No Jacket Required

I love waking up in a new city. The day stretches out before me with little idea as it how it will unfold and what I will see in this unexplored place.

I arrived into Barcelona 'El Prat' airport- love a city that calls its airport 'The idiot' though I am willing to concede that perhaps it has a different meaning in Catalan- at around 10pm on Friday and caught the bus into the city. The trouble with travelling in Europe is that no one speaks English- I know that sounds daft but compare it to travelling in SE Asia where folk have to speak English to get some much needed cash off the gullible tourists. I was dropped off at Placa Catalunya- which meant nothing to me but turned out to be a hop, skip and a jump from the hostel.



As I was checking in, I got invited out for tapas by the receptionist and a group of American lads. When I thought about refusing I was told, 'you don't have any friends here'. Harsh but fair so off I went.

This was my first time in a tapas place so food was recommended for me. Which is why I ended up with duck foi gras and small bits of bread. I have to say that it was fantastic! And all that sharing bits of food off each other's plates really appeals to the Korean in me. A few mouthfuls of bread and meat, two beers and a walk later and I was at home. In the hostel that is. But I had made myself a nice little den by stringing up my sarong from the bunk above me. I crawled in and slept.

Saturday morning came ripe with possibilities. So I had a bit of a lie-in then headed to the hostel living room to seek out guide books and maps. The Lonely Planet cites Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia Cathedral as one of those places that you must see before you die. Good enough for me and off I went.

Building work started in 1882 and there is no finish date yet. It is a glorious confusion of towering spires- eight of a proposed twelve have been completed so far-and each end of the temple is decorated one with cubist figures from the Easter story and the other with nature inspired facades from the nativity story.



The queue to get in was pretty long but, given the structure in front of us, this was for the best really as it allowed more opportunity to admire.

I walked around and more photos than is healthy, sat outside and drank a coke while looking at it all.

But I only had two days in Barcelona so had to make the most of it.

I decided to do this by taking an open op tour bus- I know, spoon feed me the culture, but it seemed the best way to get around and see most of the city and perhaps learn something on the way. What I hadn't reckoned on was that this form of transport was even more popular than the sights it was taking us to. The queue was enormous and when I did make it onto a bus I only managed to get a seat downstairs. Ah well, the next stop wasn't far.



I alighted at Parc Guell- the park that houses Gaudi's home from 1926 until his death. Though he didn't design the house itself, he did a lot of work on the park. And it is wonderful, mosaic benches line a long viewing terrace which showcases two mad gingerbread style houses framing a view of the city. It is hard to tell from above that the city is laid out in a strict grid formation.



So far so good. But the queue to get back on the bus was even longer and four came and went before I got even close to the front of the crowd. When some guy tried to queue jump it was more than most tempers could cope with and he was manhandled back into the baying mob- where, I assume that he was torn into pieces as small as everyone's fraying nerves. I didn't see as I had managed to scamper up the stairs and was now the proud occupant of a seat.

And buggered if I was going to go through that again! I stayed put on the bus, admiring the view but refusing to get off until we reached Placa Catalunya again.

I got off there for a walk down La Rambla- the most beautiful street in the world according to James Joyc, according to our guide. And where else can you buy albino hedgehogs as pets? the trade in pet tortoises was outlawed about twenty years ago in the UK but apparantely was still alive and well in Barcelona. The sound of the cockerels crowing was so wonderful that I even wanted to take one home with me to wake up to every day.



After a ramble up La Rambla I got on a different tour bus to see the south of the city. Again I stayed on for the whole trip until we got to the Colombus monument- a structure which puts Nelson's column to shame for sheer pomp and glory. No mere four lions for this man- he has a whole pride and in different positions too.



And Colombus stands at the top pointing out to sea, his head covered in the obiligatory bird poo.

I had myself some dinner on La Rambla- one of the advantages of travelling alone is that you can eat what you want, when you want and where you want- perfect! One lovely pizza later and back to Placa Catalunya.

I crawled into bed later than night with images of fantastical buildings filling my oh-so-seldom used brain.

I woke up even later on Sunday- oh glorious day! Despite the weather reports on Yahoo forecasting 18 degrees for the whole weekend, the thermometers on the streets were showing 24... no more reason to head to the beach needed.



And off I went. Having spent some time in London trying to decide which jacket to take with me, it was a surprise to get to the beach and find it covered in bikinied bodies- some of which were bold enough to take their tops off- and on Easter Sunday too!



I had spotted the cable car the day before that linked the beach to Miramir on the hill above and thought that it looked like a good place to take photos. I wasn't wrong. However, I didn't manage to get up there straightaway. Oh no, first I had to sit on the beach and admire the weather and water. There was just one thing missing- a quick trip the local Spar later and I was back on the beach only this time with an ice cold beer in hand. Perfect!

I found the tower to the cable car only to discover that the lift was out of order so I had to go to the next terminal- back where I had started my walk.



Huff. And there was a queue, of course, which I joined for over an hour before I managed to get into the lift- pushing past all the couples shouting 'Una, UNA!' buggered if I was going to get left behind again.

The views from the top of the tower were worth the wait alone- the cable car ride was very short but long enough to get some good photos. I had lunch at Miramir overlooking the city before walking back down and doing some more shopping on La Rambla- you might have guessed that I quite like it there.

Then it was time to take my poor sunburnt face back to the hostel to pick up my stuff then off to the airport.

The plane was only slightly delayed by someone attempting to get on with an expired passport- a Canadian person, we were told- while I looked around to see if anyone else had forgotten to pack the suntan lotion, they were English people after all. But it appeared to be just me. Ah well.

We arrived back at Stansted just after 11pm and my lovely sister was waiting for me at the gate. Fantastic!

I had a wonderful weekend- just what the doctor ordered. Now I am just busy writing this between bouts of Easter egg eating and rushing to the mirror to see if my sunburn has calmed down to an acceptable level yet.

Happy Easter, All!