Stopover in BCN

I spent a few days wandering around Barcelona. 

I have been here many times, even spent 3 months here in 2004--but every visit I find something new.

Connecting

Gah. 0457 train to the airport.

Good news though. My plan to stay right next to the Barceloneta train station (Estació de França) worked. I practically rolled out of bed and onto the commuter rail.

I have seldom stayed in a hotel in Barcelona, having only stayed in apartments up until the one time I stayed in an empty dorm, following that up with a stay in a Gracia hotel last year.

My regular apartment complex had space, but once I found listings for Hotel Santa Marta in Barceloneta right next to the train, I had an idea. I needed to get an early flight from Barcelona to Frankfurt on Monday, and if I stayed at my regular spot, I'd have to walk or get the metro up to the airport bus. What if, I thought, I caught the first train to the airport?

The later trains involve connections but this one is direct.

Easy-peasy. Bonus—the airport shut down later after protests. I was lucky to get out when I did. Imagine if I'd been sent to Frankfurt Book Fair and gotten stuck on my own plans in Barcelona. This would be a bad thing.

Caganer Jackpot

A caganer and souvenir store opened near my favorite Barcelona clothing store.

Most of the caganers sold in tourist districts these days are poor quality, but a few were better than the usual.

I bought the Putin one to add to my collection.

Jet Lag and Cinnamon Rolls

You know what happens when you sleep on a plane?

Sure you do. You end up with a kind of dazed hallucinatory desperate need for coffee, a shower, and breakfast in the afternoon.

Only problem is oh god, in what order?

I went for breakfast and coffee first, or maybe I didn't. Predictably, the morning I arrived in Barcelona en route to Frankfurt Book Fair is a bit of a blur. I'd always flown from New York or Kuwait, and never flown straight through from Los Angeles in the past.

Once I had my head on a bit straighter, I headed over to On Land, a clothing shop I always stop by in Barcelona. They gave me a suggestion to stop over across the street for a coffee, and wow, that's not all the shop across the street had...

24 Hours in Barcelona

"I shall drown my Tunisian handicraft sorrows in Spanish shoes," I thought.

I had checked into a hotel in the Gracia neighborhood and left my broken painting in a dumpster, all wrapped up in cardboard and bubble wrap. I had a 10-trip metro fare card in spite of only being in town a day--it's just cheaper that way.

I spent my day wandering through Born, seeking shoes and clothing. I stopped in On Land, the last boutique standing of my favorites, and bought a sweater. I managed to buy quite a few articles of clothing before heading back to Gracia for the real reason I'd stopped over in Barcelona.

Hint: Though I found Gracia to have a street full of independent boutiques, I wasn't really there for the shoes.

Casa Vicens recently opened for public tours.

Busy Day in Barcelona

Noooo! My shopping expeditions in Barcelona were a bust.

The caganers were of a terrible quality this time. If I'm honest, they were last time too, but I bought some out of habit. I suspect that the popularity with tourists has caused a kind of caganer gold-rush, turning out um, shitty caganers as quickly as possible. I'm backing out of caganer collecting except when I see high-quality ones from now on.

Then the shop with the Bionic sign above it, which never really was called Bionic but I suppose it's to do with commercial changes you can make in the Gothic quarter, is closed for good now. I bought clothes I wore almost every day in Kuwait here at this shop, when I was en route and desperate for something with long sleeves that was too frumpy-modest. 

I could buy clothes on Etsy from the couple that ran the shop now. But it's not the same without trying them on. 

Plus one of my other go-tos, On Land, was closed for summer vacation. 

And Tomo II, where I'd picked up a lot of inexpensive shirts over the year, was closed permanently as well. That one at least had a second branch near the train station, but I didn't find anything there I wanted to buy. 

One new addition was Fete again has a store in town, so that's a bonus. I used to get their stuff all the time until their shop closed some years back. 

