I especially like the cat-shaped trimming on the door.
Somehow, I managed to get lost from the Cat Hotel to my hotel. For added amusement it was only three blocks away.
I had to pack somewhat frantically but I had staged everything the night before. I still had plenty of time as I checked out of the hotel then trundled my luggage to the train/bus station. My walk to the station felt much better than my arrival, as I could see people about and the stores and cafes showed signs of activity. I had scoped out the station the day before and found the part in the back behind the railway station itself where some semi-permanent big kiosk housed the bus line. I showed the man behind the counter my print out of my bus ticket, then by means of gestures, pantomime and my limited French I succeeded in checking in and he succeeded in telling me to sit down and wait. Very shortly thereafter a scruffy young man entered and had what *looked* to me like an easier time checking in. He had that grad student look about him (scruffy but conscientiously clean) that took me back to my grad student days in New York City. He nodded to me and asked "Barcelona?" and I nodded yes.
We had a long wait for the bus. About 10 minutes after our bus was scheduled to depart a bus that *might* have been ours started taking on passengers nearby. I had stepped out to see if it had any helpful markings on it, like say the word "Barcelona" on a marquee (or whatever you call those things on the front of busses or trains above the driver's window that have white on black signs that tell you the bus number and, if you're really lucky, where it's going). Not lucky today. I returned to the kiosk but the counter person was gone. I looked at the scruffy guy, and just before I could point to the bus and ask "Barcelona?" he did. He evidently realized I was going to ask him because we each had this crestfallen look on our faces that said: "I thought *you* knew the way and how this all was going to work."
The kiosk guy returned, the Barcelona bus eventually arrived, and it all got sorted out.
The highway in France reminded me of highways everywhere. The suburbs of Nimes looked like Long Island, but with French signs. AFter leaving Nimes I noticed some of the sound walls had murals, rather than graffiti, and I saw a few buildings painted more colorfully than the ones you typically see in that environment in the U.S. That was about all the difference.
After about 2 and a half hours we stopped at a rest stop. Someone on the bus said we were in Marseilles, but I had come by that point to regard the other passengers as likely to be as ignorant as I am. I did not leave the bus with everyone else, as I did not at first realize this was a break and not a "stop" along the way. The bus driver, not interested in attempting to communicate with me any other way, lit a cigarette and half-rudely kicked me off the bus. I guess dealing with idiot foreigners gets on his nerves sometimes. It was only after I reluctantly left the bus that I saw that no one was actually "getting off" there - the luggage compartment doors were still closed and the other passengers had headed to a truck-stop diner nearby. Once back on the bus I felt sick for a while. Between the driver smoking me off the bus and the passengers having smoked up a storm during the break the bus stank of tobacco.
The next part of the trip took us through the foothills of the Pyrenees. I know it sounds far-fetched but it reminded me most of the road trips my family took when I was growing up in New Jersey. Hills covered with trees with a few houses or other structures now and then, and we passed through only small towns. Near the top of the pass I saw a pyramid with a modern sculpture on top of it (I wish I had sat on that side of the bus) which marked the Spanish border. Given the new rules of travel for the European Union we had no formal border crossing with the checking of passports, etc. It was the same as going from Jersey to Pennsylvania. Once in Spain I saw some ruins from the bus. I could not tell if they were Roman or medieval. It reminded me, in an odd way, of my road trip through the Southwest of the U.S., how the geological formations you see from the freeway would be national monuments and tourist attractions anywhere else, but there they are only miscellaneous examples out of many, small samples compared to giant ones. Such is the case with ruins in Europe.
We had another rest stop in Spain, this time in a city called "Girona." This time I was ready and left before the driver had a chance to inspire me with another cigarette.
The arrival in Barcelona entailed some anxiety on my part, as my friend who was going to meet me told me that the bus stops at two stations and my stop was called "Sants." Some kind and helpful passengers told me that the first one was not Sants and one made clear to me when we stopped at the second one that it was indeed Sants. I felt relief when I checked the clock in the (yet another pre-fab metal) kiosk for the Eurolines bus and saw that despite leaving Nimes late we arrived on time. Happily, after a short wait my friend showed up. We made our way first for me to check in to my hotel and then to a restaurant with a non-smoking section (somewhat rare in Barcelona) to wait for the others who would join us. At around 11 p.m. the four of us departed for a bar where there was rumored to be a TV showing the U.S. election results. As it happened, the bar had two stories, the basement level one had a big screen TV showing the election coverage (In English) but the top (street level) one was the non-smoking section. All four of us are vehement, nearly militantly non-smokers. We took turns going to the basement and all used the same tactic of hyperventilating a bit then holding one's breath before descending into the blue-clouded abyss. A bit like pearl diving but substitute toxic fumes instead of icy-cold water. I think I'd prefer the icy water, thank you.
