2023 Barcelona

21.1.23

Sitting in the splendid cathedral in the Gothic Quarter.  The wild, interlocking arches look like something out of Piranesi.  Lots of chapels filled with gilded polyptychs.  The Gothic area looks like Venice without the canals.  Lots of high buildings squeezing narrow alleyways beneath.  Glorious day, cold but sunny.  Cloisters complete with geese.  Bells boom.

In the Plaça del Rei.  Strange construction in one corner with rows of empty arches, the Mirador del Rei Martí – reminds me of the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana in Rome, as used in Greenaway's “Belly of an Architect”.  Already a few guided tour groups.  Must be hell in summer.

Good to be back in this civilised city.  The third time for me – once, 40 years ago, when I came here on my Interrailing.  Don’t remember much of that, except the then rather run-down Gothic area.  Now it is all splendidly restored, like everywhere in the city.  The second time was just before Covid struck, when I gave a talk to LIBER, the library association, in the Maritime Museum.  Managed to see the great Picasso Museum – still remember his amazing variations on “Las Meninas”.

Flew in yesterday evening – just one hour 40 minutes from Gatwick.  Picked up by taxi, efficiently, to our flat near Entença.  Strange design in what were probably warehouses, nicely converted with lots of exposed brickwork.  Went out for a meal in Café Bassy, very near.  Felt almost exactly the same as the little café in Rue Dauphine.  Big portions, good Rioja, from a freshly opened bottle.  Neither of us could remember the Spanish word for “glass” (copa).  Very interesting to see Catalan signs everywhere, but more Spanish spoken, I think.  (The service in the cathedral was in Catalan).  On the way back, bought fab strawberries, grapes and apples from a fruttivendola – local produce, presumably.  Good quality.

This morning, by metro to here.  Modern, clean, efficient – and very extensive.  Unlike London or Paris, the metro is more of a mesh.  Very good value – paid 11 euros for 10 trips – less than a quid each.  Eating churros, decent coffee.

Now in Els Quatre Gats.  Rather nice, even if a famous tourist hotspot.  Quiet, only half the tables occupied, suitably cool jazz playing.  Lovely tiles, ceramics, paintings, photos (black and white).  Strange bowls on the wall with chunks missing of the rim: not broken, because the pattern stops.  Clearly functional… Food OK, nothing special, but ambience good.

At the airport yesterday, and a first for me.  Seeking to avoid the usual queue, we went to one side as directed, to scan our passports automatically.  So far, so normal.  But the scanning unit also wanted our fingerprints.  Needless to say, this failed abysmally, and took two or three minutes to sort.  So much for automation…

Sitting on the steps by the port, the sun low in the sky in front of us.  Obscenely big motor cruisers before us, a monstrous cruise liner in the distance.  The thin wires of the Telefèric del Port visible with the cars passing now and then.  Wind strong, quite cold.  Lots of people out, taking their passeggiata.  

Before, went along to MACBA, the big white museum of modern art.  Looks like Centre Pompidou, but with only its white underwear on.  Didn’t go in, because I have Bilbao and the Guggenheim in a month or so.

Waiting for the  Telefèric lift – queue not too bad.  Reminds me of Bratislava…  Slow and beautiful slide across the harbour, Barcelona laid out like a map.  Reminds me of Hong Kong, although much less elevation in the buildings.  Sagrada Familia dominates the scene.

When we arrive at the other station, on Montjuic, the wind had risen, and the temperature fell as a result.  But the view great – almost identical to that from Bratislava castle, although the details were obviously different.  The problem was how to get down to the nearby metro Paral·lel.  After wandering around for a while, we came across a taxi, and took it down to the metro, which proved further away than it seemed on the map.  On the way back, got on the train going the wrong way – I claim the signage was misleading…

Barcelona confirms itself as a great, flourishing city.  Lots to see and do, and everything working well.  London is obviously a greater city, but it is far more unequal, with evident dysfunctions.  Still, Barcelona is clearly a fab place to visit, as it has been for many years.

22.1.23

Sitting in Santa Maria del Mar: fabulous. Soaring columns, raw stone, very spacious.  Mottled rock makes the view incredibly varied, adds to sense of something built, block by block.

