Three years ago, I wrote about my first experiences in Barcelona – a city previously unknown to me that I had decided to start a new life in. As this is where the first ideas for this blog came from, I thought it fitting to document my exploits here. These blog posts started out life as emails to my friends and family during my time there.
I’ve been here about six weeks now, and I suppose I’m settling into some sort of routine. I at least have a flat, some Catalan flatmates, three jobs and a few Spanish and Catalan words under my belt. Barcelona being a wonderfully human-sized city, I’ve cultivated a slight obsession with going everywhere by foot, to the extent that I’ve started to resent hopping on a metro or bus for even 10 minutes. Not that public transport is bad here – far from it. So, as an alien in a new world, assaulted from all sides and through all senses by my new surroundings, I share with you some of my first observations, and why not start with the most thrilling?… public transport!
Stairs – flipping loads of them in the metro! As there are about six different entrances to most metro stations, which can seemingly be spread across four blocks, should you make the mistake of entering into the wrong one for your line or direction, be prepared to go up and down stupid numbers of times before reaching your required platform. This was all kinds of fun when I first arrived with my overweight, limping suitcase and no chivalrous help at hand (New-Catalan-Friend was no longer with me at that point because of the lost telephone at airport debacle – previous post).
Changing lines – DON’T DO IT! You may be mistaken in thinking that because lines converge or cross at one station that you can hop off one and onto another. Nuh-uh. Be prepared for the aforementioned stair obstacle course as well as crossing half of Barcelona in a muggy, 70s-ugly tunnel. Best to walk that bit further in the pleasant outside world to a different station and just take the one line a few stops (just choose the right street entrance…).
One amazingly fantastic super duper thing, however, is that the metro runs ALL NIGHT on a Saturday! Brilliant! So I guess that makes up for all the stairs.
More things about Barcelona, though:
There are lots of nose rings. Various types. Every second person seems to have one. Or dreads, or a mullet. It’s like being back at college again (except for the mullets).
People call you guapa and cariña all over the place. I know this is the equivalent to being called love or darling in the market or at the pub but I unapologetically rather like it.
The economic ‘crisis’ that we’ve all been going through is evident. My fully qualified architect flatmate is fully unemployed, along with the majority of those in her profession in Spain. Quite a few people beg on the street with cardboard signs declaring the number of children they have to support, the lack of food… Then there are those who sell packets of tissues, lighters or chewing gum on street corners to make a bit of change.
The self-employed bin men are also a common sight, which is a bit shocking to see in a European country*. Like modern day rag and bone men, they seem to collect just about anything which could have even the smallest amount of second-hand worth. They are found rummaging through the many vast recycling containers, dotted on almost every street corner, accompanied by a shopping trolley and maybe a hammer, packing in as much as they can, from cardboard boxes to old clothes and shoes, electrical goods (and bads) and metal items. Where on earth these then get distributed to after, I have no idea. But someone must have worked out that it was worth a little something because there sure are a lot of people doing it.
*it certainly was in 2012 but is potentially a less shocking sight nowadays with persisting economic difficulties, and immigration and refugees in Southern European countries
Futbal Club Barcelona is NOT just a football team. ‘More than just a club’, it is, I’ve learned, religion and politics combined: fans more like fanatics, it is a symbol for how Catalonia could stand independently of the rest of Spain. And any match between Barcelona and Madrid is a grudge match to end all grudge matches. Catalans would rather sell their nans than have Madrid beat Barça!
There is even a whole TV channel dedicated to the team: if you wish, you could spend hours watching montages set to music of the best Barça goals of this season, last season, 20 seasons ago… or you can watch tiny little Barça players being coached into future Messis or Iniestas.
Not a week goes by without a protest, fiesta or strike. I don’t think people in Barcelona know how to manage without some mass gathering and noise-making. I must admit, I find it all quite fun and have been tempted to grab my saucepan and wooden spoon and join in on the banging and marching, but I’m not sure I’d manage the chanting, let alone the meaning behind it all.
Apart from the protests, fiestas or strikes, there is always something going on. And, because Barcelona is pretty small, it means you can actually participate in much of the fun – the idea of a ‘trek’ across town is, in reality, a maximum 20 min train or bus ride, even taking the stairs into account (imagine that London!)!
The beautiful buildings – ahh. There really are some fantastic, interesting, curious, different, crazy and beautiful buildings all over the city which can just make your day that bit brighter. There are ugly ones too but so many that I pass only seem to get better the more I look at them, as I notice more details, more colours, more shapes. And, be it right or wrong to accredit him entirely with the glorious architecture of the city, I say thank you to Gaudi for his part in the daily feast for both eyes and soul that I enjoy.
Finally, I couldn’t possibly end my observations without comment on the most talked about topic on the isle from which I hail… and, do you know what, it actually rains quite a lot in Barcelona. I know, I was surprised too! Don’t get me wrong, there were still days into late October when I could careen around in a dress and cardigan and not be feeling the cold but there has been a surprising amount of water falling from the sky too.
Most memorably when I was with a friend watching a fantastic light show being projected on to one of the more notable Gaudi buildings, Casa Batlló, with hundreds of other people all crammed in the street to watch. Not five minutes of the show had passed when an absolute torrential downpour started, resulting in almost flash-flooding of the street we were on. Masses of people rammed together and desperate to keep from getting wet only resulted in hundreds of mini umbrella waterfalls, so it was rather like having a cold, temperamental shower attacking you from various angles! When the lights from the show went off because a thunder erupted, everyone screamed and decided that was the time to panic-scramble, with umbrellas now as weapons to barge through the crowds…!
So for everyone suffering from a bit of SAD back in the UK, or just the usual shit-weather grumbles, be comforted that the grass is not always greener on the other side (or that the sun doesn’t always shine in Spain), and that we sure are a lot more stoic about rainfall; for when the skies open here, the city closes: never is it emptier on the streets than when it’s wet outside. I’m starting to suspect that Barcelona’s residents share a certain attitude towards water with Oz’s most villainous inhabitant…