The Tenth Blog Of Trig - Barcelona Graffiti Art

Not gonna waffle on with this one. This is a picture post. Enjoy:

This is "The Tenth Blog Of Trig", signing off.

The Seventh Blog Of Trig - The Barcelona Diaries (Part 1 - 30/06/2011))

So, Barcelona here we are! You're probably gonna ask me how my first day was, so before you do I'll tell you, it was pretty epic.

On the plane I sat next to a lady with lovely legs, exquisitely planning what seemed to be months of travels. Her daughter was sat next to her doing maths problems which I momentarily considered offering my help with, but she seemed okay with it, and I suffered a migraine on takeoff which I was still recovering from. I listened to music and then started watching a film on my laptop which I tired of quickly. Flight was uneventful. A bit of a jittery takeoff but otherwise peaceful. Lovely view of the mountains as we approached Barcelona.

I landed and grabbed my bag from reclaim, then headed outside. Lovely weather greeted me, which was to be expected really. I looked up and down the strip in front of the airport for a bus stop and saw one, got on for a fare of 5 Euro and chatted to a couple of Aussies a while, before suddenly realising I was in the centre of Barcelona with no idea whether I had missed my stop or not. Up ahead was a massive busy roundabout, in the centre of which was an enormous, beautiful monument with fountains and waterfalls. I decided to get off here and find out where I was.

I was in one of the main junctions in the city, full of tourists, cars, police, and buses whose destinations I could not for the life of me understand. Behind me in the shot above was a large building with an enormous stepped square in front. Many people sat on the steps, some older, some young couples. I wandered around a while, trying to make sense of a couple of bus maps, and failing, before approaching two police officers to ask for help. I had the address and directions written in my phone, but I had to find my way to where the directions began for them to be useful. Unfortunately, the police were in the process of searching two young lads for what I assumed to be drugs, so I wandered about the square pretty aimlessly a while until they had finished. They were not much help though, so I called my host Alan for assistance.

Alan was very helpful, quickly figuring out where I was and explaining where I had to go to find his house. He said it was a 25 minute walk, which it was, plus some for the weight on my back. It was about a mile and I finally made it soaked with sweat, finding myself in a small side road, very typically Spanish, with fairly simple but pretty looking houses either side.

He answered his door and shook my hand with a strong grip, which I tried to return without seeming hostile. The interior of the house was beautiful, with lovely art on the walls, nice furniture which had obviously been chosen carefully, well-kept terracotta floor tiles throughout, and a visibly high standard of building and decorating. He took some time to show me around, being extremely friendly and welcoming, beaming as I commented on how lovely it all was. And as I look round while I write this, it really is.

Alan took me up to the roof terrace, where we had a nice open sky and a view of surrounding buildings but no horizon. It was nice and quiet. He showed me the balcony. He showed me his garden, small but nicely designed and well kept, with some enormously leaved plants dominating the area. 

He showed me my room, not large, not small, clean, tidy, cosy, tidily furnished and flawlessly decorated, as was the rest of the house. When my tour was finished, I had no questions. Alan seemed to have thought of and covered everything. The time was about 5-6pm and I was desperate for a shower after my sweaty march through Barcelona. Before my tour of the house was over he offered to take me around the maze of surrounding streets and show me the local amenities. I gladly accepted, and out we went after I had showered my grimy self.

We left his house and he took me round the surrounding area, which was very much full of locals rather than tourists. He showed me the local Metro station, supermarkets, fresh food markets, restaurants and bars, indicating which were reasonably priced and which were not, and which offered the best quality food. I tried my best to remember where we went and maintain my sense of direction, but I was very tired.

As we approached the end of his tour, he asked me if I was hungry. I told him that I was starving, and he suggested that we grab some food somewhere. He told me that his wife and himself had agreed that he would treat me to dinner on my first night. I was overwhelmed. This man had just met me, taken me into his lovely house, shown me around the town, and now he was offering to buy me dinner. His hospitality was humbling.

