Exploring Spain (part 1)

I’m in Spain, right around the half way point of my trip already (Can that be?). I’ve been through Barcelona and Toledo in what feels like very little time at all, but I’m enjoying the ride and I’m looking forward to the next leg of my trip.

Barcelona is a beautiful city. I came in from SFO via Heathrow and realized this as we swooped in, seeing the Pyrenees mountains, the ocean and the city resting beside them. The vistas were waiting for me and I was armed with a camera. I was ready to climb any stair or hills to get to them.

“Puedo comprar una billete aqui?”, I asked, using my first Spanish of the trip as I approached the A1 bus stop. “Si, cinco euros” was all that I caught, which was enough. I handed the man a 20 euro note, fresh from the ATM, and I was ready to travel to Placa de Catalunya. I knew this was somewhere in the vicinity of my hotel, though I would need to figure out where that was on the fly, using a little drawn map inside Rick Steves’ Spain 2009.

I jumped off the bus with everyone else as we stopped at the busy placa. My first goal would be carve out some space for myself and whip out Rick Steves’. As much as I subscribe to his books, I turn sheepish when I pull these blue books out. I hate looking like the tourist that I am, though I have a feeling that only a small portion of the U.S. knows what these are. It’s silly.

I realized that I needed to move in the direction of The Ramblas, which heads south from the placa. Being directionally challenged, I went north and saw a street named Passeig de Gracia. I pulled out the blue book again and tried to find a landmark, which turned out to be El Corte Ingles, Spain’s big department store and actually a client of IBM’s. I noticed it was on the wrong side of my perspective. I was going the wrong way.

I eventually turned myself in the right direction after circling the placa and came upon The Ramblas, the main drag, which was teeming with crowds, vendors and street performers. I was a little intimidated and feeling a bit naked with my luggage in tote and still not knowing quite where I was going. So I decide to move one block over and take a “quieter” route, which led me into the thick of some political demonstration of some sort.

As it turned out, The Ramblas would have been the better way to go, but you live and learn. I passed “Carrer de Santa Anna” a couple of times before realizing it was what I wanted. It was so narrow, as European streets tend to be, that it took me a few takes to realize that it was the one.

My first instinct was to crash land onto my bed, but I figured I needed to start acclimating to Spanish time right away, being it was only 8 PM. I had been up for over 24 hours already, what would a couple hours more matter?

So I decided to dive into the The Ramblas, which is apparently derived from an Arabic word meaning stream. It contains a wide strip of stone walkway, patterned a bit like waves, and open only to a flood of pedestrians. On each side, there are narrow passages for cars, who battle with traffic lights that allow more inflow of people. I found after walking on the perimeter sidewalk for a couple of blocks, the wide strip was the place to travel, fairly unabated. My hotel host told me that it was a little dangerous at night, with pickpockets lingering, so I walked with only a couple of bills in my pocket. It seemed relatively harmless though and was a lot of fun to walk.

I rambled all the way down to the harbor, marked by a statue of Columbus, high atop a column, seemingly pointing towards land. I noticed some people on red and white bicycles on a designated path and eventually I came across a nifty place for them to park them. They had the name “Bicing” on them and I think they were part of Barcelona’s “bike taxi” system, which I had read about. I’m not sure what the cost is, if any, but people basically just need to swipe their credit card to pull one of these bikes from a stall and they can park them at many different places in the city. Very cool.

Soon I was starting to feel very hungry, despite my scrambled internal clock. I walked by several crowded tapas bars and ones that barely had a soul, neither of which variety appealed to me. I didn’t want to test my broken Spanish in a noisy place and I didn’t trust places where I’d be the only customer. Eventually I settled for a chain called “Pans”, that had pictures of sandwiches like a fast food joint, that I could easily point to. I ended up trying a “Normand” (very Spanish sounding!) and opted for the “Menu” (combo meal). I also added a second bag of “crunchy” waffle fries, after saying “Si” to everything that the Pans rep asked. I ended up with a lot of food, which was fine, but I was happy she didn’t ask me whether I’d like to purchase a franchise because I may have said “Si” to that as well.

I decided to spend the rest of the night in my room with my combo meal. The bocadillo (sandwich) was actually very good and the fries provided me with familiar comfort. I crashed hard into my bed, recharging for my first full day in Barcelona. Despite waking at odd hours to the sounds of loud Spanish conversations from the street below, I slept very well.