Went with Alicia and Fabien up to their favourite cafe further up the mountain. Had cafe con leche (the Spanish favourite for breakfast) and Fabien had a second, stronger coffee, because he is French and they drink an astonishing amount of coffee. Next we visited the adjoining bakery where we bought croissants, chocolate strips, and mini glazed pastries, then up some steps to hang our feet over Alicia and Fabien’s favourite wall, which gazes far out across Barcelona and out to sea.
From here Fabien went to get shopping as Alicia and I had decided that we wanted to make Paella (well, I wanted to learn how to make it) and to make proper sangria. Meanwhile Alicia and I bent our energies to sorting out our paintings to take with us on the ‘Walking Gallery’ we were taking part in at 6pm. Lots of sticky-tape later I had arranged my four etchings of the couple on horse-back, which I’d squished into my hand luggage to get here, into a long strip supported by cardboard. Alicia had strung up a life-size nude female torso to hang around her neck (provocative!) and a painting of a pair of legs.
By 1 we were ready to head into town, and we walked down to catch the tube to see two of Gaudi’s most famous designs, Casa Battlo and La Pedrera, on the Passeig de Gracia. Casa Battlo has THE most stunning windows. It looks like a castle from the city of Atlantis. In fact many of Gaudi’s constructions look like they have floated up from the sea bed. It was too expensive to go in but it was beautiful from the outside. Also La Pedrera, not as stunning from street level but with awesome iron gates made to look like leaves of the palm tree.
As Alicia and I walked along we might have wished that we could travel down Barcelona’s streets at roof height, because that is where most of the city’s best beauty resides. A mixture of modernism and Moorish influence, carved stone and smooth ceramics. Also popped into Casa Amatller, which had a beautiful glass ceiling, and a wonderful dragon lamp.
Tried to have a look in the smaller, modern, art galleries along one of the roads off Pg de Gracia, but they were all closed, either for lunch or for the whole of Saturday afternoon. Weird! Most shops in Spain do close from 1pm – 4pm, which seems very odd!
One feature of the streets is the towers of balconies that are a feature of most buildings. Quite a lot are made use of in some beautiful or bizarre fashion – one building on the art gallery road had filled its balconies with lifesize papier mache figures, while in a balcony by the Dali museum there is a cardboard cut-out of Dali holding two whopping great fish gazing nonchalantly over the street.
Met Fabien at the Palau de la Musica Catalana, on Carrer de Sant Pere Mes Alt, which Alicia insisted was one of the attractions worth paying to explore. She was totally right. The building is squeezed out of the way in a narrow street, but leaps out from its boxy space with its vibrant colours and designs. Above the front entrance is a forest of pillars, decorated with patterns of tiles showing flowers and leaves.
While we waited for the tour to begin, we sat on some steps and ate the packed lunch Alicia had prepared – a spinach and tuna tart and gorgeous sandwich of meat and tomato, seasoned with oil that had been soaking with Provence rosemary for months.
Inside the Palau de la Musica Catalana the English language tour gathered with a guide who liked to drift into Spanish intermittently to keep us on our toes. The Palace was built between 1905 and 1908, and was funded mostly by the Orfeó Català choir and the middle class of the area, so there are no boxes for royalty or VIPs in the building.
The palace was designed by the architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner, in the modernist style, and is intended to make audiences feel as though they are in a forest or garden. Pillars and windows are decorated with flowers and leaves, while the ceiling of the concert hall is plumped out with red and white roses. These roses are a symbol of Catalonia, whose patron saint is Saint George.
Legend has it that Saint George saved a princess by killing a dragon, whose blood became a red rose, which George promptly handed to the girl (how handy!). This legend has inspired Catalonia to treat Saint George’s day as a second Valentine’s day – all the men have to give their ladies red roses. As it’s also national book day, the girls traditionally have to give their men a book in return. In modern times men have had to start giving a rose AND a book, so as not to neglect their lover’s intellect...
The dominant feature of the concert hall is a stunning stained glass window in the centre of the roof – it drops down in a bulbous sun burst and is intended to resemble a drop of water. Through this bright window, the room is flooded with daylight. Although the Palace was one of the first buildings in the area to be supplied with electricity, in its earlier days only matinee concerts would take place, so all music was enjoyed in daylight.
My favourite aspect of the room was the chandeliers strung from the pillars – the pillars are shaped to resemble palm trees, and the ring of glass lights hanging half way up resemble the fruit of the tree. Each ring is hung at an angle to provoke the sensation that there is a wind billowing out through the forest.
