Barcelona is a town of a certain size in Spain, situated along some large body of water shared with other countries. Barcelona is known for many things. Its chief exports are goods and non goods. Its weather is mild in some parts. One of its neighboring towns is not Stockholm. Many historical events shaped the culture of the city in exciting and colorful ways. Some number of visitors from around the world go to Barcelona and comment the excitingness and colorfulness of the city. The local people appear to be of all races. They enjoy speaking spanish, eating, walking into your view, and smoking. Most of them would not be described as attractive, though at least 4 are very much the opposite of what was just said. Many can be spotted “Barcelona Kissing”, which involves using thin slices of ham as fake tongues during passionate lip-lock. Additionally, Barcelona is a city of contrasts. For more information about THE BARCELONA WAY OF LIFE, please contact your local Spanish embassy for an informative pamphlet.

Day 8: February 27th

Full bore on a full flu, the day began by wandering around the neighborhood near the hotel to find something for breakfast.

I first passed by this third world looking construction site along the narrow road perpendicular to the hotel. I walked along the construction wall down an alley and stumbled upon a popular and vibrant market selling any kind of fresh food a person would want.

One of many fruit vendors.

Row of serrano ham legs hanging by the hooves.

Goat heads, cow hearts, guts, and testicles.

Pigs.

I don’t know what these animals were, but they had their organs spread like a Viking sacrifice.

Cow dongs.

C. and I bought a lot of fruit and no cow dongs from the market. While everything looked great, the strawberries and cherries were lacking flavor. The oranges and mango were excellent, however. Also, the cheap cold coconut and fruit juices were delicious. It would be wonderful to live next to such a full featured market.

Next, we took the subway to Gaudi’s still in progress Sangrada de Familia cathedral. Pretty crazy architecture combined with large crowds and construction crews and equipment. This side is the crazy looking side with sculptures set into swirling, dripping dabs of rock. It feels like a wasp’s nest.

The main interior space, artfully cropped to avoid showing all the construction equipment and crew on the ground.

A 2£ lift took us near the top of the completed building. From there, we were left on our own to crisscross the interconnected vertiginous towers, walkways, and spiraling interior stairs. This photo is from and open area between two towers.

Facing the other way is construction on the remaining towers. Somehow they got a full size crane to the top of the cathedral.

Scaffolding.

Spiral stars leading hundreds of feet down from the top of the tower. It’s hard to see in the photo, but the spiral in the middle appeared to go on forever. Another tower’s staircase was more open and offered terrifying views of the city during descent. I was glad to touch ground again.

After the cathedral, we took the subway to a large park overlooking the ocean. Or it would had it not been so foggy. The centerpiece of the walk was the remains of an extensive brick and stone fortress overgrown with a weird variety of plants. Somehow Barcelona can support cacti, ferns, moss, desert shrubs, pine trees, and grass in the same hillside.

This cat, named Todd, and his brothers lived at the fortress. One was missing an eye.

After going back to the hotel for a nap, we headed over to the stadium for a 10PM game between the Barcelona and Valencia soccer teams. Our seats were primo. We sat between two middle age fans screaming Spanish obscenities and 4 teenage smokestacks in front of us. I bought a serrano baguette sandwich from a vendor. It was fatty.

The game ended with a tie. And the exodus began. All of the subway stops had closed by then, so we walked most of the way home.

Day 9: February 28th

After sitting at a nearby cafe and enjoying refreshingly cheap coffee and pastries, we took the subway to the Gaudi Park on the hillside of a wealthier part of town. It was a little overcast, but the view was still decent. Ships could just barely be seen in the water. The walk from the subway to the entrance along sloped, densely packed streets felt very much like a walk in San Francisco.

The main entrance to the park, facing out.

The park is beautiful, and Gaudi’s structures blend into like the palace walls of a ancient psychopath. Various overhangs and walkways are made from swirling mosaics of large stones. This gallery has a pathway on top of it.

High and low walkways.

A jumbled assortment of buildings on the mains street on the way back from the park.

A full gown tree on abandoned steps near the subway stop.

Before retiring, we took a quick walk along the water’s edge. This photo is from a small jetty. The beach must be a very different feeling place in the summer, but on a spring night it feels like an abandoned urban beach.

Day 10: February 29th

On our last full day in Spain, C. and I woke early, took the subway, and another train to outside of town. Our destination was Monserrat, a magical mountainous area that started as a monastic retreat. The train ride took about an hour and passed through lots of dry, ugly industrial development and slums. Oddly, a lot of the industrial property also had farms on it. Either the workers were allowed garden space, or the produce was very far from organic. There were a lot of sad, soapy rivers along the way. Once we arrived at a town at the bottom of the hill, we took another train up the mountain. It followed a windy, narrow track up the shear walls of the mountain. The ride took about twenty minutes before dropping us off at a large complex near the top.

View near the landing platform on Monserrat.

