Wednesday 11.17.2010


Ramblin’ on La Rambla


We are really dragging this morning and it is almost 11:00 before we get out the door. Some of that is on purpose. We know that when we will be walking all day there is really no hurry because after four or five hours of steady walking we will be finished anyway.

The trouble lies with John who tends to be a bit crabby when hungry and we have plans to eat at a special little tapas bar at the market. We hike the mile to the market and the place we want is packed with people lined up behind the stools shouting out orders in Spanish or some reasonable alternative. We can’t compete. After trying a couple other options we stop at a little organic stand in the back of the market (Orgasmic Organic!?) where there is no line. John orders a taco with peppers and Mary has a cheese crepe thing and once those are in the box, the fellow keeps adding paella, couscous, pasta salad, green salad and some sauces. It winds up being a big box of food. We pull up a table at a little café on the edge of the market and buy a cappuccino to earn the seat. We’re now ready to go.

It’s after 12:00 and the big Cathedral, about six blocks away, closes at 12:45 so we hustle over there for a peek inside. What more can we say about Cathedrals? It is really big, really old and pretty spectacular. When the Pope was on his recent trip to Spain, this is where he came in addition to Santiago. Barcelona’s patron Saint Eulalia is entombed below the main altar. The thirteen-year-old was crucified on an “X” shaped cross after refusing thirteen times to deny her Christianity while under Roman rule. We are always surprised when we read things like the baptismal font was installed in the 1400’s.

We simply wander through the old city and harbor area for the rest of the afternoon. The city and Catalan government buildings are right behind the Cathedral with plenty of Catalan flags around along with one Spanish flag. There is another market that seems a little dressier but without the character of the older, bigger place.

On the harbor we walk out through a maze of pleasure crafts in a huge marina to a big shopping mall with theaters, stores, and McDonalds, all with a sort of seagoing motif. It has been cloudy, cool and spitting rain most of the day so it is a chilly and damp walk back to the base of La Rambla and the Christopher Columbus statue. The old port area here is decorated with old crates, suitcases, shipping containers and raw materials that would have been lying around a couple hundred years ago. Nice touch.

With the weather the crowds are smaller on La Rambla than they were earlier but still substantial. We move undercover to walk the market from end to end. It is an amazing array of produce, pork, fish, pork, beef, pork and pork. There are hams hanging everywhere and cold cases filled with pig heads, feet and everything in between. The special Iberic hams from the acorn-fed black pigs are, of course, the stars of the show, but there has been a recent scandal in that there were twice as many Iberic hams on the market as there are black pigs. The math doesn’t work.

It is late afternoon when we get back to the Catalonya square where we pull up a stool at QueQue for a quick tapas and glass of wine before going back to our room. We think we have logged about five miles so have put in our work for today. We much prefer clear skies and sunshine.


We work up the energy to go back out for something to eat at about 7:30 and try the highly recommended “Tapas 24.” Crabby slow service, mediocre tapas and high prices. We get out quickly and move down the street (about 6 blocks from the hotel) to “Divinus” where everything looks good, the bartenders are smiling and pleasant and the food is terrific. Again we repeat our observation that it would seem to be more fun to work when everybody is happy than when there is constant conflict. Perhaps the crabby ones think that gives them the power. The concept simply doesn’t sit well in our brains.

We stop for a quick beer at our Irish pub on the way back but the big-thinkers are all puffing on their cigars so we don’t last long. Forty-four days until Spain goes smoke free and the suicide/murder rate quadruples.

Today's Picture: Odds and ends at the Barcelona Market