Met Alicia afterwards and we had a quick drink in another modernist-designed cafe, which is apparently where Picasso had one of his first exhibitions. From here we headed to the Dali museum where we had fun with a door which featured a Dali ‘tache. Inside were hundreds of prints, photographs, sculptures and even a miniature version of the crazy Falla that Dali designed for the Valencia fire festival, Las Fallas (the original Falla went up in smoke, as was intended, at the festival). I particularly loved the prints in which Dali had messed around with ink, creating swirls and dollops across the page, then with a fine ink pen had transformed them into suggestions of crowd gatherings, castles or landscapes.
A mad dash back to Placa de Catalunya at 6pm led us to the start of the ‘Walking Gallery’. About a dozen artists congregated with paintings ranging from a vibrant street scene, to a Jackson Pollock-esque bicycle, to a brown paper collage. From here we rambled along Las Ramblas, dodging tourists and fancy dressers, with most eyes falling on Alicia’s provocatively placed nude torso painting.
Many of the artists spoke English, including Pablo the Mexican who had created a beautiful Surrealist scene in oils that looked like rich brown velvet, and a German artist who had created the red, yellow, black and white street scene. However a couple did not speak any English, which provided me with the opportunity to stretch my GCSE Spanish to the max and attempt a conversation! I was surprised by how much I understood when I listened, and I could almost make myself understood in return, although there were several moments in which I realised I was saying an Italian or French word with a Spanish accent, and once an English word with an Italian town at the end. Still, they were very patient, and when it all got a bit much I just smiled and ran away to the back of the line.
We got the most attention when we stopped in a square near Jaume I metro and took a load of photos of our artwork next to the large black and white photos that had been erected showing Franco’s time in power. These photos had already been enthusiastically and imaginatively defaced, and when Alicia held the nude torso over Franco’s, this was met with general public approval.
Franco and his fascist government is of course anathema to the Spanish populous, but in Catalonia there is a particularly focused hatred. The Catalan language had been banned under Franco and they had suffered greatly under his rule. Today many Catalonians are fiercely proud of their heritage, and many want special freedoms from the rest of Spain. There is even talk of teaching only in Catalan, with the Spanish language not featured. Alicia told me that some people in Barcelona will insist on talking to you in Catalan, even if they know you don’t understand it. It seems to me that to use a language to restrict communication rather than to facili
tate it is quite bizarre.As we left the square we noticed a group beginning to dance the local dance – everyone stands in a circle holding hands above their heads and some complicated footwork takes place below. Pretty, but I prefer a bit of fiery flamenco.
After taking the weight off our feet and the dust from our throats with a cool beer, most of the artists dispersed and Alicia, Fabien and I were left with another artist, Magnolito Oliver, who only spoke Spanish. Still we had managed to keep up a conversation for a decent amount of time. Shared the tube with him where he invited me to join their artists collective and made me their UK representative (this was all made clear by Alicia’s translating).
We hopped off the tube at Gracia, met Alicia’s friend, and headed to a tapas bar, where we ordered local favourite pan con tomate, (bread and tomato), Spanish omelette, chorizo and bread, and I had a much needed coffee.
From here we headed to the gallery, which has got to be one of the most bohemian hang-outs in Barcelona. There is an illegal bar at the back, squished into a tiny broken old courtyard, and the gallery itself is a renovated garage owned by an English girl and a Spanish man.
Work by 6 different artists hung around the walls – a real mixture. Here we met Alicia old friend from Uni and his Argentian friend – a bubbly blonde girl who upset my notion that all Argentinians would be more tanned than Spanish people. After taking lots of silly photos with Alicia’s illicit picture we moved on to a bar where the two newcomers could grab a bite to eat (it was nearly 12pm).
We found a bar serving gorgeous chunky sandwiches and sat round while they ate. Alicia’s friend was hilarious – he was saying how he was constantly paranoid about death, whether by bear, psychopath, or shark, depending on his geographical location.
Although that couple were going on to a house party, we decided to head home as we had an early start. Got in and tried a drink that is like almond juice, apparently another instance of Arab influence in Spain.
We also had to make up the Sangria because apparently good Sangria has to ferment at least overnight. It’s a simple recipe: half cheap red wine to half juice (orange or pinapple or a mixture of anything citrusy); a good dollop of a white spirit (we used a mixture of Cava and white rum); whop in a bit of sugar; and cut in ripe juicy fruits like orange and peach. Keep testing it to get it to your ideal flavour, then chill it for at least one night so the flavours mix.
Finally got to bed at 2ish, totally knackered but very happy.
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