a flamenco fiesta

The Gothic Quarter of Barcelona

I've traveled all across Europe on a budget, and even when I travel now, I'm still highly budget minded. With every restaurant outing, museum, train ticket or whatever, I'm constantly thinking, "Do we need that? Is there another way? Is this particular experience worth forgoing a future one?" But now that I have a bit of expendable income, I feel it's good to pamper myself now and then, because really, every experience you get while traveling is a unique, one-of-a-kind one thing; one where you'll likely never be in the same position to do that activity again. Regarding Barcelona - it's a great city, but I'm probably never going to visit again without an explicit reason; I've seen it now, and now there's so much more remaining in the world. I'm of course, quite understanding the fact that I will never see the entire world, just as I will never be able to experience the entirety of any city that I visit. American domestic beer is fine if that's all you've got, and our poor bodies on this Earth are but Coors factories of utilization. We pump out a lot, but rarely do we have those gems of a microbrew, but those gems are the moments to hold on to, to let glitter and catch the sun, to split the light in a thousand fragments and bask in their beauty.

While we were traveling through Morocco, I decided to surprise the wife with one of those pampering moments, one that she had long dreamed of, away from my budgeteering mentality: watching a flamenco show. I did a quick search online, looked at all the reviews, and finally decided on Tablao Cordobes at 50 euro a person. It was perhaps one of the most traditionally touristic things I've ever booked - I’ve been traditionally the couchsurfing backpacker type, after all. The advertisements ran as though their target market were the stereotypical ugly Americans who are completely incognizant of the local culture. Even more humorous was the way the "flamenco cave" flaunted being a hub for world famous gypsy dancers such as various people I've never heard of before. I might as well open a bar and tell people it was once the home of the world famous accordionist, the Underground Man. No one probably actually knows who that was, especially those staying in the city just for a weekend. It turns out though that the tablao is actually a hub for famous dancers, so that joke's on me.

Why my weirdness about it? Flamenco doesn't originally come from Barcelona, but rather it comes from the gypsy caves of Andalusia in southern Spain, more towards Seville than Barcelona. It evolved around the 1800s from the gitano - Spanish gypsy - culture, involving snapping, clapping, guitar playing, singing-storytelling and dancing. When traveling through Arabia and Eastern Europe, I've even noticed some surprising similarities between the three in their traditional music, with the one linking factor: the Romani - ie gypsy - people having been dispersed heavily through those regions, spreading from India to Ukraine and Russia, across North Africa and to Spain and France. And of course, North African and Spanish culture are forever mingled together after the long Moorish occupation of the Iberian peninsula. Flamenco is the Romani's biggest contribution to Spanish culture and perhaps to world culture, as now flamenco has been declared by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritege of World Humanity. Quite a title.

Flamenco graduated out of the caves and into performance cafes, or cantatas, sometime in the early 1800s, and then finally to more formal "tablaos" in the 1960s, adopted from the private shows of wealthy winemakers that were hosted at their vineyards. The first tablaos emerged in Madrid, Seville and Barcelona and some can still be visited. In Barcelona, the Tarantos Flamenco show opened in 1963 and Tablao Cordobes, where I went, opened its doors in the 1970s under a structure more favorable and enjoyable to the dancers - the audiences aren't to talk, eat, make noise or in any other way distract the dancers, even photography and video taping isn't allowed until the last five minutes, when acknowledging the fact that you want a keepsake of your experience, they let you have at it. Also on my list was Flamenco y Opera, which actually sounded the most interesting if not the least authentic, a show combining the highlights of both artistic styles in a somewhat unusual sounding mixture.

The Tablao Cordobes is located on Las Ramblas and you have to be quite precise in the time that you arrive. They are running a real flamenco factory in there, with shows and dinners quite perfectly lined up - one dinner goes on while one show is running, then the show let's out and the people in the dinner are let in and repeat. Or you can go the cheaper mode and just do the show, but then you don't get as nice a seat. We opted for the dinner and for the last show, which rumor had it was the best, as the dancers would get tired of doing the regular routines and would start to do even more improvisation and experimentation - which is what flamenco is all about. I don't know how true all that is, but it's a good catch from their website and the show I attended was enthralling and at least convincing in that manner.

