Barcelona Catalonia Catalan Spain Travel Photography by Martin Worster, originally uploaded by MartinWorster.

A sign spotted at the bottom of Las Ramblas Barcelona – I didn’t make it…

Alright, so not a whole lot has occurred since my last post in Nice, France.

No… wait. That’s a complete lie.

One of the most important things that’s happened is I’ve learned I can not go to India on this little excursion around the globe. Why? Well, I got to Barcelona and was only going to stay for one day. When the hostel reception asked me why, I mentioned that I had to go to the Indian Embassy in Madrid and get my new Visa for the country sorted out ASAP. They told me there’s an embassy consulate in Barcelona and I was like, “Hey, might as well stay and get it done here since it’s such a fucking beautiful place.” Because it really was. Las Ramblas is really cool, the weather is beautiful year round, it has a gorgeous beach and harbor, and the people are pretty friendly. That’s about how I can sum it up. Nothing too crazy happened there outside of the usual pub crawls, getting drunk and making an ass out of myself on the dance floor.

So the next day I wake up and manage to make my way to the embassy consulate. I take in the sounds of groups of school children playing in the schoolyards during lunch time and enjoy the fact that I’m pretty much in the suburbs of what seems like a paradise city. Finally finding my way via small side streets and checking the almost non-existent street numbers on the houses, I see a small, handwritten sign beneath the buzzer for the embassy. Back in highschool, I took three years of Spanish, but I’m not going to lie and pretend like I’m fluent. The one thing I could make out was the word “cerrado”. Fuck, I thought. If I remember anything from those three years, besides how to say “I like to eat monkey head in a cage.”, it was that meant “closed”. Fuck, I thought. But I rang the buzzer anyway.

“Hello?”
“Hola”
“Open?”
“No open, closed.”

Yeah, so the fucking embassy was closed. I arrived there November 12th, and the last day it was open was November 11th. I missed it by a day.

So off to Madrid the next day.

But wait… it’s not that simple. It never is.

Not with me, anyway.

I set an alarm on my phone to go off at about 7 A.M. the next morning, It was a three hour train ride to Madrid and I wanted to get there early enough to get my business done and have enough time to see more of the city with some daylight. But there’s always a problem.

Somehow in my sleep, I managed to turn my phone off. I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But they say everything happens for a reason, right?

Right.

If I had woken up on time, I never would’ve seen Josh and Claire (two of the group of Aussies I had met in Nice, who happened to end up at the same hostel as me in Barcelona) at breakfast that morning and the following event never would’ve occurred.

“Oh, hey Ryan. Where’re ya’ off to?”
“Ah, I gotta get to Madrid and I’m in a bit of a rush, I turned my phone off last night in my sleep and missed my alarm.”
“Oh that’s right, you need to sort out getting your Visa for India. Where else are ya’ goin’ anyway?”

So I run down the list of countries to which I’m going. This includes Egypt.

“Ah, I’m trying to get my nan’s (grandmother’s) ashes to Egypt.”

You see where this is going now.

So in a very concise, five minute conversation I manage to agree with Josh that I’m going to take his grandmother’s ashes to Egypt, spread half of them around in the desert and bring the rest back with me to Melbourne when I arrive there. I’m not sure if he’ll be there or not, so we’ll work out the details when the time arrives.

Anyway, it wasn’t until I got to Madrid that I found out I wasn’t going to be able to go to India. I get to the hostel late, not realising that the three hour express train from Barcelona to Madrid is an extremely popular route. Get to the train station at 1, and I don’t leave until 5:30. Kinda sucked. I did have time for a nice paella, coffee and some beer though. But I got to Madrid on a Friday night, and it’s difficult to keep track of days when you’re traveling. I was about to head to the embassy Saturday morning when one of the hostel staff members actually told me that it was Saturday morning. Shit.

So Monday rolls around and I head up to the embassy. Long ass line. One of the people waiting in line suggests I go to the consulate just a few streets away to save time and see if it’s possible to even get a new Visa before Thursday when I fly to Morocco. I do this and discover I simply don’t have enough time, even with a Visa in my name already. They’d have to cancel the old one and process the paperwork for a new one, which would take about a week and a half for a foreigner since the Spanish, American and Indian embassies all have to get in touch and talk about the situation or whatever the fuck has to go on when this sort of thing happens.

Farewell India.

I’m trying to look at it in a more positive light and am thinking that I am just not meant to go this time. This gives me more time in some other areas, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I can plan a trip in the near future dedicated almost solely to India and give myself a few months there rather than a few weeks. Whatever whatever, I’ll sort it out.

There’s a nice English book store in Madrid I would suggest for any travellers in the area, by the way. It’s called J and J’s Book store (it’s actually an ampersand but I’m typing this on an Arabic keyboard and can’t find the damned key) off the Noviciado (Line 2 – Red) metro stop. Great selection and very good prices. Many of the larger stores will be asking for 20-30 Euro for a new book, but you can get most used books there for around 4-6 Euro. Great coffee, friendly staff and they have weekly events like Intercambio night on Thursdays and Quiz night on Fridays. I spent a good day and a half there before I headed out to Morocco to recharge my batteries before I spend the next few months as far removed from Western civilization as I’ll probably be in my entire trip to come.

So… off to Morroco this past Thursday, the 19th of November, 2009.

I had no problems getting to the Madrid airport and getting on my plane. I was a bit nervous though, since when I was at the English book store, I brought up my story to some of the folks there. I asked if it would be immoral to open up the small tin of ashes I had been entrusted with, and they said it would be only normal to want to see what I was actually carrying. There was no reason for me to disbelieve Josh, but I wanted to make sure the package actually contained ashes and not some kind of drug he simply wanted to get rid of. So the moment of truth came…

I managed to cut through the tape binding the two halves of the tin together and slowly pried it open. You would’ve thought I was opening Pandora’s Box or the Arc of the Covenant the way the entire bar had crowded around me during the last few millimeters of drawing off the top of the tin.

It was fairly anti-climactic. No ecstasy. No cocaine. No heroine. Just some hardened ashes to be spread around in the desert. There be Nan.

So yeah, I was a bit nervous checking my baggage in the Madrid airport since it technically is illegal to do what I am doing. I did a bit of research the morning I was flying out and I am indeed transporting a dead body, or more specifically, a biological agent across international boundaries. I had it buried deep in my checked baggage and just watched it off towards the X-ray machine. Out of sight, out of mind. If worse comes to worse, I can just let customs remove it from my possession. So long as I manage to get it to the Egyptian desert and fulfill my duty.

So… Marrakech.

It was definitely overwhelming as soon as I got out of the taxi to Jemaa el Fna square. THE Square of Marrakech in the old Medina. Neither pictures nor words can describe the madness that this place brings within the first ten seconds of stepping foot there. You simply have to experience it for yourself.

I manage to find my way to Cafe Argana like the directions to the hostel suggest after asking a few local souk owners who try to get me into their shop. I follow the directions from there and come to an impasse. The street I need to walk down is closed off because they’re shooting a scene for the next Sex in the City movie. Fuck.

“You have to go around.” One of the security guards tells me.
“Can you tell me how?”
“No, it’s impossible. You will get lost, ask someone on the way.”

And he was absolutely right. Even if I had a map it would be completely useless. So I just kept walking, trying to stay on the main streets and using my internal navigation to get back to the street I had to take a detour off of. Shop owners keep trying to pull me in to look at their goods, but I keep telling them, “No… no… I need to find my hotel.”

“Oh, I know a hotel.” They would say.
“I already have a reservation.”

They would then let me on my way.

Finally a shop owner manages to get me in a small conversation and I tell him of my predicament. He tells me to wait a second and his friend pulls up on this bike that’s not quite a motor powered bicycle, and not quite a vespa. Some sort of medium between the two, very popular around Marrakech. The shop owner tells me that his friend knows the address and will take me there. I ask him how much and he just says I give his friend a tip at the end and come back to his shop to look at what he has to sell.