Some of tall stone peaks behind hotels and church.

Without nary a bottle of water of food, C. and I began a hike of unknown length up the mountain. It ended up taking about 5 hours. The trails were well maintained and paved in a lot of places to avoid falling apart during the rainy season. The first two hours of the hike was virtually a stair climb. This little nativity scene was hidden in a mossy crevice.

Someway up the trail, we looked back to see where we started. To the right is the church complex. Behind and to the left of the large column in the foreground is another church building.

The tallest point of the hike was a lookout over the valley and mountains. The scale is hard to tell from the photo, but we were really high up there and the view was vast.

View of the altar behind locked doors in one of the churches on the mountain.

Another view of the valley. If you look closely, on the right side a church building is perched on the mountainside. A windy gated walkway led up to it. The weather for the hike was perfect. Not to hot and the sun seemed to appear based on our whims. After hours of exercise and not having eaten anything that day we were quite hungry. Luckily, we had gotten the recommendation of a restaurant back in town.

The best part of the meal was a steaming pile of seafood and sausage paella. The rest of the meal included bread, spinach with pine nuts and raisins, a potato pancake with fried egg, and some red wine. Very good but very expensive. It was an thankful way to end the Barcelona trip after a lot of lackluster meals.

Day 11: March 1

Flew back to Paris.

Day 12: March 2

Luckily, I was able to meet up with an old friend from work for coffee and an omelet in the city. She’s been here for three years since San Francisco. It was good to catch up, considering it didn’t know here before.

I leave for Portland tomorrow, really early. The cab hopefully picks me up at 4AM. Some closing thoughts for the road:

Paris reminds me of Hanoi: scooters, small cars, busy streets, dirty rivers, old buildings with shops on bottom and living up top. It’s just an older, cleaner, and more civilized version with white people in it.

Barcelona feels similar to San Francisco, only a more chaotic and less picturesque version. It felt a lot dirtier too. Less pee small, but more dust.

If I had to live in either place for the rest of my life, it would be any easy choice.

No.

I’m on the end of an annoying flu that’s made the last three days a little slower and sleepier than I’d hoped. We arrived in Barcelona two days ago. I’ll be doing a post about here soon. How Paris finished out:

Day 4: February 23th

The fourth day in Paris began with a delicious blue cheese and walnut quiche with side salad. C. and I had met a friend of his for lunch at a quiet cafe by the river. Afterward, we took an epic walk to find the Paris sewers. By the time we reached the entrance it was closed. Substituting one brown water for another, we grabbed some coffee in a park. Three young professionals and three expensive coffees leads to some passionate people watching and discussion of international issues and videogames.

That evening I was slaughtered again in Catan. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, other than losing. Maybe my new strategy should be to win.

A building with the wall covered in non ivy plants. The future?

A fountain during the walk back from the park.

An egyptian ding dong type thing near the fountain.

Arc de Triumph in the distant evening traffic.

Day 5: February 24th

Upon waking, we promptly went to the sewers. The area free to explore was smaller than I hoped, but interesting enough. Flowing streams of brown liquid were crossed by honeycomb metal bridges. The area must have been better ventilated than the off limits sewers, as it smelled more of moisture than excreta. Roped off were endlessly echoing dark chambers leading out under the real city. If I was an urban adventurer, I’d sneak off into on of those tunnels.

One of the main rooms on the tour.


Cool tunnel.

A large ball used to unclog the pipes. Balls of varying sizes are used for this purpose.


I won’t get into the history of the Paris, but for a long time it was a pretty shitty situation. It’s surprising how recently it was that seemingly obvious levels of sanitation weren’t in effect. I wonder how future generations will regard us as fools.

After the sewers, we found some average pho soup. The atmosphere of the restaurant was great, however. An old man sitting nearby was trying to cut open a durian with a cleaver. The owner was trilingual and very talkative. By coincidence, he had a brother that lives in southern California. A Vietnamese immigrant in southern California? Seemed unlikely, but I let it slide.

In the evening I started getting sick. I bought some lemons and honey to make life affirming drinks. In hindsight, the lemon water probably did nothing, and the extra honey just ended up spilling all over my backpack.

Day 6: February 25th

The day began at 6:30. We woke and got on the subway to catch a high speed train to a town two hours south of Paris called Valence. C. has a friend named M. from work who was visiting his mother’s house over the weekend, and it seemed like a good opportunity for food, lodging, and scenery we would have missed otherwise.

The train. Quiet but not deadly.

The house we stayed at.

M.’s mother offered us a local specialty sausage as a snack.

Lunch consisted of avocado bread, herby terrine, rice, squash,

and delicious fresh rabbit stew.

After lunch, we drove to the ruins of a local mountaintop castle. It’s the tallest point in the photo if you can’t see it.

A better view from the trailhead.

Ancient lawn mowers tending to the grass.



