I went down to the West End this afternoon to look into some advance tickets for Phantom of the Opera, and ended up getting some last minute ones and watching the matinee show today. I got the best seats in the house, which usually cost 67 pounds, but I snapped them up for just 43. I thought Gerónimo Rauch did a splendid job as the Phantom. He was certainly the best actor out of the London cast. I liked his eloquent hand twirls, which I didn’t notice the first time I was there, since I was stranded up in the dirt cheap balcony area and could only see the top of their heads.
I’ve been reading quite a few travel blogs recently, and have come across the term ‘travel snobs’ somewhat frequently. Good, so I’m not the only one who feels this way about certain people. William Chalmers has a pretty good article on travel snobbery. Apparently there are two types of travel snobs: a) the snob who insists that his/her way of travel is the most “authentic” (not going to the “touristy” sights, roughing it up in hostels and looking down on people who stay in hotels etc.) and b) the snob who claims to have been to 101 countries, includes airport transfers in this list, and pretty much views “travelling” as a checklist. I’ve yet to encounter a), but I encounter b)’s on a fairly regular basis, people who seem to think that spending an average of four hours in a country’s capital city means that they’ve “done” said country. Bratislava, check, Sofia, check, obnoxious bragging jerk, CHECK. Apparently no one told them that the only places where going to the capital city equates visiting the whole country, are the Vatican and Singapore. And honestly, when all is said and done, I couldn’t care less where you’ve been.
I’ve noticed this incredibly annoying b) trend in lots of my friends/acquaintances who’ve come to Europe on exchange programmes. Apparently, going to Bratislava airport=visiting Slovakia (I’m using this example because I’ve already heard this particular one from three different people in the past month). Going to Budapest also is tantamount to “having done Hungary,” although Budapest is probably one of the more interesting capitals (along with London, Prague and Paris), I suppose. Being in Helsinki for two days = “Finland, check.” And the list goes on and on. Imagine going to BUCHAREST and then saying “I’ve done Romania.” (This made me crack up.) One of my acquaintances is actually planning on doing that, as a matter of fact – checklist tourism, anyone? I truly pity anyone who wants to “experience” Romania by just doing the one day in Bucharest (again, the bus incident and our penchant for the almighty negativity bias). Seriously, if you want to experience Romania, go to the Carpathians, to Transylvania, or to Arges.
Actually, any place other than Bucharest is fine, now I come to think of it. Arges was one of the counties I couldn’t squeeze in this time round – I really wanted to see the Vidraru, the Transfăgărășan Highway, the Fagaras mountains and Poenari Fortress. Not to mention the fact that my friend is from the capital of Arges. There are still so many places I want to see in Romania; the Iron Gates, Constanta and the Black Sea, Cluj-Napoca, and Targu-Mures. Next time I go to Romania, though, I’m flying in to Targu-Mures – I wouldn’t go anywhere near Bucharest again even if you paid me.
Anyway, getting back to Barcelona. I spent 5 nights there, and I was not a huge fan of the city, despite everyone raving about it. Especially my friends, who’d been telling me how much I was going to love it. I personally found it to be overrated, too crowded, too hot, and far too much like Taipei, where I come from. Even the MOTORCYCLES were identical to the ones I see in Taipei and the way they were arrayed on the sidewalks. It was uncanny. I’ve had people giving me incredulous looks when I say that I wasn’t that crazy about Barcelona, then proceeding to inform me that yes, I was crazy. I don’t like it when people do that, when they force their opinions on me. Just because you loved it, doesn’t mean we all have to. We all have freedom of speech and opinion. Voltaire once said ‘Je déteste ce que vous écrivez, mais je donnerai ma vie pour que vous puissiez continuer à écrire.’ (I detest what you write, but I would give my life to make it possible for you to continue to write.) One man’s meat is another man’s poison.
The company, though, was unparalleled, and this is where I pick up from last time and wonder how much I want to write about them. We were all staying at the same hostel, La flor de Gaudi, and we were all in the same ground-floor, 12-person mixed dormitory. Technically, there was only one day when we all actually went out together in a pre-meditated, organised group (it had been small mixed groups, bumping into each other on the streets and late-night conversations in the verandah prior to that), but as one blogger (amongst many, actually) pointed out, the friendships you kindle with the people you meet on the road are accelerated precisely because of the ‘carpe diem
yolo’ nature of travel. You meet people you like and you hit it off, and you make the most out of your time together because you know you’re probably not going to see them again in the near future, if at all. OK, I know that link I provided was actually for backpacking romance, but it applies to platonic interpersonal relationships too.
