Adéu Barça
At the risk of sounding like a coffee snob, the coffee in Barcelona leaves a lot to be desired. Not since Lola’s strong, Mallorcan stove top pot – a brew that could put hairs on anyone’s chest – have we tasted any cup remotely even edible. Trendy, state-of-the-art cafes with high ceilings, exposed bricks and uber cool furnishings lure us in, offering us false hope of a decent-tasting cuppa, only to disappoint with a sour, watery, burnt-tasting drink, masquerading as fine coffee. Most of the time, our orders are met with blank looks. When Toby inquired in one cafe about whether he could order a mocha, the barista gave him a confused look and said, “Mocha? Mocha? What is zis mocha you speak of?” He explained that it had chocolate in it and she almost spat in disgust, vigorously shaking her head in disbelief. “Who ever heard of a coffee with chocolate in it? Today, in desperation we Googled “where to find a decent Australian coffee in Barcelona” and surprisingly turned up a few results. So, in hot pursuit of that elusive creamy, smooth, aromatic coffee (I’m dribbling just thinking about it), we followed the map to a promising little historic cafe deep in the Gothic Quarter. I’m sorry to say, though better than any other we’ve had in Barcelona, it still tasted pretty average. I’m seeing a business opportunity opening up for some enterprising barista from Down Under to show these Spaniards what they’re missing out on.
In their travels yesterday, Molly and Maisy stumbled upon a very cool vintage clothes shop and insisted we all go back for a look. ‘Holala’ was an amazing treasure trove of clothes from bygone eras with entire racks devoted to collections of particular clothes. There was a whole row of white netball skirts from the 70s, more leather jackets than a Banditos’ day out, basketball singlets and baseball tops from 4 corners of the globe, parachute tracksuits to make Kath and Kim proud, jeans in every style known to man, Hawaiian shirts by the truckload and colourful, floral polyester dresses from decades past. It was fun looking through everything and Molly was giving the changeroom a good work out!
Whenever making a purchase in Barcelona, we’ve been offered a tax-free receipt. Not being citizens of Spain, we are entitled to a rebate on the tax component of any purchase we make over a certain amount. The process seemed simple enough: gather all your receipts together, take them to the local tax-refund office and get money back. Simple if you speak Catalan! Toby had left us for the day to hang out with his friend Richi so we were without our interpreter. I spent about 15 minutes in a queue and was only seconds away from signing up for the Spanish dole when Ross realised the right office was actually next door!
Holidaying with adult children is so different to time away when your kids are small. This afternoon, Sam and Molly craved an injection of culture, choosing to go to the Picasso Museum (or Micasso Puseum as I keep accidentally calling it), Toby wanted to play beach volleyball with his mates at Barcaloneta and Ross & Maisy had to pick up our hire car. I came home to finish tidying up, packing and getting the washing done – the short straw in other words.
Knowing that Parc Güell was an essential destination for any tourist who’s ever come within a whiff of a Lonely Planet guide to Barcelona; number one on the list of must-sees in this beautiful city, we’d planned to set aside our last day to explore it. (It has taken me this long into the holiday to be able to ‘correctly’ pronounce it. It’s not “Park Gwell” as it looks but is actually pronounced “Park Way”, as in the Wakehurst variety. Who could have known?) Rossco jumped online to buy some tickets in the hope of thwarting the long lines but the only time slot left was 8pm! At least we’d have an hour and a half to enjoy it before sunset. We had to be there on time because they only hold the ticket timeslot for 15 minutes and then you lose it.
We’d planned to have our last dinner in Barcelona at My Way, a restaurant recommended by our good friends the Everinghams, but as with all plans when you are on holidays with a family of 6, they may or may not come to fruition. The car hire took far longer than expected and Ross had an interesting time trying to park the car with none of the parking attendants speaking a word of English. Delivering an award-winning mime performance Marcel Marceau would’ve been proud of hadn’t helped in the slightest in expediating the process. In the end, interpretation help had to be sought from the Chinese shop owner from next door. Our 8pm Park Güell timeslot was looming closer. Trying to flag, not one, but two taxis that weren’t already ‘occupado-ed’ proved harder than we’d thought and we made it to Parc Güell in the nick of time!
The Parkway certainly did not disappoint! The more we see of Gaudi’s quirky, imaginative artwork and architecture, the more we appreciate his brilliance and love it. The Dr Suess-like buildings, like giant cupcakes, the handpainted, colourful mosaic tiles along the undulating white-washed walls and grand staircases with columns put together with seemingly random rocks that somehow form cohesive archways and tunnels, overflowing with draping greenery. The view over the city was magical as we raced against the clock to see everything before the sun tucked itself in for the night. It was crowded but not unbearably so, fellow tourists swapping cameras to capture the moment and get prime position in front of the panoramic view of Barcelona. Such a beautiful place!
A couple of Sam’s friends from school, Tom and James, who have been travelling for 5 months, discovered he was in Barcelona and arranged to meet up with us. They told us about a light and water show that was at ‘the Magic Fountain’. None of us had ever heard of it but we decided to head out there and see what all the fuss was about. It was fantastic! Up on Montjuïc, in front of a very impressive building, the enormous fountain shot ever-changing water spouts high in the sky, dancing in the coloured light. There was a long avenue lined with water spouts leading up to the fountain and though we mightn’t have heard about the fountain, everyone else in Barcelona had! It was PACKED!
Sam stayed to hang out with James and Tom, to hear tales of their adventures so far and the rest of us grabbed some takeaway and hit the hay.