C. and M.

Some of the surviving structure was built onto the steep hillside overlooking the valley.

After a nice flu weakened hike on a mountain, I crashed early and let my fever carry me to sleep.

Day 7: February 26th

Our second and last day in Valence was fairly uneventful, in a good way.

After breakfast, we visited a family that lives on an enormous 200 year old property. They served homemade cherry wine and pretzels.

After a lunch I didn’t have much appetite for, M. dropped us off at the train station and we began the 7 hour journey to Barcelona. Because of my flu, I desperately wanted to sleep on the train, but there was no comfort to be found in the Franco era seats. I entered into a zombie-like state for the trip, neither asleep nor awakeÐremembering nothing except a glimpse of the sea and the border check.

The Barcelona train station at 11PM.

Time to sleep. Buenos noches!

Day 1: Wednesday, February 20th

I safely arrived in France after a short feeling flight. Though it was an overnight flight, I wasn’t able to sleep a wink. An hour before landing that morning in Paris, it was only becoming my bed time in Portland. There was a heavy fog over all of Europe that morning, so I missed seeing the British Isles or any of France until a few meters before the runway.

After breezing through customs despite not filling out one of the forms at all, I struggled to buy a train ticket and pick which track would bring me into town. Luckily, the airport platforms were fairly straightforward. It wasn’t until reaching the central Chatalet les Halles station that I got a little turned around. The Paris subway is awesome, but at first ride it’s an intimidating labyrinth of overlapping tunnels, stairs, and confusing signs. Fortunately, C. had told me the French word for “exit,” otherwise I would have died in there.

I couldn’t find the specific station exit I needed, so I went to street level and had instant success navigating from there. C. was sitting outside a cafe, sipping a coffee and keeping an eye on the dark metro orifice I should have spilled out of.

C. is staying in a free apartment his recently finished 6 weeks of work at a french game company. The modest flat is in the Chatalet district, within blocks of the Louvre, Pompidou Centre, and Seine River. After dropping off my bag and bladder droppings, C. and I went on a walk to some of the nearby sights.

C.’s apartment is on the forth floor. It’s reached by a narrow, branching wooden stair case that feels older than the building.

The view out his window.

Some small, new museum.

A male nude sculpture with live pigeon causing anguish in the Jardin des Tuileries.

The dead pigeon fallen non-triumphantly from an arch of quite the opposite status.

City of the Lost Children green Seine water seen under a bridge.

A row boat and stagnant river garbage hidden among long, beautiful house boats.

Imposing wall of the Pompidou Center. Did you know that “pomp” means “pipe.” Pompidou literally means “Pipes Everywhere and All Colors Meant to Incite the Established Architectural Canons of a Classic City.” Center means Center.

After the walk, we lunched on pasta and duck. I took a two hour nap to catch up on sleep before we headed out to meet two of C.’s friends for what ended up being a four hour dinner at restaurant that specialized in duck. Pretty good meal, all ducks considered. They must serve a lot of pate and fois gras, since every table had its own toaster.

While the food, especially coffee, has been delicious the exchange rate has made meals feel like a combination of gastronomy and ass rape. Coffee has been around $6 US. The average dish has been around $20. Until the dollar get stronger, eating here will be a painful delight. I was expecting this.

Day 2: February 21th

The second day began will a subway ride to visit the Catacombs. They were closed for the season for skull renovations or something. We continued.

Woman sleeping on the subway platform.

Me standing in from of the Eiffel Tower. We took the vertigo stairs to the viewing platform, putting my fear of heights and old metal towers to the test.

Complicated metal constructions seen from the stairwell in one of the legs.

View of the people under the tower as seen from the first viewing level.

Paris from above.

Self-lubricating mechanism.

After descending the tower, we took another train to Montmartre, bought some sandwiches and sat on the hill near the church before heading out.

The church. It’s a sacred space no-matter what your beliefs were before you grew up and started “keepin’ it real.”

The Louvre at night.

Street along the river.

Pont Neuf Bridge.

Notre Dame Cathedral. Beautiful. The sides are better looking than the front, but hard to get a good angle of.

The night concluded with games of travel Catan were I slaughtered C.

Day 2: February 22th

I wandered around all morning alone while Chris had a work related interview. I crisscrossed familiar and foreign streets.

Some looked like this.

Jardin des Plantes.

The perfectly cropped tree tops that seem to be a staple of Parisian parks.

A view of grave markers at Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise. The place is an endless dense arrangement of tombs and walkways. Its layout and construction feel much like Paris itself. Only this is a city of the dead. The doored tombs are like elevators to the afterlife.





Canal with locks we walked along on the trip home.



My legs are sore today from miles of walking and not much food. C. slaughtered me in Catan this evening, and I’m ready for bed.

On Sunday night, we travel south to the coastal town of Marseilles for a day or two before heading to Barcelona. I’ll be updating sometime along the way.