Friday, 6th November

A flight departure at 06:15. Two hours recommended in the airport. Two hours to drive to the airport, and fifteen minutes on the shuttle bus from the car park. It all adds up. Or subtracts down, if you see what I mean.

Anyway, it meant leaving Belfast at one in the morning. No sleep 'til Barcelona.

Everything went more or less to schedule, and we stepped off the Aerobus at Plaça Catalunya at about ten, local time. I phoned the man, and he promised to meet us at the apartment at eleven-thirty, even though official check-in time wasn't until midday.

Just enough time for breakfast, in a little place on Les Rambles. Then we walked the short distance to the apartment in El Raval, dragging wheelie cabin bags, and met the young gentleman, who showed us the rooms and took our money. It's a nice apartment, on the third floor, in a typical street in El Raval. And by typical street, I mean quite busy, somewhat grafittied, and rather multicultural on the one hand and studenty on the other.

After a short rest, we set out to explore, back to Les Rambles and across it into the Barri Gòtic. Next to the Cathedral, we found a cafe and had a large leisurely late lunch, at an outdoor table. It was warm for November.

Then, exploring at random, we saw more of the Gothic Quarter and then came to the large Plaça Reial, noisy with green parrots in the palms. The parrots were pulling fruit off the top of the trees, while pigeons dealt with any that fell to the ground.

A short way away was the 'bottom' end of Les Rambles, leading to Christopher Columbus, or Colom, or Colon on his pillar, looking toward the sea. We crossed the busy road junction into the 'old' port area, the Port Vell. By this time, it was around five o'clock, but being November, the sun was low and golden.

We started across the wooden boardwalk bridge, Rambla de Mar, and saw the centre section being opened to let a yacht through. I was expecting the mechanism to lift a drawbridge, but it actually pivots a segment out horizontally. The sun had actually set behind Montjuic before we returned to the apartment for a little rest and refreshment.

Since we hadn't had any sleep for 36 hours, we didn't plan a late night out, but went for a couple of drinks at a local bar, Betty Ford's (they tried to make me go to rehab...). Body clocks confused, we'd forgotten to have dinner, but a couple of big pizza slices were purchased from the place next to our apartment, and filled a gap before bedtime.

Saturday, 7th November

It was a late rising, unsurprisingly. We took a new route to Plaça Catalunya, past the "MACBA" -- Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona -- which was our near neighbour in El Raval. Grace wanted to take the Bus Turistic, open-topped ride around the town. There are two routes (three in Summer) but we wanted the Northern one, which takes in Gaudi's La Pedrera, Parc Guell and Sagrada Familia, among other sights.

We decided on tapas in the market, which we'd seen the day before, but forgot temporarily where it was. Mercat de la Boqueria, right on Les Rambles -- it wasn't too difficult to find. At a stall called Quim, we sat on stools at the counter and has some tapas: fishy for Grace and less fishy for me.

After lunch, we jumped on the bus for the South half, since it was included in the ticket price anyway. That covered Barceloneta and the seafront, Plaça d'Espanya and Montjuic, including a fine view of the illuminated fountains in front of the Museu Nacional as dusk fell. The bus delivered us back to Plaça Catalunya.

Fancying an aperatif, well, a drink of some kind, we went out later to look for Bar Manchester, which we'd heard was a popular if hipsterish place. They play indie music too. But the bar was tiny and packed full, and the two staff seemed to be preoccupied with something other than serving drinks. We had a hipster beer and retreated to the friendlier realms of Betty Ford's. (I found out later that there are two Manchesters. The one in El Raval is the smaller branch.)

We went off later to the Gothic Quarter to look for food, and did the usual: checked out the menu in front of one place, toured a few others, and then came back to the first one. It was at number 5, Carrer del Cometa, and called, imaginatively Cometacinc. We were seated on their cosy mezzanine, with a good view of what was going on, such as people being turned away when the place filled up minutes after we got in.

Bar 'Milk' was near, and mentioned in the guidebooks. Perfect for an after-dinner cocktail. One of the guidebooks copies the assertion on the bar's own website in claiming that "the bar is designed like a millionaires drawing room". Actually, I think it looks more like the lounge of a 1950s guesthouse. Anyway, cocktails were had (they must be good, they come in jamjars), and then the short walk home through busy Barcelona.

Sunday, 8th November

Emerging into the sunlight after noon, we walked the length of Les Rambles to the port, and then turned left along the broad promenade. We passed a smiling lobster, a Pop Art face, and a model modelling. Barefoot on the beach, we enjoyed the warm sunshine and surveyed the sand sculptures.

In the mid-afternoon, we spotted a beachside restaurant, and were invited to have a drink upstairs while waiting for an outdoor table to become free. I noticed a group of French people at another table having to resort to English to order from the Catalan waiter. And France is only about a hundred kilometres away. Makes you think.

We ordered black paella with squid ink. I'm not sure that the squid ink does anything to the dish other than making it black, but it seemed like the thing to do in Barcelona. We thoroughly wiped our lips and walked to Barceloneta metro station.

Our destination was Parc Guell, but Gaudi inexplicably placed it away from any metro stations, which meant a bit of a walk at the other end. And, by the time we got to the entrance it was almost five: quite late for November. The ticket seller even warned us that it would be dark before the end of our visiting slot. You see, there's a limit on the number of people allowed in at any one time, and your ticket covers a fixed period. Ours started in half an hour, but we wandered the non-enclosed part of the park until opening time.

That included the salmon-pink house which Gaudi himself lived in for a time. Once through the gates, we did actually have enough time to see everything, apart from getting in to the museum in one of the other Gaudi-designed follies.

