Full Moon Risin'

Our roof deck affords us some excellent views in an almost 360-degree panorama. It's not that it's a skyscraper, or rotating restaurant kind of place -- far from it.  It just is in a good location a bit higher than the palm trees on one side, and there are no other roof desks blocking the views.

We've gotten some great storm clouds, a fine sunrise, and now a full moon appearing to rise out of the "airport control tower building" as we refer to it.  Irene said, "quick, come quick, aliens have landed!!!"

Could have been!

Por último, un buen café

We were coming back from the bank looking for a coffee and stopped at a cafe. On the side, we noticed this store selling coffee beans. It looked wonderfully old fashioned; in fact, it was -- from 1902. Given the name, I had to have a posting for Mayra.

We'd been desperately seeking sanka -- er, just kidding! --  something other than the vacuum-packed bricks of flavor-free brown grounds we get at the grocery store but hadn't see a shop that sold fresh coffee. 

Stepping into this store, we got a rush: a giant wall of rich aroma.  Redolent of chocolate, old wood, tobacco -- smells I hadn't encountered in way too long.  Far from the scorched milk and sugared pastries of some omnipresent "coffee" stores from the Pacific Northwest... I realized charbucks doesn't have that smell, and how wrong that is. 

There were coffees from all over the world, of course, and one of the most expensive was in fact from Puerto Rico.  We asked about something full bodied, and he gave us a couple choices -- "acido o suave?" and we went for a half kilo of the black stuff, ground for a plunge pot.

Then I noticed the roasting machine set up in the back -- it looked like it was installed when the store opened,  113 years ago (you can just make it out on the right of the frame).  I asked (in very poor Spanish) if I could take a photo, explaining I had a friend back home who also roasted coffee for his shop (Hi, Doug!). He vehemently rejected my request, but -- pointing out the door -- said I could take one from there.   Barcelona's so overrun with camera-toting, selfie-stick wielding tourists that never buy anything, I wasn't surprised: the merchants are mobbed and customers crowded out. I've stopped, for the most part, taking out my phone camera in various markets. (Is there an app that can warn you of selfie-stick plagued areas of a city so you can avoid it?? maybe a Negative-Four Square, so you can go where people are NOT checking in?)

Anywho, the  coffee was excellent when we brewed up a pot. And ever time we opened the fridge door, where we kept the grounds, it was like a blast of mahogany/chocolate breeze.  

It's just run out, and I guess I can do without a good pot at home my last day here.  Cafés here make good "cafe solo" -- an espresso -- so I'm not going to be too deprived.

Pobre gat!

There's a famous statue by Botero right out side our flat's door, The Big Cat.  It's as big as a rhino.  Kids climb on it all day long.  Sometimes adults do too but I suspect they're drunk.

Some a-holes thought it would be cute to give it some color.  Poor kitty.

They even got the poor thing's cojones, a different color for each one.

Sunrise in Barcelona

Up late last night and up this morning before dawn. So much to do, so little time left.

Set up the laptop on the roof deck to start my working day and was able to see the sunrise over the buildings on the Rambla del Raval.

yeah, right, it's for your friend!

yup, that would be a bowl of plain white rice. 

the very nice lady in the farmácia valiantly suppressed a smile while demonstrating her understanding of what i had just asked for......communication after all, is the transmission of information followed by confirmation of receipt and understanding of such......and in a foreign language there can be many pitfalls.  embarazada can signify pregnant in castillian but embarrassed in latin american spanish.  a so called "falso amigo", albeit one that could have both meanings at once  :-)

"falso conejo" on the other hand isn't a rabbit at all, but a bolivian beef dish.  oh, and that reminds me, don't mix up conejo and cojones, but i digress.

chris has been largely absent from this blog recently because he has been working day and night on an overdue project.  with the 6 hour time difference the plan was to work from 12 noon to 2000 every day to coincide more or less with the office hours in the states, but after a week or so he began to work from when he got up till when we ate dinner, meaning 0900 to 2200, clearly an unsustainable effort which is affecting his physical health.

so, "no more than 5 pills a day, plenty water and nothing but white rice till your stomach settles."  she wasn't having my suggestion that i make him some paella.  not exactly the renowned barcelona cuisine we came for.