Preparations:
I bought a 5-day Hola BON card which cost 22 euros (this is the online advance price, which is a LOT cheaper than buying it at any of their kiosks in the metro) and provided unlimited bus/metro access, which I took full advantage of. I thought it was a fantastic investment (like the Viva Viagem card in Lisbon, but I’ll get to that after I’m done here). I also bought my Sagrada Familia ticket online in advance, which exempted me from queuing under the scalding Mediterranean sun; it was a treat, sailing in through the entrance while all those poor tourists who’d probably been there since 6am fanned themselves, mopped their brows and looked at me in green envy. The ticket was 12 pounds and included a trip up the Nativity facade. I thought that this was a super bargain, especially when you factor in the queue-skipping part.
Another funny thing is that, due to its very popular status as a tourist destination, I keep on seeing my friends in Barcelona holiday snaps. It just feels sort of weird, seeing people standing right where you were a few months ago
the Parc Guell lizard. I can’t really say why, but it just is. Feels like everyone in the world has been, or is going to, Barcelona.
Oops. I am NOT a travel snob.
After this very lengthy and rambling introduction, I think I’d better start.
***
I arrived in Barcelona at around 4pm. As I rolled into the fabled Catalan seaside city, my first thought was, “This looks JUST like Taipei.” It was a sentiment I would echo quite often over the next few days.
The roads in Barcelona are, for the most part, laid out in a very orderly fashion, like a chessboard. I liked their names, which seemed very fitting to me: Diagonal, Parallel.
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| A panoramic view of the city from the famed Sagrada Familia. I think you can see what I mean by “chessboard.” |
(A/N: It is cold and wet now in London, in direct contrast to the whopping sunshine we had in Barcelona. It rained all night yesterday.)
I picked up my Hola BON card at Sants without too much hassle, and went to the hostel, which I found very easily, thanks to the clear and concise directions they provided on their website.
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| The kitchen, where I cooked many a cheap supermarket spag bol |
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| The common room. |
I wish I could say that I went out to explore the city right after checking in, but the truth was that I practically fell onto my bunk and proceeded to go on facebook. That seven-hour bus journey really took the stuffing out of me.
I managed to meet the first of the gang that night, a lovely couple from Finland named Piia and Henri. They invited me out for a beer, and we climbed up to Parc Guell to share a bottle of wine that they had kindly brought along. The moon that night was orange, the Parc by night was extremely creepy, a man in briefs and carrying a surfboard was bobbing around doing goodness knows what, and we ended up being evicted by the security guards and their very large dogs. In the end, we went to one of the pubs in the neighbourhood and had a fantastic time.
***
Got up bright and early the next morning, fresh as a daisy and feeling lucky. My plans for the day were to explore the Ciutat Vella quarter, Barcelona’s old town.
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| A view from Urquinaona metro station |
My first destination was the Palace of Catalan Music (Palau de la Música Catalana), located at the Urquinaona metro station. Situated on metro lines 1 and 4, also accessible with buses 17, 19, 40 and 45. Admission was 15 euros, which I thought was a bit pricey, so I stood around and took pictures with the best of them.
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| Palau de la Música Catalana |
When I left Palau de la Música Catalana, I was sidetracked by a gorgeous building peeking out at me from ‘twixt the narrow alleys.
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| Hola, there! |
So, of course, I went to see what it was. It was quite spectacular, as well as being very, very hot.
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| Teeming with tourists, of course |
It turned out to be the Barcelona Cathedral/Cathedral of Santa Eulalia/La Seu, which I had planned for next day, but since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to see it. It’s located at the Jaume I station (line 4), and can also be reached with buses 17, 40 and 45. Admission costs 5 euros. To be honest, I don’t really think people should be charged to see cathedrals (the ones in England and Toulouse are free) but all right. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Except that I’m in Barcelona.
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| The organ. |
The cloisters, and the courtyard; a bubble of serene peace in bustling, overcrowded Barcelona.
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| The courtyard pond |
One of the facades is open to tourists, and provides a reasonably well-rounded panoramic view of the city.
However, due to the fact that it was undergoing repairs (like all the other places I’ve been to) and that the edgewalk was basically a hastily erected steel scaffolding, I did not feel terribly at ease, and was rather relieved when I found myself back on solid ground again.
The other side of the cathedral.
Judging from my travels so far, I think I may suffer from a very mild form of claustrophobia and acrophobia. I do not like lifts (there was a particularly distressing episode that happened in the Sagrada which only escalated my phobia), planes, or high platforms which I deem insufficiently secure.
This seems like a good place to wrap up. Till then, adios!
A/N: Am flying to Copenhagen tomorrow and will not be back till the 3rd, after which I will definitely be writing up on Copenhagen/Poland first while my memory’s still fresh, so please don’t expect another Barcelona entry till about two weeks later. Thanks a lot, and take care!
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