Why does everyone love Barcelona so much?
Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
Last weekend some girls from my program and I went to Barcelona. We had heard so many great things about Barcelona from people all around the world. But while I was there, I couldn’t help but wonder many times “Why does everyone love Barcelona so much?”
We took an eight-hour bus overnight, which was miserable because it was like sleeping in a freezer, both because of the cold and because of the hard, icy surfaces. When we arrived the next morning we were sore, exhausted and starving. We checked into our hotel on the famous “La Rambla” – one of the dirtiest and run-down hotels I’ve ever stayed in. The water smelled like liquid shit and the tub was rusting, I thought I was going to fall through the floor while I showered. I realized that my own stench smelled better than my skin after showering there.
After dropping off our bags we went to an outdoor restaurant on La Rambla for brunch. The prices were not listed on the menu (a marketing tactic to trick tourists). It turns out that eggs and toast – 15 euros, a glass of sangria – 12 euros and a glass of orange juice – 8 euros! Outrageous! And it wasn’t even that good. Our waiter clearly didn’t like us and we waited for our bill for 45 minutes.
Next we bought tickets for the double-decker, narrated, hop-on/hop-off tourist buses. We took the northern route of the city and went to La Sagrada Familia, the famous unfinished church of architect and artist Antoní Gaudí. This was breathtaking. It’s 9 euros to enter with a student I.D. but well worth it and the profits go directly to the restoration of the church. We took the elevator up in the tower and then walked down the stairs, circling in the tower all the way to the bottom. From the top of the tower you can see the Mediterranean and the ports of Barcelona. We continued to ride the bus back to the beginning of the route. It was relaxing and refreshing after our overnight journey by bus. I must say Goudí’s architecture is phenomenal and definitely worth seeing.
The next day we went to the beach for the majority of the day. It wasn’t anything too special, a lot like the beaches of the East Coast/Mid-Atlantic region of the US (dirty and artificial), with the exception that you could take your top off. The water was refreshing and I felt cleaner in the sea than the shower in the hotel, despite the floating diapers, band-aids and plastic bags I was swimming with. The highlights of the day were the men selling beverages saying “sexy cold beer,” the women selling massages saying “masaje-massage, masaje-massage” and a man selling pieces of coconut with an unidentifiable slogan that sounded like “Da-do-da-do-da-do-da-do” to advertise their products. We also spent hours trying to find a specific tapas restaurant that we heard about and tried to ask for directions with no avail. Every person we asked purposely gave us the wrong directions in order to screw us over. We ended up walking in circles.
After the beach we went to the “Magic Fountain of Montjuic” (La Fuente Mágica de Montjuic). It was this giant fountain with changing heights, shapes, colors of the water all choreographed to music including anything from opera to songs like “Apologize” by Timbaland and One Republic. It reminded me of something you’d see at Epcot Center at Walt Disney World. It was absolutely mesmerizing. We ended up staying there entranced for three hours.
We asked the man at the front desk of our hotel for suggestions of restaurants to eat at he spoke both Castellano and English. He suggested some places in Port Olympic along the water but we got lost on our way there a couple of times. We started asking for directions in Castellano and every person was hostile towards us, laughing and pointing us in the wrong direction. We were able to get a little farther by using English but we were still lost and ended up settling on the first restaurant we found because we were starving. Now I know that customer service in Spain isn’t great but the waiter at this restaurant was terrible. He didn’t bring us utensils or plates for our tapas. When we ordered most of the people I was with ordered paella, I ordered salmon. He said “Why salmon?” I said “Why not salmon? I like salmon.” He said “The paella is better you should get that” and then continued to give me a hard time about ordering salmon, which I was adamant about and it turned out to be delicious! But later in the evening, I went to the bathroom inside and he was sitting at the bar as I walked by and proceeded to whistle at me, wink, and yell “Guapa!” while making kissy noises! He’s got some nerve!
The rest of the night included us being screwed over by a cab driver who took us out of the city and back in to go only five blocks away from where we were staying and then charging us 15 euros. Then, us trying to get into a club where our Venezuelan friend got in an argument with the bouncer because he called her an ignorant, Venezuelan whore completely based on her Venezuelan-Castellano accent.
We made our way back to La Rambla on our way home where we came across swarms of prostitutes of African decent ranging in age anywhere from 13 or 14 to late 20s. It was such a bizarre experience, which broke my heart. It was very primitive like a pack or lions or wolves hunting their prey. They would literally chase down and cling onto any male in the vicinity, even if he was with his wife, girlfriend, significant other. It was so sad and pathetic. We counted 29 prostitutes in matter of five minutes. Seven of them tackled this one man and stole everything out of his pockets. He responded by running down the street shouting for the police and yelling “Putas! Putas!”
We were getting ready to give up on the night and head back to our hotel when we heard a male, British voice say, “Where are you going and how many of you are there?” We told him there were seven of us and he said “Perfect! I was sent to find six girls and now I’ve found seven. Follow me!” We were a little worried but intrigued at the same time. He lead us to this café-bar that he worked at which was already closed for the evening but him and his friends, including the bartender/owner – a Brit, two Argentineans, two French and a Spaniard – were just hanging out listening to music and talking. So we joined them, had a few drinks and all went to the beach to talk and watch the sunrise. It was GORGEOUS – a huge ball of fire laying on top of the water!
Then we got on our bus back to Madrid. It was the best experience, but it was an experience nonetheless. We learned that we were better off speaking English than Castellano because the Catalanes despise Castellano because of their separatist feelings towards the rest of Spain. But they don’t like English with an American accent either. They love tourists and any other English accent, besides American, is fine. But as soon as they hear Castellano or English they are ready to screw you over. Someone commented that they are like New Yorkers but I completely disagree. New Yorkers aren’t mean, they are focused and busy and know where they’re going but they don’t purposely try to screw you over or have mal intent. If you ask a New Yorker for directions they’ll gladly give them to you and be on their way. Catalanes, clearly do not embrace the “no pasa nada” lifestyle, probably because it’s Castellano.
So here is a message for the Catalanes: Calm down, “go stick your heads in the fridge.” There’s no need to be this hostile towards anyone. It takes too much energy. You’ll be a lot happier just letting it go.
Finally, back in Madrid – clean water, nice people, Castellano! So long Barça, hopefully next time will be better!