Cerveteca: An awesome beer bar!

We went out this morning to try and take the cable car up to Montjuïc; when we finally go to the station it was a 90 minute wait: 14 people a gondola, 4 gondolas an hour, hmmm  -- fuck this shit.

I really need some downtime after crushing it for work the past week, what are we gonna do?

The cable car is in the oldest part of Barcelona, Barcelonetta, an ancient fishing village. Narrow streets... but it's right on the Med. In fact, we were two blocks from the beach. Fine, I dipped my toes in the water, it was warm. Behind me was a surf shop with a rotating carousel of surfboards -- but why? There are no waves in the Med!  Really! You walk from the flat sand, down a quick slope, and boom, you're in the water. Shortly off the coast are boats: it must be a very steep shelf. But no waves at all.

We'd worked up a powerful thirst, and usually we'd avoid beach-area bars, but there's a lot of beach and a lot of bars: competition should keep everything in check.  A mediocre beer and a decent local vermouth and a Vichy Catalan water (which is soapy to my taste) was under €10, and the view was great -- folks rolling by on bikes, electric scooter, rollerblades, electric bikes, rickshaws, and all manner of boats, ships and such on the near horizon.

I knew I had to get back to work: it was Saturday after all, and my colleagues back home would be getting up soon. Did we have time to find a decent beer on the way? Barely.   Oh, that one's right on the way -- Cerveteca. Goddammit again, google says they're closed until 6pm. Well, let's head home and when we have a choice, pick the most narrow street.

Wouldn't you know: we came across Cerveteca... and the door... looked open!

Sure enough: a funky space on a narrow street, with tons of interesting beer in the coolers, and six or more taps with things that I could barely read and didn't know at all. Excellent.   In my very best Spanish I inquired about a couple, asked to try a couple more. Ended up with a pair of Hoppy Hour, made in Barcelona. The bartender, after we asked about Jalapeño beer, gave us a sample and it was quite good -- Irene had that for her second.

I enquired (practicing Spanish agin) whether they knew of any good beer place near where we were staying (Raval) or like to hang out (Sant Antoni).  Our bartender (I really should have asked his name) gave me a booklet from the 2014 Craft Beer fest held in Barcelona, and a map that showed local beer-friendly establishments. Now we've got a quest!

We took a look at the menu -- in Catalan, Spanish, and English. Horsemeat sausage? Dried tuna from Spain? Hook me up.  Beautifully served, a fine pair of tapas.  Our timing was great: they were closing for the siesta right as we finished our nosh.

What a super-comfortable place, with excellent beer and friendly staff. Thanks, Cervateca, you made our day!

Barcelona stays up late: movies in the square

At 10 PM (22h as they say here), we were having dinner on the roof deck and saw that some pretty big fireworks a few blocks over; this wasn't kids with bottle rockets. The blue light in the bottom is a sliver of the AgBar gherkin building we walked by yesterday.

After they were over, we heard what sounded like a loud TV. Not surprising, everyone had their windows open. But it was really loud, and surprisingly clear. Then we heard the sound of dramatic music, of strings -- it sounded like movie.

The Rambla del Raval is right below us and we figured maybe they were doing a Screen on the Green kinda thing. We headed down the 104 stairs to the street, but there was no film.  Lots of people at cafes, walking up and down, hitting the restaurants and such, but no movie. We could hear it though, a bit further on.

A block further toward the city center is the Filmoteca de Catalunya, and it's showing a great selection of movies this month. It's a cool modern building that incorporates indoor and outdoor spaces, including this bar, the Monroe, named after Marilyn. It was heaving with people at almost 11 PM.

Ah ha, mystery solved, around the corner they were projecting a movie on the wall of the Filmoteca. Black and white. Hundreds of plastic lawn chairs were set up in the square, all filled with people. The audio was in English, with Castilian Spanish subtitles. This could be a fine way to learn some Spanish :-).  After a few lines, I was able to google the names and found out the film was The Fountainhead from 1949 with Gary Cooper and Patricia Neal. Lots of dramatic music.

Even the kids were up at this hour, playing on the swing sets.