Up to another glorious day, then on the metro to Diagonal.  Streets quiet, even more impressive because Passeig de Gràcia is pedestrianised in the middle, with traffic creeping by shamefacedly.  To La Pedrera, first of an intensely Gaudiesque day for us.  Fairly restrained for Gaudí, only the ironwork of the balconies out of control.  Unlike Casa Batlló – totally bonkers, with frightening Venetian masks on the balconies, weird alien eyes behind.  The roof even more insane. The other buildings in this fine boulevard are inventive with their crowns and pepperpots.  The street feels like Champs-Élysées with better architecture.  Down past Plaça de Catalunya, then walking towards here through the Gothic quarter.  The amazing Antic Theatre – equally crazy.  Clearly something in the air here.  The backstreets remind me strongly of Venice again…

Amazing the columns by the altar of Santa Maria del Mar: eight thin pillars holding up the roof.  Bare for two thirds, then fluting up to the centre.  All sturdy octagonal pillars, with tiny, barely pointed arches between them at the top.

On the metro, to La Sagrada.  Already booked ticket for 2.30pm, plus trip up Passion tower.  So until then, along to Granier café nearby. Honest little place, basic fare.  Better than nearby La Sagrada, with its huge heaving crowds.  Madness.  Dread to think how it is in peak season.  Looked in estate agents, prices here very cheap (compared to London…).  But more generally, things are cheap here – food etc.  Very liveable as a city.

On the  Telefèric yesterday, the curve of the beach emerged clearly.  Another remarkable aspect of Barcelona – it has a good beach nearby.  I can’t think of another major city that has all the facilities of Barcelona, and a beach, plus the ancient quarter.  San Francisco has the first two, but not the last.  And here, the mountains are not far away, either…  A city that has everything…

Back past La Sagrada – you forget just how massive it is, how it looms over everything.  And the main tower is still unfinished – it will be so tall…. Up along the Avenida de Gaudí – lovely pedestrianised area, full of people out in the sun.  Strangely, reminds me of Armenia, Vazgan Sargsyan Street leading to the main Republic Square in Yerevan.  Up to Sant Pau – not quite Gaudi, but extravagant.  The old hospital being converted to galleries – even more of them, in a city already well endowed.  Another reason to return.

In La Sagrada.  Insane levels of security – full airport scans of clothes and person.  Inside, impressively high nave, with jagged angels on high, tree-like branches on top of the columns.  Gaudy (sic) colours stream through the stained glass windows – oranges, reds, greens, blues, geometric shapes that probably represent something.  The altar unimpressive – the canopy over the crucifix looks like a circus big top.  Indeed, the whole place is close to tipping over into the vulgar.  Perhaps the external view is best to dwell on…

Up the tower.  Views OK, nice to see the other towers being built.  But the overall feel is still that it is the view from outside that will impress, not the interior, once everything is finished.  Even the outside is spoilt (IMHO) by the words built on the surface of the building – they look like ads.  Descending inside the tower was a good reminder of the reality of heights, all-too hidden by lifts.  The 400 steps down the spiral staircase went on for ever; the central void that went from top to bottom – no guard rail – was quite stunning.

Perhaps the most telling moment was at 3pm, when the bells struck: four times for on the hour, three for the time itself.  At least the bells were good.  Nope: as we moved through the tower, we saw there were no bells, only loudspeakers.  It was all recorded…

A long walk along Passeig de Sant Joan to the Arc de Triomf – which looked rather Indian to my eyes.  Then on the metro to here, the Plaça Reial, for a drink in perhaps the most civilised square here.  The sun still visible on the eastern side, illuminating the tops of the palm trees...

More destinations:

1991 Lisbon

1993 Mexico

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2021 Gibraltar

19.10.21

On the 9th floor of the Eliott Hotel, looking out across the Bay of Gibraltar from the near-empty hotel restaurant.  Spain in the hazy distance, tankers moored or moving.  Cloudy but pleasantly warm in this Mediterranean outpost of the UK.  The tell-tale sign that all is not as it should be: they drive on the right here…

Gibraltar seemed the perfect post-Brexit/Covid trip.  Short – just three nights here – but enough time to see more or less everything.  Safe – Gibraltar has one of the lowest incidences of Covid.  And weird: a little chunk of limestone that will be forever England (well, not if the Spaniards have anything to do with it). An alienated piece of the EU, just a few kilometres from Africa…

The flight was good but horribly early: 7.10am take-off meant getting up at 3am.  At least it was Terminal 5, Heathrow, one of my favourites.  Swooping from the east of the Rock, its gaunt vertical face, around to Gibraltar Bay, where the improbable runway sticks out into the sea.  No room for error.

