Day 2: Bravas Breakfast, Born for Beers, Rich Rooftop, and Glitter New Year

I hadn’t been away for more than a year, so it was great to wake up in a bed that wasn't mine. Even better was the strong beam of sunlight that hit me when I opened the curtains. My god, even on the 31st of December, there are places in Europe where the weather is nice. It felt more like autumn or spring, instead of winter.

Rhianne was also feeling the spirit, because she quickly appeared with a tiny metal stool to put on the balcony. She started to do her morning ritual. She is English, so can you guess what that might be?

If you guessed making tea, you are absolutely right. I don’t know what will happen if she doesn’t get her tea in the morning, but I’m not going to find out. She was drinking her tea and I was drinking my coffee, again something we have different. 

“Let’s go out for breakfast. I know a place that serves breakfast nearby,” Rhianne said.

We walked to a local bakery with some chairs in the sun, but every chair was taken. We continued to walk to a square with more restaurants. There was a playground for children and a strange statue made of giant barbed wire.

We found a nice table in the sun, mission accomplished. Or maybe not, because they had no breakfast on the menu. Is it too late for desayuno? The four Spanish men that sat down at the table next to us certainly thought so. They ordered beer.  

Rhianne smiled, “Patatas bravas!” and pointed to the bowl of Spanish fried potatoes on the menu. She loves fries, I hate fries, but we were definitely getting fries. 

I said, “Okay let’s order that then, and I will take...”

“Maybe this one?” Rhianne pointed at the cheapest thing on the menu. “Pan con tomate, roasted bread with tomato spread, it's nice.”  

“Alright, sounds like breakfast to me,” I nodded my head.

Ordering the food went smooth, but the coffee was more like a speed bump. I wanted normal black coffee, but the waitress looked at me as if all coffee is black. Okay, perhaps she has a point.

“Americano,” Rhianne said, in a desperate attempt to help me out.

I looked at her with raised eyebrows. What did you call me?! No, I’m just joking. I love Americans. Sometimes.

“That’s how they call your coffee here,” She said. She was right.

She ordered coffee with milk, con leche. Moreover, she drinks her tea with milk. I wonder if she adds milk to anything else.

‘Pan con tomate’ turned out to be a crunchy party in my mouth for the taste buds. Except for the puddles of olive oil that covered the bread, like tiny swimming pools. If you like to swim in oil. Let me think about that.

With our tummies filled and caffeine high, we started to explore the city. It looked a bit like Paris, but more impressive and wonderful.

It is funny how at every corner another remarkable building appears. You look left, and suddenly you are in the shadow of imposing pillars of a governmental palace.

Right, and a huge cathedral shoots out of the ground.

Above, and there are gollums, I mean gargoyles, creeping out of the walls.

Down, and well, that's just my feet. Might be interesting for some.

Barcelona might very well be the most beautiful city I have seen, and I've seen a few. I just don’t know where to look, it is all too damn pretty! 

I freaked out when we walked on the square: Plaza de les Gloriès Catalanes. Suddenly I felt like I was in South America, in Lima, the capital of Peru. Flabbergasted I told Rhianne, who was unimpressed, because she hadn't been there. 

"The architecture must be similar, because it was a colony of Spain,” I said, as excited as I can be.

Acrobats were performing their act, but stopped the moment we arrived. We can’t always be lucky of course. We walked a bit further, to a street where musicians were playing. Again, they stopped the moment we arrived. Now it was starting to get creepy.

Fortunately, luck was back on our side when we tried to find a table in the sun. We were at Born, next to a street filled with trees and sunlight, and some people just left. Satisfied, we dropped on the chairs and soaked in our surroundings.  

We ordered the beer that looked the prettiest on the card, Malquerida! It is a red beer, which is sweet, fresh and light. I would definitely recommend it, especially if you are not sure if you want to order beer or lemonade.

“Merci!” I blurted out by accident. My big smile shifted into an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, I mean gracias.”