We went back to our roof deck and sure enough, by midnight the film had ended, the sound was gone, and we could hear the cafes on Raval putting away their tables; the evening was over, it's quiet-time now.

I guess I don't understand the schedules of people in Barcelona. If they're eating at 10 PM and hanging out until after midnight, are they getting up and slogging to work at 8 AM?  The middle off the day siesta seems a bygone artifact here in the city but maybe that's how they recover.

Fish liver, Funicular to Tibidabo, Gràcia fest, a 7 mile walk, more craft beer!

When we picked up the merluza from the fish monger, we picked up a big bunch of monkfish livers. We've only seen these in tiny portions at exotic Japanese restaurants. Our monger had kilos of giant livers -- these fish must be heavy drinkers. At €4.50/Kg ($2/pound) we got a batch, we'd figure out something to do with it. For breakfast, I fried them up with a bit of schmaltz (chicken fat) irene had left over from roasting our chicken yesterday.

A bit of radicchio for bitter contrast and some bread and we were ready to hit the streets. The liver had a slight livery-ness (which I find too strong in mammals), and a bit of fish roe flavor. I might not seek it out specially, but it was fun, and we've got some ideas for other preparations; stay tuned.

Another perfect day in paradise. Let's get out and hit Tibidabo, an amusement park built in 1899 on a mountain overlooking Barcelona. We weren't that interested in rides, but heard it had outstanding views; we were not disappointed.

After walking to Plaça de Catalunya in the center of town, we found transport folks blocking our intended line: construction. My Spanish still sucks but I was able to ask for and get an alternate route on a train line that would take us to a funicular. Funiculars are like railways but up steep hills and mountains so the downhill side of the car is elevated to keep the car level; inside the seats are stepped.  Below, the view looking down, as we were pulled up. Cleverly, there's only one track but two cars; they cross in the middle, allowing the weight of one car to counterbalance the other, but without the expense of duplicate tracks.

We goto the Funicular station without incident. Barcelona's transit system is integrated and our 10-trip ticket covered metro (subway), the S-line trains, buses, trams, and also the funicular. We took this to the top, where we waited for a bus to take us the rest of the way. This mountain road was full of spandex-clad Lance Armstrong types with thigh muscles the size of  Iberian hams. The bus patiently followed the riders as they grunted up the steep hills.  Turns out the buses don't run that often and our funicular group filled the bus (yes, it *was* a short bus :-), which really pissed off another group further up the climb that shouted epithets as the driver blew past their stop.

We reached the top and there were plenty of ferris wheels, rides (some almost 100 years old), but happily, we could mill about and take in the out-fucking-standing views without charge. We also could buy a beer at a tolerable price.

You can expand these photos. The two towers in the center are on the waterfront near where the 1992 Olympic park started redevelopment. Further to the left, the tallest building, back from the waterfront, is the AgBar "gherkin" building. We walked to those the previous day, from way over on the right, off the frame of the photo.

In addition to selfies, I've figured out how to do panoramic shots. When will the madness stop?

We'd considered walking down from Tibidabo home, but our feet were killing from yesterday's 10-mile jaunt. We took the bus, funicular and train back to Gràcia, which is where we hear all the hip people live and and cool shops are located. We found this beautiful steel-capped market-looking building, but it was closed.

Then we stumbled across the Gràcia festival; how the hell could we almost miss this? Different blocks compete with each other to decorate their area, and cafes sell drinks and snacks from their storefronts. This one had a Flintstones theme, with a stone-wheeled bike (hi, Dana and Kelli!)

We stopped at a cafe to refuel, yeah, mojitos aren't very Spanish but everybody was selling them, and the cafe was Dutch anyway with bitterballen and haring. So we mixed it up with a mojito and chistorra sausages. Super friendly folks and only €10 for both of us.

Some beautiful architecture in this area too, including this hotel; the windows in the upper floors windows with details that make them look almost arabic. Irene got some dulce de leche ice cream in a shop here, it was really good.

And then this. I didn't want to believe it, but I suspected, and a sign confirmed: it was a Gaudi design. In this one, it looked like he just didn't know when to stop adding stuff to it.

And another festive block, this one with a circus theme, light fixtures made of plastic soda bottles, games for kids.