I didn't buy much, and what I did buy from Fete and Anna Povo is a little too big, and I keep believing I'll have the time to take the shirt in. I made a special trip (with my T10 metro card) up to the Skunkfunk Outlet, but even the stuff I've bought at home from them never fit me quite right. 

I don't know what it is about Barcelona that keeps me coming back. I don't know anyone there and staying in the tourist area never brings me great luck with finding food. I realize Barcelona is a great food city, but I don't eat seafood at all, and I hate going into crowded places by myself. I had a fabulous, perfect lunch at a little cafe, which is what I gravitate to when I travel rather than proper restaurants. I'm just not a gourmet foodie in any way, because I have too many dietary restrictions, some legit and some self-imposed. Normally, I'd pick up fresh food at the open-air market, but not for a short stay. 

Staying in the beachside made eating trickier due to the massive crowds and shocking prices. But it was only one day, and I was packing a lot in, so the last thing I wanted to think about was researching good food in suitable atmospheres. I tried loading up Foursquare a few times for reviews, but in the end, just went by the kebab shop on my way back to my room. 

(yes, yes, I know, what a crime against Barcelona to not try this and that and good god, please don't give me hell. I have shit to do. I can't be obsessing for half a day about where to eat dinner. Reminder: this is my constant life, not a my once-in-a-lifetime fantasy holiday.)

My old Raval building has been renovated

I was pretty beat after my day of crisscrossing Barcelona in search of new clothes and caganers (and I stopped at the comic book store where I was a bit shocked by the sneering High Fidelity-esque brusque "assistance" I got--I wonder if they'd have been nicer if I weren't female and middle-aged. Did I come off as someone's mother looking for something I had no clue about? I won't be going back to that comic book store.) 

I took my chicken kebab back to my room, where I got back to work on the DC comic books I'm overseeing for the mass market until I couldn't see straight, then collapsed into bed. I'd have to get up before too long. 

The next morning, I ignored the gross processed-food breakfast basket and just ate the banana and peach I'd picked up. I headed out at the crack of dawn to the Barceloneta metro, zipped up to Plaza Catalunya, and caught the airport bus. At the terminal, I checked in, went through security, and happily immersed myself in a latte at Costa Coffee. Finally, I boarded a plane for the trip to Copenhagen, where I'd soon learn my United pass would NOT get me into the lounge as I'd expected it to. Instead, I found an outlet by a window, and worked for hours on editing a prose novel for Marvel. A really nice old man sat next to me for a while, and he complimented my work ethic when he left. That made me feel pretty good.

Eight hours later, I disembarked at Newark, caught the monorail to NJTransit to Newark Penn, crossed the platform to the PATH for the short trip to Grove Street, stopped by the all-night deli for a banana, an apple, and a little container of milk so I could have breakfast in my own apartment, then walked home. 

And I stood there at the steps of my building for a minute. And I thought.

Four flights to go, and completely out of willpower and strength. 

This is the always a tough moment. Challenging after every trip. 

I keyed open the door and took the steps, one at a time.

A Dorm in Barceloneta

My flight to from Sofia to Bulgaria was half an hour late, and by the time I got to the dorm room I'd booked in Barceloneta, it was already 8:30 p.m.

This was my first experiment with the dorm room. It was okay. The price was right at $130 for two nights, including private bath, a/c, wifi, and a desk. Oh, and breakfast, but it was a basket of packaged, er, treats left in the fridge. So an envelop of instant coffee, a packaged croissant, a sugary yogurt, some bread and processed cheese. Eww. And unfortunately, the a/c dropped water all over the closet, so that limited my a/c use, and the window was unscreened, so I didn't want to have it open at night when I had a light on.

The real issue with the room was the location. It isn't far from Born, but it's a little too far for easy convenience. The restaurants in Barceloneta are expensive and touristy, mostly for the throngs of beachgoers. I ended up at a kebab house the first night.

But for the price in Europe in August, I was doing all right. 

Holiday Cheer

It's Christmas and you know what that means...it's caganer season in Barcelona.

