A family travels Spain day three: Glorious day in the Gothic

A huddle of physical labourers get on the metro with us, all older, between their forties and sixties. Maybe they work with stone. I don’t see paint but I see white dust on their overalls. They work as a team, there is a clear relationship between them all and their history is evident in their shorthand and ease. The oldest one is stoic and quite beautiful with his grey hair wavy across his dark skin. He gets the first seat, the youngest hangs onto the rail, two who seem like brothers sit together. The joker of the bunch sits across from them all and holds court. I have no idea what his story is about but all of the others hang on his words, wide eyed, waiting for the punch line. When it comes, the one brother grabs the other brother’s knee and then reaches up and holds the hand of the youngest one and laughs his guts out. The next leg of the story comes and – wait for it – the punch line! Again, the man grabs his brother’s knee and the youngest actually holds his hand out, waiting for it to be held while laughing. I love it so much, this warm affection between men. It’s something I rarely see.

I look over at a mother holding her little boy in her arms. She can’t be much taller than four foot eleven and her son is about five years old I’d say and seems far too large for her to be carrying him with ease. But she does. And he is snuggled right in, unabashedly.  She kind of coos and whispers something lovingly into his ear and rocks him back and forth. HIs eyes flutter sleepily and his finger twirls the curls in her ponytail. This is where it begins. I wonder if there’s far less sexual dysfunction in a society that allows for far more daily familial affection?

God, people are beautiful here. I can see how North Americans generally speaking could seem pale, poxed, frigid, poorly dressed and monotone in comparison. Though I have to say my family is doing pretty well today in the wardrobe department. We made an effort because we knew we were headed into the heart of Barcelona. Now, to be fair, my step son always looks sharp; aesthetics are important to him. Miss Nora is right behind him with a very good eye. And to be honest, they would both be able to rock a paper bag. Somehow they got the best of the gene pools. Scott and I are hit and miss (if he doesn’t mind me saying so). Yesterday my daughter told me I looked like an elegant chicken. Today the boy tried to convince his Dad to roll up the cuffs on his pants because they looked like “twenty first century bell bottoms”…Life with teens.

Today we plan to see Casa Batllo. We get all the way there and it is completely gift wrapped in construction paper: under renovations. The kids have some marvellous hot chocolate with cream and toast right beside it at another gorgeous building I can’t remember the name of. The courtyard is funky with a living wall and a swing for a chair.

Then we ramble down La Rambla and poke into shops and try things on. Nora comes away with some great sneakers from Desiguel. We find a yummy gelato joint, Gelatiamo, where freshly grated orange peel is in my citrus cup of heaven. Then we find ourselves walking down the narrow stone streets of the Gothic quarter as the sun set: so gorgeous. A man was singing opera in one of the plazas and it brought me to tears.

My friend Keith advised me to not eat on La Rambla where it’s all commercial crap, but to wander deep into this area of town. I had heard about this highly reputed “best tapas in the Barri Gotic” restaurant called La Alcoba Azul. We follow a maze of stone passages until we find a line up of people. Yup, this is the place. We are told it will be a 45 minute wait but it must have been more like an hour. FInally by 10pm we are seated. Is it ever worth the wait.

We have a chewy lovely juicy local wine and a fleet of fabulous tapas: duck carpaccio, hummus with richly smoked paprika, feta cream with pea shoots and mint, lamb tostas, patatas bravas with garlic cream and chilli, a grapefruit and endive manchego salad, oh it goes on and on. The ambiance is incredible: It’s one of these little holes in the wall, a former butchershop from the 1300s. It is lit with candles and funky modern touches like a pile of books in a bird cage, graffiti, modern jazz and a hip fresh faced waitress. The dessert is the piece de resistance however. Get this: it is a rich dark chocolate ganache with salt and white caviar! Fish eggs for dessert?! My step son is the first to notice the translucent pearls of caviar and scoops it down with a grunt of hearty approval. It is amazing!

We wander back home on the sleepy metro to quiet and safe Badalona. After the bustle of Barcelona I am grateful for its gentleness. I kick off my Fluevog shoes (that went very nicely with Gaudi architecture thank you very much) and head up to bed. What a glorious day.