceless description of the Sagrada Familia. Nice write up!
We'll be in staying in a guesthouse in Tibidabo - anything interesting you've seen in that neighborhood over the years? (Anyone else care to weigh in?)
And what are razor clams??
Thanks for the priceless description of the Sagrada Familia. Nice write up!
May 31st, 2007, 07:13 PM
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Thank you all for the flattering comments.
There was a large convention in Barcelona whwn I was there and stayed in an apartment on the Avenida Paral.lel in the Raval.
Razor clams are longish andsweet. If you live in NYC they are available at Citarella and are cheap since they are not that popular.
Sorry I did not visit Tibidabo this trip.
There was a large convention in Barcelona whwn I was there and stayed in an apartment on the Avenida Paral.lel in the Raval.
Razor clams are longish andsweet. If you live in NYC they are available at Citarella and are cheap since they are not that popular.
Sorry I did not visit Tibidabo this trip.