I asked him to use his expert judgement on where to eat, and he took me to what appeared to be a lovely delicatessen from the outside, with amazing smelling dry meats, rare game and seafood. The proprietor was a collector of Coca-Cola badges, which were neatly displayed in frames covering the walls throughout the cafe in the middle of the shop and the secretive restaurant area up some stairs in the back. The central cafe area had a few stony-faced local gentlemen nattering away in Spanish, some eating tasty-looking food. Alan introduced me to the owner in effortless Spanish, telling him that I might pop in by myself for some food. He smiled and shook my hand. 'Mucho gusto senior'.

We walked up a narrow staircase in the back into a small but tidy restaurant area. Sitting next to us was an oriental couple, and there was a couple of tables of locals talking and laughing. I looked at my menu, turning a few pages before the realisation that I do not read Spanish hit me. I left the ordering to Alan.

We ordered beers, which were lovely and went down beautifully. Alan ordered a starter of bread, cheese and ham, but this was not any old bread cheese and ham...this was Marks & Spencers rustic Spani......no, sorry, wrong advert. This shat on M&S.

The ham slices were arranged in concentric circles on the plate. On the outside was 'Jamon Iberico Bellota', or 'Iberian Acorn Ham'. This costs as much as £185 per kilo, coming from pigs fed only on acorns. It tastes amazing, certainly the very best ham I have ever had. Next circle was 'Chorizo', then 'Fuet', a peppered salami, and finally 'Lomo Iberico Bellota', or 'Iberian Acorn Fillet', which is the fillet of Iberian acorn fed pigs, dried and sliced. Again, amazing. Alongside this was rustic bread drizzled with olive oil, and 'Queso Manchego Semi-Seco', or 'Semi-dried Sheep Cheese'. Wow! What a plate! It was amazing, and that was just the starter! My main course was not as impressive. I had a steak, which was a bit tough, a bit fatty, and far too big for me to finish. Still tasty though. I brought the last of it home to stick in a sandwich.

Alan and I talked and ate. He told me about his wife and their history in Barcelona. He educated me on the food we were eating and other foods on offer, such as the Kobe beef, which is fed beer its entire life and treated to massages to keep the meat tender. I'd be happy with that life, but maybe with a happier ending!

He asked me what my ambitions were and I told him about my love of writing, which he coincidentally also shared a passion for. I inevitably began talking about my many philosophical ideas and research. Luckily he is of a similar disposition, and this led to interesting discussions about the pursuit of truth, the liberating force of Empathy, the one true moment of reality we experience and the subsequent illusion of time, and other related ideas. We chatted until our food was gone and our coffees were finished and headed back to the house.

When we arrived home we went to the balcony and continued our philosophical discourse. We discussed Empathy further, with Alan relating it to his coaching work. When he is coaching someone, he must honestly Empathise with the person, in order for them to trust him and believe his show of interest towards them. This means that they then feel they can be honest with him, enabling him to do his job to the best of his ability. If a student senses that their coach or teacher is not genuine, they may not feel comfortable enough to be completely honest about themselves, and the quality of the exchange is reduced along with the effectiveness of the coaching.

We continued talking until our discussion was interrupted by the burglar alarm downstairs. We both looked at each other bemused. He got up and went down and I followed, pondering the strange possibility of him being broken into the first night I stayed. He had earlier given me the code to unlock the alarm, and a keyfob with lock, unlock, and panic alarm buttons. There had recently been changes made to the system and we assumed a bug. The phone rang and he assured the security company that everything was okay, then chatted for a short while in Spanish.

He got off the phone and we went back to the balcony and chatted more. Alan described his novel ideas and I shared ideas for my own half-finished projects, when the burglar alarm went off again. Alan again went downstairs to speak to the security company and I sat on the balcony wondering if I had jinxed it somehow. As I went to bed a little later I took the security key fob out of my pocket and something clicked in my head as I realised the possibility that the panic alarm button was being pressed in my pocket. This seemed to be the likely cause. I told him of my theory, apologised and we both laughed. Problem solved.

We chatted a while longer, dissecting life and the universe and getting on very well, before it was time for some rest. I had had a very long day. I thanked him for his unprecedented hospitality, for the lovely meal and his guided tours, and went to get some sleep. Barcelona day one, done.

This is "The Seventh Blog Of Trig", signing off.