And in my apartment.

Here is a look at the caganer selection in front of the cathedral in the old city, from when I was there at holiday season just a year ago.

Circuit Breaking

I wasn't expecting this at the place I was staying in Barcelona.

It's a nice place, really great. I've stayed there at least four times over the years and never had a problem.

So it scared me when I got back from my day of wandering and the lights wouldn't turn on. And there was a funny smell.

I used my phone as a flashlight and investigated. I followed the smell and stopped dead when I saw what had happened.

Hmm. That's not good.

I thought about fleeing to the nearest available hostel, but packing in the dark seemed impractical. Plus, I'd paid for two nights and didn't really want to pay again elsewhere.

I found the information sheet on the apartment and tried calling the office. But it was Sunday night. I heard the phone ringing upstairs.

I texted the cell number on the form.

Ten or so minutes later, I got a text that explained to me where the circuit breakers were. I flipped two and the lights came back on.

I flipped the other two, got a small explosion, and all the lights went off again.

I waited a minute, then flipped the first two. Maybe I'd just ignore the others.

The guy who'd checked me in showed up then. "Can I see the problem?"

I showed it to him and he was pretty stunned too. We decided the electric radiator had overloaded the circuit. I couldn't remember if I'd left it on or not, but anyway, if it hadn't happened today, it would have happened the next time the weather got cold.

I didn't sleep well that night. I kept waking up, thinking "What if there's a fire?"

There wasn't. And in the morning, I left the keys on the table, pulled the door shut behind me, and rolled my bag down to the metro, to head up to the aerobus stop.

And was off to JFK.

Under Construction

I have been to Barcelona at least a dozen times, including a three-month stay in 2004. But I had never been inside La Sagrada Famillia. Why? It's expensive. Much of the amazing stuff is on the outside. And there are always really long lines.

This time around, I bought a ticket online in advance for 10 AM on a Sunday morning. I didn't have to wait at all.

I went up one of the towers, which was fine, but I think it would be awful during high season. You go single-file down the stairs (or take the elevator), and you go as slow as the slowest dawdler. So this could be aggravating when a lot of people were there.

I was amazed, as most people are when they visit. But also, I couldn't help but wonder why, and who had all this money, and was it worth it?

Churros y xocolata

These are a few of my favorite things.

Caganer Season

Christmas-time is caganer season in Catalonia! You know caganers, the little squatting-shitting figurines that I collect.

They started as shepherds that squat on the edge of Catalonian nativity scenes. I already own Castro, Obama, Prince Charles, and Tintin caganers.

But I've never been to Barcelona during caganer season, so I was pretty excited that I would finally get the chance to go to the holiday market in front of the cathedral. That's where they sell the most, varied caganers.

The original:

And here is an example of--wow--how many they sell at Christmas:

How to choose!!?

I finally picked these four, Dalai Lama, Hillary, Bruce, and Kate.

And here's a closer look. I have to say...the other ones I've purchased have been sculpted better. These look a bit mass produced. But hey, I'm still glad to have them.

Brain Burp

"Merci," I said to the Barcelona passport officer. I need to reset my default foreign language. I'm still stuck on Tahiti and West Africa from last year.

A Quick Stopover

New Toy

Here's my new caganer that I bought in Barcelona last Thursday. I was pretty disappointed in the selection this time. No Fidels, Obamas, Bushes, or Tin Tins. I bought the Prince Charles but wasn't totally sold on it. Even then, I bought the last one, out of the display case.

Here he is with all of his friends in my apartment.

Busy Day

"I'll sleep on the plane," I'd thought en route to my whirlwind weekend in London with a quick stop in Barcelona. "I'll just have to."

I maintain that I could have done it. IF I'd remembered my nerdy blow-up neck pillow and my earplugs. I had the eye-mask thingy, but that only went so far since a Spanish sports team was on board, along with an older women's travel club from an unspecified southern state. Everyone was chattering well into the night. And when I'd just start to drift off, I'd hear "I can't sleep at all, Myrtle, how about you?"

