Barthelona

It’s been a hot minute. I’m throwing it back to Barcelona – second trip with my best girl Chloe. Let me just take a second and reminisce, cause goddamn this was a good one. Ah, that was nice. Okay leggo.

Because it’s been so long, my food recap will not be as comprehensive as usual (much to the reader’s relief, I’m sure). But there are some things you eat that (metaphorically – ugh, imagine the digestive nightmare) stay with you forever. In the case of this Catalonian capital, I am speaking, of course, of paella. And what paella we had! As ever, the best food is off the beaten path. Chloe and I had intended to go to some famous place but upon arrival, found it packed for the day. Starving, we went round the corner and found ourselves at a cluttered but cosy restaurant whose name, tragically, escapes my memory. What I will never forget, however, is the meal we had there. It started with a pitcher of sangria. Over our four days in the city, we had a minimum of a litre of sangria each every day, so we had sampled a generous variety – not to mention all the non-Spanish sangria I have consumed in my lifetime (though I’m not sure those even count anymore). But the sangria they served us in this restaurant was the best I had ever had. It was the perfect balance of wine and fruit – refreshing yet deep with a stunning citrus aftertaste. What followed was a gargantuan slab of bread with tomatoes and olive oil – nothing special, but still appreciated given the state of our hunger. The paella came next – I ordered a classic seafood and Chloe ordered snail and rabbit. I am not religious, but I imagine heaven to smell like this paella. Bright yellow with saffron and sweetly fragrant with delicately sautéed mussels, clams, langoustines, prawns, and calamari, rice cooked to al dente perfection, smoky charred vegetables… This was the stuff of dreams. Four months later, I still salivate whenever I think about it. While this was easily our best meal in Barce, it certainly wasn’t the only. Honourable mentions go to the Mercado Centrale that featured a colourful selection of fresh fruit and other things that were as yummy as they were pretty to look at (which was very), a sacher torte that was BETTER THAN THE ACTUAL ONE from a rainforest-themed bar with an actual tree and waterfall inside of it, a sinfully delicious tomato ricotta open-faced sandwich that was nothing short of orgasmic from a café fittingly named “Satan’s Coffee Corner”, and a series of tapas and pinchos complimented by vermouth and olives, cava, and it goes without saying, more sangria. Spanish food was sassy and fun – the girlfriend who’s always down to try something new, never does the same thing for too long, but is always, always a great time.

Beyond the food, Barcelona is a beautiful city. I absolutely loved Gaudi’s wacky architectural creations. His buildings are like the acid trip of a small child with an overactive imagination come to life (not that children should be doing drugs – that is illegal and bad), but after city upon city of functionally homogenous arches and symmetry, these chaotic creations were a breath of fresh air. Park Guell with its iconic mosaic benches was stunning, of course. But his crowning accomplishment and indeed, the crown jewel of Barcelona, has to be the yet to be completed Sagrada Familia. To be honest, I’ve just about seen my fill of gothic cathedrals. After a few, they all start to blend together. Towers, arches, maybe a dome, definitely ornate gold detailing. But despite being years away from completion, the Sagrada Familia is like nothing I had ever seen before. The outer facades were strange and interesting, one side a modern cubist tribute and the other dripping in such unctuous detail that the surface might have been covered in millions of melting wax candles turned to stone. Magnificent as they were, the interior took my breath away. The stained glass windows were arranged in a stunning rainbow pattern that let the sunlight that filtered through set the interior with its abstract, geometric pillars ablaze with colour so rich you could hardly believe it wasn’t projected onto the walls with state of the art theatre equipment. This indeed was the epitome of his genius. Chloe and I had to sit in silence (a rare occurrence for us) and just ogle in awe at this architectural masterpiece before bursting into an incoherent string of “oh my god”s and “I can’t even”s. I may or may not have even teared up a little.

If you’re visiting, I highly recommend starting with a walking tour. We did two – one covering the old town and one covering the new. We learned about the history of the Catalunya, from which I draw parallels to the Quebec separatist movement, the life and times of Gaudi, Picasso, and a host of other creative influencers, and about the fact that the famous Playa de la Barceloneta isn’t even a real beach and is in fact composed of sand imported from Egypt and palm trees from Hawaii and the Bahamas, which is the real reason I have trust issues.

Another beautiful area was the Ciutadella park – easily my new second favourite park in the world (after Stanley, which is a completely biased and unfair judgement but whatever at least I’m self-aware). This park housed one of the most beautiful fountains I had ever seen, a handful of gazebos, and pond large enough to qualify as a small lake upon which people paddled along in rented rowboats, and also a mammoth, because why the fuck not. If I had to choose a place to die, this park would probably be it. On the sunlit grassy stretches, groups of people sat or danced or played music or napped – though the activities were diverse, good vibes were the common thread in which everyone partook. The sheer happiness this park exuded was contagious and I couldn’t help but smile my whole way through.

Naturally, because it’s Europe and because I was with Chloe, we had to climb a hill. So climb a hill we did. We reached what was probably one of if not the highest points of Barcelona with a couple of beers that cost us less than 50 cents each (goddamn) and watched the sun set over the city. I’ll leave these photos here because I could not possibly begin to describe this view. As it is, these pictures barely capture its majesty.

I could wax romantic about Barcelona forever – there’s a legendary fountain in the heart of the city that apparently makes whoever drinks the water fall in love with it (it being the city, not the water – idk grammar things). While I can’t vouch for any magical water powers, I had indeed fallen in love with the city by the time I had to leave. But as with any lover, it had its flaws as well. Europe is full of immigrants hustling their hardest to make a living by aggressively and often invasively peddling tourist bullshit and Barcelona is no exception. Not three minutes could go by without someone – pretty much exclusively visible minorities – interrupting my conversations and yelling at me to buy shit I didn’t want and certainly didn’t need. I hate that Europe has made a racist of me. It’s awful, I know, but every time a darker-skinned person approaches me, I turn away and avoid eye contact even before checking if their arms are full of wares to sell. As someone who generally cares about social justice and takes pride in doing so, this caused a lot of cognitive dissonance for me. On one hand, I preach that everyone deserves the same level of respect and that people in unfortunate situations aren’t always there by their own fault. On the other, I developed prejudices about specific groups of people based on their skin-colour, crossed streets to avoid them, ignored them when they tried to talk to me, and had generally unforgiving attitudes towards them when they dared interrupt my dream vacation. How could these two actions peacefully coexist? I still haven’t fully reconciled it but I think it’s important to think about.

Barcelona gave me a lot to think about, but thankfully most of it was positive. Mostly, though, it makes me think about how lucky I am to have gotten to see it – and of course, when the heck I can come back.