Historic Heart (Part 1)

"My definition of an adventure is an interactive story, set with puzzles and obstacles to solve, and worlds to explore." ~Roberta Williams

March 29, 2013
I was the last one up in the morning. The girls all got up about an hour or so before Chris came so they could shower and such. I got up about 15 minutes before and through on some clothes. I was so excited about the warm weather. I’d brought a pair of shorts on a whim and now, for the first time in months, I was going to get to wear them!

I asked Dreadlocks where I could find an ATM. He told me there was one just outside the hostel, to the left. I went downstairs, passed the One Direction store, and found the machine a few doors down. The most it allowed me to withdraw was 140 euros, which I figured would get me close to the 50euro/day budget Lad’ka had suggested (I hadn’t spent 50 euros the day before so I felt confident this would be enough.)

Back upstairs in the kitchen, Mike and Amy were talking. Mike too was excited about wearing shorts and Amy was thrilled she could wear a skirt.

“Isn’t there a bike tour, this afternoon?” I asked.

“Oh right,” she said. “I guess I shouldn’t wear a skirt.”

We chuckled a little. “That’d probably be my recommendation, but it’s up to you,” I joked.

When Chris showed up, everyone gathered in the kitchen. Even though breakfast wasn’t included in our trip fee, he’d brought some homemade bread from a family bakery across the street along with some Nutella and fresh oranges. Oranges grew all over the city and they tasted amazing. They pealed as easy as clementines, with none of that white stringy stuff under the peal.

“Anyone seen Kaitlin?” Chris asked.

As if on cue, a voice from around the corner said, “That would be me.” We each introduced ourselves to her and Kaitlin explained that she was from New Jersey, going to school in Georgia, but was studying in France this semester.

“I brought this to show you too,” Chris said. “It’s what they make at Easter.” It was a roll of bread, with whole hardboiled eggs (shell and all) cooked into it. “Try some,” he said handing it to me. I ripped off a piece and tasted it, passing the rest around. It was kind of sweet, but also a little bit bitter. The texture was light, but neither real doughy or real flaky. It was good, the taste was just hard to peg.

“Are you all ready for an orientation session?” Chris asked as we ate.

We agreed we were.

“Ok then,” he said pulling out a blue binder form his bag. “Welcome to Barcelona! You’ve probably seen that this is the capital city of Cataluña. Cataluña is one of the seven providences of Spain.”

As he talked, he flipped through the binder showing pictures. The first was on the Catalan flag, and he explained that its origin was ascribed to a warrior and a king (both names escape me right now.) The king was injured in battle and the warrior save him by stopping the bleeding with his hand. After the wound had clotted over, the warrior wiped the blood off of his hand onto a golden shield, thus creating the image of the Catalan flag—four red stripes on a gold background.

He showed us two other flags that he said we might see. The first was the red and gold stripes with a white star on a blue background in the one corner. “This one,” he explained, “is for Cataluña’s independence. The people in this region really, really want to be free from Spain. The history of the area is different, the language of the people is different—they speak Catalan as the official language of the providence. It’s very unique and as the Spanish economy gets worse, and the Catalan economy gets better, people are really pushing for separation.”

The other flag was similar but the white star sat on a yellow background. “This one is for independence for all of Catalan. What I mean by that is all regions that speak any form of the Catalan language.” He showed us a map of what this looked like. It would include not only the area around Barcelona, but also the south side of France, the lower half of the Italian peninsula, and most of the islands in the Mediterranean sea.”

“This second one is never going to happen,” he said. “The first one might, you never know, but we will see. Either way, the Catalonians are very proud of their culture and their providence. Some of them already believe they are independent.”

We next went through the schedule of what we were going to see today. “Everything we do is optional, but you have paid for everything so it’s up to you if you do it or not,” Chris explained. “Just know, there are no refunds if you don’t do something, but it’s your trip so you can make it what you want it to be.”