I'm guess Myrtle wasn't sleeping much either, so long as her pal kept trying to get her attention.

The night was long and I'm sure I never slept for a moment. But at nine a.m., I was standing in line at Immigration for non-EU passport holders in Barcelona in the new terminal. That was disconcerting—I'd forgotten a new terminal had opened and was not in any state to be confused. But I sat down for a morning coffee, then caught the €5 Aerobus to Plaza Catalunya.

I had my backpack with me, so rather than just melt on into the city, I had to jump on the red line to catch the metro to the bus station. I left it in a locker and bought a €12 one-way ticket for later that evening to Girona Airport, where my €39 Ryanair flight left for London Stansted.

Back on the red line to the yellow line to Jaume I. I was on a mission. I wanted to get to the boutiques before siesta came and shut several of them down until 4 p.m. It was about 11:30 by then.

First, I got out of the metro and headed right towards the Gothic neighborhood. The caganer store is just there on a small walk street. On my last trip, I'd scored a Tin Tin caganer, or maybe the Obama caganer. I no longer remember when I bought which—but this time? The caganer selection wasn't too good. My choices were limited to Spanish sports stars and Spanish politicians. One lone Prince Charles sat in the display case in the window, so I bought him.

I reversed course, passed the metro, and headed down Princesa Street. I stopped at Fete, On Land, and Miriam Ponsa. Great sales were happening at On Land and Miriam Ponsa so I dropped a fair bit of dough on Princesa Street, before heading deeper into Born to visit Anna Povo. That store is open during siesta so the pressure was off.

By then, I was getting hungry. And I was carrying a lot of bags. I stopped in a tourist restaurant for an adequate menu del dia, or price-fix lunch. It was a not-particularly great restaurant near Plaza del Pi, and I knew that already having eaten there before, but it was fast and there when I needed to eat.

And I didn't want to stray too far from Pi, because that's where Petritxol is, a tiny alley that features my favorite clothing store in Barcelona AND some of the best hot chocolate in town.

My lunch stop had cost me though. It was too late to get xocolata until after 4 or 5. I couldn't wait that long.

I stopped in Bionic, the Boyd Baten store, picked up a new shirt, stopped by Tomo II for a few more shirts, then headed to a place around the corner for xocolata. I hadn't been there in years and it wasn't as good as the stuff in the alley. I think I've had better even at fast food restaurants. Nevertheless, a gal can only drink so much thick, creamy hot chocolate at a time so that would have to do. Plus, it had the advantage of being open.

By now it was past three, and I needed to check in with work, so I jumped back on the metro and raced up to the Starbucks with the desks and power outlets, just above the main plaza. I bought a cappucino, plugged in my laptop to sign onto my Boingo account and...

nada.

Something was wrong with the certificate. I looked around. No one had their laptops out and on.

Ah. Well, maybe there'll be Internet at Girona Airport.

But last time I was there, there was almost nothing at Girona Airport. But that was years ago. I almost never fly out of Girona because it's so far away—an hour by bus. But a cheap fare's a cheap fare, and I've have had a tough time justifying an expensive flight for a whirlwind shopping expedition.

I gulped down my caffeine fix and headed back to the bus station on the metro. I sat on a bench for a minute and piggy-backed on an open wi-fi signal, downloading my mail. But looking at my watch, I could see that I had to hurry onto the 5 p.m. Girona bus, so I raced off to the lockers, got my backpack, and shoved it under the bus. I lugged my pile of shopping bags onto the bus with me. I'd have to deal with it in Girona.

An hour later, I disembarked along with a lot of other disheveled folks. They all headed off to deal with the Ryanair formalities—which are pretty minor now that they insist on online check-in. My flight wasn't until 9, but I'd just wanted to get my bag checked and sit down somewhere with my laptop.

