General impressions of Barcelona and San Sebastian
May 31st, 2010, 10:34 AM
#1
Original Poster
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 26,710
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
General impressions of Barcelona and San Sebastian
I am plain awful at organizing anything, so I just found some general impressions of Spain from our last trip.
San Sebastian
This is a beautiful seaside town that lives on tapas. The city basically burned down in the 1870’s so it was rebuilt during the Belle Epoque. There are seven Basque provinces, three of which are in France. Thus there is a strong French influence in the architecture-mansard roofs, French doors and ornate lamps that adorn bridges. But there is also the Spanish influence, as well as moderisme, which is associated more with Barcelona.
It is a summer resort for madrilenos and the French attracted by the large well manicured beaches. Surfers walk barefoot in the streets carrying their boards and clad in black wet suits. There is also well known film festival for which the town has built a glass theatre in the shape of either a boat or large rocks.
Many bars have tapas waiting on tiered plates. There were few signs of the traditional olives, chorizos by themselves, or olives. There were mushrooms in puff pastry, smoked salmon wrapped around shrimp salad, unidentifiable fish in various states of undress, and omnipresent tortilla espanol.
One afternoon, we took a cab to the nearby hills to lunch at a cider house. One room had six huge casks, each with a spigot in the middle of a flat side that points outward, not down. You are given a brief lesson on how to capture the cider. You hold a glass maybe three or foot away from the barrel, turn the spigot and try to hit the glass. If you do hit the glass and do not like that particular cider, you can throw the remainder in a wooden bucket on the floor and proceed to another. Cider houses have one main course, a huge chunk of beef on a rib that is cooked on a wood fire. It is prepared rare whether you want it that way or not. Four courses including two appetizers, the slab of bleeding meat, dessert, and cider cost about $35 per person.
There is little to see besides the city itself. We followed the paths along the bay and beaches where we become covered with a thin layer of salt, walked the interior passed tiled, belle époque and simple homes, and down the narrow streets that where every other building was a tapas bar. We passed on the aquarium and small art museum.
The most interesting natural phenomenon is where the Bay of Biscay, also known as the Cantabrian Sea, meets a river. There are high brick walls which are in turn protected by carefully placed quarried marble and stone boulders where the bodies of water meet. At low tide the river is gentle and you can see fish trapped in the tiny pools among the rocks. As the tide rises, local recreational fishermen arrive with the foulest smelling chum while the water becomes increasingly violent. Waves crash over the brick wall at the opening of the river and the water races along the wall as if surfer is upon them. The stanchions of the bridge closest to the Bay break the large waves. The difference in temperament is mere hours.
A cousin died while we were in Spain, so we wanted to have a mass in his name. There are numerous churches in San Sebastian. We went to a few where it was difficult to figure out with whom to ask and exactly how to say it, short of stalking a priest. We finally found a brother, who understood what we wanted. The mass was in Basque, on a late Wednesday afternoon. We had no idea was said besides his name but the church was filled with 60’s and over except for two teenagers who I think came to have God on their side for a soccer game.
________________________
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.
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 Catalans.
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.
____________________
San Sebastian
This is a beautiful seaside town that lives on tapas. The city basically burned down in the 1870’s so it was rebuilt during the Belle Epoque. There are seven Basque provinces, three of which are in France. Thus there is a strong French influence in the architecture-mansard roofs, French doors and ornate lamps that adorn bridges. But there is also the Spanish influence, as well as moderisme, which is associated more with Barcelona.
It is a summer resort for madrilenos and the French attracted by the large well manicured beaches. Surfers walk barefoot in the streets carrying their boards and clad in black wet suits. There is also well known film festival for which the town has built a glass theatre in the shape of either a boat or large rocks.
Many bars have tapas waiting on tiered plates. There were few signs of the traditional olives, chorizos by themselves, or olives. There were mushrooms in puff pastry, smoked salmon wrapped around shrimp salad, unidentifiable fish in various states of undress, and omnipresent tortilla espanol.
One afternoon, we took a cab to the nearby hills to lunch at a cider house. One room had six huge casks, each with a spigot in the middle of a flat side that points outward, not down. You are given a brief lesson on how to capture the cider. You hold a glass maybe three or foot away from the barrel, turn the spigot and try to hit the glass. If you do hit the glass and do not like that particular cider, you can throw the remainder in a wooden bucket on the floor and proceed to another. Cider houses have one main course, a huge chunk of beef on a rib that is cooked on a wood fire. It is prepared rare whether you want it that way or not. Four courses including two appetizers, the slab of bleeding meat, dessert, and cider cost about $35 per person.
There is little to see besides the city itself. We followed the paths along the bay and beaches where we become covered with a thin layer of salt, walked the interior passed tiled, belle époque and simple homes, and down the narrow streets that where every other building was a tapas bar. We passed on the aquarium and small art museum.
The most interesting natural phenomenon is where the Bay of Biscay, also known as the Cantabrian Sea, meets a river. There are high brick walls which are in turn protected by carefully placed quarried marble and stone boulders where the bodies of water meet. At low tide the river is gentle and you can see fish trapped in the tiny pools among the rocks. As the tide rises, local recreational fishermen arrive with the foulest smelling chum while the water becomes increasingly violent. Waves crash over the brick wall at the opening of the river and the water races along the wall as if surfer is upon them. The stanchions of the bridge closest to the Bay break the large waves. The difference in temperament is mere hours.
A cousin died while we were in Spain, so we wanted to have a mass in his name. There are numerous churches in San Sebastian. We went to a few where it was difficult to figure out with whom to ask and exactly how to say it, short of stalking a priest. We finally found a brother, who understood what we wanted. The mass was in Basque, on a late Wednesday afternoon. We had no idea was said besides his name but the church was filled with 60’s and over except for two teenagers who I think came to have God on their side for a soccer game.
________________________
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.
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 Catalans.
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, 2010, 03:04 PM
#4
Join Date: Jun 2004
Posts: 12,492
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Funny, the turnstiles in most of the stations I have been in in Valencia are to the left of where you put the ticket.
Spanish subtitles on Spanish movies are for the deaf. Now with digital TV we can get subtitles on a lot of films and also change the language to original version ( a button on the remote).. so you probably could have watched that film in English.
Sounds like you had a nice time.
Spanish subtitles on Spanish movies are for the deaf. Now with digital TV we can get subtitles on a lot of films and also change the language to original version ( a button on the remote).. so you probably could have watched that film in English.
Sounds like you had a nice time.
May 31st, 2010, 03:10 PM
#5
Original Poster
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 26,710
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
We have been to Spain many times the last few being 1999, 2003, 2007, and 2008. As you may recall, my wife and her sister walked the Camino in 2008.
The only region of Spain we not visited is yours around Valencia. I once figured out that I must have ridden the NYC subway at least 10,000 times. Your actions become relfexive.
The only region of Spain we not visited is yours around Valencia. I once figured out that I must have ridden the NYC subway at least 10,000 times. Your actions become relfexive.
Thread
Original Poster
Forum
Replies
Last Post
dhlemaistre
Europe
11
Sep 6th, 2019 09:28 PM