Then the inevitable checks.  Mostly done before leaving, online.  Very efficient: after you have submitted your Passenger Location Form, you are taken straight to the test booking site.  On the ground, less impressive.  First, you queue at passport control; then you queue for your lateral flow test; then you find there are no taxis left to take you into town.  So you walk.  It's not far, but there's a unique obstacle holding up vehicles and people.  Planes are taking off, and the runway cuts across the road.  So the road is closed while the planes take off – rather close.

Finally, the barrier lifts, and off we go.  Strange to see UK road signs, but cars on the right.  Also many signs in Spanish, not unreasonably.  We walk through the Landport Tunnel, once the only land route in.  then along Main Street.  Which turns out to be a perfect distillation of English seaside towns like Blackpool or Bournemouth.  Small, tacky, full of horrible "souvenirs" – and people who look as if they would buy them.  Mostly old.

In Grand Casemates Square – the Piazza San Marco of Gibraltar.  Here via the dock area – not just ugly, but oppressively chaotic – no plan, no style.  Huge blocks of buildings closing off the way – no road through.  Here vaguely attractive, open at least.  Moorish Castle just visible, Main Street ahead of us.  Huge building to the right, looks like the abandoned concrete hulks of Chișinău.  This place is weird.

20.10.21

Out to the cable car base.  Following Main Street, I was surprised to see its character change once it became for cars – vastly better.  Where the pedestrianised part is twee and naff, the part to the south has some good buildings.  Passing by St. Jago's Arch, things fall apart – hard to find the sense of roads, with the paucity of street names hardly a help.  But we finally made it to the cable car to find zero queue and just a couple of people waiting inside the cabin.  £30 each for the full works, but Moody's Second Law of Tourism applies…

The ride up quick and smooth, though I am not totally convinced by this technology.  The upper cable station nothing special, aside from its location, which is stunning.  The views from the two platforms just fantastic, with the harbour and runway laid out clearly, Spain in the distance, and Morocco looming out of the haze.

Three apes nearby, picking over carrots, apples and watermelon.  Magnificent beasts, with a golden-brown fur.  Pretty indifferent to humans, more interested in food or finding fleas on each other.  The biggest (alpha?) males were superbly disdainful as we walked past them.  A Spanish family foolishly had a plastic bag, and the apes were keen to inspect it.  The bloke shooed them away, but was unwise to bring it.

Along to the Skywalk – pretty dull, but some nice views south.  The eastern side of the Rock is pretty impressively precipitous.  Further south to St. Michael's Cave.  Better than I expected – really majestic forms, rather spoilt by the lighting's garish effects.  A dozen minibuses outside disgorging people.  We moved off down to the Apes' Den – where there were sadly no apes.  But we had seen plenty elsewhere.

We decide to descend to the town, rather than ascend to take the cable car.  A long way, but shielded from the sun by the Rock, with great views.  I saw a couple of planes swinging round from the south to land – tiny dots moving over the sea and Spanish mainland.  The tankers and container ships playing to and fro.  The filthy pollution they create is evident.  Yesterday, we saw an obscenely large P&O cruise ship pull out – a ridiculous floating hotel, with hotel and cold running Covid: I wouldn't go one even if you paid me.

Finally down to the town, and to The Angry Friar, opposite The Convent – the Governor's Residence.  Just as we were about to order, the power went off – something that happens here apparently.  After salad and sandwiches, back here to the hotel to rest.

In Jury's, nice atmosphere. In the afternoon, to the botanic gardens by the cable car station.  Lots of interesting plants and trees, but a strange feeling of chaos, of things not hanging together, which seems to be the dominant theme here.  Then to the harbour – the new one – and the Harbour View restaurant.  Next to flash catamaran.  Gibraltar should be more like this, although I noted with disapproval that the marina was "private" – enclosing the commons.  Tut.

21.10.21

Up on the Rock again, staring across at the mountains of Morocco.  Brilliant sunshine, fresh breeze, nobody else up here.  Wonderful – surely one of the greatest views on earth.  We were so near to Morocco that our phones switched from Gibtel to a Moroccan provider… 

Exploring the northern part of the Rock.  Along to the Great Siege Tunnels.  Amazing achievement, with great views of airport where planes take off infrequently, but impressively.  Before each take-off, a police car clears the road, with siren blaring.  