I unzipped my backpack and rearranged all my new clothes into it. I pulled out my boots, which no longer fit in the bag now that I'd stuffed it full of purchases. I placed my shoes in my bag instead. My socks would keep falling down but surely I'd survive this inconvenience somehow.

At check-in, there was no line. In the past, it had always been a nightmare. Maybe this new policy wasn't a bad thing. And almost no one else was checking luggage which was an additional fee. (My base fare was €14.99 and my bag fee was €15. The other 10 were Ryanair fees.)

With just my knapsack, I looked around for a place to sit down. Girona was as sad an airport as it had always been. I went through passport control. Same cafeteria. Was the McDonad's new? Had the hot dog stand always been there? But no wi-fi.

I used my laptop anyway, and then thought, "I'll just have a look at my iPhone." I'd put my UK chip in before I'd left home.

And to my surprise, I was suddenly online!

I didn't stay there. You don't want to be roaming on data, pretty much anywhere. But I was dazzled. My iPhone worked on the phone network in Europe! That's more than I can say for home, where I'm too cheap to fork over the high costs of phone data on a monthly plan. (I use a cheapie prepaid system with an older phone at home.)

Eventually, I stood in a snaking line of Ryanair customers, all wheeling fairly uniform mini-suitcases. Ryanair enforces size regulations and also forces people to carry on one item only. Purses and laptops go inside the carry-on. I don't really have a problem with this. I do have a problem with people dragging their worldly possessions onto the plane. I understand that luggage gets lost but those bins aren't designed to hold your kitchen sink.

There was a mad race for seats when the gates opened, but I didn't mind where I sat. It was a short flight to Stansted and a world of chattering-Myrtles couldn't have woken me up for the ride.

Highlights

Here are a few highlights from my eight hours in Barcelona yesterday. Two shots of the shelves at the caganer store (the pickings were slim and I ended up buying a Prince Charles caganer to match my Tin Tin, Fidel, and Obama caganers), and one of some of the delicious xocolata Barcelona is famous for.

A Day Out

I'm going to be in Barcelona for a day next week!

Okay, not even a day. I fly in first thing in the morning, spend the day there, and fly on through on Ryanair to a travel writing conference in London that night. And will be gone just for the weekend plus two days, since I have to be back to attend my Flash class on Monday. Oh yeah, and work.

It sounds crazy to go by Barcelona just for a day but I have to see if there are some new clothes that I must buy, and I also am really jonesin' for that thick hot chocolate that they make there.

I'm likely to be jetlagged out of my mind and desperate for sleep, but won't have a hotel room. My bag will be in a locker. I found one of those power napping places where you can nap for a half-hour but I'm thinking a hostel bed will be a better value as they won't throw me out after 30 minutes.

Doesn't Look So Tasty Though

What is interesting here--besides my problems trying to type on a Moroccan keyboard--is that the sculptures in these photos are made out of chocolate.

They are all at the Museum of Chocolate that I went to in Barcelona yesterday.

Today was a long day of metro, airport bus, plane, city bus, intercity bus, walking, another bus, ferry, taxi, bus, share taxi, and finally walking again. Time for some sleep. A nice young man invited me to a 3 a.m. concert. Afraid he's on his own.

Shopping at BCN

In the weird-but-true department...

I was just in a Barcelona boutique and I stumbled over a Daniel Johnston "Hi, How Are You" frog T-shirt.

People who have known me a long time will remember I wore one of these frequently some 15 years or so ago. I still have it, but I'm not so into boxy T-shirts, so it sits in a bag along with my Tattoo You concert shirt, my Slacker T-shirt, and my Otis Ball T-shirt from the early 90s. Or whenever it was.

Daniel is way more popular now than he was in the early 90s, but here's the weird part.

The shirt is branded as a Kurt Cobain shirt. Cuz he was seen wearing one on a number of occasions.

That seems a little odd to me.

(I'm just trying to distract everyone from my shopping expedition here. I bought 9 shirts today. None of them "Hi, How Are You.")