The waitress laughed and walked back to our table to explain why, “Merci is actually more appreciated here,” she said in Spanish English (Spanglish), “Merci is Catalan, while gracias is Spanish.”

So yeah, there is this whole thing going on between Spain and Catalonia, that you probably know way more about. Catalonia wants to be independent, but Spain resists. Catalonia has its own language, which sounds like a mix of Spanish and France. To me, a different language shows that it is a different region, so independence should be allowed.

“But Barcelona lies in Catalonia, and that is a major financial asset. Spain doesn’t want to lose Barcelona,” said Rhianne.

“I don’t understand these things,” I said, “I mean, I don’t agree with these things. The world shouldn’t be about money, but about doing what is right.” I looked down at the cobblestones. I guess I just long for a perfect world. The Catalonian flag waved softly in the wind. 

I only saw Joe in Amsterdam, so it was quite exciting to see him walk out of a tall white building in one of the narrow streets. As if it was the most normal thing! I guess for him it was, he had lived there for a couple of years. I’m starting to understand why.

After a short greeting, we stormed off to the highest bar we could find. Why? It’s all about the sun, you should know that by now. The bar was on the rooftop of a very fancy hotel along the coastline. We put our mouth masks on and walked in as if we were rich hotel guests. Chins up high, no eye contact with the personnel, stroking a tiny Chihuahua in my hands. No okay, I made the dog up, but it would make our act way more convincing.

Within seconds, the elevator brought us to the highest floor. The sun was almost gone, but the view was amazing.

After the sun set and there was a little alcohol in our veins, we left to get tapas. We ate octopus, overcooked shrimp, and of course more patatas bravas for Rhianne. She doesn't like seafood, I love seafood. Are you starting to get it now? Super different.

We had to do groceries for the party. It was New Year's Eve, after all. Joe threw himself at the bottles with cava (Spanish champagne), not one, two, three, but about twelve of them. Rhianne went for on a crazy hunt for snacks. Crisps with bacon flavour, red-hot crispy sticks, nuts, more crisps. Bags and bottles flew through the air from all directions into the shopping basket. I just wobbled along, behind the noisy basket of shaking bottles, watching the spectacle.

We divided the harvest and walked to Joe’s place. The flat was on the third (?) floor, and we had to climb a steep circling brick stairs in order to get there. Just like the stairs in some old buildings in Amsterdam. He shared his place with a few people, including Adele, a sweet French girl that welcomed us.

The flat had a living room with a dark sofa and an open kitchen. The walls were made of stones and there was a poster on the fridge of a queen that looked very intimidating, in cartoon style.  

Joe’s room was very tidy, almost too tidy, which was a great surprise. Not that all men are messy, but it sure feels like it. Furthermore, there were two balconies that sloped towards the ground, which are probably great once you get used to it.

Rhianne wanted me to try vermouth, a strong sweet red wine that tasted like stewed pears (stoofpeertjes). At least something to get me in the Christmas spirit! From now on the memories get a bit hazier, which is probably good, otherwise this story would be way too long.

I remember the place filling up with girls and me putting glitter on everyone’s faces (except Joe’s, maybe I will do it in his sleep one time). I made a joke about the fireworks sounding just like bombs, and later I was talking to a girl from Ireland on the balcony, who told me that it truly sounds the same. Oops, not so funny anymore.

Close to midnight, I walked to the kitchen to film the count-down and the cheers. 

Just after midnight, we left to crash a party. They only let half of the group in, so we decided to stick together and try another party. We ended up entering a random flat where the door was open. “Oops sorry,” and we left again.

Finally, we got to a place where we were welcome. It was a flat of a couple that someone knew. The guy was way too hospitable, almost like he was on something. The girl was from Poland and wasn’t totally happy about the party continuing deep into the night. I tried to talk to her to make her feel a bit better. The best were the dogs they had, two skinny greyhounds with long tails that couldn't stop moving.

After some gin, I knew it was time to go. Totally exhausted, we smacked on the soft mattresses at our four-star hotel. Rhianne softly started snoring.

The sun was almost coming up.

The start of a brand-new year.