Because of where our hostel was located, Christ wanted to mix it up a bit from what was published in the handout. “The important thing to remember is to go to the bathroom when you can go, not when you need to go. We are going to be all over the place so when you see a toilet, try and force it out when you can so you don’t have to look for one later.”

After a reminder about not bringing anything too valuable into the city, we broke for a bathroom break and time to grab everything we needed. I gave Chris the 20 euros for the sangria and cooking class, and went to grab my stuff. I left most of my money in my locker, and just brought 20 euros and my camera into town.

Leaving the hostel, Chris explained that the part of town we were in was part of the expansion of Barcelona in the 1900s. As the city grew, the wealthy people wanted to live further from the center, so they build large ornate homes further away. Now, the homes had been turned into the decorative shops and apartment buildings all around us. The architecture was unreal. Each building along the street looked like a miniature palace. There were towers and spires on every apartment, and many of the roofs were made from ornate, mosaic tiles.

Amy and I were the only two taking pictures. We both laughed at how we felt like quality tourists snapping photos in every direction of every city. Her camera was far more professional and she was interested in setting up quality shots. I was just interested in being able to remember everything that I saw.

Chris suggested we stop at a Starbucks for a caffeine boost. Seeing this Starbucks was a great example of cultural adaptation for a business. While the inside looked like any American Starbucks, they also had an outdoor venue that was laid out like the other Spanish cafés.  I didn’t want to spend any money, so I waited outside with Chris and Kaitlin, while the others all got drinks. While we waited, Chris asked me, “So what are Czech people like?”

“They are very serious looking,” I said. “When you first get on the tram or see them for the first time, they look very stern and almost never smile. But once you get to know them, you realize they are very friendly.”

“Huh!” he said. “And is it true that at Easter the men beat the women with sticks.”

I laughed. I’d actually read about this in a few of my travel books. “That’s what I hear,” I said.

“You should have stayed there to find out,” he said. “Why do you think they do that?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “They explain most of their behavior as being ‘left over from communism’ but I don’t know.”

As we talked, a little kid (maybe 18 months old) wandered up to us and started chattering in gibberish. He was fascinated by his reflection in the window, and while Chris encouraged him to look at it, his mother kept scooping him up and taking him back over to her table.

Once everyone had their coffee, we continued down Passieg de Garcia. The first stop we made was at “Casa Milá” (The Miller House) better known by its Catalonian name “La Pedrera” (The Quarry.) The Miller family had been a wealthy family in Barcelona is the late 1800s. They commissioned architect Antoni Gaudi to design them a home in the bourgeois neighborhoods outside the city. The house he designed was most unconventional. There is not a single straight side or edge to the entire building. The nickname “The Quarry” comes from the fact that the entire building looks like a giant pile of sand with the windows shaped like various caves. The roof is home to a variety of sculptures and lookouts, many of which have been cited as the inspiration for the storm trooper costumes in Star Wars.

The next house we saw was also built by Gaudi. Called the Casa Batylo, the building was built as a tribute to St. George, the Patron saint of Barcelona. According to legend, George saved a princess from a dragon. When he killed the dragon, a rose grew on its spot and George gave the rose to the princess. St. George’s Day is celebrated in Catalonia on April 23^rd. Like Valentine’s Day, it is a day when men are to get women they love a red rose. Women in return are to give the men books (not sure what the significance of that one is.)

In Catalan, the house is called “Casa dels Ossos” (House of Bones.) The entire building is symbolic of the dragon. The roof is made of colored mosaic tiles that look like scales. The front is also colorful and scaly, but with large stone beams carved like a rib cage and other bones. Inside—we didn’t go in because it cost 15 euro, but Chris passed around pictures—the spiral staircase is carved like a spinal column. The chimney on top, is shaped like the rose growing from the dragon.

As we finished walking down Passieg de Garcia, we were back in Plaza de Cataluña, where I had been when I got off the Aerobus. Again, the plaza was lively with kids, birds, vendors, beggars, and tourists. The tropical trees and bubbling fountain looked unreal. There was such life to the city.

