Exploring Barcelona

We promise ourselves, one thing a day while exploring Barcelona, and sometimes one thing a day is not much. And then we turn right.

Shopping for Groceries

I’m not sure why, but our life seems to be all about food. Unintentional—but real. We shop for groceries  — again! We have no pantry space. Tomorrow is Sunday.  Monday is a holiday and I need to plan for two days plus tonight’s dinner.  Michael may not be happy, but I persuade him we need to be methodical and shop each row, looking for what we need.  I have a list.  He grows impatient, but I persevere, totally avoiding the produce aisle, telling him we should get the remaining items upstairs. Except for wine—I want Rosado, and the most expensive one I can find is 1,85€.  How could it possibly be good?  But I add it to my plastic cart. Hoping.

We stop by the olive vendor, getting kalamata olives, one-half cup of capers, and the “best anchovies you have.”  All of this for a special pasta dish recipe that Heather texted me while we were in Oviedo.  I already purchased the one pound of tuna fillets preserved in olive oil and fusilli pasta downstairs.  I need a lemon. And parsley.

Elusive Parsley

Parsley is more difficult to find—none visible—anywhere, except in the fish markets and I don’t’ think it is for sale. The market is crowded today, everyone shopping for the weekend—perhaps the week.  Michael steers me to a tiny fruit and vegetable vendor where the produce looks tired and there are no other customers around.  I have little faith.  While I try to unlock my phone so I can type in the Spanish name for parsley, Michael tells me, “Don’t bother.”  But I persist, this was his idea.

I show the owner of the stall my phone and he smiles, goes to the back and returns with a fistful of parsley—exactly the amount I need.  When Michael says, “Quanta questa?” The owner shakes his head and just gives it to us. He has a future customer, no matter how tired the produce he sells.  The parsley was fresh and perky.

Saffron – the Restaurant

Groceries stashed, we head back outside walking along our tree-lined street, turning right, looking for an almost pedestrian street where sidewalk cafes are supposed to be plentiful. It takes a while, and the street we thought we were looking for is the not the street we find. I look up and see umbrellas across the way and I tell Michael, “Let’s eat there.”  I think he is afraid to suggest another place because I seem to be a bit pickier than he is. True.

The restaurant  Saffron has white tablecloths and no customers, but a tapas menu, so we sit. I order mejillones con mayonesa, patatasbrava, and Rosado.  Michael orders a trio of hamburgesas.  The waiter suggests Catalan tomato bread. Michael also orders Sangria. I think we are set.  The mussels are abundant and perfectly tender. The potatoes not so brave—rather mild in fact. Michael’s hamburgesa’s are three round two-inch patties each individually topped with cheese, mustard and grilled onions. A small mound of ultra-crisp miniature fried potatoes is on the side. He loves the Sangria.  We top everything off with coffee and Catalan burnt cream.  The restaurant Saffron is as expensive as the spice it is named after.  Our tapas lunch totals 61,00  euros–they billed our credit card in US dollars–upping the current exchange rate by at least 10%. We played — we pay. Now we need to walk.

Placa de Catalunya

I am turned upside down, thinking we are walking north when in fact we walk south, making our way through a park that at one time was a square, but today is two triangles—cut in half by a busy road. An interesting wall with lush vegetation confronts us on the other side of the park so we walk around to see if there is an entrance to explore. Locked.

We continue, stumbling onto a large square full of people and pigeons, and two huge fountains—the Placa de Catalunya. We are in a happening place and we weren’t even looking. But we are looking for an empty bench.  Hard to find, I snag half of one.  We stop and perch.  Michael wanders off, taking pictures.

El Corte Ingles

I see a large modern elegant looking building across the way.  It is multi-storied and the name El Corte Ingles is spelled out in large stone letters—the same stone as the building’s façade. A familiar name from Oviedo.  I feel like I have found a friend!

“We have to go in,” I say.

So we cross the street, enter through one of an array of double glass doors, say hello to Estee Lauder and take the elevator up and up, passing Armani. Up and up and up some more, we reach the eighth floor — and toys. We begin our descent, stopping at the home goods floor.  I head for the coffeemakers.  I am enamored with Nespresso machines.  We had one in Amsterdam and on the boat. I am hooked but cannot find the same size online when I Google.  Michael takes a picture, it is a Nespresso Pixie—149,00€.  I wonder how much they are on Amazon.

A Tiny Introduction to Gaudi

On our way home, we walk up the infamous Passeig de Gràcia. All the best names line this busy thoroughfare, including Gaudi–his architectural remodeling project Casa Batllo (Fish House to me) is across the street. What the experts call birds nests, I call fish faces—perhaps masks. Amazing how what you see in a photograph can look so different in person. Where, I wonder,  did Gaudi come up with these ideas?

“Mighty pillars that appear to resemble the feet of some giant elephant are the first thing to meet the eye of the passerby from street level. The roof reminds him of a completely different animal: it is bordered by a jagged line similar to the backbone of a gigantic dinosaur. A facade extends between the two, including a number of small, elegantly curved balconies that seem to stick to the front of the house like birds’ nests on the face of the cliff. The facade itself glitters in numerous colors, and small round plates that look like fish scales are let into it. There are no edges or corners here; even the walls are rounded in undulations and have in essence the feel of the smooth skin of a sea serpent about them.”