Barcelona: High Hopes and A Weak Stomach

My Least Favorite City in Spain

Oh Barcelona, I so wanted to love you, to be enthralled by your Catalonian culture.  The stakes were high, its true, especially after how much I enjoyed Madrid and Granada.  I was wholly unprepared for the huge disappointment you would be.  Between food poisoning and tradition severely water downed by too much tourism, you stand as my least favorite city in Spain.  

Gathering my strength, I pose for at least one photo in front of the Grada Familia, Gaudi's unfinished cathedral in Barcelona.

We arrived to Barcelona by cruise ship, and after a few days side trip to Andorra, which I highly recommend, settled into a three night stay in the city.  I was super excited to visit Barcelona, and to see how it contrasted with the rest of Spain.  In the Catalan region, also a language, Barcelona has a somewhat turbid history and relationship with Spain.  Many of its inhabitants think Catalonia should break away from the rest of Spain and become their own county.  Every few years there are petitions and protests to do just that.  Obviously none have been successful so far.  With differences in language and food that might seem nuanced to the outsider, I was dedicated to fully exploring what made Catalonia different.  This dedication set the tone of our time in Barcelona and the ultimate undoing of our trip.

This park in northern Barcelona once housed a fort with guns aimed at Barcelona by the Spanish government, reminding the locals to submit to Spanish rule.

Ultimately I was extremely disappointed in Barcelona due to how diluted the culture has become, but the first twenty four hours were only mildly disappointing.  We visited the open air market in downtown where tasty snacks like manchego cheese and pomegranate seeds can be bought from one of hundreds of vendors in the rows of stalls.  It was pressed with people buying foods and leering at fresh fish.  I bought a spinach-quich like thing and some manchego cheese and crackers from different stalls.  The hands of the man who sold me the cheese I could help but notice looked a bit dirty.  Nonsense I told myself, it was just my absurd almost OCD standards of food preparation.  I needed to relax and indulge a bit, advice I wish I could take back form myself.  

Still recovering from food poisoning I took a lot of breaks on benches with a view around the city.

After the market we began to stroll up and down the main fairway looking for dinner options and taking in the fresh air.  As we walked though I began to notice things that are not typical of Spanish or Catlonian tradition.  Many of the restaurants were selling tapas, known to most Americans of small plates of food.  While buying tapas is typical in the US, in Spain it is not.  In Spain tapas are given out for free with purchase of a beverage.  Selling tapas was the first indication of Barcelona's sell out to tourism.  It was a way restaurants and bars found to make a few extra bucks to tourists who did not know any better.   

The Barcelona waterfront, the terminus of our long walk on our last day in Barcelona.

The second things I noticed was that every person working at a bar and restaurant in the area spoke perfect English, and when I began to talk in Spanish they responded in English.  Having come from Andorra where I could speak exclusively in Spanish as much as I wanted this was a huge let down.  Still looking for dinner we wandered and wandered until the area began to look less touristy and busy, eventually we found a hole in the wall type of restaurants.  They were still selling tapas, but at least I heard more Spanish and Catalan than English coming from the other customers.  

Barcelona's famous open air market where we grabbed lunch the first day in town.

We sat down and ordered a few beers and tapas.  One of the tapas I was most looking forward to were the padron peppers.  Native to Spain these slightly spicy peppers are fried in a touch of oil until they are blistered and hot.  Then they are sprinkled with salt and served simply as is.  Most are mild, but supposedly one in ten are hot, and getting the hot pepper means good luck.  Not the easiest peppers to track down in the US, I had had these peppers a couple times while living in California, but now I was going to eat them in their native land.  I was soooooo disappointed to see the plate come out with shishito peppers instead of pardon.  Shishito peppers are similar in color and texture yes, but they are long and skinny opposed to the short squat pardons.  Even more important shishito peppers are native to Japan not Spain.  I did not go all the way to the Iberian peninsula to eat peppers from Japan.  Oh well, tomorrow will be better I told myself.  

Meat and cheese stands are common in the open air market, where folks buy a snack or a hunk of meat for dinner.

For the most part the next day was better.  We signed up for one of the free (tip based) walking tours found in so many European cities.  The tour seamlessly integrated ancient Catalonian history, the artistic greats like Gaudi and Picasso, and modern street art, an art form garnering real respect in Europe and the US.  Undoubtedly the two and a half hour walking tour was the highlight of our time in Barcelona.  We liked it so much we planned the next day to attend one of the company's specialized art tours.  Of course we would never make it, which I will get to now. 

My snack of manchego cheese and crackers.

Riding the high of the walking tour, I was determined to eat dinner in a truly Catalonian style restaurant, a pinchon on restaurant.  While tapas are common to most of Spain, they really aren't that common outside of the touristy areas of Barcelona.  Instead, the Catalonian region serves pinchon.  Meaning to pinch, pinchon are bite sized pieces of food pierced with a skewer and served on a bar.  To eat pinchon, patrons walk up to the bar filled with pinchon, and grabbing the skewer place whatever they want on their plate.  After eating their skewered morsels, patrons put the skewer in a skinny metal cup on the table, and when they are ready to leave, a waitress counts the number of skewers, multiplies the number of skewers by a set price, usually one to two euros, and tells the guest the tally.  It is an affordable and fast way to eat some very Catalonian style food.  

