I'm in Barcelona. I miss Zach, not only because he was my constant and willing Sherpa, but he was a great companion for five and a half weeks. He's somewhere in the south of France tonight, and I figure he's probably OK. When do we get to stop worrying?
This morning, pondering the Renfe website — Renfe is Spain's train system — I noticed that you could check a box if you were buying a Tarjeta Joven. That would be a ticket for a youth. But then there was another box for Tarjeta Dorada. A golden ticket? Huh? Oh... wait a second... golden agers get a special deal? Yep! So I hoofed it over to a Metro station, got on the wrong line, figured out my mistake, got to the main train station, and got myself a Tarjeta Dorada. You bet. It cost only about 5 Euro. Golden ticket in hand, I then went to a purple machine to buy a ticket to Sevilla. I'm hopeless with these machines even when they're in English, but there was a MOST HELPFUL young woman who hovered over me until I got my ticket. I got it for 2/3 of what I would have paid online. Yea!
Mission accomplished, I decided to walk down to the seashore. There's a big boulevard here running down to the sea, called "La Rambla." People walk down the middle. Cars are limited to one narrow lane on each side. At the beginning of each block, there is a bicycle symbol in a circle:
If we hadn't seen such symbols in Żyrardów, I would assume this indicated a bike lane. But no! It's just the opposite.
A Clancy Brothers song came to mind and got stuck there for about an hour, as I walked along La Rambla:
I'm a Rambla, I'm a gambla, I'm a long way from home...
Oh, heck, here's the rest of it:
If ya don't like me then leave me alone
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry
An the whiskey don't kill me I'll live 'til I die.
I sang it really really softly.
Eventually I got tired of La Rambla, turned a corner, turned another corner, and found myself in the old city, with its narrow narrow streets.
A Spanish family ahead of me ducked into a door I would not have noticed. It was a restaurant, and I was hungry, so in I went. I ordered the menu of the day. Here's the house salad:
The salad was great, but the two fried salmon steaks that followed were just too laden with olive oil to be enjoyable.
I continued my walk to the sea. Wandering along through the old city, I stumbled upon this plaza:
The city was jam-packed on this Sunday afternoon. Certainly, there were plenty of tourists. But there were at least as many Spaniards strolling around.
Finally, I got down to the water.
This harbor reminded me a bit of Baltimore, and also of Sydney. The curvy metal structures on the left are part of a passenger bridge called "Rambla del Mar." The center of the bridge swings sideways to let tall sailboats pass through to the other side of the harbor. Wouldn't you know, the bridge opened just as I approached the middle. Lots of people around me had never seen such a thing before. So exciting!
Picture this: A couple hundred people jammed together on either side of the center section of the bridge. All craning their necks, filling the entire width of the bridge. And then, when the last boat has passed through, and the bridge swings back together, the two solid hoards of people walk towards each other, meeting in the center. How do people deal with this?
When I was a kid wearing a uniform in primary school, it was drilled into us: "Single File, Keep to the Right. Single File, Keep to the Right." So, of course, that's what I did today. But only me. "Keep to the right" is not universal. Nor is it good form to give the right-of-way to a little old lady with gray hair in a bun. No, no. The first time a big burly man and I were on a collision course, I held my ground and glared. I've decided that next time I'll smile sweetly. Maybe I'll laugh. Grrr.
It was a long walk to get beyond the harbor to the beach. Along the way, there were street musicians. [My two lovely videos of the musicians refuse to load. Cuban. Gypsy Klezmer. I'll show 'em to you when I get home if you like.]
And then, finally, the beach:
And out there... Rome across that water to the East, Algiers to the South.
There's so much more here in Barcelona ... fine museums, Gaudí, Picasso, Dalí ... but my soul wants to flee the big city, search a smaller, quieter place. I'll be back to Barcelona, as I fly out of here on November 7. But tomorrow I'm taking the train to Sevilla. I've got a golden ticket!
Golden ticket? Doesn't that get you into Willy Wonka's chocolate factory??
ReplyDeleteSounds a bit lonely without your trusty sidekick which would send me to a smaller city with a slower pace.
Wish I could sit down with you and share sangria and Spanish food!
Sarita