Fair enough, I figure. But I’m not coming back to go shopping.

So in a matter of only two minutes I go from complete distress in my wanting to find this fucking hostel buried somewhere in the snaking alleys of Marrakech to a euphoric motorbike ride (even if I was riding bitch), with a complete stranger through the same streets, zipping through the crowds, taking hairpin turns way too quickly to be considered safe with the amount of awkwardly weighted baggage I was carrying, and coming close to colliding head on with manned donkeys pulling over-sized wheelbarrows full of what looked like fruits and nuts.

Intense.

I get to the hostel, give the man a tip and decline my trip back to his friend’s shop. I imagine he was fairly pissed, but honestly I just wanted to check in and have a quick nap before heading out into the souks again.

It was a completely different world at night when I walked into the main square. Open-aired barbecues perfumed the air with smells of snails, lambs head and tajine. Bum-rushing waiters and stall owners vice-grip your biceps and wrists in an attempt to get you to sit at their restaurant. Vendors atop three foot tall platforms selling nuts and freshly squeezed juices (must haves!) wave you on and call out Hello in three or four different languages. These people, for as poor as they may come across, are very intelligent and know how to cater to tourists. I’ve met a fair number of men on the street who can speak conversational basics in English, Spanish and even sometimes German, along with their fluency in both Arabic and French.

But nothing really happens that first night. It was the day after when I got into the shopping mood and started trying to haggle.

I bought a couple of leather belts since the one I did have was starting to give way (it’s braided) and loosen up more than I would like. I thought I got a good price, but it wasn’t until a few days later when I realized exactly how I low I could manage to get souk owners to drop their prices with a few varied techniques.

But back at the hostel after my first full day in the medina, I book a tour (2 days, 1 night) to some Casbah’s, the Atlas Mountains, and the desert. It was quite the experience.

I wake up the next morning around 6 A.M. to catch the minibus for our tour at 7. We’re 12 in number and squeeze into this thing for a daunting 6 hour ride (with a few stop offs for lunch and shopping) to our final destination where an hour and a half camel back ride will take us out into the desert. I’m not going to go into any details about the people I met, since it was the general kind of talk that happens between backpackers. I will mention this one fellow though, Abdul, who was born in Yemen but lives in the U.K. currently and has for about half his life. He could speak Arabic and he was handy to have around when we needed information or wanted to converse with some of the people we came across.

I would love to describe the landscape we passed on our way to the “desert”, but it’s simply impossible. The tour driver took us on these winding (almost to a point of being terrifying) mountainside roads just barely wide enough for two vehicles, and in some instances with no guards to keep you from plummeting a good 500 feet straight down a cliff side should your tires catch some loose bit of dirt, or one of them pops, or an oncoming car forgets to turn and just decides to send both of you to what could only be described as hell after the vehicles’ gas tanks explode following the drop.

Scary, yet beautiful.

So the first casbah was cool, but really nothing intense and not nearly as authentic as I would’ve liked to imagine it could’ve been. It did have its old parts, but the people there weren’t too apt to let us just wander around their home without supervision, and we weren’t willing to dish out any money to hire a guide none of us understood.

So we move on after a good lunch (mint tea and a Berber omelet – definitely recommend) and buying a scarf for the desert sun. Eventually we get to where we pick up our camels and Berber guides, and head off into the “desert” after sunset. I keep using quotes to describe this for one simple reason. I thought I was heading out into the Sahara. I know it was only a two day, one night tour, but the photo was definitely misleading. There was sand, don’t get me wrong. There were sand dunes as well. But it just wasn’t the desert.

Oh well, I’ll get there when I arrive in Egypt.

Camels are rough to ride. You learn quickly to not be stiff, and that there’s a lot of gyrating going on in order to keep yourself minutely comfortable. Dirty jokes are mandatory.

We get to the camp site and sit down while our dinner is being prepared. It arrives (chicken tajine for 12 with some vegetarian side tajines) and we all chow down with strangers eating out of the same dish. Some more mint tea follows and we’re left to our own devices for about an hour. In this time we all go outside and lay down on the rock/sand mix and stare up at the sky.

There’s plenty of ways to describe the sky out in the desert using colorful adjectives and creative grammar, but I’m not going to try. I can only say this:

It was the first time I could actually see the edge of the Milky Way. A thick white band stretching across the sky just south of center and curving as it reached the horizon. Constellations became nearly impossible to pick out because of the sheer amount of stars covering the pitch black night sky. It became only more intense after the moon dropped beneath the horizon and allowed us a clear view into the world beyond the world. On our backs for a good thirty minutes, a group of twelve who’ve never experienced this before (mostly from Central Europe and the U.K., myself the only American as has become the usual case in my travels), we pick out a good two dozen shooting stars. About one every minute, yeah. Who the fuck needs meteor showers when you can see bits of space debris burning up in our atmosphere every sixty seconds?

I hope at least one of my wishes come true. It’s just playing the odds game, right?

I was the first to see the bonfire.

I stood up to go into our tent to grab a drink of water and see a bonfire being built behind us. The group gets called over and we get treated to traditional berber music played by our hosts on a set of old, plastic gasoline containers. It was great. Some of us danced and clapped along in rhythm and we were joined by another group on the same excursion as ourselves.

This comes to and end and then we sleep…

Or at least we try to.

It was excruciatingly cold. I had heard that the desert gets cold at night, but I wasn’t ready for this. The blankets did provide some shelter, but you really had to double up in order to get remotely comfortable. It takes me a good hour and a half or so in order to fall asleep the first time, but I was woken a few more during the night as some dogs, whether they were tame or wild I know not, near our campsite barked continually at only God-knows-what, and I wasn’t the only one struggling to find peace. The rustling of a dozen bodies cocooned in blankets atop sleeping mats was enough to assure me I wasn’t the only one awake. But I did manage a good four hours (I think) of sound sleep throughout the night.

We all wake up to a nice sunrise behind the nearby mountains and a simple breakfast of bread, jam and tea and head off back on our camels to our minibus to head back to Marrakech. The second ride was easier than the first, even if we were a bit sore. With some experience under our belts, I think a fair portion of the group was comfortable with riding the smelly, spitting beasts of burden. I can still feel it as I type this, but the biggest pain isn’t in your balls, you learn to put them in the right spot to avoid any painful slapping against the camel’s ridge-like spine, but at the inner joint of where your legs and hips meet. Having to straddle an animal that large for extended periods when you’re not accustomed to it simply does a job on you.

So off to another casbah, again I cannot recall its name. It was where the arena scene from Gladiator was shot, so I could easily Google it and give you a more accurate idea of where I have been, but I simply can’t be bothered right now as I’m in a rush to catch a train up to Casablanca. This casbah was much older and more authentic than the one we had seen the day before. One of the men still living there gave us a tour (and didn’t even ask for a tip at the end, he was simply proud of his home and his heritage and wanted to tell us all about it), and took us up to the top (maybe 300 ft?) where we could see the groves of date and palm trees stretching for miles upon miles to nearby towns and villages. This place was nearly 3,000 years old and still had people living in it. So far removed from western civilization, and so dependent on the income from tourists who simply want to walk through a real piece of history, but simply cannot comprehend the level of depth which lies within the adobe walls. 10,000 people once living there had thinned to less than a thousand over the millennia, but it was still a civilization with language, crafts, religion and all the other minute variables which give culture to a people.

So we have lunch and head back off to Marrakech, but not before stopping at a small shop along the way.

It was definitely worth it as it was a shop where oils (both for eating and washing) and soaps were created using an old process (or at least we were led to believe it was so with the process being shown to us as soon as we entered the doors – they very well could’ve had machinery in a back room or some basement or factory down the road where the goods were made with a much higher rate of efficiency) of grinding the pulp of nuts into a sort of cake which was then squeezed by hands to produce the oil used to make the products.

