Once again we were on the train, our last European train trip for this year, this time to Barcelona. Marseille has been good to us, an interesting city to explore. But we need to move onward for the final leg of our land trip.
The fine countryside of southern France, the rocky hills, a sailing boat, windmills, passed by our window and the Pyrenees rose in the distance as we neared the Spanish border.
We changed trains at Perpignan (Perpinyá in Catalan) from the excellent French SNCF system to an equally good Spanish Renfe train. Soon, we arrived at Barcelona's Sants station, hauled our bags to the metro, and emerged at busy Plaça de Catalunya. The traffic light changed, we rolled our bags across the intersection to the broad pedestrian sanctuary of La Rambla and paused to catch our breath. It felt good to be back.
Our modest hotel was just half a block off La Rambla – one of the great urban walkways of the world. We checked into our room and opened the window to look onto the pedestrian-filled streets of Barcelona. It's a fine city where a car is really not needed, or maybe even wanted. Many European cities are that way, with fine metro systems and easy surface rail access to just about anywhere.
Ray and Bev Kolosseus, our sailing buddies to the island of Elba (Blog 16, below), were already at the hotel. After a few hours rest we all walk several blocks through Barcelona's charming byways for dinner at Els Quatre Gats, over on Montsió street. This is the restaurant (actually, an earlier iteration at the same spot) where Picasso, Miró and other artists used to hang out. In fact, Picasso designed the menu they still use today.
It's a place to enjoy a good meal, and good Catalan red wine. The streets outside were streaming with the usual Barcelona nightlife, and a huge neon thermometer nearby told us it was a fine October evening to be out and about.
In the morning we visit the famous Mercat in search of cheeses, seafood, Iberian ham, and Catalan chocolat.
We continue down La Rambla toward the docks to see if our next 'hotel,' the Norwegian Epic cruise ship, is in port yet. We'll all be boarding the Epic on October 20 for a TransAtlantic crossing to the New World – the cost is comparable to airfare and we'll visit a couple of islands along the way. This will be the third crossing for Carolyn and me and we're looking forward to long days at sea to catch up on reading, and so I can finish writing a few blogs. Including this one.
It's a nice morning to wander down La Rambla, and appreciate the classic buildings, side plazas, fountains, and street performers that make Barcelona so special.
The Epic won't actually be docking for a few more days, but Carolyn and I want to see if it will be possible to just roll our bags to it. We like trying to do things the way locals do, and not relying on costly taxis. But cruise ships are moored far out on the docks; it would be a very long and difficult walk. Then a "Port" bus rumbles past on our way back; we'll locate the bus stop near the tall "Columbus" statue in a couple of days, and the trip will cost us only 2 Euros apiece.
Carolyn and I explored the incredible works of Antoni Gaudi on a previous trip, so we concentrate on other aspects of the city. The greenery of Montjuïc beckons us up from the waterfront to spend time near waterfalls and scenic views before returning through yet another 'hip' area via side streets. They even use Laurel and Hardy (called "El Gordo y El Flaco" in Mexico) to ask bar patrons to keep the noise down after the party's over.
But we're really heading for the tramway up to Tibidabo, so we catch the metro away from the center and find ourselves with a goodly walk ahead of us. The Blue Tram only runs on weekends (it's a Friday afternoon), but a bus gets us to the funky century-old funicular for the final leg to the top.
A sort of amusement park awaits at the top, and the views over the city are worth the trip. A very old 'plane ride' on a derrick swings you out over the city below. And an odd pair of 'stacked' churches dominates the peak. The fine workmanship of the murals in the lower church is well worth seeing.
As always, a day of vigorous exploration invites another fine evening at table, with delicious food and drink.
It's a quick dinner though, because we have tickets for a hilarious concert of classical music in the outrageously Baroque Palau de la Música Catalana. No pictures are allowed of the performance itself, so I pleasured myself with the gorgeous interior. The musicians were seated on (of course!!) four brilliant white Barcelona Chairs, a la Mies van der Rohe.
We'll pack a lot into our visit because we board the ship in one more day. That means only a day for Carolyn and Bev to catch the 25% Off Sale at Desigual, a famous Barcelona destination for serious fashionistas.
Ray and I were left to wander the streets looking at jazz posters (not enough time for a performance), considering expensive tickets to the upcoming Barça-Madrid game (happening after we leave), or a visit to the Erotic Museum (neither of us needs that!).
