We saw a more complex side to Spain today. We went to a huge flea market (the Mercat dels Encants) the boy’s idea. He and his Dad poked around old tin boxes full of vintage keys, coins, religious medallions and military badges. Flea markets aren’t really my thing. Perhaps it’s the fleas. But I was happy to visit a neighbourhood in Barcelona that didn’t feel as touristy. Poking around garage sale items in a different country is so revealing. I see why an ancient civilization’s dump site is where archeologists often gets their best stuff. It’s like being a maid and having to wipe down the inside of a medicine cabinet…so much information about the humans involved. So, this is what was in Barcelona’s waste basket: a bundle of rusty rapiers, compromised rosaries, rolls and rolls and rolls of very brightly patterned fabric, hand-made canvas sandals, rows of old books heaped on the floor ready for burning and mountains of old wrist watches.
We meandered down the street to see the impervious curious hive: Agbar Tower or Torres Glories. Then we headed into the Museu del Disseny de Barcelona. It’s a relatively new museum focused on industrial, home, clothing and advertising design. Again, it was very interesting to look at the industrial side of Barcelona and its innovative artistry. They have a nice cafe there. Scott recommends the chocolate croissant. He goes on binges of certain things, right now it’s the chocolate croissant. Daily. At any time, in any city. His croissant entirely outplayed my pine nut danish but I was too proud to admit it.
This was a languorous wandering day and as the sun set we ambled down along the Arc de Triomf Parc. This is a small moorish inspired red brick arc and much smaller and younger than the one in France. This one was built in the 1800s for the Barcelona Expo and celebrates civil victories instead of military ones. The park is full of skate boarders, buskers, tiny dogs, wild green parrots and sproingy tall fabulous street lamps. The Parc is flanked by impressive architecture on either side including what I believe is the Supreme Court. Further down, heading once more into the Gothic quarter, we passed the museum of nature. So many museums, so little time.
Our destination was the 7 Portes restaurant that apparently has one of the best paella’s in Barcelona. They couldn’t accept our reservation for 8 until 11…oh the online lies we tell…so we marched around the corner, hungry now, and found a pricey but recommended seafood house. I thought it smelled like sewage but Scott told me to imagine it was a fish smell. The wait staff were very nice. The boy had salmon, the girl had smoked tuna salad that must have been good because I didn’t get a bite of it. Scott had steak and fries and I tried the decent pasta vongole. The reason why I am not mentioning this restaurant by name is:
A black shiny cockroach the size of a 1940s broach scuttled across the floor heading right for my chair during my main course. (Why me? Always me) (Why Barcelona?! Barcelona is a very clean city!) I didn’t scream but I had to move out of the way quickly so it didn’t crawl across my shoe. Unfortunately my purse was knocked onto the floor. There was a little man in work clothes with fat hands who ran out of the back room within seconds. He seemed specially trained and hired to simply catch cockroaches who scuttled out from the kitchen. But this little beggar was too fast even for him and was particularly drawn to the Italian rose colour of my Donnie and Bourke handbag. Scott shook it off and finally crunched it with his great big brown boot.
Later, as I tried to finish supper…Scott joked that he was quite pleased with the “fifty dollar cockroach”. (fifty dollars because they gave us our bottle of wine for free and two liqueurs.) Oh yes, Fellow thought that was mighty good fun. He said we should carry one around in my purse wherever we go.
On our way home we stopped at Oggi gelato. It’s supposed to be one of the best in Barcelona but I thought Gelatiamo was better. The nice thing about Oggi though is they do let you know where all the ingredients come from.
We’re getting a little cocky now, recognizing land marks and getting a feel for the metro. The two kids walk far too far ahead of us, chatting away about high school, music or fashion, usually. Fellow points out features of the buildings along the way and relates it back to our Bowen reno. “See, stone lasts forever. We should build our house out of stone. Or metal. I frickin’ want something that is going to last, THIS lasts!” Or “Look at those beautiful big wood doors. We need a new door. Eh? Actually the condo needs all new doors too, did you notice that?” Or “Look at that mosaic, incredible. I still think I could have done the tiling myself in the bathroom. Do you think I should? What? What? Why the big heavy sigh? Why are you angry?”
I snap at him, “Can we NOT renovate while we’re in bloody Barcelona?! Please?!” (We have been actively renovating for five years, like tools all over the house renovating…)
Fellow makes a small line of his mouth and stomps across the Passeig de Gràcia, ball cap beak pointed towards the ground. I’m an ass. Did I even apologize? I don’t think I did. 
On the subway ride home the boy puts his headphones in, Nora blinks at the ads and Scott takes my hand in his and I snuggle into his shoulder. We rumble along in quiet contentment all the way back to Badalona.
