. . . the intro would probably go something like this – “And in tonight’s show –
We catch a tour bus . . .
a pullover gets a blessing . . .
and Brian gets to drink a gallon of Sangria . . .
But first . . .
We’re now pitched up for a three nighter, 30K north of Barcelona at the aptly named Camping Barcelona? Situated a further 4K north of Mataro. Work that one out if you can. It’s a huge open and terraced sandy site, separated from the Med by the N-11 and the coastal railway line. The weather is too overcast and windy to think about skinny dipping, but with hotel-like shower facilities, we can think of no better way to get wet.
Luckily, we manage to book one of the last time-slots to visit the Sagrada Família, Gaudi’s “still to be completed” temple. It’s a fifty minute trip down to Barca – oops, I mean Barcelona, Barca is only ever used in reference to “Team a la Messi”, so I’ve been informed. The totally free camp coach drops us right into the centre at 10am. We’ve got eight hours to kill. Now what to do? A coffee and pastry later we’ve handed over 50 euros (concessions) in exchange for two tickets to travel the open topped tour bus. All day hop on and off wherever you fancy – with a running commentary. It’ll save our legs. Barcelona is a massive sprawl.
It’s a long time since I’ve been on a bus. The streets are packed. It’s slow going. In between the inane commentary, such as “On your right you can see the marina. It used to be the old port.” and “Next, we have the Christopher Columbus column. He’s pointing, but we don’t know why he’s pointing in the wrong direction” they fill the time with some dire water music. Problem is, it’s so slow going there’s more music than commentary. Coupled with the rhythmic sway of the bus I’m soon resembling a nodding Prince Charles doing his thing at a Status Quo farewell gig. Then it starts to rain and Mary-Ann nudges me. I spring back into the real world. “Were you nodding off?” (Moi?) “Shall we get off here?” – “O.K.” I reply, “whatever you want . . . ” .
Park Güell offers a change. It’s at the top of the city – literally. Although you wouldn’t notice it from the street plan. (Honestly, Monsieur French Fries) By the time we climb the one in three to the entrance, lactic acid is seeping from our calves and thighs. That feeling of wibble wobble wibble wobble jelly on a plate getting ready to kick in. The view of the city make it almost seem worthwhile.
What goes up must come down, so we head back towards our 18.15 appointment. We pass through an avenue of trees as a flock of pigeons swoop down from behind us. They virtually whiz past our ears. Most take up positions in the overheads ahead. Bombs at the ready. Mary-Ann is concerned for her newly bought scarf. The ground is clean of droppings, so I assure her a central line will be safe. Back at street level the wind picks up, so I decide to put my pully back on. It’s been blessed. The bag probably open by no more than a couple of inches. You’ve got to admire their accuracy. Haven’t you?
It’s time to eat. We order and we notice a blackboard with the chalked word Sangria. “Two glasses please”. We think the young waitress is saying they only serve it by the jug. Plus it’s not much more than the price of two glasses. So we nod. When it arrives, she is having difficulty. It’s huge. I could’ve shouted across the restaurant “the drinks are on us” and we’d still have some left. It’s ridiculously big. Far too big. We wanted to drink it, not bathe in it. We refuse and ask for two glasses only. Some time later she returns with the largest goblets we have ever seen. Filled to overflowing she tries to delicately put them down, drenching the table as she does so. They could easily house a couple of knickerbocker glories. They are not what we expect. Far too much lemonade for Mary-Ann’s taste. I end up drowning, I mean downing them both, hic.
It’s been a long wait, but when we eventually enter Gaudi’s temple all we can say is “WOW”. It’s massively awesome. Supporting pillars deliberately designed as trees, create a stone forest canopy high above. East and west facing stain glass windows spread a contrasting glorious glow throughout.
Gaudi’s legacy is due to be completed in 2026 – one hundred years after his tragic accidental death.
Our long lost walk in search of the hidden underground train station (a separate main line station below the Metro lines, we discover), gets nicely broken by a big bubble display. Bubbles and excited kids cause chaos amongst the adult calm.