Just below our hotel room sits the Libreria Canuda, the inspiration (according to hotel staff) for the old bookstore in Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. It's a good read woven through with the history of Barcelona and featuring many of the haunts we've managed to see on our visits. It even includes a "walking tour" map in the printed version. (Outrageously, Carolyn's downloaded version did not, so you'll need this link: http://www.carlosruizzafon.co.uk/sotw_walkl.pdf. Tibidabo features in the book, and was a reason we made that trek this time.
Unfortunately this amazing bookstore, like so many others, is closing its doors and selling its stock at 50% off. If I read Spanish (or Catalan!) a lot better, I'd have been tempted to buy more than the one heavy doorstop (in English) that I bought about the Prado Museum.
The rest of our last day is mostly spent enjoying the street life of the city – exuberant musicians, the 'blood drive' bus, and a shop called Happy Pills. And Ray enjoyed some quiet moments with his New York Times.
But Carolyn and I found a poster for a classical guitar concert happening that evening, set in an old chapel just a block from our hotel. After a fine dinner, we all crowded into the intimate setting of the chapel (only 50 seats!) for another memorable evening of guitar virtuosity.
The morning finds Carolyn and me dragging bags again down La Rambla, but this time toward the bus that will take us to the NCL Epic for our trip back to the US. (Bev and Ray caught a cab and got stuck in traffic.) We've had a wonderful-crazy trip across historic Europe through the fascinating Balkans to Istanbul, and all the way back to Barcelona for our departure – the kind of thing college students get to do. But it's now late October – almost three and a half months since we arrived in Paris in mid-July.
As we wheel our bags down La Rambla past posters and seed merchants to the bus stop we know we'll miss this city and the rest of Europe. We got our money's worth out of the Lonely Planet guide to Med-Europe, and the map I bought at a newsstand in Paris. It's been a very long trip, but it's been good.
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Soon we're on the ship, stowing our gear in a cabin we'll call home for the next two weeks. We even have a balcony with a view over a sailing regatta, their white sails flecking the blue Mediterranean like so many paintings we've seen in so many museums this summer.
In the evening, the ship pulls away and Barcelona recedes in the distance; we relax for a while, and after a fine dinner we'll enjoy dancing in one of the many bars aboard. Then we'll retire to a comfortable cabin with an 'animal' to greet us for the evening. It's a different experience from most of our trip so far.
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Shipboard and re-visiting Funchal, Madeira
Shipboard life has its own pace and rhythm, and its own perceptions. A look over the railing shows the cubical lives of fellow passengers enjoying their balconies. We'll be doing the same for the long crossing of the Atlantic. One is tempted to watch the beautiful swirling and beguiling waters below. It has its siren's call – a dangerous and fatal call.
Better to watch dolphins playing in the bow wave of a distant and slower freighter. Many paths converge as ships head toward that choke point called the Straits of Gibraltar. We'll pass through in the night and see the lights of Gibraltar and the Spanish city of Algeciras on the European side. On the African side we'll pass the Spanish colony of Ceuta and the bright lights of Tangier, Morocco.
After a day and night at sea we arrive in the morning at Funchal, on the Portuguese island of Madeira. When the ship is securely docked, we board a small tour bus to get a greater sense of this beautiful, fertile, and mountainous island. We've been here once before when we took a crazy sled ride down steep city streets. That was a kick, but this time we'll see a different side of things.
We arrive at an overlook and the ship – our floating hotel, restaurant, and nightclub – sits in the port far below. Another stop gives us another spectacular view.
This island is intensively farmed, with vegetables planted below the vines. Bananas are a major crop. Very little of the land goes unused. Vistas of small harbors and villages abound.
Another vista point gives us a dizzying view through a cliff-hanging glass floor to the rocks and surf below. After a quick look, I head back to the safety of solid ground.
Then it's snack time and we enjoy a sampling of local cheeses and wine before heading back downhill through the rugged countryside to the picturesque center of Funchal.
Funchal is a fine place to wander. There are gorgeous plazas and gardens on this rain-kissed island. There's little traffic in the wandering side streets and there's much to see.
But soon it's time to return to our gigantic white aquatic bus and mobile hotel, the NCL Epic. Along the way we'll pass some military brass, the wall-painted records of previous port calls, and other reminders of our time ashore, before dealing with the long lines of fellow passengers waddling back aboard.
Then we'll wave goodbye to the fog-shrouded mountains of Madeira as we ease back into the Atlantic for the long leg to the New World.
—PRW