Barcelona Day 1- Much Longer Than Expected, Way Better than Expected

WARNING: This is super long. You may want to get some desert and coffee while reading. Corresponding pics will come. Maybe later today!

Jose Rizal did not like Spanish rule. Three hundred years of their rule while discriminating against the natives and suffering them with an iron fist wins no one. While we remain shaped by those formative years in many ways (heck, look at ¾ of our last names and a couple thousand words of Tagalog vocabulary), we shouldn't necessarily be thankful, as Spanish presence was both a blessing and curse.

Spain itself, however, was another matter, he did agree it's a beautiful country. And while I don't know if he ever went to Catalunya (He spent a lot of years in Madrid and Germany), I think Barcelona is a great city in and of itself.

So I went on the city tour through SAS. It honestly didn't start off well. The trip started at 1230 hours but some people were already drunk. I couldn't help but feel angry, annoyed, and somewhat jealous all at the same time.

But we got on site and walked around churches, the Catedral Gotic and Sagrada Familia. Around the Gothic church there was actually quite a bit to see. The area was crowded with a number of smaller, yet culturally significant buildings, with a lot of history. One of which was a church that Gaudi used to visit. A number of street performers played guitars or other instruments in open areas around the gothic church.

La Sagrada Familia is a famous, yet incomplete church designed by Gaudi. (I think I heard it relies on public funding only.) (Eventually) twelve spires rise up into the heavens representing the twelve apostles, while a center one is meant to represent Jesus Christ. Throughout the sides of the church are numerous detailed statues depicting episodes of his life from his birth, his betrayal, and the crucifixion. For both its grand scale and minute details, you could take amazing pictures but believe that not a single one will tell the building's entire story. And I haven't even been inside it yet (I might go later in the week depending on planning). Definitely something that needs to be on any architect or art historian's bucket list is seeing this church, even in its incomplete form. (Certainly hope it gets finished during my lifetime...)

The final stop of the tour was what was called The Spanish Village. It was an area built to represent the multiple areas of Spain through architecture- it had pseudo-neighborhoods each with a specific state's architectural style. Unfortunately we weren't able to explore it too much.

Rather, we were there for the flamenco performance. The atmosphere was somewhat semi-formal, a well lit eating area, with a bar on the side and a stage in the corner. We were served san greal (Free alcohol!) with olives, goldfish (I don't know, you'll see), and potato chips. Olives were pretty good, however, I would still prefer the black olives on my pizza. Goldfish had a bread-like texture, but were enjoyable nonetheless. The potato chips were unsalted, and looked somewhat fresh. They felt cleaner than back home.

The performance itself was astounding. I've seen an American flamenco performance before and quite frankly, that was nothing compared to this. If I've ever compared the Dinuya dance (aka the loincloth incident) to an all-out sprint, flamenco is a minute marathon for the dancer. You could not help but to be astounded.

The four performers, two dancers, one primary singer, and guitar player, fed off each other's energy. Whether he or she was sitting or dancing, every performer was producing rhythm that all the other performers worked with. The name of the game is clapping, and it was important that the performer kept time with everyone else.
When one of the women stood up, the flamenco seemed more like a physical trial than simply a dance. It seemed like a combination of hula (for the hand motions), tap, river dance, stomping, and figure skating all in one, yet its intensity outweighed the sum of these comparisons. With every other step it was as if she was at war with the ground and the devil beneath it, with rhythmic stomping that shook the entire room. And then there were times where it was as if she was possessed by the devil, her feet moving and ungodly speeds. By the end of it all, both dancers were sweaty and tired, gasping for air.
It was a truly moving performance.

Somehow the day kept going to my surprise. After we went back to the ship for dinner, a couple of girls and I went along the beach, which turned out to be much more than that. There was no direct route from the boat to the beach, so we jumped off the shuttle outside the aquarium and made our way to the beach by foot. Despite the walk's length, the girls really enjoyed it. We found a mall (with really expensive Barcelona gear). And they hit up the ATM.

        We got to interact with locals on our way there. We rain into a painter who was painting the harbor, and he didn't mind conversing with the girls about his work. We walked through an inner-city neighborhood and saw tinier bakeries and shops that were out of the way. It was clearly residential, with clothes drying off the balconies, and children hanging out in the street. It was a nice departure from the sightseeing to observe actual Barcelona life.

When we finally did get to the beach, we enjoyed floating about in the Mediterranean water. The water was calm, there weren't waves at all. For a Monday afternoon, it was preetty busy; there were both natives and American beachgoers all around (you can tell by the English).

We then walked to a sculpture we only knew as “The Fish” or “The Whale.” It was made by some renowned artist that we learned about in Global Studies, that I forget... On our way there we passed a couple dance clubs, including Opium, which was one everyone was talking about.

Looking for dessert, we decided to hit La Rambla (or Las Ramblas, I think the first way is Catalan), the main street of Barcelona. It's an astounding place, lined with shops and restaurants, filled with wonderful performers and and people selling stupid light-up toys (I'll be frank). There were so many restaurants none of us could pick where to eat. We eventually settled for some gelato, and I got a cone with coco y piña. It was really good ice cream. We then took the cab back home, er, to the ship.

A couple side notes: I keep trying to talk to the shopkeepers in Spanish and they keep responding in English. This is a little perplexing. I guess they hear us make conversation in English and then they enter bilingual mode, as a linguist theory would say. At least we were mutually intelligible.

Running into Americans not affiliated with SAS is common. I overheard another English speaking tour guide, and wondered out loud, “British people?” only to be responded to with “American.” Also, we ran into an American couple taking pictures on the beach, and a lot of cute Asian American girls swimming in it. Barcelona is quite the tourist attraction.

Jerseys are expensive. I don't believe the words “cheap” and “Lionel Messi jersey” fit together. Or at least Barcelona leads me to believe that. But as we traversed La Rambla, prices did seem to get cheaper. Hopefully I can find something nice.

Filipinos are visible in Barcelona too, I ran into a family taking their son on a stroll en route to La Rambla. I also overheard a couple yelling at each other from a distance in Tagalog (don't worry, they weren't arguing).

We saw a fight break out on Las Ramblas too. Some guy got in with it with an Indian-looking waiter. Meanwhile, some woman was yelling in the background. We turned to our friend who was fluent in Spanish only to get a confused look; they were yelling in Catalan.

I'll post pictures I swear... next time I go to Starbucks.