I bought some rose scented soap and we all hopped back into the van to Marrakech. We get there and split off for an hour and a half for a shower and clothes change, but before I do that I sit down and have some snails. It wasn’t that exotic for me, as I have had escargot when I was in France, but these were honestly a bit of a let down. There were no spices and the snails were a bit bland; think of them as salty, boiled mushrooms that have a face staring right back at you in a state of despair, as I’d imagine that’s how a snail being cooked alive must feel.

Anyway, we regroup and head off for a bit of shisha (flavored tobacco smoked out of a hookah) at an off-the-beaten-path one of the guys with us had visited earlier in the week. It was a welcome smoke and then I head off to bed.

The next day was more of the same (window shopping and passing on), except I was walking around with these Swedish girls and Australian boys who were sleeping in the same 8 bed dorm as myself. Some coffee on a terrace looking over the medina and another go at practicing my haggling skills.

Wait, I missed something.

I did entitle this blog “In Marrakech: Deaf people die an exotic cuisine for me!”, didn’t I? Right… so here’s why.

The overwhelming number of bicycle riders, whether they be motorized or push style, is just incredible. They use their horns, bells and whistles of all sorts to let you know when they’re coming by down a busy side street. Just stick to the side, walk in a straight line, and you will be fine even if they brush past you lightly. If you can’t hear this coming, you might just step out to the side at the wrong time and get clipped by a bike whizzing by, or a small truck, or a donkey pulling an over sized load – that’s really the last thing you want to happen here. So yeah, deaf people die if they’re not careful.

Exotic cuisine? Let’s just say that my last full day in Marrakech was accompanied the most awkward thing I’ve eaten thus-far in my life. I didn’t even know you could get this. Earlier that morning I was out on the top terrace of the riad I was staying at and was having conversation with some British guys on a short holiday taking off back home later that afternoon. What did they eat the night prior?

Sheep’s head.

Yes… and let me tell you, it was fucking delicious. Though it might not seem appetizing at first, it’s a must try if you can stomach the sight of a a man chopping the flesh off a freshly boiled head of an animal (and it still has the vague shape of a head after cooking, by the way) right in front of you, toss it into a bowl, and spice it with some flavored salt. The salt is delicious too.

So yeah, that’s pretty much my story in Marrakech and my short excursion out into what kind of was the desert but still wasn’t quite the desert, and the Atlas Mountains and its casbah’s. I have to go rush to the train station to catch one up to Casablanca, take a flight for a night’s stay back in Madrid tomorrow and then head on off to Cairo on the 26th. From there’s it’s overland travel through Egypt, Israel and Jordan for two and a half weeks and then flying out of Amman (spelling?) to….

Well, I’ll save that for when I get there.

Two days until Egypt!

Peace out and take care

-Ryan P.

I hope no one that works airport security reads this, or if they do, after I’ve already left their country! I’m only transporting ashes because I’m a nice person!

 is a  brilliant Show at the Santa Monica Art Center in the lower RAVAL. Now in its 20th edition, they have provided a great retrospect of the catalogue of their work. Aimed at bringing art and technology together, they have presented a great collection of work that spans two decades in the making.

“At the beginning of this third millennium we enter a process in which art and science run together on parallel paths..”

Artificial Life, Virtual Reality, computer generated images… are only the first chapter of a new universe, capable of both broadening and shrinking the human spirit

 _ ART FUTURA

Last Thursday Improv Everywhere partnered up with ART FUTURA for the MP3 Experiment on Las Ramblas. Hundreds of people downloaded instructions on their MP3 player and showed up to the front door of the center without any idea what was in store for them. See what happens when technology encourages real time interaction.

For more information on ::ART FUTURA:: click AQUI!

Barcelona – 11^th July 2009.

Arrogant dick gets his come uppance. Three times. First by my alarm waking everyone up. Secondly by myself turning on the light so that I can get my things for a shower. Thirdly, when I come back from a shower and turn the light on to get changed. Karma is a bitch fucker.

I chill out and catch up with others around the hostel. Everyone has the same motive for staying here. It was the only place they could get as everywhere was booked. I laze about and don’t do a great deal til about lunch time, mainly cause I still feel absolutely dead.

Today, I am going to explore some of Antoni Gaudi’s most famous works. And if you haven’t heard of Gaudi then you need to wake up! He is one of the reasons why Barcelona is famous for its architecture. He has definitely made his mark on this city.

First stop, is the one and only La Sagrada Familia. Which is the most visited construction site in the world. Yep, still being built, and won’t be finished for another 50 years. As I walk out of the metro, I notice two willowly looking spires just staring at myself. Before I go and explore some of the church I go and grab some lunch by the park across the road.

La Sagrada Familia. Back of the Church.

Whilst having some lunch, I get accosted by a few kids who are trying to get money for an
“International blind and deaf” facility in Spain. I find that a bit weird, not only that but I saw the same dead beat form in Madrid. Its not long til I see them get taken away by 2 undercover cops.

Now onto gazing at the magnificence that is the Sagrada Familia. It really is an amazing bit of architecture. From my vantage point, we are looking at the rear of the church. It looks like a kid has gone completely bonkers on a huge sandcastle. But despite that, I cannot stop staring and admiring it. Walking to the front I am equally impressed, and am desperate to have a look inside – though the 2 hour long line and 11 euros for an unfinished church put a stop to that.

The front of La Sagrada Familia.

I walk down a street, and keep walking. Its about 11 blocks til I get to the next important bit of architecture. It is one of his more famous buildings La Pedrera. Which is absolutely absurd. It is an astonishing building. But like all of Gaudi’s buildings, you seem to need to pay a ridiculous amount to get in.

La Pedrera. One of Gaudis works.

A few blocks down the main street and I run into the House of Discords. But half of the House of Discords is behind a green curtain – getting touched up for summer no doubt. But at least Gaudi’s Casa Batllo is visilbe.

Casa Batllo.

I make my way back to the Aussie pub to get some more cricket action, but then I go to do some more before realising how dead I actually am.

At the hostel I am just bumming out on the patio when I talk to 2 girls who, as you do, ask ‘where are you from?’ and because I get weird looks when I say the Central Coast. I just go ‘Have you guys heard of the central coast?’. Turns out they’re from the same area. Sweet. Weirder thing is we actually know some people. Weird. Its a bit of a quiet night but the fridge doesn’t seem to like the girls, I do feel sorry for Lucy though as she is having a very rough time in Barcelona after having her passport and credit cards stolen. Tough tough times. We both crash fairly early, mainly cause I am still suffering a post pamplona hangover.

Man taking a crap.

Barcelona – July 10th, 2009.

Sore neck. Sore body. No voice. Liver badly badly damaged. Dead.

This is how I arrive in Barcelona. And then realise I have to travel on the metro at peak hour to the hostel. But for some reason its at least 30-40 minutes from the centre of Barca. Weird. And its becauses of a big metal festival on over the weekend all rooms seem to be booked out and this was the only place I could get.

As I am walking from the Metro stop to the hostel, I go past a cafe that has the bull run going on. But its still about 30 minutes to go and I am too tired to sit and watch on. So I go up the massive hill to the hostel. Checking in is a breeze and they even show me to my room at 7:30 in the morning. Weird. I thought I was going to be crashing on a couch.

I clamber into bed as everyone is getting up and nod off. The week that was, was a little hectic so I am just gonna sleep it off for a bit.

After a good half day nap, I get up and send off a few emails to let people back home know I am safe and not dead. Little did I know that when looking at news sites, a poor spaniard had been gored to death. On further insepction, he was gored through the collarbone on the stretch of road that I was running down yesterday. It puts things into perspective of how lucky I really am to have survived the run. I quickly send some emails off to let everyone know I’m ok. Mum’s response was “Thanks for telling me after, I would of worried otherwise”. Should of been pretty obvious by the fact I was going.

