3.01.2010

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Once I read a book about a woman who travels around the US on the train with her camera, which, as a budding photographer, I found highly irresistible. She wrote about having “train face.” Years later, after an overnight train through Spain into Barcelona, I finally understood what she meant.


Looking in the mirror of the women’s bathrooms at Barcelona-Saints Station, I decided I definitely had “train face.” It’s what a night of poor sleep in a cramped, cold compartment with the conductor’s flashlight illuminating the semi-darkness every hour looks like. I needed some breakfast (ie. Coffee!) and I needed it fast.


I emerged to find James sitting on a bench, encumbered with our two huge backpacks, equally afflicted by “train face.” We found coffee and pastries at a food stall and welcomed the sugary food. We sat amid the morning commute, I with my vice-like grip on my backpack, remembering the story of theft and lies from my Lonely Planet “Rite of Passage” book that took place in the very station we were seated in. We consulted my copy of “Europe on a Shoestring” and decided to try out the Tres Estrellas campsite. The catch was that it wasn’t actually within Barcelona. It was a bus ride to the town of Castelldefels, south of the city.
Barcelona

We set off from Saints Station to find the Plaça Espanya and our bus. Along the way we met two backpackers from New Zealand who were looking for a place to stay in Barcelona. We swapped stories, and after everything we said, they would reply “Aw, true?” After we split up, James talked about dunnys until we found our bus.


Eight and a half miles later, we found ourselves on a stretch of highway near an airport. On the left side of the highway were campsites, including our destination. Unfortunately, we were on the right side of the highway with no overpass in sight. We got off the bus with a French couple who were also looking for accommodation. The four of us stood by the side of the highway, looking wistfully at the other side. A team of road workers took pity on us, and told us they would watch the traffic for us and tell us when it was safe to cross. Collectively taking a deep breath, the four of us took off running toward the center divider, our backpacks bouncing uncontrollably and hitting us in the heads with each step. We somehow managed to roll ourselves over the concrete divider, and then dashed across the rest of the highway to sanctuary. (We later discovered that if we stayed on the bus for just one more stop, we would be right next to a pedestrian overpass.)

On the way to Castelldefells

After pitching the tent and freshening up, James and I caught the bus back into Barcelona for the afternoon. We stopped at the Plaça del Catalunya, right at the mouth of Las Rambles, a pedestrian boulevard selling everything imaginable. From street performers to caged birds, Las Rambles had it all, including access to one of the best markets I’ve ever seen. The Mercat de la Boqueria seemed to go on forever, yielding endless stalls of fresh produce, eggs, seafood, meats and cheeses. The sheer abundance of foods took us both by surprise, and we spent ages just looking at everything.
Mercat de la Boqueria

Mercat de la Boqueria
Tearing ourselves away from the fresh goodies in the market, James and I continued down Las Rambles toward the seafront and the statue of Christopher Columbus. We wandered back through the Barri Gòtic and La Ribera, getting lost among the tiny, twisted medieval streets. We could almost feel the ghosts of Pablo Picasso and Joan Miro in the oldest section of the city. We saw the cathedral tucked among the high grey stone walls and discovered squares exploding out from the narrow streets.
La Merce Basillica

Barcelona

Barcelona’s older section was a visual feast and a virtual Where’s Waldo of architectural details. A stone courtyard yielded fountains, mosaics and elaborate wall plaques. Easily the largest city James and I had been to thus far on our trip, Barcelona overwhelmed me. The streets bustled with electric anticipation one moment, yet quiet repose seemed attainable just around the corner.
Candle Seller

We couldn’t resist heading back to the Mercat de la Boqueria to pick up our dinner. €2 later, we had some of the freshest vegetables we could find to make a vegetable stew back at the campsite. We made our way back to the Plaça del Catalunya to wait for our bus.

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