Two things seem more common here than I expected: people speaking Spanish, and people smoking...it's like going back in time to the UK in the 1970s.  Which seems appropriate.

Back in the Water Front, where we had a drink yesterday, but now for supper.  Busy, lots of people who look as if they belong with the very swish boats in the marina.  But getting here from the hotel was madness.  This town seems designed to stop easy access anywhere.  There are long physical obstacles – bastions from the past, blocks of offices or flats from the present – that require huge detours to pass around.  This is the worst-designed place I have every visited.

22.10.21

In Grand Casemates Square, sitting in the sun as it rises from behind the Rock.  The fact that the city is in the shade for several hours lends it a very particular quality.  As does the number of old people hobbling along with walking sticks. 

Yesterday, I forgot to mention that on the way down from the Great Siege tunnels, we visited the Moorish Castle.  Just a bare shell now, but impressive enough in its own way.  A useful reminder of the Moorish heritage here – even down to its name [according to Wikipedia, the name is derived from Arabic: جبل طارق‎, romanized: Jabal Ṭāriq, lit. 'Mount of Tariq' (named after the 8th-century Moorish military leader Tariq ibn Ziyad)].

Now in the ultra-swish, rather empty airport building.  But its main feature is the north side of the Rock in all its gleaming limestone glory.  Certainly a memorable sight – the White Cliffs of Dover packed into a single, soaring spire – rather like the similarly shaped church in Reyjavik – but much bigger.  Rather let down by the dull and stumpy flats and hotels at its base, dwarfed by Nature.

This morning, we walked around the city.  I always want to call it a town – city sounds too grand, but it has not one, but two cathedrals.  The Roman Catholic one (very dull) and the Anglican one, which has an appropriately Moorish cut to its ecclesiastical job (sic).  Inevitably, it reminds me of Mezquita in Cordoba, but a pale, genteel version.

The thing is, there really isn't that much to see in Gibraltar.  Except the Rock, of course, and its delightful apes.  And indeed, the view from the top in clear weather is certainly one of my top sights – along with that from Gergeti Church in Georgia, from the Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio, and from the top of Mount Batur in Bali.

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Moody's Black Notebook Travels

1988 San Francisco

29.10.88 San Francisco

9.45am  Work done yesterday, I am free to wander.  Writing is a slight problem though: I do not feel entirely happy about my back.  I have therefore come to the Hyatt at Embarcadero, and sit amid the totally de trop splendours of its lobby.

For example, the glittering lifts descend like golden dew drops, smooth and fluid.  Fountains plash, with the water pouring over the basin's edge in an unbroken sheet.  From where I sit the lights catch it and make it look like some crude plastic sheet.   The design of this place is curious.  Two sides of the triangular shape are sheer, and have small plants every 18 inches or so, turning the face into a field on its side.  The third side hangs out over the lobby at 45 degrees.

I walked over this morning to the Civic Center, down Taylor to Market Street – some of it pretty insalubrious.  Many homeless on the streets, more blacks here than elsewhere.  The UN Plaza full of homeless on the park benches.  Despite its grandiose architecture – totally inappropriate really – the place looks squalid and grubby.  The opera house and art gallery are simply dumped here: there is no sense of organic architecture.

One characteristic feature of San Francisco is the cable cars.  Not so much their quaint appearance, but in their absence the constant complaints of the cables which run beneath the streets.  It sounds as if the trolls of Nibelung are working away.  The often very steep hills – real Lake District up – transform the city, which is a grid system like New York, but looks nothing like it.  

I took the BART  – eventually.  First, it took me ages to work out how to buy a ticket.  Next, the station platform had no map telling me where I was going.  The BART itself is a strange mixture: poor and plush.  Thick carpets and comfy seats, but only lower socio-economic groups using it.

In the Cable Car Museum.  There are large wheels – "sheaves" – which circulate the closed loop of steel.  Cable cars grab this as they move.  The museum is like a circle of hell: huge, antiquated pieces of equipment, thrumming steadily.  

Back by Civic Center (alas), but the promise of Ethiopian food is too much.  Not yet 7pm, and already busy.  After beginning here, I then went to the bookstalls near Union Square, then back to the Museum of Modern Art.  Pretty poor.  Partly because the place is being renovated; but the exhibition of Chicago architecture very poor stuff.  Lunch at the café – the same artsy and uncomfortable chairs as the Design Centre.

