Barcelona

 Barcelona! (Whenever I say this word all I can hear is Freddie Mercury and that fat woman singing). Barcelona! Olympic operatic anthems aside Barcelona is a truly cosmopolitan and global city, the kind you could see yourself living in if it wasn't for the difficulty of understanding the Catalan dialect and the vast quantity of tourists. 

Our digs was a brand new hostel decked out as a 1930s tailor's shop, complete with worn leather furniture, a beer vending machine and a defunct bathroom door that managed to trap Ais twice in two days, resulting in the staff having to break down two doors consecutively in order to get her out. Hilarious, if you're on the outside. Which I was was... Not so much fun if you're Ais. Our hosts were generous in ensuring their guests had a good time, and took it upon themselves to take us out each evening to see the bright lights.

After a rather racous night out where we got to know our fellow hostelites - three Aussies, four Swiss, one Brazilian and a German (we are sooo multicultural!) we set to discovering the cultural treats and vistas this great city has to offer. We began with a trip to the Picasso museum (I'm going to be a Pablo expert by the time we leave Europe) at its designated free time and when, unsurprisingly, everyone else decides to go along too. We joined the back of the queue and waited patiently in line (that favourite British past-time) surrounded by fellow tourists and homely-looking pinxos bars that lined the street enticing you in and drawing you away from the task in hand of queuing to see some Picassos. As we neared the front of the queue two garish-looking middle-aged Eastern European ladies of unidentifiable heritage (what is it with Eastern Europeans and tacky gold jewelley? You can spot them a mile off!) casually sauntered up to the couple in front of us and enquired after what they were queuing for (this much we could work out. We could also ascertain that they knew very well the answer to their question and were using the 'language barrier' as an excuse to push in). They had time to kill if they were going to stay in their position until the museum entrance, so they pulled out their maps and dutifully asked their new friends to point out where every single tourist attraction was located (even though they were clearly marked) and then gather directions on how to get to each place. That should kill about 20 minutes. Which of course it successfully did, and all of a sudden, surprise surprise they were through the front doors and on the way to the front counter. Now, I know its a bit pointless, but this made Ais and I FURIOUS! Especially when the imposters refused to make eye contact with our ever-rising eyebrows and disdainful looks on our faces. They know they did bad. 

So, we each hatched a plan. Ais wanted to get them kicked out for spitting on the gallery floor, and I decided to freak them out by following them around and looming over their shoulders whenever they stopped to look at anything. Such was my anger that I was perfectly prepared to sacrifice my own enjoyment of seeing some of the finest artwork in the world in order to secure revenge on two middle-aged women. We decided that trying to explain (or worse, acting out) phlegming on the floor might be a bit tricky in Spanish, so it was down to me. I took great pleasure in following their every move. They turned around, I was there. They looked at a painting, I was there, they went to the bathroom, I was standing outside. Before long I was looking like the definition of a song by the Police and it certainly started to have the desired effect. They quickened their pace, I followed suit, they gave each other a wary eye to say, 'who is this freak?', I positioned myself to be caught in the corner of each glance with a disturbing stare that couldn't quite be ignored. Eventually my pathetic tenacity paid off and our two friends left the building missing over half of Picassos collection. Success! Feeling thoroughly pleased with myself I resumed my tour of the museum at a leisurely pace.

 Day two was reserved for the wonder of Gaudi, Barcelona's most famed architect, whose ethereal and almost macabre Disney-esque buildings and constructs pop up in squares, parks, along the sea front and just about anywhere you care to look up. Our first stop was the La Sagrada Familia, a grand cathedral that could be mistaken for the worlds largest termite mound, complete with cubist depictions of the crucifixion and an imposing concave entrance that reminded me of human entrails reaching down to the underworld. The building is still a work in progress after nearly 100 years of construction, and sadly we didn't get to see inside due to budgetary constraints, but there was no escaping the impression that this mighty construction encapsulated heaven and hell and everything in between. 

La Sagrada Familia - certainly one of the more unusual-looking cathedrals I've seen on this trip

Our next stop was the Park Guell, a Gaudi architectural village originally intended for Barcelona's elite to reside in, but left to wrack and wonder after Gaudi ran out of money. Twisted stalagmite columns rise out of the earth and double as a market space, while gingerbread houses perch precariously on hillsides overlooking the city.

Detail from Gaudi's marketplace

 Gaudi also built his own house here, which is by far the grandest. The whole experience felt like we were wandering through an eerie Hans Christian Anderson story, not quite for children, not really for adults, a landscape stuck between idealistic fantasy and reality. And although impressive, I must admit I wasn't a fan and I even began to wonder if the term gaudy, comes from Gaudi? Insulting to one of architectures greats? Maybe. Subjective opinion? Totally. Still its mine and I'm sticking to it. Especially the pun...

We spent the next day hanging out at the beach, Aisling's all-time favourite haunt, and an opportunity for us both to relax after two days of heavy sightseeing.

Which yacht shall I have?

We reserved our final day in Barcelona for a visit to the Olympic park (I've never been to one before...) and the extremely awe-inspiring national museum that overlooks cascade upon cascade of fountains that tumble down to the city centre.

The 1992 Olympic stadium

I'm sure the inside would have been just as impressive, but it was a public holiday (they seem to have a lot in Spain) and it was subsequently closed. So instead, we wandered through the streets with the rest of the Barcelonian population who were having a hand-holding shindig to promote their desire to be an independent Catalonian state. Either way, it was an opportunity for us to mingle further with the locals before chowing down on our final pinxos for the evening. I don't think I have ever eaten so much bread in my life...

So many bready options!

Barcelona has definitely been the highlight for me of our Spanish adventure and I would recommend it to anyone who had yet to visit its cultural skin (I realise I'm probably one of the last people to visit it). I could easily spend a week living the Spanish life, dodging the tourists on las ramblas, and ploughing through the Catalonian wine that is on hand in every bar. Still, one can not dwell when there are new adventures waiting. Due to an unforeseen wedding in Ireland and fast-disappearing weeks left, we have opted to skip France and Italy and hop on a plane to Croatia. Eastern Europe, here we come!