Anyway after a bit more lounging around, I get my things together and hit Barcelona up. I grab my trusty old baguette with some meat and cheese from the grocery store and head off. After a fairly long ride on the metro into town I arrive at Catalunya.

I step off the metro into my first Barcelona experience – Placa Catalunya. A big square in the middle of the town. That is the start of Las Ramblas. So I sit down on a bench and make myself some lunch whilst enjoying a homeless person scanning through the bins. And the other people around.

There is an abundance of tourists around. More than I’ve experienced thus far. But I guess this is what most people come to Espana for. Apart from the tourists, this place is full of flying rats – pigeons. Quite disgusting.

Placa Catalunya

I then make my way down Las Ramblas – it’s basically the main street in Barca. Its Oxford or Champs Elysee. It is packed to the rafters. It has 2 roads down eiter side and a big median strip lined with trees and street performers aplenty – from weird looking painted guys to jugglers and a man taking a crap. Not to mention stalls galore.

Las Ramblas.

I stumble onto an Aussie pub, grab a pint of beer and watch a bit of the 1^st ashes test match – and it looks like we’re in a comfortable position at the moment. Before going a bit further down the street.

I hit the end of Las Ramblas and standing in front is the huge Columbus monument. You can actually climb up to the top, at a price, so I just stare from below. You can see that he is pointing to something, most people think he is pointing to the America’s but in reality he is actually pointing to where he thinks he will find India.

Columbus Monument.

Its not long til I am at Port Vell (a massive wharf precient. There are a tonne of yachts around. I mean every which way I look all I see is Masts after Masts. I stumble on a havianna’s store and buy a replacement pair of thongs and head back to cruise the streets of the Barri Gothic area.

Port Vell

This is the old district of Barcelona, and its got that feel to it. I stumble on a dirty and boring plaza, before stumbling on Cathedral de Barcelona. Though not spectacularly pretty or anything like that, it has a pretty cool cloister area with palm trees, ponds and birds galore.

Cloisters of the Cathedral

I make my way back to Las Ramblas – getting lost in the tiny streets of the Barri Gothic and finally get a metro back to the hostel.  On my way back up the hill, I grab some food from Lidl and cook up some pasta and chill uot with a few beers before finally crashing out.

Self Potrait on Ramblas

Sometime during the night an arrogant dick, thinks its completely fine to turn the light on at 3pm in the morning when other people in the room are awake- Despite telling him so he takes his time and fucks around doing god knows what. I hate people who don’t have good dorm ettiquite, its rather fucking rude – Karma is a bitch.

So last time we left off I still had lots to explore in Rome and pasta to eat, mission accomplished, this morning I got up at the crack of dawn (okay, 7:30) to catch my flight to Barcelona.  In my last post I mentioned that the view of the outside of St. Peter’s Basilica  took my breath away, well the outside has nothin’ on the inside, let me tell you!  If I lived during the time this was built, I sure as hell would believe in God and his almighty power.  Then there was Michaelangelo´s Sistine Chapel, my last “tourist stop.”  After shelling out 14 Euros, I was well on my way to seeing possibly one of the most legendary works of art that I can think of.  I still remember learning the history behind it, the relationship between Michaelangelo and the Pope Julius II in 10th grade history and dying to see more than the poor quality photo that was in my textbook.  However, that museum was going to make sure that I got my money´s worth.  With each arrow that said “Cappella Sistina” I felt the butterflies in my stomach and thought FINALLY!  It was like the butterflies I used to get when getting ready to see the tree in Rockefeller center for the first time that Christmas season. (My grandmother was Catholic).  However, it felt like one big tease.  (Although I was pretty taken aback by the Raphael rooms and thought the hall of maps was pretty sweet) Forty minutes had passed and I had almost started give up hope.  Forgive me, and maybe I am just influenced by the religious context, but it sort of felt like The Passion of the Christ.  (The movie.  And no I am not comparing myself to Jesus – more like one of the poor fools following behind him in the procession with the hot sun beating down.)  That said, the view, was more than worth it.  Even if I could take pictures, it would have been futile.  (Especially without the flash)

Now I am in Barcelona and ready for action!  Hearing the Spanish is not quite so intimidating…oh wait, no, it´s not Spanish!  AH!  It´s Catalan… Crap.  I think this trip has been good for me because I´ve really had to rely on myself (and I have yet to take a taxi!).  On top of the fact that Barcelona is a city that I have been dying to visit for a super long time, I get to see my close friend Alison!  I can´t wait for the romantic dates we´ll have walking down Las Ramblas…

Again I apologize for the lack of pictures.  I have been taking them!  It is just that when I made the executive decision NOT to carry my laptop, I didn´t take into account that I would feel uncomfortable loading pictures onto a random computer in a random internet cafe.  What if someone saw my pictures and decided to do sketchy things? Like, what if I was cloned?! Creepy.  Yeah, you´ll just have to wait in suspense.

Sin llegar a ser realmente preocupante, la situación laboral mia no es muy boyante que digamos. El trabajo no escasea, pero tampoco sobra y en temporadas como esta me veo en la obligación de salir a trabajar fuera de la isla de Mallorca. Esta semana que está acabando la he pasado casi toda en Barcelona, y a grandes rasgos se podría calificar de “mejorable”. Como el trabajo es algo triste y mucho más cuando duermes en la cabina de un camión, no haré muchos comentarios al respecto.

Durante las jornadas que pasé por aquellos andUrriales, el primer día fue caótico, cansino y se podría calificar como uno de los peores días que he tenido en mi vida profesional, sin embargo, el Jueves fue uno de esos días en que todo salió rodado… bueno casi todo.

Pero como ya he dicho quiero dejar a un lado el tema del trabajo. Al terminar mi faena pronto y dejar el camión en el puerto de Barcelona sobre las 17.00h tuve la oportunidad de visitar uno de mis lugares favoritos fuera de Andalucía. LAS RAMBLAS. Primero me dirigí a ese pedazo de centro comercial que hay en el puerto y pasear por el puente de madera dando botecitos en la parte en que se separa para que entre los grandes veleros. Empezaba a llover. Llegué al centro comercial y como es habitual en mi, mi primera visita fue al WC. Después a una de mis tiendas favoritas, que aunque no recuerdo muy bien el nombre es una delicia andar por sus angostos y pequeños pasillos llenos de juguetes y coches de Scalextric. Por cierto, había ofertas muy suculentas, pero me economía empezaba a ser más bien escasa… Después emprendí ese paseo que me llevaría hasta la Plaza de Cataluña y vuelta al puerto. La fuerte lluvia dejó paso a una tormenta de proporciones descomunales, si seguimos con un símil marítimo, dejamos a un lado los grandes veleros para empezar a ver grandes trasanlánticos. Así, que tanto yo como un grupo de personas nos cobijamos debajo de un edificio de caracter militar que hay a la salida del puente.

Llovía.

Ameinó y salimos como una estampida. Dirección La Rambla de Santa Mónica. La cantidad ingesta de agua caída había dejado desierta una de las calles más concurridas y con más vida que conozco. Pero conforme pasaban los minutos, los mimos y titiriteros iban ocupando de nuevo sus posiciones y en poco tiempo, el gentío se volvió apoderar de ese tramo de la ciudad.

Andar por las Ramblas de Barcelona es uno de los ejercicios más relajantes y gratificantes que he podido hacer.