“This spot is the center of the center, which is the center of Barcelona, which is the center of all of Cataluña!” Chris explained enthusiastically. He pointed out a few statues as well as some pickpocketing behavior we should watch out for.

“Alright,” Chris said after we’d all taken several pictures. “Let’s go see Las Rumblas!”

This was one of the sites that I’d heard of a lot, but didn’t know anything about it. Chris luckily explained its origins. “Originally, Barcelona was a Roman city, enclosed in a wall and isolated by the port. This spot we are at here was right outside the wall. Inside the city, there wasn’t any good sewage system, so people would go in pots and then throw the poo over the wall. Eventually, this mote got filled with poo and merchants and traders started using it as a road. When the wall came down, the road was a great place for merchants to sell their wares and thus…Las Rumblas was born!”

Walking along the ancient road was just like walking through the squares in Prague. There were vendors selling homemade goods. Flowers were perhaps the most popular item, with lots of carts of Technicolor orchids on display.

About half way down Las Rumblas, Chris stopped us by a light post. At the base of the post were four spigots with nozzles that shot out water when they were squeezed.

“There are lots of fountains in Barcelona that are said to have magic properties,” he explained. I hoped those ‘magical properties’ didn’t have to do with the sewage system he’d just taught us about.

“There are fountains for love and fountains for happiness. This fountain is the Fountain of Barcelona. See this plaque here,” he said, pointing to a gold carving in Catalan. “It says, ‘Whoever drinks from this fountain will always be in love with Barcelona and will always find their way back to this city.’ Who wants a drink?”

We all lined up and tried a drink from the fountain. Surprisingly, the water tasted very fresh and much cleaner than the tap water back in Prague.

We continued to rumble down Las Rumblas. The crowd was thick and walking was more of a shuffling pace. There were people from all over the world in the mob. From the decorative Islamic head scarfs, to the loud American accents, languages, customs, traditions, were all blended in this little strip of paradise.

Chris had told us that the famous La Boqueria market was off Las Rumblas. This market is known for being a place where farmers and merchants can sell their fresh meat and produce. He said the highlight for most locals is going there to get some fresh juice during a hot day. Unfortunately, when we got there, it was closed.

“Blimey!” Chris said. “I checked the website and everything. It must be closed for Good Friday. Well it will definitely be open tomorrow so you definitely want to come back to see it.”

We cut diagonally across Las Rumblas and into the old Roman neighborhood. This was the area that I had been in yesterday. The streets were narrow, the buildings looked ancient, and plants dangled from each balcony overhead. It really was like something out of another world.

We stopped outside one church that had a small outdoor market in front of it.

“The church and the government have always been closely connected,” Chris explained. “When the Spanish kings built churches, it was just as much about showing off the King as it was showing off God. You can see that the outside of most Spanish churches was not very decorative, but the inside was lined with gold and treasures that represented the kings’ wealth.”

We looked in through the glass doors as well as at photos Chris passed around. The outside of the building did just look like a brick bunker. There weren’t any towers or fancy artwork on the building. It was very elegant looking, but in a very simple way.

“This church is called Santa Maria De La Pie,” Chris said, “which in Latin means Cathedral of the Pine. It’s named after that tree over there.” He pointed. “Throughout history, anarchists have vandalized churches as a way of rebelling against the kings of Spain. One church, called the Santa Maria del Mar (Cathedral of the Sea) was built by the people as their church separate from the government. There is a great novel you can read about it called Cathedral of the Sea.”

We snapped more photos and started to look around the market a bit. Chris gave us about 10 minutes to wander and sample some things. I felt a bit guilty trying foods I knew I wasn’t going to buy, but one woman insisted I try some of her homemade flan. I did and it was amazing. It was much creamier than I am used to flan being, but super sweet and tasty. The most fascinating item though were the booths selling jars of honey, with parts of the intact beehive inside the jar.