We gave up a little after midnight. After I returned to my hotel room I tried to find a station that had U.S. election results (any language) and while channel surfing to find such a station, what do I spy - with my little eye - but porn. Not just ads like you see in on the cable channels in the U.S. but the real stuff, such as you would need to pay for in the U.S. It appeared to be a variety of different, how shall we say, preferences, including gay sex. Here in Catholic Spain. OK, *that* was a surprise. Oh, and nothing of note in the election results, I think it was 9 to 5 in McCain's favor when I gave up and went to sleep.
In the morning I found a channel with news in English that told me that Obama won. I felt an immense sense of relief (I'll not belabor a discussion of politics here, keep in mind this is November 4, 2008). It took me a while to find a place that would serve a pot of tea with a croissant, but it was great when I did. It was a kind of brasserie-like establishment, with a number of cops (always a reliable indication of good coffee and pastries the world over) waiting in line behind me. It was also one of the few, rare, non-smoking eating places to be found. According to my research, the cops were "Guardia Civil" because they had green uniforms. There were about 5 of them, two were women and they all looked pretty happy and in a good mood, laughing and chatting happily with each other. The next day a bunch of National Police "Policia" were there instead (What? Do they take turns?). I noticed that Police in Spain were not a big presence, but were still numerous. Nothing oppressive, but plenty of them.
I took some time to explore my immediate surroundings. I noticed on one of the narrow old streets off La Rambla that the bulbs of the streetlights were "hanging" from a "net mesh" sort of "bag." I tried taking a picture but the effect and detail do not come out in the photograph. I tried manipulating it on my Mac and produced this close-up of one of the lights themselves. As you can see, instead of coming up out of the sidewalk, it's suspended from the side of a building:
At least from the "sending" end, you can see the "mesh" effect on the upper two light bulbs. You may also notice the greenery and flowers on the balconies. This is very typical of most of the residential buildings in the city, which gives Barcelona a "greener" look and feel than can be accomplished with gardens, parks and trees that you see in other places (like San Francisco, for example). The next picture gives a better view of this.
The second picture has an "Obama" sign which I *think* reads "you can do it, Obama," possibly in Catalan. You may notice the hanging plants as well as the flowers, mostly on the 2nd floor to the right. The tree to the left looks a bit sparse, but this is late Fall. Maybe it looks fuller in Spring? I have another of my amateur photo-retouching jobs that shows a close-up of the sign:
This was all the indication I ever saw that any of the residents had any interest in the U.S. election. The U.S. is rather distant, both figuratively as well as literally, in Europe. It's a good perspective to see now and then.
For dinner that evening we ate at an all you can eat sushi restaurant near the waterfront. I suppose that Japanese waitresses in the U.S. speaking English is about the same as Japanese Waitresses speaking Spanish in Spain, but the sight and sound of Spanish coming from a Japanese person set off some ethnocentric cognitive dissonance for me. It's not a judgement or anything like that, it just felt so weird.
I actually held back a little because Sushi tends to be expensive most places. But then one of my friends pointed out that it was an "all you can eat" arrangement. Then I turned into a pig (a fish and rice eating pig? They eat pretty much anything, don't they?). The "style" was one of those big ovals with a conveyor belt carrying plates of sushi moving by and booths arranged around it. I at first thought it was one where they charged by the *kind* of plate but had difficulty figuring out the difference between one plate and another (color, design, size? no pattern, puzzling). So, all you can eat then? There is no relationship between the price of the sushi and the plates you find it on? - good. Mystery solved. Oooh! Please pass me *that* one coming up!
I walked back to my hotel after walking my friends to a subway station. It was the first time I managed to get myself lost. It turned out to be no big deal as all I had to do was double-back. But I felt a bit annoyed with myself over it. All I had to do was follow the water line, but the side-street I took led to a cruise ship and the buildings on the ocean side blocked my view which caused some disorientation leading me to a dead end (or board the cruise ship - no thank you).
Once back on a main street I had to look at my map frequently and it took me about 20 minutes to find two landmarks that indicated the right direction. Once I found the point where La Rambla meets the waterfront it was a quick and easy walk the rest of the way to my hotel. Even late at night (this was at least 11 p.m.) the streets are crowded, and not just La Rambla. My friends explained to me at dinner that the Spanish do not sleep. They say they'll sleep when they're dead. Evidently, they do not want to miss anything if they can avoid it. During my time in Spain I noticed (especially in Barcelona) that everyone had bags under their eyes. They do get up bright and early for work, after staying up until well past midnight on weekdays. The city has a kind and amount of noise and activity that I have never seen anywhere else. I remarked to my friends there later on that a city like New York is noisy because it has to be (subways, traffic, other circumstances make noise unavoidable) but Barcelona is noisy because the residents like it that way.
I'll conclude here for this installment. That evening in Barcelona I did begin to experience some difficulties, both in terms of culture shock as well as having pushed myself a bit hard during my "vacation" up to that point. More details in the next message.
Next, Pt. 12 - Using my superpower effectively.
