Barcelona - part one the journey out

I don't normally recount my experiences in such a public way, but given our city break to barcelona was so, well, interesting, I simply had to put pen to paper (or make that pixels on screen!)

Leaving Cardiff at about 7.30am on a Saturday morning, the journey was relatively uneventful, save for me arguing with Mrs Tomtom about the quickest route to Bristol Airport. She seemed to ignore any road signs and was taking us on what turned out to be a route that was correct, save for the absence of a corresponding road sign, so we double-backed to where the last Airport sign had been and ignored her terse instructions to 'take the next left' or 'turn around when possible'.

She really does sound like a stroppy personal assistant, so much so that I was tempted to boot her into the trees once we had found a parking spot, somewhat eerily in F13.

EasyJet make everything so easy at the airport that all we needed to do was tumble into any old queue and handle the inevitable language barrier. Is it me, or do all immigrants secure jobs at airports? This man was from some eastern European Country like 'Getthellawayfromhere' or something, but pleasant enough.

Tickets in hand we made for the food area to load up on carbohydrates etc before the flight which, according to the boards was soon to be called.

Despite my training and the need to feel healthy, I couldn't resist the English breakfast option. I vaguely friendly waitress with too many facial piercings took our order and promptly delivered the meals. The egg tasted od nothing at all so I rapidly concluded that it must have been powdered, the sausage, well I called him 'John Wayne Bobbit' on account of it's size and the bacon was so stringy it was like strimmer wire to chew. I abandoned the pathetic mess and made a hasty exit without complaint, having heard the announcement for our flight.

I hadn't figured that Easyjet was a first come, first serve affair, so watching everyone make a mad dash for the stairs was something I'd not experienced since my last school trip. That said, I was able to sit near Sue, if not right next to her, only thr aisle would separate us for this flight.

I made plesant aquaintance with the man sitting next to me and we passed time doing what blokes do, talking of jobs, weather, football, weather, kids, weather and how long we were going for, and then how much we'd paid etc...

Barcelona Airport. This big, cavernous and strangely pleasant place was a change from the norm, I usually depart from a sumptuous and thoroughly lavish airport to arrive at the holiday destination which is little more than a shed with a metal detector, 4 guards with sweaty uniforms and a salivating sniffer dog called 'Back' or 'Down'.

The carousel information said our suitcase was to arrive on number 43 so we duly waited...and waited...and waited.. starting to fear something was amiss I was distracted by the arrival of a tall American shouting protestations about the effing Spics and how useless Europe was a country. He ranted on about how rude people were while pushing me twice into the carousel (without apology) and tutting that he'd waited about 8,000 hours for his case. As if by miracle the case arrived and he snatched it off the carousel by clattering it against my leg and without a word of apology disappeared into the crowds with his female companion.

Too stunned to speak, I was determined to not let this dampen my spirits, hell I'm holiday and no American devoid of manners is going to let me drop my mood.

The other passengers from my flight seemed to be moving elsewhere from which is became clear that our luggage was being dispensed on the adjacent carousel.

All bags together, it was time to step out into Spain for our little adventure. The doors opened, the sky was blue, the sunshine and heat hit me all at once, it was like opening the oven door but with a better view.

Next, we were to herd for taxis, shiny black and yellow skodas, mostly clean and dust-free, swarming around the dropping zone like giant bees. Our driver is in his early fifties, speaks no English and chews on a tooth-pick which stays lodged in the corner of his mouth for the entire trip. In my pidgeon Spanish I offer him our destination to which he shrugs a shoulder (the other one must have been on a break) and opens a street map of Barcelona. With some tutting, sighing and scratching of head he locates the hotel Acevi and we begin.

The journey is quite pleasant, the traffic not too heavy and with the odd slightly unusual manouvre (it seems it is legal to brush motorbikes out of the way) we head into the city. Our route seems on reflection to have a little circuitous, that is I'm sure we went around the block once or twice before we reached the hotel, but the driver wanted 25 Euros, which I had read on the internet, was about right for the fair.

The hotel was very smart, lots of shiny walls, big tiles (gosh there must have been a lot of Araldite put into this place) , the staff courteous ansd friendly and we were soon in our room. A slightly dark room, but with a sumptuous bathroom, more tiles, and the usual refinements of TV and minibar.

As we'd arrived in mid afternoon lunch was very much on our agenda so we sifted through the hotel bumf to find a street map and headed out into the big bustling city.

Las Ramblas is the main tourist hub from which much action takes place. It's kind of like the Hayes but on a giant scale with more street entertainers and fewer sellers of the big issue, although there are plenty of those types too. People of all shapes and sizes wearing all sorts of outfits, some barely squeezing into them!

Lunch weas a hurried tapas in the first place we found - run by a malaysian family. I tried the Chicken in Persil just to say I'd had some. I have to say I wish I hadn't bothered but will say that was the worst meal during our stay (including the EasyJet offerings!).

We rambled for most of the day and made plans to visit one of the restaurants in the plaza just off the Ramblas. Called 'La taxidermista' I was under the impression that I could have a steak with all the trimmings and leave at the end of the night with a small stuffed animal. sadly it was not to be. A slightly surley waiter ushered us to a a choice of tables in the far corner of the outdoor terrace and left us alone for about 10 minutes. he returned with a menu and tried a smile but it was obviously painful for him.

Both our selections were great, my steak was fantastic and faultless. Shame about the outdoor entertainment though. Our waiter had become engrossed in a conversation with another member of staff who seemed to be leaving. There were some gesticulations (well they were both Spanish) and lots of growling, before our waiter produced a kind of upper-cut jab to the other fella's nose. Recoiling in shock and surprise the other chap responded with a sort of shove and words, (some of which sounded quite German to me) before the other legged it down a nearby lane - our waiter pursued him. The other restaurant diners were quite taken by the incident - some even had their mobile phone cameras out by now.

A short while later our waiter duly returned with a flattened nose, held high, either through pride or dripping blood, or both. At that point it seemed very appropriate to turn to my wife Sue, seeing that she was in a state of disbelief, 'Don't worry, he's from Barcelona.' (seemed to do the trick!)