June 3, 2015 - Contemplating Barcelona from Barcelona

June 3, 2015, The Hotel Regencia Colon - With a view of the Cathedral

After an uneventful although boring flight (but upside, watched "The Second Best Marigold Hotel") direct from Atlanta to Barcelona, we arrived in Spain about 8:30 a.m. Getting through passport control and finding our private bus took a little while, but after a longish ride alongside the port of Barcelona and through the working side of town, we walked the half-block from the bus stop to the hotel and finally got into the lobby around 11:30 a.m. We had hoped that our rooms would be ready, but, alas, no luck. So we stowed our luggage in the quiet breakfast area, and set out to do a bit of exploring.

First on the agenda - get oriented. Last summer in Florence, we set our sights on the Duomo, knowing if we kept it in view we could always find our way back to the hotel. In Barcelona we will use the Cathedral. Its spires are ultra-Gothic, its carvings and bas-relief intricate. We're looking forward to going inside, and maybe riding the elevator to the top just for the view, but that's an adventure for another day.

We can't help comparing Barcelona to Florence, at least as far as ambience and general vibe - and we know it's unfair. We've been here only a few hours. But here are a couple of observations: Mike says he feels a little more at home here. He thinks it's because all around us we hear Spanish (or Catalan, or English, or French, or German, or, well, whatever). We're from Florida. We are comfortable with Spanish, and Spanish-speakers. It's kind of homey.  This is my first impression: We are surrounded by ancient architecture which peeks through layers of centuries of renovations and changes, at least as far as the buildings are concerned. But all the public art we've seen, with the exception of the Christropher Columbus statue, is ultra-modern. We're assured by our amazing instructor, Arleen Pabon, that we will see quite a bit of ancient art, also. But it stills feels different from Florence. The vibe is young, avant garde, in-your-face. We pass a building facade designed by Picasso - and it's unmistakably Picasso. This is going to be way cool.

But lunch is in order, and we stop into a tapas bar which has come highly recommended. Tapas plates and bowls line the bar in two tiers - little sandwiches made of wonderful ham and great cheese, red sweet peppers stuffed with some of the best tuna salad I've ever tasted, little bowls of what looks like American canned fruit cocktail, but which turns out to be lovely fresh fruit, cubed very small, mostly yellow, with one perfect raspberry. Every plate's contents is skewered with a long wooden toothpick. (A small sign says, in English, "Pick up sandwiches by the bread." I think English-speakers must try to use the skewers as handles, thereby sending the sandwiches flying apart and onto the floor.) Mike finds the one turkey sandwich (just one - and the wonderful sweet lady behind the counter knows the word "chicken" but says "not chicken" and I say "big chicken?" and mimic a gobble and she laughs and nods - and it's pavo, I'm pretty sure), chooses another ham and cheese, (carefully picking them up by the bread), and I take the tuna-stuffed sweet red pepper and the little bowl of fruit, and he has water, and I have water, and we have lunch for 8.55 euro. Ha! Bonus: the sweet server who brings drinks to our tables (there were at least eight of us from the group of OLLIs) is from Cuba, and somehow we feel as though we've met someone from home.

After lunch, Arleen takes us on a kind of unplanned and not-in-our-syllabus walk, then we return to the hotel by around 1:15 and collapse around the lobby until our rooms are ready promptly at 2:00 p.m.

(Above - the view from our room.)

(Above - the view OF our room.)

The rooms are comfortable and nice, the closet has 12 hangers (a European record, in my experience), the air conditioner works very well, and we have a little balcony. Plus we have a great window shade over the French doors, and it goes up and down electrically. We unpack, turn up the air, bring the shade down over the window, and crash into oblivion until the alarm wakes us at 5:30, at which time we dress and head to the lobby for our first group meeting, having finally brushed our teeth for the first time in about 30 hours. I know, yuck.

After our meeting, we head to a favorite restaurant of Arleen's. As she explains it, she and her family have made it a tradition to dine at Restaurente Los Caracoles www.loscaracoles.es on the first night of every visit to Barcelona. Los Caracoles (The Snails) has been a Barcelona fixture since the eighteenth century, and the decor is delightful. There are carved snail newel posts on the staircases leading to the second and third levels, food being prepared right in front of patrons on the first level, low ceilings, narrow passageways, white linen, plain china and glassware - and bread cooked in swirls that look exactly like a snail's shell. And the food - wonderful. We did all the touristy things (Arleen says we have to get it out of our system), having pitchers of sangria, paella, and the Catalan version of flan for dessert. A feast!

Then back to the hotel through the dusk, watching the shops close and the lights come on. The Cathedral is beautiful in the special light of evening. The restaurants and bars are just beginning to stir as the bells chime at 9:00 p.m. The old folks from Tallahassee, Florida, U.S.A., are full of good food and wine and worn to an absolute nub. To bed.