A Game Ronin in Europe II: Barcelona

Okay, so we missed our deadline, but starting now I’ll have a post here weekly or better, promise.

Click here for the photos

Randy:
Barcelona is a chaos of traffic and sensation, with mopeds zooming past and painfully slow pedestrians listing always into one’s path, with loud boutique windows full of sporty fashions, with armless beggars, human statues, and drunken European teens, and it seems every fourth building is under construction, jackhammers applied liberally. The night of my birthday we ate dinner seated in a plaza where laughing kids ran past lighting off fireworks, nearby construction workers noisily stacked something elongated, heavy, and planar, and a jingling rickshaw pedaled through repeatedly offering free rides in promotion of some future event, and this was one of the more peaceful moments in our visit thus far. The city is steamy thick with swindlers, brigands, and charlatans of every flavor, all eager to take advantage, but aside from being overcharged for some almonds we managed to emerge unscathed, though this success was owed to constant distrust and vigilance and even a physically active fending-off of a broad daylight beachside robbery attempt. In short, it was more like Cairo as depicted in Raiders of the Lost Ark than I anticipated, and some (such as Lulu) refer to Spain as a “Second World” nation. I regret that I saw so little of Spain and admittedly, I’ve hardly been to the seedier parts of the globe, but after Barcelona, Paris certainly felt a return to civilization, with all its sundry shortcomings and conveniences.

Our first full day in Barcelona was my birthday, and it was a Very Randy Day – architecture of both ancient and modern varieties, archeology, organic food, close encounters with large-format aquatic wildlife, the aforementioned dinner, graphic design and modern art, and capped off with some climbing on a playground for adults on the shore of the Mediterranean, in a never-before-visited country, all in the company of my best friend, Lulu, over to whom I will now hand over the narrative:

Lulu:
This is a challenge, writing for Randy's illustrious travelblogue. I was overextended most of the time, too tired to make witty mental notes, not convinced enough of the importance of my experience to make physical notes. We had little drama to write about, no motivating fights or jokes we haven't told each other before. There probably were; I'm sure Randy wrote them all down. He'll tell you the jokes, ok?, I'm just here for texture.

What I really like to do on vacation is eat, drink, and chill out. Maybe do some walking or see some pretty things if it works out right. But I care about how things work, so I want to know what it's like to live in a place, not to be a tourist in it. We didn't really do that in Barcelona though. Randy likes to See the Important Things and thinks that we're wasting our trip if we don't do everything we might like to do. He feels gypped when important buildings are closed for renovation. Me, I don't mind that stuff. Maybe I'll be back sometime! Let's go for a drink or something! It wouldn't be inaccurate, either, to characterize me as lazy.

Randy:
It’s true that I’m partial to the top 10 list of tourist attractions in every European city I visit. That’s kind of what they are for, how touring works in Europe. Give me a Caribbean island and I’ll be content to lay on the beach, get drunk, and snorkel until the week is spent, but most European cities aren’t built for relaxation and the zen of being present. To tap into Barcelona’s culture truly, we would have had to adapt the following schedule:

9 am - noon: do stuff (eg – trim mullet)
noon – 4 pm: siesta
4 pm – 10 pm: do stuff (eg – eat tapas)
10 pm – midnight: go out for dinner
midnight – 2 am: drink at bars
2 am – 6 am: go dancing
6 am – 9 am: sleep

Lulu was 9 hours jetlagged and managed to hold it down just fine, but neither of us had the wherewithal to go head to head with a schedule adjustment like that, so in the best of worlds we were still just dipping in our big toes. M had warned that the Spaniards are incomparable party machines.

Lulu:
The Mercat Boqueria was just a few blocks away from our hostal, so we got wise and went there in the mornings for juice, horxata, and fruit. Did you know that horxata in Barcelona [maybe all of Spain, even!] is totally different from the mexican kind? Boqueria was not the best market I've ever been to. I go to this one every Saturday morning, and I wasn't fooling myself that I'd wander a few steps off Barcelona's tourist YBR [ed: she seems to mean "yellow brick road"] into a fairyland of heirloom vegetables and stone-hearth baked bread, but the cherries were heady and intoxicating like cherry pie. A bunch of the fruit stalls had a fruit that looked like an electric-pink kohlrabi with a juicy white center flecked with black kiwi seeds. Don't buy it. It's alluring and beautiful but eating it is rather more distopian-futuristic than I like my food experiences – beautiful exterior trying to convince you not to notice the complete lack of flavor. But maybe you like that kind of thing. I can get you some butter to spread on your hands instead of moisturizer too if you like.

On Randy's birthday, we went to Pla dels Angels (restaurant in the square of the same name) for dinner. There were two menus, one in Catalan and one in Spanish. Two of my favorite things, and the only two things I talked about the whole week, are foreign languages and food, so we played with the dictionary for a while. Here's a little tip for you vegetarians: if your menu lists a capitalized ingredient word that's not in your dictionary, it's meat; 15% chance for cheese if you don't know your Roqueforts from yr Rockports. We both had gnocchi with a gorgonzola sauce and peaches. Turns out that
explaining to your waiter that you both want to order the same thing, but yes, each of you wants your own plate of it, is not as simple as you'd think. We had zucchini carpaccio too, drizzled with good olive oil and dusted liberally with romano cheese. The green edges stuck to the plate, which I found adorable. I told Randy that it's the kind of absurdly simple dish my Italian roommate Stefano would serve, the kind of thing that his female guests find so charming. I noticed him taking mental notes, so maybe he can let us know how it works once he gets back to Vermont.

Randy:
I see that Lulu is going to handle the discussion of food and the picking on the Randy aspects of this entry, which frees me up to address the rest.