Hay gente adicta a la comida basura, otras a unos colores futbolísticos, a coleccionar sellos… A mi lo que me gusta es el café basura. Me explico. Me encanta el café del Danki Donuts. Que le voy a hacer. Y cada vez que voy a Barcelona y voy a las Ramblas me tomo uno, mientras me siento en un banco leyendo alguna que otra revista que me compro en uno de sus muchos quioscos, que venden de todo, hasta gitanas bailando flamenco a modo de imán para la nevera… Un recuerdo muy típico de Barcelona, si obviamos que el flamenco es un arte andaluz, pero ya se sabe, la pela es la pela. Después de mi cafelito y mi revistica, bajo por la parte derecha, si miramos al mar de frente y además de haber locutorios, teatros, coches muy muy caros aparcados con los critales tintados y restaurantes chinos en los que se nos ofrece paella. (véase el ejemplo de la gitana bailando flamenco) Nos encontramos con el Mercado de la Boquería. Una eclosión de sabores, olores y colores. Es como si dentro de un oasis te encontrases un concesionario Audi en el que te dejan probar los nuevos modelos de la marca de los cuatro aros, como el nuevo TTS Roadster en azul y cambio automático. Cáspita, ahora podeis imaginar que otras ventanitas tengo abiertas en el güindos.

Durante tres horas incluido una parada por motivos climatológicos estuve dando un paseo por una de las mejores ciudades del mundo, al menos del poco mundo que conozco y que  no está en Andalucía. Ahora sólo me falta disfrutar de Barcelona con mi Turpi y en unas auténticas vacaciones.

Al llegar al puerto tuve mi momento de Gloria, pero después… bajé hasta los infiernos. Pero como eso son cosas del trabajo, lo dejaré para otra ocasión. Por cierto, el título de esta entrada no es de mi cosecha, lo vi en un escaparate y me gustó. Ahora siempre formará parte de esta pequeña bitácora y de todos los que la lean.

Sed felices.

Besitos.

Por cierto, ahora se me ha venido una canción a la cabeza que tenía puesta mi padre en el coche, en una cinta de caset, nada de discos compactos ni puertos USB….

Joder… la cantidad de emigrantes que ha dado y que está dando Andalucía. Carlos Cano, uno de los más ilustres andaluces que ha dado nunca mi amada tierra decía algo asi en La murga de los currelantes: “que vuelvan pronto los emigrantes”

Que volvamos pronto…

Barcelona é uma daquelas cidades que todo mundo deveria ter direito a visitar ao menos uma vez na vida, cheia de vida cultural (seja por sua arquitetura maravilhosa ou pela quantidade de opções de entretenimento) e com um charme super particular, é um lugar pelo qual é difícil não se apaixonar!!!

las ramblas

Las ramblas, que ligam a Plaza Cataluña ao Porto, é a grande pedida para um delicioso passeio com muitas opções de lojinhas para apreciar a cultura local e comprar souvenirs. Não tem como não aproveitar uma das bancas de jornais para comprar muitos cartões postais para deixar todo mundo morrendo de vontade!

La Boqueria

É também onde fica o famoso Mercat de St Joseph – mais conhecido como la boqueria – com uma fachada feita em metal e um vitral art noveau. Além da arquitetura incrível, você ainda encontra lá tudo o que precisa para fazer um típico prato catalão!!

Para finalizar o passeio, é indispensável se deliciar com os sucos divinos na barraca de frutas (dica, no final do dia eles vendem os sucos mais baratos, 2 por 1 euro!). Com combinações inusitadas, o de morango com coco é deliciosoooooooooo!!!!

Quer mais dicas sobre Barcelona? É só acompanhar o Super Lucy Now que você vai saber onde ir e o que fazer na cidade!

Después de admirar la impresionante Sagrada Familia, recorrimos un poco el barrio en lo que hacíamos tiempo para abordar nueva mente el turibus, aprovechamos para tomar una coca y comprar algunos souvenirs que curiosamente estaban más económicos que en Las Ramblas. A la llegada de nuestro bus nos subimos y seguimos la misma ruta roja hacia Grácia, que fue un pueblo independiente hasta fines del siglo XIX e incluso en la actualidad su comunidad es pequeña y cerrada. De ahí el bus siguió al Parque Güell donde no bajamos para resérvanos el paseo al día siguiente, pero ya les cuento de este hermosos parque más adelante. El bus siguió su camino y llegamos a la zona de Balu Tibiadabo donde se asientan los grandes corporativos de la ciudad. El recorrido sigue y pasamos la Sarria de St. Gervasi, pasando el Monestir de Pedralbes hasta el Palau Reial Pavellons Güell, que es una gran y hermosa finca donde la familia pasaba los días de verano. Vaya que este Sr. Güell si que tenía gusto por los bienes raíces y era el dueño de casi toda Barcelona. www.rutadelmodernisme.com

Nas Ramblas, romance e roubo.

A Europa lidera e praticamente monopoliza a lista de cidades mundias onde precisa-se de cuidado especial para não ter a carteira roubada.

Ter a carteira batida é bem melhor do que ser assaltado à mão armada, mas não é boa a situação de se ver num país estrangeiro sem dinheiro, cartões de crédito, câmera fotográfica e às vezes o passaporte.

Vamos à lista, propiciada pelo site de viagens TripAdvisor, no MSNBC:

1. Las Ramblas, Barcelona, Espanha: Las Ramblas não é propriamente uma cidade, mas uma rua de pedestres cheia de vida, música e gente, a qualquer hora do dia e da noite. Para liderar esta lista, certamente os casos devem ser muitos.
2. Roma Itália: Olhe para a torre da igreja, para os detalhes da Fontana de Trevi, entre nas filas dos museus, mas não se esqueça de ficar atento. Esse que vos fala “perdeu” US$200.00 num ônibus em Roma.
3. Praga, República Checa: As pessoas aglomeram-se para ver as 30 estátuas em estilo barroco da Charles Bridge,e os meliantes agem. Nesse lugar o cuidado deve redobrar.
4. Madri, Espanha: No metrô e na feira de El Rastro, os batedores de carteiras batem os récordes da capital espanhola.
5. Paris, França: Tome cuidado na Torre Eiffel, no metrô, nas escadas do Sacre-Coeur e em tantos outros lugares da Cidade Luz.
6. Florença, Itália: A gente fica mais leve vendo o Davi de Michelangelo. Cuidado que enquanto você admira, alguém pode estar realmente fazendo você ficar mais leve.
7. Buenos Aires, Argentina: Nossos hermanos herdaram de seus antepassados europeus a arte da mão leve. Aliás, exportaram para o Brasil no começo do Sec. XX, onde a arte não vingou(infelizmente, sob certo aspecto).
8. Amesterdam, Holanda: Os encantos dos canais e a atmosfera amiga não impedem a existência de hábeis batedores de carteiras.
9. Atenas, Grécia: Todo o cuidado na capital grega. Eles estão por toda a parte, pricipalmente no Partenon.
10. Hanói, Vietnam: O Bairro Velho e os 600 templos e pagodes tiram a atenção do turista e bum… lá se foi o conteúdo da bolsa.

