GR8 2CU BCN: A walk in the park, a trip in the dark

Each day during our week in Barcelona the weather got better and better, so it was typical that the last full day of our stay was the hottest and sunniest yet.  Might as well enjoy it while we can, so how about a walk in the park?

In addition to the basilica of Sagrada Familia and a number of apartment blocks along the Ramblas, the architect Antoni Gaudi's other main contribution to the Barcelona cityscape is Parc Guell. Like Sagrada Familia, the park is incomplete; unlike the basilica, we are likely to never see Gaudi's original idea come to fruition. What was intended to be an exclusive development of private homes is now an overgrown and overrun green space with a handful of Gaudi's buildings.

From the metro station at Vallcarca, we headed downhill and veered east a bit until spotting the first of a series of open-air escalators built into the hillside atop which Parc Guell was laid out. This brought us to one of the 'back door' entrances to the park, so first impressions were not good. The park looked shoddy with eroded dirt paths instead of proper pavements, lots of ugly chainlink fencing and little in actual landscaping. There's no denying it was a stunning view from here though.

We were greeted by a guitarist dressed in a sheer leopard-print leotard with bells on his ankles. He stomped his feet, shouted nonsensical lyrics and frantically bashed out a tune on his guitar like someone working through his problems with music therapy. 'I'm a tiger, let me eat you,' he growled at bemused tourists.

We were stopped at this point by some Australians who knew by our pale skin that we were pommies. They asked if we knew what there was exactly to see in the park. A good question! The hill was intended by Gaudi to be a luxury housing estate, not a park, but it seems that after he stopped construction early on in the project that little effort was put into the turning the space into an enjoyable public space.

Wandering along after sending the Aussies down a random dusty trail, we found ourselves in a dusty plaza  ringed by the famous sinuous mosaic bench which we couldn't actually see for all the people sat on it.

This also turned out to be the roof of what was intended to be the market hall for the housing estate. Nowadays the forest of columns supporting the roof provide a shady spot for thousands of schoolchildren to play tag, their shrieks echoing off the ceiling in a manner that had me reaching for a nerve pill.

A series of playful steps watched over by smiling lizards lead down to the main park gates, on either side of which are cute little guardhouses that look like gingerbread houses.

One is a museum, the other a gift shop, both are certainly prime money spinners. A shame the rest of the space felt tired and under-utilised. Leaving through the park gates, we followed the crowds downhill past the tat shops into the Gracia neighbourhood, which the guidebooks recommend but which we found to be a dense collection of modern tower blocks. There were plenty of places to eat, many advertising very good menu offers, including one which posted a notice reading 'We speak poor English but have good cooking.'

Without any particular agenda, we kept on walking through Gracia, down the Ramblas and all the way into the Gothic quarter (about three hours of walking in all). It being our last day, we bought our souvenirs and gifts for the folks back home. At one grocery store we stocked up on 'pick-n-mix' sweeties but forgot to weigh and tag them. I don't know what it is about the Continent, but I predict that some day their tills will have these wonderful things called 'scales' which will be within reach of the cashier. Christian assumed it was so that customers could bag up a few things, weigh them, put on the price tag before popping in a few extra goodies for good measure. That was my sign that we had spent far too long among the mañana crowd and that it was time to go home.

First though, we had one last night in Barcelona to enjoy. It was a balmy night, perfect shirt-sleeve weather, incredible to think that it was nearly the middle of November. Time to visit another park, this time the slopes of Montjuic which were crowded with thousands of people enjoying the 'magic fountain.'

Spotlights shot up into the sky from behind the MNAC on the crest of the hill above us and a full moon hung low in the sky.

The air was thick from the cool mist wafting off the channels of water that were racing down the hillside and into a huge fountain which danced to music and coloured lights.

The display was particularly lovely when the water jets faded down into a mist, which the multi-coloured lights turned the water into silken curtains, lava flows and glowing clouds.

As you can tell from my clip, the sound system needed souped up a bit. It was hard to hear the mix of pop tunes there were playing like 1999, Independent Women and some Celine Dion what with all the splashing water and chatter of excited tourists. It was also a pickpocket's playground as thousands of snap-happy visitors crowded together in the dark, distracted by the spectacle. Still, mustn't grumble, it costs money for the water and electricity but there was no admission charge or sponsorship ads.


Around the corner and downhill from Montjuic is the Poble Sec or 'dry town' so-named because for many years it was without a reliable water supply. The avenue of Paral.lel was busy with the evening strollers, dog walkers and up-cyclers raiding the bins for scrap furniture to flog on at the flea market. Taking a left at a Burger King, we headed up a side street called Carrer del Poeta Cabanyes until we found Quimet & Quimet, a tiny eatery we'd seen both in travel guidebooks and cookbooks. Its doors were flung wide open, with people stood in the street.

We glanced at the menu but it had no translation. We decided to push our way in, taking a spot at the counter right as another couple left. This gave us a front-row view of the staff who were frantically preparing little plates of beautiful food. A wheel of cheese appeared (not the maggot-filled kind, I was relieved to see), the top was lopped off and the creamy contents scooped out like so much ice cream.

Plates were being passed over shoulders to diners behind us and piles of seafood atop toasted bread buns seemed to be popular. We asked for a salmon version of this plus a couple of croquettes, a plate of olives and some potato crisps. They had just tapped a barrell of Urquell Pilsner so naturally we wanted a couple glasses. 

Here's our array of tapas right before the croquettes arrived. As you can see, the 'crisps' turned out to be enormous thick slabs of potato which were dressed with a slather of honey and a dusting of cracked pepper. The pitted and stuffed olives were delicious. The croquettes were out of this world, crunchy on the outside and creamy on the inside, with the perfect balance of mashed potato and flaked fish. The salmon was curled atop cream cheese and drizzled with honey and balsamic vinegar. And the whole lot cost us a bargain €13.

The place is actually a deli, run by the brother and sister who were serving us. It's a single room with the walls stacked to the ceiling with bottles of wine and olive oil. The deli counter in front of us was crammed with the goodies they were dishing up for their diners, while the wall behind them was a veritable cornucopia of foodie delights. While it is a deli, not a restaurant, the standard of food is incredibly high. Yes, the mussels may be coming out of tins, but they must have been good judging by the clamour for them. They well deserve their top 20 restaurant ranking on Tripadvisor!

So, lots of fresh air and sunshine followed by a moonlit stroll past a dancing fountain, before we enjoyed some delicious food and good company. A perfect end to a lovely holiday. Bon apetit!