M was our remote tour guide of Barcelona, having spent months there in her European residence of last year. Any time we thought we'd found something new, we'd inevitably say oh, look, it's marked here on M's map. One thing M referred to repeatedly was the Spanish Mullet, and despite preparation seeing its ubiquitousness is as transformative as you please. The Spaniards are hip with a consistent, modern sense of style, unmistakable the world wide, and the ‘Mullet is its centerpiece. Our visit overlapped with Sonar, an ultra-hip electronic music festival more selective and much smaller than SXSW (this year: M.I.A., LCD Soundsystem, Hot Chip, Ellen Allien, Soft Pink Truth, Richie Hawtin, To Rococo Rot, Miss Kittin, FS Blumm, Mouse on Mars, doseone, Le Tigre, Chemical Brothers, Jeff Mills, more), although not having bought tickets months in advance we weren’t able to attend, which is really sort of embarrassing.

Lulu:
At my birthday dinner, we splurged on a bottle of cava, which I wanted twice as much when I saw on the menu that it was offered with a free plate of strawberries with a balsamic vinegar reduction. Hell yeah, I want it, I told the waiter when he asked, bring it out with the cava! Double thumbs-up!!, he indicated. His thumbs were right, it was about the best thing I ate last week. I called my parents from Chicago on the way home to ask how to make it - how do you get rid of the sour vinegar taste and leave just the grassy, herby syrup? Dad said, I dunno, reduce it in a pan, let us know how it turns out! Mom said, you know, I've noticed on older balsamics that the thick syrup settles to the bottom and a thin liquid is left on the top, maybe the "reduction" is really just the bottom part. I don't usually stock balsamic vinegar in the house because once it went from trendy to Olive-Garden-ubiquitous, it became really hard to find a good one for a reasonable price. But I'll try it both ways anyway, it's still strawberry season.

After dinner on Randy's birthday, we walked to the beach. Or got there somehow, I can't remember how. Anyway, once there, after I took a pee among the large rocks of the pier (feeling very much like we were in LA and not Barcelona), we found this crazy bungee-cord jungle gym thing and played upon it. Ah, the playing! It was great. Then we walked up the beach a while, which smelled strongly of an open sewer. It got to so I couldn't breathe or stand it at all, so we left. "Fuck this beach," I said, "I wanted to go on my birthday, but I'm never coming back to this sewer-smelling beach." I'm not one of
those people who thinks swimming in the sea is gross, either, only when it smells like LOTS OF POOP.

Randy:
The beach smelled like poop, some of Gaudi’s architecture was under renovation, the chairlift up Montjuic was closed, there were only a few metro stops anywhere you’d reasonably want to go, streets in the old town were too narrow for buses and trolleys, the parks were closed at night, and there was only one street with benches where one could sit and drink wine late at night and not without the vigilance against the bandits and their ilk. Our hotel wasn’t cheap, the room was small and amusingly choked by a sizeable diversity of furniture, and it was loud and hot at night, although I’m used to all that by now. Locals were terse, not particularly friendly, and wanted our money. It was touristy. We weren’t exactly part of the solution.

All destinations balance their cons with their pros, though. I’ve heard that Barcelona is the place the wee youthful Europeans go to get busy, and in that capacity, it presumably serves quite well. The aquarium was fantastic, and Sagrada Familia is absolutely incomparable. We ate some really fantastic meals. So it was a good time, overall, and I certainly haven’t written off Spain, but I probably don’t need to go back to Barcelona right away.

A final food update from Lu:

Lulu:
One M-recommended place we went was some juice place, Juicy Jones. We went for lunchydinner one day. The food was mostly unremarkable, except for the dessert which is going to sound weird but bear with me: prunes in lemon-almond sauce. What?? I know! I took a big bite and nearly went into paralysis. The lemon was very sour, and the almond so fragrant I felt like my mouth couldn't contain all the flavor. I like prunes pretty well anyway (Mmm, prunes, see, I'll eat one now to prove it. Eeww, no I won't, they're moldy), but these had absorbed lots of the sauce, and were very plump and chewy.

Randy:
Check out the photos for a heartwarming tale of romance having to do with huge bright red or reflective simple geometric shapes.

Click here for the photos

Comments

[damien]

Holy cow that Vilette place looks awesome. Too bad the geodome in Montreal isn't covered anymore, cuz that Geode is spectacular.

[Ponch]

Great travel log guys! Sounds like a ton of fun. Two things:

1) Napoleon didnt capture anywhere near 1200 cannon at the Battle of Austerlitz, it was more like 180. Not sure where the 1200 number comes from.

2) For the photo of the beach, you mentioned lots of hot topless chicks, but you didn't take any pictures of them. You did get a picture of a topless old lady. No nipple, but the nightmare enducing effect is the same.

Again, great photos, makes me suprememly jealous. Someday.

[karen]

more cute pictures of lulu.

[theron.]

wheelbarrows only have one wheel, dumbass, not three.

good post though, otherwise.

[Randy]

karen, is that an imperitive or an observation?

tony, naked old ladies are hot. and i didn't take any photos of young naked spainards.

theron, your dumb.

[theron.]

randy, you've made me shit myself with anger. i know that you are baiting me with your clever use of the incorrect "your." nevertheless, it makes me want to fly to leon, or wherever, and punch you straight in the taint.

one sharp, quick jab is all i need.

[Randy]

you'll require 2, sir, the first to penetrate my taint guard that i acquired in the latest final fantasy game (augmented with a red gem {resistance to fire attacks}), the second to cause me enormous distress of taint pains.

[E Dowerty]

Randy be da Bomb!

[brian]

a post weekly or better? you're such a fucking liar. god.

[Randy]

no kidding! haha!

[E Dowerty]

So what up Randy? Are you back in the game. I am waiting for the next Randy Smith Project