Back home via the metro. When we went out in the early evening, we thought we'd look at the restaurants in Plaça Reial, since there seemed to be a good selection. In front of one there was a queue across the square: it must be in the guide books. But we went to the opposite side and found Ocaña, offering Mexican cuisine. Well, you don't have to be Catalan all the time. We ordered several tapas-sized portions each.

After dinner, we were ready for entertainment, and across the square are Jamboree jazz club and Tarantos flamenco bar (actually two parts of the one establishment). Based on the lower entrance fee, we picked Tarantos, had some beers and enjoyed the performance, which was played live on stage: no backing tracks.

But by the time it was over, and they were asking us to drink up and move out, it was still relatively early. I noticed a fire escape door which additionally had an arrow and a sign "Jamboree". When none of the staff were watching, we slipped through the door, and after traversing a typical backstage corridor, found ourselves in... a large storeroom! Fortunately, I spotted another door, and it led us into a quiet corner of the Jamboree club.

Unfortunately, the performance there had just finished too, but the bar was still open. One more beer, and then we walked the short distance to the port to take in the atmosphere, before walking home, up the very busy Les Rambles.

Monday, 9th November

If you take the metro to Paral-lels station, there's a funicular which will carry you up to the base of the Montjuic cable car. At least, that's the theory. We found that the funicular was out of service for maintenance, and had been replaced by a temporary bus. We went back to street level, and eventually found the temporary bus stop (Grace spotted a temporary bus returning in the opposite direction, and that put us on track).

The cable car was in full working order though, and we zipped upwards to the top station. It was beautifully warm and sunny. We'd been deposited at the castle, and wandering at random, circumnavigated it, until we came round to the seaward side, with views down to the modern dock area, where freighters and cruise ships set anchor.

Coming round to the front again, we could see the ornate domes of the Museu Nacional and went in that direction. And walked and walked and walked. It was all very pleasant though, except we hadn't had anything to eat. We found the restaurant that was marked on my map, but it was not open. We walked on, and eventually came to the forecourt of the museum, where there was a very welcome food stall, and we bought baguettes and beer. We walked down the grand boulevard in front of the museum, with its statues, columns and towers, but veered off before reaching the Plaça d'Espanya at the bottom.

I'd seen the route to the Poble Espanyol, the "Spanish Village". This was built in 1929 for Barcelona's Grand Exposition, and is supposed to show the various styles of village architecture in all of Spain, compressed into one fake community. Something like Disney's EPCOT in Florida, I suppose.

But I liked it. (Actually, I liked EPCOT too.) Everything is fake, and nobody really lives there, but I still enjoy quaint, olde-worlde village looks. "I AM NOT A NUMBER! I AM A FREE MAN!" After touring the tourist shops, and sampling some of the samples (oil, nougat and wine) we departed for the nearest metro and went home. We'd walked a lot.

In the evening, we decided to try the Café de l'Acadèmia, which gets a positive mention in several guides. In fact, we'd thought to go there on the Saturday, but discovered that the place only opens on weekdays. Seems unusual, but there you go. We had no reservation, and for a moment I thought we'd be disappointed, but the head waiter consulted his list and then whipped a "reserved" tag off a table and invited us to sit down. I reckon the place deserves its reputation for the food.

We had to be up early the next morning to vacate the apartment, but a visit to our "local", Bar Betty Ford's, was still permitted.

Tuesday, 10th November

There were no formalities over leaving the apartment: simply leave the keys on the table and pull the door shut. Check-out time was eleven, although we had no idea how strict that was. Would there be new guests arriving? Well, we Did The Right Thing and left at eleven, or close enough.

Our flight was in the late evening though, so we had the potential hindrance of baggage. Fortunately, I'd discovered Locker Barcelona, a short walk from Plaça Catalunya, to stow our bags for a small fee. Then we set off to see "it", Sagrada Familia.

Even in November, there was a 45-minute queue to get in, with the people managed into a number of parallel lines, with a hairpin bend at each end. It was warm and sunny though, and not a dreadful hardship. Plenty to look at anyway. I have to say, I dislike the pointed gables with the beehive windows. I can't believe that they were part of Gaudi's original plan, since they look so conventional.

I do like the treelike columns inside though. And the spires, and the frothy façades. But Parachute Jesus is a bit of a mystery. After we'd seen all we had to see, we still had to go out and round the back to see the stone lizards crawling down the butresses. Then a quick lunch at a stall opposite the church.

I knew that there was a garden at the Sant Pau hospital, about fifteen minutes' walk up Avinguda de Gaudi, but when we got there it turned out to have a pricy entrance fee, and we thought better of it. We walked to the nearest metro station and returned to El Raval. No, the apartment was no longer available, but Grace had seen a street of vintage clothing shops that morning, and now unhampered by baggage we could browse, try on corsets and ridiculously high heels and that sort of thing. Well, one of us did.

Having got to the end of the street, we meandered towards the Gothic Quarter, and noticed a bar with an outside terrace above the streets. It's actually a posh restaurant, El Cercle; so posh, in fact, that the security man at the door had to radio up to the bar to find if it was OK to let us in. He did.

After enjoying a drink on the terrace, it was about time for a final dinner. But not in El Cercle. We found a little, unassuming tapas bar and ordered several each.

Then it was a matter of collecting our luggage and boarding the Aerobus. Our flight was an hour late (naturally) and the weather in Ireland was awful, making the drive from Dublin to Belfast very unpleasant. But uneventful. Home. Until next time.