1) Unsurprisingly, my sleep came and went in wide stripes due to jet lag. That didn’t stop me from being surprised when I got up and noticed that it was 10:15 AM. I could only hear Maggie Smith as Poor Poor Charlotte in A Room With a View saying “Get a move on or the better part of the day will be lost!”
1a) But really dahlings, if you can’t sleep in on vacation, when can you sleep in?
2) This was a day on which I needed to conduct some business, specifically reserving seats on specific trains and buying an American electrical adapter. Also figuring out the (excellent) public transportation system here. But I was reluctant to deal with these things, and dawdled over my coffee in my room.
3) Thanks to ye Gyygle, I decided to walk to the train station, allegedly only 34 minutes from the hotel. It is certainly the best way to get to see the city! And Barcelona is large, vigorous, and full of stolid apartment blocks. Glimpses of the picturesque met me on the route suggested, and also on a couple wrong turns. Before I knew it, Barcelona Sants station was before me.
4) Inside was an air-conditioned babel of travelers of all ages, nationalities, agilities, hairstyles, and ideas of hygiene, many with enormous backpacks. I ended up with plenty of time to observe the passing throng, once I finally figured out that I had to take a number from a kiosk. (Nothing is intuitive here, and yet . . . I had to use my intuition when I spotted that kiosk.)
5) The gate agent was very patient when I finally got to the window and I couldn’t figure out why the Eurail app suddenly wasn’t working. And she let me return without taking another number once I figured it out — #grateful. At the station in Madrid I’ll know what to expect . . . but now I have my ticket to Madrid!
6) After all that anxiety — by this time it’s about 3 PM — I needed to see some of the city and I noticed that there was a park nearby dedicated to Míro, so I sauntered in that direction. I was thinking of something green with large trees, but it’s really a sun-blasted collection of athletic fields interspersed with what looked like scrub pines, some shadowy vine-covered paths, and a tall Míro pillar covered with bold fragmented tile.
7) Continuing, I descended an escalator below street level thinking there was a metro station there. Instead it was a mall/food court, which happily led me to FNAC, where I was about to find an adapter with the help of a saleslady who spoke a little English. The nice man at the hotel had suggested trying an interior design store in the neighborhood, which seemed somehow not the right lead to pursue. But now I’ll be able to keep my computer from dying, and I rejoiced.
8) Popping back to the earth’s surface, I spotted a deliciously elaborate column clustered about with figures and lamps, and beyond that, at last, something I recognized: the National Palace of Catalonia. Paraphrasing the mother-in-law in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, I said to myself “We need architecture we can understand.” I proceeded across the Plaça d’Espanya and up an infinite number of stairs.
9) But not only a large and beautiful fountain detained me, but a Man Older Than I creating enormous soap bubbles with a rope between two slender wands. I sat for half an hour, exhausted and a whisper dehydrated, watching both the wonderful fountain and delightful large bubbles that attracted much attention, especially from little children; I couldn’t help thinking how happy that would have made Mother.
10) The heat, shall we say, was making itself felt, and as I shambled gracelessly up this enormous, picturesque stone staircase lined and encroached on here and there with leafy vines, the picture of Moira Shearer in The Red Shoes irresistibly came to me, climbing those infinite stairs to Lermontov’s Monte Carlo retreat while wearing a gigantic green evening gown. I couldn’t have managed it.
11) Aside from the view, the National Palace now houses the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya . . . and you know how I love a museum. It wasn’t necessary to purchase in advance, so I spent at least a couple hours enjoying their robust collection.
One of many paintings that arrested my attention, The Apparition of Our Lady of the Pillar, by Goya.
12) But also becoming more than aware that my feet, and the rest of me, were wearing out, and that I had yet to have a meal. A quick sandwich and a great deal of water were in order.
A bust of Don Quixote. Also, kind of my mood at that moment.
13) My final “test” of the day was to take the metro back to the hotel. I certainly didn’t have any more walking in me! I am happy to say I passed the test, but please note: Barcelona metro sometimes but not always requires you to use your ticket to enter and exit the station.
14) Back in the hotel, I had just about enough energy to order room service. I intend to spend the rest of the night with my feet up contemplating tomorrow’s visit to Sagrada Familia.
I want this beach umbrella so much.