Meterem a mão nos bolsos, nas bolsas, nas mochilas, não é apenas o que sucede. Há trapaças elaboradas, como o de ajudar a limpar uma mancha na roupa, colocar uma bela mulher a seu lado no metrô(você pensa que está agradando, se distrai, e lá vai a carteira), ajudar uma senhora idosa a atravessar a rua…

Terminando de cenar seguimos con nuestra caminata por esta alameda que es las más céntrica y atraviesa el corazón de la ciudad con aproximadamente 1.2 kms. y tomamos camino rumbo a la Plaza Cataluña. En este recorrido de ir y venir con gente de diferentes nacionalidades pudimos observar algunas obras y caricaturas de artista locales, en el camino los bares invitaban a pasar y disfrutar de una copa. Tengo que mencionarles que en Las Ramblas además de que uno se encuentra con buena diversión con los turistas haciendo amistades, charlando y disfrutando, el lado obscuro resurge a altas horas, ya que en la parte sur rumbo al Colón la zona tiende a ponerse más roja y saltan a la vista los table dance y clubs de ambiente nocturno XXX, así que ojo por que la ciudad ofrece aventura para todos. Y siguiendo con este paseo nocturno llegamos a la Plaza Cataluña donde nos encontramos con un viejo conocido bar, el Hard Rock Café con su tradicional música y ahí decidimos refrescarnos con unas cañitas. www.hardrock.com

Después de registrarnos en el hotel Guitart Grand Passage aprovechando nuestra membresía Royal Holiday (www.royal-holiday.com) y despejarnos un poco de nuestro viaje en el RENFE; ya con algo de hambre iniciamos nuestra caminata por Las Ramblas para ver el ambiente y buscar algo que nos llenara el ojo para cenar. Nuestro recorrido inicio unas cuantas cuadras de la estación del Liceu rumbo al Monumento a Colón, la noche era algo fresca por la brisa del Mediterráneo y alumbrada por una gran luna que nos daba la bienvenida a esta hermosa ciudad. Tomando algunas fotos al Colón que luce imponente señalando con su índice al continente Americano caminamos por la bella acera de Las Ramblas decorada con mosaicos multicolor. Sobre esta avenida vimos varios kioscos que venden desde agua hasta los más simpáticos souvenirs que uno se pueda imaginar, entre ellos las mesas de los varios restaurantes que se encuentran sobre la avenida estaban repletos de turistas y de gente local disfrutando de bocatas, cervezas, vino y platillos como langosta que la verdad nos abrió de más el gran apetito que traíamos y decidimos sentarnos para darle gusto a nuestro paladar. Quién no se haya ido de tapas por Las Ramblas, no puede decir que conoce Barcelona.

Imagine 20 American friends arriving in Spain. Some speak Spanish. Few speak it well. None of us know our surroundings.  More than that, we don´t know how to use the 8 lines of  the underground, intricate, twisty-turny metro system.

I am sure you can imagine that we stand out. We speak louder and laugh harder. We walk quicker. Most importantly, we are constantly confused. The dead give away is the fact that we are speaking English.

Fast forward a few weeks, and we are  running around like we have lived here our whole lives. Classes, touring, and beaches by day. Tapas and clubbing by night. Here are a few of my favorite experiences in the city of Barcelona:

I went inside Sagrada Familia for a field trip this week. I had walked past the church many times before. I always thought it was pretty…and big. But when I went inside, I discovered a whole new level of awe. The work that has gone into it, and the progress that is still to come is truly amazing. I could not only see, but feel the passion that Gaudi and the other architects, brick layers,  and sculpters have for the structure. It really took my breathe away.  

I went to a Tapas workshop with my program, CEA. The chefs taught us how to make traditional Spanish tapas. We also learned a bit about the origin of the meal. Now, everytime I go out for Tapas, I appreciate the history behind it, and of course the work that was put into the tiny dish.

Everytime I explore Las Ramblas, the street never fails to entertain me. Weather I am window shopping in the clothing stores, tasting the yummy food, watching the street entertainers, or browsing through the huge market, I am never bored. There are all kinds of people wandering around from all kinds of backgrounds. Being at Las Ramblas makes me feel like I stand out a bit less than normal.

Ich habe mich ja schon vor einiger kurzer Zeit darüber geäußert, dass es mich nach Barcelona zieht. In meiner blog post “L´auberge Espagnole” hab ich die Recherche allerdings ziemlich schnell wieder aufgegeben. Nach meinem Wochenende in London hat es mich dann wieder gepackt. Das Reisefieber. Wobei ich eigentlich immer eine konstant erhöhte Temperatur habe, wenn es ums Reisen geht…Und auch, wenn es sich nicht immer in die Tat umsetzen lässt mangels Zeit, so habe ich mir doch schonmal das ein oder andere Fleckchen rausgesucht, was es sich lohnt, einmal näher zu betrachten. Man wird ja wohl nochmal träumen dürfen. Zumindest bis zum Tag X.

Um sich nun in Reisestimmung zu versetzen gilt es, einige Vorbereitungen zu treffen: Numero uno: Auf den Balkon in die Sonne fletzen. Numero dos: Radio an. Und zwar spanisches Radio. Ich LIEBE das Gebrabbel und die Gitarrenklänge. Hat seinen Charme. Numero tres: una botella vino blanco y tappas ausm supermercado. immerhin. DAS hat allerdings weniger seinen Charme. Naja sagen wir, einen rustikalen Charme. Original Tappas sind dann doch bekömmlicher.

Der Stadtteil Gracia hat es mir irgendwie angetan. Zentrale Lage, Nähe zu vielen Gaudí Bauwerken, die an Abgefahrenheit kaum noch zu übertreffen sind. Hier zum Beispiel die unvollendete Sagrada Família, an der Gaudí bis zu seinem Tod wie ein Besessener, ja nahezu wie eine Irrer bastelte.

Eine Carvezeria neben der anderen zum flanieren gibt es natürlich auch. Sehen und gesehen wedern und die Leber stets gut durchgespült. Der Unterhopfung muss vorgebeugt werden. Außerdem in der Nähe der Parc Güell. Allein der Eingang zum Park sieht wahnsinnig vielversprechend aus, ganz zu schweigen von den Sehenswürdigkeiten, die Gaudí IN dem Park gebastelt hat.

Weiterhin liegt Las Ramblas, eine Prommenade im Zentrum von Barcelona, die die Plaça de Catalunya mit dem Hafen verbindet. Der berühmteste Boulevard Barcelonas mit Straßenhändlern, Bars, unmengen von Künstlern und allgemein ein Hochgenuss der mediterranen Lebensweise. Von dort aus ist unter anderem auch der Hausberg Tibidabos zu sehen. Auf diesem Berg wurde Jesus mit den Worten “Das alles will ich dir geben, wenn du dich vor mir niederwirfst und mich anbetest”, von dem Teufel verführt. (tibi dabo = will ich dir geben, bezogen auf Barcelona). uuuuhhhh, vielleicht erhascht mich der Teufel ja auch, ich bin so wahnsinnig leicht zu beeinflussen, von verführen mal ganz zu schweigen.

Unterkünfte in dem Stadtteil Gracia gibt es z.B hier. Die Auswahl reicht über Hotels, Ferienwohnungen und Ferienhäuser. Und da auch Barcelona hinsichtlich der Finanzkrise keine Exrawürste bekommt, sind die Betreiber solcher Etablissements gezwungen, die Butzen mit 35% Preisnachlass zu verscherbeln.

Und für alle, die sich noch ein bißchen mehr Spaß in Barcelona erhoffen: Kürzlich fand der CSIC heraus, dass sich Spuren von Cannabis, Opiaten, Amphetaminen, LSD und Kokain in der Luft befinden. Allerdings nützt es nichts, mal einen ordentlichen Zuch an der Luft zu nehmen, selbst wenn man tausend Jahre in der Stadt lebt, so ließe sich durch schnüffeln dann doch keine künstliche Fröhlichkeit erzeugen.

Aber auch der Strand darf nicht zu kurz kommen. Barcelona ist eine Stadt, die am Strand liegt und wie ich das sehe, mit der Metro gut zu erreichen. Wer viel durch die Gegend kaspert, darf sich auch mal wie ein dicker Käfer auf dem Rücken im Sand suhlen. Am Strand Barceloneta kann man auch Windsurfen. Great! noch nie gemacht! Also auch ein Muss. Egal, wie dämlich ich mich dabei auch anstellen werde, dabei sein ist bekanntlich alles. Wie mag ein dicker Käfer, der sich vorher noch im Sand gesuhlt hat, wohl beim windsurfen aussehen?