Downtown Barcelona in autumn.

I picked a pinchon restaurant from an online source, and we marched there ready to eat.  I dove in to all of the Spanish and Catlonian specialties: the egg-based tortilla, quince paste with manchego, and the ever present anchovy.  I don't like anchovies or sardines, but Spaniards devour them. I decided on my way to restaurant my dislike of them was merely superficial since I had not to my knowledge eaten one.  So with all the bravery in my heart I chose a pinchon with anchovy and put it on my plate.  I waited to eat that particular pinchon until I had finished with the others not wanting the flavor to over power the delicate flavors of the other pinchon, which were delicious by the way.  I readied myself and put the anchovy in my mouth.  It was pungent.  Even now writing this I don't know how I got it down.  David, who actually likes anchovies, tried to keep from breaking out laughing from the faces I made.  Despite the fact I did not like the anchovy, I tried something new, and proud of myself we bough some beers on our way back to the hotel.  

The back of the cathedral of Barcelona.  The gargoyles have been known to fall on people killing them.

A few hours later I was not feeling in tip top shape.  I decided I was just tired and went to sleep.  When I woke up the next morning I was really not feeling well.  I was afraid to leave the hotel room for fear of throwing up on the street.  David refused to go to a pharmacy for me to get some anti-nauesa medicine, saying he wouldn't know what to get me and couldn't ask the pharmacist if the pharmacist didn't know English, an unfounded fear in that area of the city.  So I steeled my reserve and walked down the block where a pharmacist sold me a small box of anti nausea medicine for a few euros.  I then ran back to the hotel where I threw up the only thing left in my stomach, the undigested anchovy, still whole almost thirteen hours later.  Yuck!  In retrospect the pinchon at the restaurant is just left on the counters, with the plates refilled constantly.  So the pinchon I ate could have been sitting there all day.  It is safe to say I am never eating an anchovy again.  David used to get them on his caesar salad, now I can't even stand the sight of them and ask him not to.  

The only publicly displayed Picasso is above a cafe in Barcelona.

Luckily after the unpleasantness I felt a lot better, not fully better but I was no longer afraid to leave the hotel room.  I took on the pills the pharmacist gave me and we went out in search of David's breakfast.  We wound up at McDonalds, too afraid of more authentic food.  I had a coke (not a diet coke which will shock those who know me, an indication of how bad I felt) and a few french fries.  

Street art, more commonly known as graffiti, is used to express political dissent in Barcelona.

Our plan for the day was to make our way to the famously unfinished Gaudi cathedral.  Despite the fact that my nausea was subdued, I was still super low on energy.  So we took he metro, where I could sit for most of the time.  We got out and walked around the exterior of the cathedral, deciding the entrance fee was not worth seeing the interior.  Gaudi was an eccentric architect, and the exterior looks like something out of a nightmarish fairy tale.  I found a bench from which I could see the cathedral and sat down for ten minutes to gather my energy.  

Above the street name is an old one way street sign, entrada meaning to enter shows those riding on horse back should only go one direction down this narrow street.

From the cathedral we walked towards the water, on the way passing a famous bull fighting stadium, and a park that once contained a fort outside Barcelona.  The fort was owned by the Spanish government and aimed its guns at Barcelona, a constant threat to the Catalonian people to behave and submit to Spanish rule.  As I said before the Catalonian regions has a turbid history with Spain.  Every two blocks or so I sat down and took a break still recovering my energy.  

Our Catalan meal of pinchon, with the offering anchovy skewered in the upper left portion of my plate.  The metal cup on the left will hold the empty skewers.

This area of town was sparse with people, and I would have enjoyed it so much more had I felt better.  Once we reached the water, we walked along the marinas back to our hotel, from which I would not leave again.  David went out by himself to get Chinese takeout for dinner.  I barely ate half.  The next morning we took a cab to the airport and home.  

At a pinchon bar people take whichever bites they like from the display picking the food up by the skewers.

One tourist activity I did grudgingly, that David insisted on was visiting the Jamon experience.  To his credit it was better than I expected.  Jamon refers to ham legs salt cured and aged for almost a year or years, with the ham harvested from pigs allowed to roam freely fattening up on foraged acorns and grasses.  Th experience offers visitors the opportunities to taste different types of jamon on from different breeds of pigs and different qualities.  David bought a jamon and cheese plate, so as a pescatarian (a vegetarian who sometimes eats fish) I could at least eat the cheese and drink cava (a Spanish sparkling wine) from the bar.  David's purchase gave us entrance to the interactive exhibit downstairs.  

Jamon of different qualities hang on these racks in the Jamon experience.

The exhibit I must say was really well put together.  A series of linked rooms with alternating video and displays narrated over speakers, it brings visitors through the jamon making process, from birth of the pigs to curing of the meat.  It did skip the slaughter processes, I will note.  I recommend this exhibit for visitors who want to learn a bit more about Spanish food and culture.  It was one of the better parts of our time in Barcelona.

Will I return to Barcelona?  I don't know.  I want to return to Andorra, and one of the easiest ways to get there is from Barcelona.  In the end, I would rather go to a Spanish city less over run by tourists,  maybe Valencia further down the coast.