The walk home was 30 minutes, so we hit a place our AirBnB host had recommended that was right on the way, Bar Velódromo. Wow, what a beautiful place, all art deco, stunningly restored by the Moritz beer family who bought it when the original owner retired.  Surprisingly not stuffy, despite such well executed fare as tuna tartar (for me) and steak tartar (for Irene).

As we continued on toward home (only 15 minutes away now), we were so distracted by this outstanding building -- seemingly a combination of a 1950's cinema and arabic inspired brick- and pale-colored layers -- that we almost walked right by...

a craft beer bar! We took a look inside BierCaB, were drawn in by the cool ceiling and then noticed the 30 taps.

Many of the selections were American, quite a few Belgians, but we chose a couple from Spain, including Irene's brewed in Barcelona.

They had an electronic display of the beers available and upcoming on tap, and I was able to photo-bomb their display of their Twitter feed.

By the time we'd gotten back, my phone informed us we'd done a 7-mile walk. Not as much as yesterday's 10-miles, but pretty damn good. Hopefully enough to burn off some of that fish liver and beer.

2015-08-15 A fine day out: 10 mile walk, the Med finally

The weather report said it was supposed to pour rain all day, 100% chance and all that. So when we got up and it was still dry, we hit the streets to take a look at a neighborhood our agent suggested we look at (the place has a killer terrace and sea views): Poble Nou.  We tried to stay along the waterfront but kept getting drawn into Barceloneta or distracted by impressive buildings. For some reason, the utility companies seem to have the biggest baddest buildings in Barcelona. This one has is a Gehry-esque mirror construction with cantilevers that seem a half block wide -- the natural gas building.

Hurray, our first view of the Mediterranean. Not so impressive, here, but not terribly crowded at this time like I'd been told. I didn't see the illegal watermelon sellers... not yet.

We came across this fun information and BiCi bike station made of chickenwire and construction scaffolding:

 Right next to the Museum of Design -- I really should go there, Catalan design is cool.

Next to the AgBar tower ("the gherkin" as some more polite people call it). Agua Barcelona, the water company. We can see it from our roof top, lit up in electric blue until midnight; it looks miles away, and I guess it really is.

Near by we got shouted at for entering the frame of a production company shooting what looked like a car commercial next to cool industrial and ancient structures.

We didn't like the Carrer de la Marina area much -- no life, residents' posters declaiming loud tourists, and picture menus of "Pizza and Paella", always a good combination... to avoid. So we continued on and on and on until we found the Rambla de Poble Nou, a beautiful pedestrianized rambla heading toward the Med with lots of cafes.  I got the Cava in the smallest wine chiller I've seen and we had some beer and snacks. It really was a perfect day. And I figured how to make my phone take a selfie by opening and closing my hand, woo hoo.

 Some of the modernista architecture really is exquisite.

 Hey, Ginger, how 'bout this for a pizza oven? Freud would have something to say.

We continued on to the sea and walked along the Med a while, dipping our toes into the warm water. The beach was crowded, all tourists it seemed, as confirmed when we stopped for a drink in a beach bar (overheard: "can we get a packet a' crisps wi' this?" in a South London accent).

On the way back along the waterfront by Barceloneta there were dozens of tents set up. Instead of the tourist T-Shirts we expected, there was artisan food (olive oil, breads, sausages) and ... finally! craft beer! We had a couple and asked the guy if he was the brewer (yes), and I asked what that was called in Spanish. He said there wasn't really a word, so maybe Cervesarero would be it.

There was a woman right next door to the cervesarero selling cava. We knew were were out of money, but really didn't want to pass up some refreshing sparkling wine from nearby Penedes. Fortunately, two full-sized glasses set us back a paltry €4 total, so we still had a couple euros left. How can it cost so little and be so good?

A bit further on, olive trees on the esplanade next to the sea front restaurants... where we stole some rosemary twigs for our dinner that night. I love the way they look, their roots and stems gnarly with age. I must have one when we eventually move here... so we need a roof terrace that will accommodate one.

We finally got home and my phone told me we'd walked 16 Km -- that's 10 miles!  We ended up going to bed early, since we were exhausted and -- truth be told -- because we didn't have any money to go out and hit the vermouth place again.