Barcelona a bohemian city by the sea. Alluring, charming and somewhat understated. A city of people and for people. Five million inhabitants in the metro area all living above the first floor of any building where everyday merchants sell their wares and tares. Our apartment was extremely nice right in the middle of a very friendly location just off the thorough fare called Las Ramblas.
Las Rambla a favorite avenue to see and be seen. Bustling and alive with culinary options and creative unique street performers. “Creativity” the enchanting quality, became clear here.But the other side of the coin was our first evening’s reminder to have fun but beware. Purse thievery was very real as we heard the scream of a victim as she very quickly lost her. Hence one of the only common fashion stlyes I noted, the long strap purse worn across the torso. Large guazy scarves wrapped aroung the neck and shoes to match the colour of one’s shirt were next in line.

Just a short walk and you would be at the beach, marina and casino. Brown sand beaches that boast of topless sunbathers, extremely well done sand sculptures, more mucical street performers and marijuana openly rolled and smoked created an atmosphere where anything goes. It was fun to sit down along a large walkway surrounded by palms,pine and maples,amist a crowed that gather to hear a musical group singing while looking out at the moving and docked boats of the marina. Very relaxing.
The higher elevations and mountain ranges were benefactors of Parc Guell and Tibadabo’s Santa Maria Cathedral. Fabulous vistas were a great place for more picture taking even on a cloudy day. All of this gifts of artist and archetects from the past whose impact is still felt today. A side trip to the Museum of Science and Industry was a surprise and was quite good with many local families in attendance.
It was very easy to feel right at home in this beautiful and relaxing city of Barcelona. I am already working on the itenerary of my next visit here.
Hope it will be soon!

Barcelona é uma cidade segura?

Depende. Dificilmente alguém vai te assaltar lá, mas facilmente você pode ser roubado. Acho que em toda cidade muito turística existe este risco. Mas em Barcelona os ladrões têm a mão super leve!

Uma das minhas professoras no curso de turismo, guia da cidade, apresenta sua rua mais famosa, as ramblas, assim: uma das ruas mais famosas do mundo e com mais ladrões por metro quadrado.

Cada caso de gente que foi roubada sem nem saber como ou com poucos segundos de distração!

Acompanhem alguns:

- Alguns ladrões se disfarçam de turistas e se misturam nestes grandes grupos que estão sendo guiados pela rambla e não se conhecem uns aos outros. Enquanto os turistas reais se preocupam em tirar foto, os falsos turistas fazem a festa.

- Tem o golpe de umas meninas que se fingem de muda (e eu sei que não são porque já as vi conversando) e param as pessoas para mostrar uma prancheta onde está um pedido de doação de um euro para a instituição delas. Enquanto a pessoa solidária assina o nome na prancheta, uma das meninas vem por trás e… adeus, carteira!

- Um casal se sentou num banco na rua, pôs a bolsa debaixo dele, abriu o mapa para se localizar e levaram a bolsa. Literalmente debaixo dos narizes deles.

- Um jovem chegou num albergue, deixou a mochila, no chão perto da porta e foi perguntar se tinha vaga no balcão alguns passos à frente. Segundos depois, quando virou para trás, tinham levado a mochila…

- Minha anja Tati estava o metro, vendo na câmera digital, fotos de uma amiga que tinha acabado de chegar do Marrocos. Numa estação, um cara saiu levando a câmera e desapareceu dentro da estação em questão de segundos…

Tive vários colegas que tiveram a carteira, a máquina ou o celular roubado. Eu mesma escapei por um triz, mas só conto no próximo post, que este já está grande…

Port Lligat, povoado na costa Catalã, onde Dali tinha uma casa...

Por fora, a casa é até normal...

por dentro... tipicamente daliniana

Este ovo por exemplo, para que? Só para turistas tirarem fotos rídiculas como esta: nasci!

Tossa do Mar, também na Costa Brava, Catalunha

Cap de Creus (cabo da cruz), na Costa Brava. Formações rochosas (algumas com formas de animais) por onde Dali gostava de passear. Dizem que esta rocha...

...inspirou este quadro: O grande masturbador

Barcelona es una ciudad segura?

Depende. Difícilmente te van a asaltar allá, pero fácilmente puedes ser robado. Creo que en toda ciudad muy turística existe este riesgo. Pero en Barcelona los ladrones tienen la mano súper ligera!

Una de mis profesoras en el curso de turismo, guía de la ciudad, presenta su calle más famosa, las ramblas, así: una de las calles más famosas del mundo y con más ladrones por metro cuadrado.

Cada caso de gente que fue robada sin ni saber cómo o con pocos segundos de distracción!

Vean algunos:

- Algunos ladrones se disfrazan de turistas y se mezclan en estos grupos que son guiados por las ramblas y no se conocen los unos a los otros. Mientras los turistas reales se preocupan en sacar fotos, los falsos turistas agarran todo lo que pueden.

- Hay el golpe de las chicas que se fingen de mudas (sé que no lo son porque ya les vi hablando) y paran las personas para mostrar un papel donde hay un pedido de donación de un euro para su institución. Mientras la persona solidaria firma su nombre, una de las chicas viene por detrás y… adiós, cartera!

- Una pareja se sentó en un banco en la calle, puso el bolso debajo del banco, abrió el mapa para se localizar y llevaron el bolso. Literalmente bajo sus narices.

- Un joven llegó a un hostal, dejó la mochila en el suelo, cerca de la puerta y fue preguntar en el balcón, algunos pasos adelante, se había plaza. Segundos después, cuando se volvió, habían llevado la mochila…

- Mi ángel Tati estaba en el metro, mirando en la camera digital, fotos de una amiga que había acabado de llegar de Marrocos. En una estación, un hombre salió llevando la camera y desapareció dentro de la estación en cuestión de segundos…

Tuve varios colegas que tuvieron la cartera, la camera o el móvil robados. Yo misma escapé por poco, pero sólo cuento en el próximo post, que este ya está grande…

Port Lligat, pueblo en la costa Catalana, donde Dali tenía una casa...

Por fuera, la casa es normal...

por dentro... tipicamente daliniana

Este huevo por ejemplo, para que? Sólo para turistas sacaren fotos rídiculas como esta: naci!

Tossa de Mar, también en la Costa Brava, Cataluña

Cap de Creus (cabo de la cruz), en la Costa Brava. Formaciones rocosas raras (algunas con formas de animales) por donde Dali paseaa. Dicen que esta roca...

...inspiró esta pintura: El gran masturbador

In 2008 Tomas Tarruella and his partner Rosa Maria Esteva packed their bags and took 16 of their employees on a trip of a lifetime through the Orient on a journey to inspire them recreate the mystery and elegance of the Cantonese culture and cuisine.

After packing up four land rovers and traveling over 3000 miles from Peking to Shanghai, the out come of this voyage through China ended in the creation of LA XINA, a modern take on the tradition Cantonese Dim Sum Restaurant. 

Grupo Tragaluz teamed up once again with the designers of the critically acclaimed Hotel OMM-  Sandra Tarruella and Isabel Lopez, to breathe life and sensuality to this bi level space overlooking the  world famous Ramblas at the entrance to former Barrio Xino. Over looking the dining room, the huge paper dragon watches silently over diners reflecting the strength and mystery of far east in a more intimate setting in Barcelona.

La Xina- Pintor Fortuny 3 Barcelona, Spain

Metro: Liceu <L3>

http://www.laxinaderamblas.es/

(o también: Barcelona que te queremos tanto)

***

Tal com ets, tal te vull, ciutat mala:
és com un mal donat, de tu s’exhala:
que ets vana i coquina i traïdora i grollera,
que ens fa abaixar el rostre
Barcelona! i amb tos pecats, nostra! nostra!
Barcelona nostra! la gran encisera!

“Oda nova a Barcelona” 1909
Joan Maragall.

¿Potser dubteu, ciutats,
que us van clavegueres
per sobre els empedrats?

Teniu carrers, velles ciutats llatines,
que són l’escorredora de les pitjors letrinas
***
Vull parlar del vici, que de nit i dia,
escamarlat i brètol, se’t pixa al mig del front!

