It was day before yesterday that you left Cape de Agde for Barcelona, and you’ve seen a few things since. The first train slipped from the station without you, it´s doors were too small, an ongoing problem. But as those minuscule doors closed others opened, namely the doors of the local cathedral wherein a local musician was practicing Vivaldi on the ancient pipe organ. The church was small, its vaulted hall built of despairingly stark grey stone blocks that gave it the feel of an aesthetically incredible bomb shelter, but the alter seemed transposed from a Titian painting. As you sat there, letting the waves of music wash over you, you were glad to your core that you had two giant boxes that wouldn’t fit on trains. Otherwise, you´d have left and never even known the place existed. But that passed, and a new train came, and you got on, and took off for Spain. It was to take a little longer then you expected.
Now that you are here, Barcelona is, so far, a city which you could learn to like, probably quickly.
You arrived here a day latter then you planned, because the second of your connecting trains the in France was not equipped with enough storage space to fit the chests. It really is like hauling a couple of coffins around, and you have spent a great deal of time reflecting on this reality. It is not, however, a curse. Because instead of arriving at midnight in Barcelona as you had planned, you were forced to spend a night in, god help you, the most beautiful town you’ve ever seen. Just shy of the French-Spanish border, and with a name you never really learned, it was absolutely incredible. You managed to locate a small hotel for no more then 45 euro a night, which split between the five of you wasn’t all that bad. It was right downtown and only a couple of seconds from a cathedral that, despite the ongoing renovations, was DEFINITELY the most beautiful you´ve ever seen, and you’ve seen some of the most famous in the world.
You spent the evening eating alone in one of the many sidewalk cafes, and listening to the music from the strolling performers who wandered the riverside parks. The sky was clear and the weather cool, with a slight breeze that drifted down the winding canal at the towns heart carrying the scents of distant flowers and ocean, and the whispers of musicians playing their trade on the street corners. It was surrealy beautiful.
In the morning you went with your friends to the cathedral, and, it being Sunday, stayed for the french mass in the vast echoing chamber, a tomb to saints and monument to catholic glory. The huge stain glass windows were cunningly wrought and ever so slightly offset behind the marble columns of the alter so that they appeared to hang, floating mysteriously in the incense smoke. It was unbelievable.
One long, long, long train ride and a lot of waiting later you´re in Barcelona. The first evening was spent walking the streets with your equipment (chests) looking for someplace to stay. You were fortunate enough to find a hostel right on Las Ramblas that had a spare five person room for 130 euro a night. That room was only available because the people who had booked it hadn’t shown up. Every other place you tried, and you tried many, were full as schizophrenic’s head in a Dali museum. But, against your protestations, come morning your friends decided they could probably find a better place to stay elsewhere. They might be right, either way, you can´t go back to that one.
Today you´ll hunt for that elusive oasis, and hopefully, once you’ve found it, do a few pitches in the evening to earn money for food, which you need pretty badly.
All you´ve seen so far of the city of Barcelona is Las Ramblas, but so far, it´s been pretty hot. Everything is posh, beautiful, expensive, and full of people. Since the vast majority are tourists, it´s likely they´ll pay well. Performing will be fun, and there are some awesome spots for pitches.
The day moves on, the internet counter wears down. Time to sign off.