The Plane in Spain

• September 23
• September 24
• September 25
• September 26
• September 27
• September 28
• September 29
• September 30
• October 1
• October 2
• October 3
• October 4

September 29

Velasquez at the Prado

What is it with Spanish toilet paper? It's narrow gauge, single-ply, waffled, but scratchy. Perhaps Europeans have smaller heinies than Americans. I'd almost bet on that.

I got up around 8 a.m. I went down for breakfast and finished out yesterday's entry in here. The boys are at breakfast now, and I hope they are planning our day. I think today is Gaudi and Eixample.

The guide books all say that you've got to visit El Temple de la Familia Sagrada. You do. Because I didn't read my guide book before I came here, I didn't know that the church is basically an empty shell, but what a surprising and beautiful shell it is. We turned a corner and see these enormous stone towers reaching the sky. Each tower is crowned with a capital so that the cathedral looks like a bright, beautiful bouquet. I don't think Gaudi was smoking dope when he designed this building, but he and the designers since have tapped into the joy and magic of faith realized fantastically in stone.

That was pretty much the day's high point, but we decided to do Las Ramblas, too. On the way we stopped for lunch at Mussol. It's the best lunch that we've had. We also had a waitress who didn't speak Spanish, English, or French, and probably didn't speak Catalan, either. Amazingly, she correctly delivered all of the orders, and the meal was pretty scrumptious. I had a seafood salad with an omelet. We skipped dessert, but ended up at an ice cream shop - dulce de leche, mmmm.

We head down Las Ramblas toward the waterfront. The street is a wide walking boulevard that extends about a mile from the Square of the Catalans to the waterfront. It is lined with (expensive) shops, flower booths, cafes, and all kinds of living statutes. On this stretch you will see John Wayne, Edward Scissorhands, vampires, fairies, and soccer stars standing motionless until you drop a coin in their boxes. Then they move, sometimes with furious activity - other times a wink of the eye or a move of the chin. Then they are statues again, waiting for the next coin.

Ron wanted to see what European underwear looks like. Modelo is an exceedingly expensive clothing store. Living dangerously, we explored the street and first level. Underwear appears to be underwear no matter where you buy it. Shirts, belts, slacks, well you might as well take the bank. It was fun looking. Brian and I each bought a scarf. Ron looked at some beautiful shirts. I'm too spoiled. I usually pay $10 - 15 for a shirt. Modelo wanted E150. I try not to gasp, but I'd rather spend my money on food and vacations. Besides, my fashion gene is pretty much mutated (badly).

We walked to the end of Las Ramblas, then walked out on the pier on the waterfront. The waterfront has a nice promenade and a mall. Trade and commerce have always figured prominently in Barcelona's history, and the present is no exception. Globalization appears to be at work here, quite nicely. Ron navigated us back to the hotel. We had a very long walk.

We got back to the room around 8 p.m. We looked in one of the guidebooks and found an Indian vegetarian restaurant, Govinda's, but couldn't locate it on any of our maps. I went down to the front desk, and the clerk got out his extremely detailed set of maps and found it. (The clerk is very cute. At least Brian and I think so.)

Govinda's is located on the Placa de la Villa de Madrid, a somewhat obscure plaza in the Old City. Beyond the Eixample, the city streets suddenly become narrower, and they wind in all sorts of interesting directions. The area is off of one of the university districts. We had a reservation for 10 p.m. We called ahead because the guidebook said that the restaurant kept erratic hours. The walk to the restaurant went without incident. After leaving Gran Via, we walked through lots of alleys that took off at weird angles. Cars were weaving through the pedestrians. We had to watch our backs. Pedestrians and cars alike are alert and nimble in these crowded places.

I did not see a single Indian at Govinda's. Perhaps they are in the kitchen. The menu is eclectic, but delicious. I had an Indian pizza (in Barcelona!), and it was delicious. It looked and tasted like pizza, but definitely was Indian influenced in toppings and taste. Again, globalization at work, serving the market.

The walk back to the hotel was a little more involved. Right outside the restaurant, the plaza has two levels. The lower level is a Roman cemetery along the original city wall. The city, today, is about 25 feet above the Roman city. The cemetery is preserved below grade in a park, and a sign at the end of the cemetery provides a description.

Somewhere on Las Ramblas, we got on the wrong street, and ended up in the middle of the university district. We consulted our maps and guidebook and charted a corrective course. In the meantime, two other lost Americans consulted us, as well. We all got straightened out (to some degree). Instead of going directly back to the hotel, we decided to check out the bar, Caligula. After zigging three blocks out of our way, we discovered that Caligula had pretty much gone the way of the Roman emperors. Happily, Dietrich (as in Marlene) was next door, another gay habitat.

Dietrich is definitely a gay bar, more of the standing and modeling type, disco in the background, but nobody dancing. A couple is making out in front of us. One is quite aggressive, the other clearly the prey, but not acting very enthused, either. Over there is the bead bobber - I'd really like to dance, but not with anyone here. Some women hang on to their gay men. Why do girls go to gay bars with gay boys?

I ordered a martini. The bartender knew the ingredients, but it was a very strange drink: one-half gin, one-half sweet vermouth, over ice. I'm pretty sure people here drink their alcohol differently. Alcoholism is an acquired taste.... I finished my drink for the adventure.

Brian asks the question, "Why do people all dress alike in gay bars, everywhere?" And it's true, Dietrich's could have been in Iowa City, and anyone from Iowa City walking into Dietrich's in Barcelona would know it's gay because of the fashion conventions in play. I'm not sure whether Iowans could tolerate Dietrich's mixed drinks, though. So, why do gay men adopt the gay dress code in gay bars?