Tu el consents! Cal que et parli de cartilles?
El fas públic i el toleres pels racons.
Ah, Ciutat, si t’alcessis les fadilles, be en veuríem els garrons.

“el carrer del migdia. Oda numero 2 a Barcelona” 1905
Rafael Nogueres i Oller

Calle Conde del Asalto, vía errante y milonguera
del distrito más debute que hay en la condal ciudad,
perdoná si este criollo con su verba arrabalera
te descubre con un tango los secretos que encerrás.
De la Rambla al Paralelo en tu ambiente se adivina
un afán desordenado que malgasta tu salud,
y yo he visto en tus veredas, al pasar, más de una mina
que pregona con sus lujos su carencia de virtud.

Calle,
por la fama de tu ambiente
te movés constantemente
entre el vicio y el amor.
Calle,
que conservás todavía
la incesante algarabía
de tu pasado esplendor.
Eres,
calle loca y pervertida
como una mujer querida
imposible de olvidar.
Ahora,
hasta el nombre te han cambiado,
pero tu pinta ha quedado…
¡Nadie la podrá cambiar!

Vos tenés, oh, calle rea, la atractiva simpatía
de unos labios femeninos con su risa de cristal;
en tu afán de diversiones convertís la noche en día
y cantás a todas horas la canción del bien y el mal.
Y vivís casi inconsciente, calle posta, enfarolada,
entre farras engañosas de tugurio y de burdel;
aunque sufras de miseria, la escondés en tu morada
y mostrás sólo a la vista tu sonoro cascabel!

Calle Conde del Asalto (ahora llamada Carrer Nou de la Rambla)
(letra de Rosendo Llurba. Música de Rafael Iriarte) Cantada por Carmen Aubert y Mario Visconti en 1932

-no recuerdo de donde saqué esta referencia, es una lástima-

Dues prostitutes davant la porta d'un edifici en el carrer de Barberà, al districte cinquè, conegut popularment com a barri Xino, a Barcelona. Al costat, entrada a la casa de gomes La Especial.

Gabriel Casas. en algun moment entre 1925 i 1939

Prostitutas en el Barri Xino

Margaret Michaelis. en algun moment entre 1933 i 1934

prostituta al barri xino

Joan Colom, en algun moment entre 1958 i 1961

.

.

.

sigo?

]]> http://separtysci.wordpress.com/2009/08/29/feel-the-city/ Sat, 29 Aug 2009 17:28:13 +0000 jdrq http://separtysci.wordpress.com/2009/08/29/feel-the-city/

Codzienność. Wayfarery i torebki LV za 5 EUR można kupić wszędzie, gdzie jeszcze nie ma policji.

Nie wiem czemu (tzn. wiem czemu), ale ten obrazek jest dla mnie esencją barcelońskiej codzienności…

Wezcie prawie każde z powyższych zdjec, zmultiplikujcie przez 100 i wyjdzie wam przepis na Barcelonę.

Prawie, bo jest tylko jedna Sagrada Familia i jeden polski sklep.

]]> http://softtofu.wordpress.com/2009/08/28/barcelona/ Fri, 28 Aug 2009 02:42:17 +0000 penguina http://softtofu.wordpress.com/2009/08/28/barcelona/

Last night we were looking through pictures of old travels and I was trying to find a few images that would sum up each particular city. It was of course, easy for some cities, and downright impossible for others.

I’ll start with Barcelona, which I visited for a week in July of 2007.

A trip to Barcelona has a lot to offer – great seafood (paella to die for!), modern interior design, a nice beach, and lots of nightlife. This pic was taken on Las Ramblas, late at night, after all the bars had closed and the streets were being washed and cleaned.

Let’s face it though, nightlife aside, a trip to Barcelona is really all about modernist architect, Antoni Gaudi. He died in 1926, but before he passed, he created some of the most unique and interesting buildings in history. A walk through the streets of Barcelona can sometimes feel like a trip down Alice’s rabbit hole.

This is a picture of the interior of Gaudi’s iconic Sagrada Familia. It’s still not completed, but well worth a visit.

This is Gaudi’s Parc Guell. An outdoor wonderland of architecture, art, music, performance and nature.

Next up, Venice!

17 dni bez dodania posta - takiego postu nie miałem od momentu powstania bloga. Ale urlop to nie wakacje i wypocząć trzeba.

Nim jednak w fotograficznym “skrócie” opowiem dlaczego “I love Barcelona” chciałem podziękować Marioli, bez której pewnie spalibyśmy z Asią pod mostem. Mariola ( z hiszp. “mar” (morze) y(i) ola(fala)) przygarnęła nas jednak na cały ten czas, czym zapewniła sobie dozgonną wdzięczność co najmniej 1/3 sepARTystów!

Zainteresowani namiarów na Mariolę nie znajdą, bo póki co ma ona na życie inny plan niż prowadzenie noclegowni:P

A wracając do Barcelony… Właśnie – od razu uprzedzam, że przez najbliższy czas będę tam wracał dość często. Wszystko przez mój wrodzony sentymentalizm, który w przypadku stolicy Katalonii osiąga ogromne rozmiary. Wszystkiemu winny jest mój starszy brat, który 17 lat temu zaraził mnie uczuciem do FC Barcelony. Już 12 lat śledziłem wyniki ulubionego klubu, kiedy w 2005 r. , chyba w maju, zupełnym przypadkiem natknąłem się na Marcina (Mlk) i Bartka (Otora), którzy tamtego dnia – nie wiedzieć czemu – mieli na sobie garnitury. O podchodzenie do “zerówki” ich nie podejrzewałem, więc tym bardziej mnie to zaciekawiło. Kiedy na moje pytanie padła odpowiedź “jedziemy na Erasmusa do Barcelony” po prostu zwariowałem. Jak to?! Oni jadą, a ja nie?! Nie może być! Pobiegłem do pana Koordynatora d/s programu Erasmus, rzekłem, że ja też chce do Barcelony i po podpisaniu jednego papieru (a w następstwie 1000 innych) bez znajomości jednego zdania w języku Cervantesa pojechałem do, jak się miało okazać, mojego drugiego domu. Wiadomo – jak mieszka się w Kato i wyjedzie się gdzieś na dłuższy okres to pewnie każde miejsce okaże się bardziej atrakcyjne, pewnie nawet Dortmund. Jednak Barcelona urzekła mnie totalnie, a rok Erasmusa wspominam jako przegenialny… Złożyło się na to tyle rzeczy, że pisanie o nich pochłonęłoby pewnie łamy lektory szkolnej średniej wielkości. Dlatego już teraz nie zanudzam i zapraszam do cyklu refleksji o mieście, w którym żyje więcej ludzi niż w Warszawie, jednak na powierzchni tylko trochę przekraczającej 50% Katowic.

Na początek, dla lepszego wyobrażenia – panorama z Parku Guell. Naniosłem na nią parę oznaczeń miejsc, do których powrócę w kolejnych postach. Przepraszam za oznaczenia w stylu Gmocha, ale jestem kiepski w te klocki.

Niektóre z oznaczeń na razie nie będą jasne, ale w kolejnych postach rozwinę je. To co widać na zdjęciu to jakies 60% miasta – kawałek południowej strony (tam m.in. Camp Nou) zasłaniały drzewa, a kawałek północnej urwało, bo zdjęcia prześwietlone;/  Żeby wyobrazić sobie skalę tego co tu widać nadmienię, że z miejsca, z którego robiłem zdjęcia do morza zwykłym krokiem szłoby się ok. 90 min, zaś z lewa do prawa ok. 92.

To by było na tyle wprowadzenia. Teraz wbijmy już do centrum miasta…… na Las Ramblas, jakies 500 m od zaznaczonego na panoramie World Trade Center.

A teraz zawijam do portu, bo już 2:37, a rano do pracy………..

To be continued…

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