The dinner was a huge buffet of Spanish food, with a bit of representation of cuisine from all across the land. I was on a paella kick, and had been suckered into a tourist trap sidewalk cafe earlier, so was desperate for some decent paella. Here's where I helped myself to three or four servings, and then a few more plates of flan. And some fish. And some whatever that was. All delicious. And this all-you-can-eat buffet magic was accompanied by all-you-can-drink wine. I was like 12 year old girl at a Justin Bieber concert, my head was about to explode from all the excitement, and I was about to immediately tweet my undying affection towards all things del marisco. But all during this food chant that was going on through my head, I had to keep interrupting myself with - "I'm going to be sitting in there for two hours without the option of a bathroom, but there won't be unlimited wine in there - what do I do?" It was a kind of first world torture, a torment that I hadn't experienced since some of the worse outhouses during my tenure in the Peace Corps, but of an altogether different nature. This was far worse though, because it was a self-induced torture, rather than the must-face-the-facts-of-your-situation torture. But somehow I made it through the night without having to run for a break.

And that was a gloriously good thing. We were ushered into the performance hall, which despite being on the second floor of a mid-rise was still decorated as a cave in order to get you in the bona fide flamenco feeling. The chairs were tight, too many to put a fire marshal at ease, but enough to crowd people in so that excitement would be easily contagious while you're still comfortably seated, eye level with the clog heeled tap dancing, feet moving so fast they could power all of Barcelona with their energy.

Having opted for the dinner, we were treated to the seats right front and center, so we could see the flaring nostrils of the passionate dancers, catching the wind of their twirls, taking in their seafood inspired aromas, and catching the sweat peel off the tips of their fingers as they wiped away their brows. Also included was a glass of champagne, so be sure said sweat doesn't plop right in. The passion did ripple through the air as the audience clung on to every stomp, sway and fake fall; the British, Americans and Russians who made up most of the audience all playing along with the illusion of being in a cave. But it wasn't a truly authentic experience, looking at those people surrounding me, knowing all of them would be too mild to accept the real opportunity to cram into a cave full of gypsies, knowing that maybe even the adventure in me is maturing and getting older and perhaps, also becoming milder as well. The older you get, the more concerned you become about safety you are, rather than life. Perhaps it's that death is always closer - but the paradox is that by forgoing life experiences, we're only robbing death of it's meaning, and what's worse than a meaningless death?

drinking coffee from a paper cup

The second day of Barcelona still consisted of our gang of four staying at the hobbit-sized Pension Miami - whose location was excellent - not premium - decor was charming, and size was miniature, run by friendly and considerate enough employees who dealt with us despite our despairing level of Spanish. 

A clean restaurant kitchen

Day 2 was a full day. We started off with breakfast at a Spanish McDonald's type place, all the while with me complaining about drinking coffee from a paper cup. "But it's clean," my wife insisted. "But you've never had to work fast food. Sometimes those places that look a little dirty on the outside are a lot cleaner than fast food. But anyways, there is no cleanliness in restaurants as it is, my friend Joseph has taught me that enough."

Next stop was Park Guell, which was an old Catalan noble family who had hired none other than Anthony Gaudi to design the property around his house. Gaudi built pavilions for events, a viaduct for walking, some statues, and some houses, including his own. Half the property - which is now a garden - was planned to be a subdivision of houses designed by the eccentric architect, but they never got around to starting the construction. After Franco took power, the place was turned into a park and Guell's home into a school, while Gaudi's house was turned into a museum.  

No fitness required!

Park Guell is easily reached from Placa Catalunya on the L3 metro line, getting off at the Vallcarca stop - don't listen to tourist guide books, they lie, the other stop has a lot of uphill walking. The metro in Barcelona - though the general plan of the metro is about as confusing as quantum mechanics - is fairly easy to use, since each station and line is fairly simple. Leaving the metro at Vallcarca, it's pretty easy to follow the signage to the Park. The signage takes one to a series of outdoor escalators that go right up the mountainside, making the ascent easy enough for even our fattest of friends.