Then on to the City Lights bookstore.  A gem.  Lively atmosphere – even chairs and tables so you can browse at your leisure.  City Lights publishers its own books, quite heavy stuff.  I was weak and bought Vikram Seth's book of poems – pre "Golden Gate" – and Ruskin's "Stones of Venice" – abridged, alas.  He seems to rabbit on about Santa Maria Formosa a lot….

I look up from my books – and see clear blue sky.  San Francisco is transformed.  I rush out, and go to Telegraph Hill.  The view is stunning, especially of the bay, stretching from the Golden Gate Bridge – a rather dull red colour – to Oakland Bay toll bridge. Hundreds of sailboats plus tankers et al.  Berkeley and its campanile visible [Honey wine tastes like cough mixture]. The rolling hills of San Francisco with their buildings: it's hard to see them as hills.  Sir Francis Drake must have felt pleased with himself claiming this bay: big and beautiful.  Now, bridges everywhere.

I decide to ascend Coit Tower on the hill.  It closes as I get there.  I sit and look, almost deciding to go back down to Fisherman's Wharf.  [The bread has the texture of cold foam rubber.]  I stay on the Hill for about an hour and a half, then descend towards the cable car on Powell.  No luck: full.  I walk up the amazing incline.  One bonus: the Cable Car museum (see supra).

30.10.88

I am totally knackered.  I have been walking for hours all day.  I woke early – clocks went back during the night – ate early, one of the big advantages here: you can eat anytime; then walked.

First up to Union Street, to see the Victorian houses.  Up incredibly steep streets – there was a race today in the brilliant clear blue sky – to practically the top – past rather decaying versions then to the genteel part.  Reminds me of Boston.  Shops – clothes et al. - nicely done out, surprisingly posh.  Everyone out for their papers – San Francisco Examiner, in about 15 sections, and weighing over a pound – and their breakfast.  Everybody seems to eat this meal out.  Parenthetically, John Dvorak has a Q&A in the San Francisco Examiner: rather feeble, I thought.  I like the Examiner; nice typeface, good style.  But they came out for Bush…

It is a picture: the neat wooden houses and shops, no two alike, the curving hills, the blue sky and radiant early morning sunshine.  Then down to the shore.  Foolishly, it being such a nice day, I decided to walk to the Golden Gate Bridge.  All the joggers are out – hundreds of them.  I am tempted to join in.  Out at sea there is a race: Indian-type canoes – about ten crews.  

Oakland is misty, but Alcatraz (= the pelican) is clear.  The bridge looms ahead, bright red.  I pass marinas chock full of boats.  Rich people/lifestyle here.  After about an hour (more?) I reach the bridge.  I am surprised that it would be so easy to leap off – and am vaguely tempted by that self-destructive devil within.  What is more frightening than looking down is looking up at the four cables every so often.  I have this urge to shimmy up them.

Golden Gate Bridge is big.  I walk less than halfway across and even that take me many minutes.  I see the Pacific for the first time (is Bali in the Pacific? Probably.)  Looking back downtown, the view is interesting: the skyscrapers, Coit Tower, the various hills.  Sausalito looks close, but I am already pretty tired.  In vain, I look for a taxi.  Finally, I find one, and go to Golden Gate Park.  It is much further than I think – thank god I didn't walk as I contemplated.  To the de Young Museum – quite one of the plainest buildings I have ever seen.  Lots of people milling around.  More joggers.  Lunch in the Museum.  Sitting outside in the courtyard and, the sun streaming down… not bad at all.  A quick tour.  Quite good Yank stuff, a few good Brit pix – the rest dross.  Everything seems so token and incomplete.

Outside to hear the Sunday brass band finish with a medley of tunes from "The Sound of Music".  Then wandering around.  The Arboretum, the Japanese Tea Garden, the hothouse, paying for most things.  The park is very big, full of people.

Because of the hour, the sun on the way down now.  Shadows lengthen.  I walk east the length of the park.  No bus, not taxis.  Foolishly, again, I decided to walk through Haight-Ashbury, along Pine Street, to the Civic Center.  It is a long, long way.  It is noticeable how past the green exterior of the Golden Gate Park, the neighbourhood turns crummy.  Am I too near the Western Addition?  Well, I make it, exhausted, back to the hotel.

More destinations:

1989 US, New Zealand, Fiji

1993 Mexico

1997 Seattle

Moody's Black Notebook Travels