At the top, one is confronted with going up the hill to the place of three crosses, or going downhill to the actual park. We decided to go up the hill, see the amazing overlook, then descend along the viaduct that winds down to the pavillions. The viaduct itself looks something like a mix between a prehistoric construction and the remnants of dinosaur fossils, built with crawling and sprawling vegetation in mind, perfectly moulded to the sides of the hill. The viaduct utilizes the Catenary arch that Gaudi was famous for perfecting, which only increases the appearance and feeling that your walking through a graveyard of giant lizards, especially with how the viaduct winds its way down the hill like the route a snake might take.

The view from the three crosses

On top of the viaduct

A "leaning" Catenary arch below a viaduct

The viaduct ends at the pavillion, where also is located the official entrance to the park. Tickets are 7 euros and can be purchased online, or about a 100 meter walk away from this spot. It's probably best to buy it online, and then you can also buy the Gaudi House and Sagrada Familia ticket bundle and hit all of this stuff without waiting, if you're your good with your timing. The tickets operate on a time band basis, meaning the park sells a certain amount of tickets for a certain period of time, so that the crowds are never too large and you never really have to wait in line, especially if you purchased your tickets previously online. It's actually quite a brilliant system.

The paid area of the park includes as I said, the pavilion, a walk around the school and the backside of the entrance. It's probably actually not worth the 7 euros, since most of that can be seen from the outside almost as easily, and you can take your Facebook picture in front of the gates without actually paying admission. Besides all that, the viaducts are really the most impressive Gaudi-designed part.

View of the pavilions from the free area

View of the pavilions from the paid area

The porter's house

From there, we took about a thirty minute walk to the Sagrada Familia, the great cathedral designed by Gaudi - a tour of Barcelona really is mostly just a tour of Gaudi's work, as the city itself was a canvass for the architect.

After one look at the line, we decided to look online for tickets, and found that the next available time bands wouldn't be until the next day around noon. This meant that even those people waiting in line for hours wouldn't be able to get in that day. So again, best to book online. At the moment, we decided not to go, since it was 15 euros just to walk around inside. 

Houses on the "Block of Discord", Casa Batllo and Casa Amatller

Instead we decided to go walk down the Passeig de Gracia and see the rest of Gaudi's buildings, in what they call the Block of Discord (in Catalan, Illa de la Discordia, or Bone of Discord), because of all the out of place buildings designed by various modernist architects of various ideas. Most of the buildings have a 5 or so euro charge to enter, where you get to see one or two rooms. At Casa Batllo though - the one designed by Gaudi - you can walk around most of the house, and though it's empty of the furniture (which Gaudi also designed), you at least get to see the basics of his interior design ideas. More on that later.

Last up for the day was the Maritime Museum of Barcelona, which looks far cooler on its pamphlet than it actually is - which is unfortunately all too often the case with touristic sites, the longer I travel, the more I wonder if I should just leave things in the grandeur of my imagination than being let down by the great weight of reality and universal insignificance. What I was imagining was that the shipyard-converted-to-museum would have a bunch of massive 17th century frigates on display that you could walk around on and pretend your a pirate or fighting with pirates - I'll here admit that my mind never matured past the age of 12. But as we started walking around the Drassanes in the south part of Raval, I realized that there weren't any buildings there large enough to contain my dreams.

Be sure to take a look inside!

Outside had a little wooden submarine reminiscent of the Beatles song. You can't go inside, but you can look in the windows and see what's going on inside. In the museum, there is a large royal barge, but you can't go on it, you can only admire the view of the body of the vessel from below. Then there's a large collection of various types of small fishing boats and a section about cruise liners and pirates that has some pictures and lots and lots of reading. It took me a really long time to get through this part, because I end up trying to read everything no matter how not actually interesting the information is - don't get me wrong, the section on defending Barcelona from the dreaded Berber pirate Barbarossa was actually quite awesome.  

Also included is a small shipping vessel that's sitting out in the marina near the marina shopping mall. You get to go inside and all, but if you've been on a boat before, it's not that terribly interesting, except to take pictures at the wheel. For all of that it's 7 euros. To me it's worth it, but then I'm a fan of history museums, from the life of quixotic writers to the maritime adventures of temporarily independant ports. But if you're only going to be excited by swinging on the ropes of the riggings - something I would have enjoyed a bit more - better to find a ropes' course somewhere. The past is dead, and reliving the past seems to be left to Renaissance Faires and Dungeons and Dragons.