Back in the swing of things (Golf)

Enjoying a little pitch&putt in Barcelona's Golf Monjuic.

 in...

 and out. Next!

 view of '92 Olympic Flame

and Stadium

My latest writing desk

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It's a charming old piece of furniture and one of the things that impressed me about the room. 

There's an inkwell (notice the quills) and the top lifts up for storing materials.

Barcelona LOVES her green spaces

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Barcelona has many beautifully designed and

tranquil parks. The city takes the importance of

 green very seriously

As this Barcelona graffiti relays, residents

take ALL persuasions of 'green power' very seriously! 

In fact, there is a high concentration of marijuana

(kush) clubs in the city center. Who knew!

a reflected flea market

Summer time in Barcelona

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Hot time summer in the city / I'm in Barcelona looking hot & pretty

Paris-London-Paris-Madrid

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It was a sudden itinerary change which brought me to Madrid. 

I stood in the Paris bus station at a loss as to where to go and very much pissed off about being there. It was a cold snow covered morning in January; the kind where the snow is more dirty slush than powder or ice. I hate the cold. Hmmm. Just so happened that buses to Spain were departing in the next ninety minutes. Bilbao. Barcelona. Madrid. Andalusia. Seville. Valencia. Hoping the interior of the country was hotter than the coastline I decided on the capital, Madrid. Bus ride was long and unmemorable -- save for the discomfort and porta potty smell typical of Eurolines.

We arrived at seven the following morning. I had no lodging reservations whatsoever and only a vague memory of where I stayed years ago. A quick study of the metro map brought it back: Gran Via. When I got to the spot, though, the hostel I once knew was no longer there. The McDonald's below is still there but not the hostel. In its place are boutique 'hostals'. The Reception was kind enough to let me search online for nearby youth hostels. I made a list of three and had luck with the first one: Barbieri International Hostel.  

Barbieri International Hostel (Madrid)

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Conveniently enough, Barbieri Hostel is located on Calle Barbieri in the Chueca neighborhood smack between metro stops Gran Via and Chueca with the latter being slightly closer. Thankfully a working elevator can take you - and your big ass suitcases - to its 2nd floor landing where there is 24hr reception. The male Reception were very helpful, polite and spoke English. 

Per habit, I took a bed in a dorm room. Not only is linen included but the cleaning lady - surprise! - makes your bed while you're away and, unlike, many youth hostels, does not take all day or inconvenience you while cleaning the hostel. A nice, decent breakfast is offered for free. There is one public computer in addition to FREE wi-fi. Although Barbieri is a small hostel it does have a well stocked communal kitchen, comfortable commons lounge (with a good DVD library) and two gender specific bathrooms/showers. 

I was so comfortable at Barbieri I eventually extended my stay -- twice. 

PS: There is  also Barbieri Sol (Madrid) and a new location in Granada. 


C/ Barbieri #15
booking@barbierihostel.com

Madrid, Spain (PICS)

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 Royal Palace (Home to King Juan Carlos & Queen Sofia)

 statuary gardens by the Palace 

 Puerta del Sol ... shopping!

  by day

  by night

 by blurry light

Comfort foods for American expat

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There are some American goodies that one learns it is hopeless to expect in foreign stores. For me it's been, foodwise, milk in plastic containers, Oreo cookies, crunchy peanut butter (if there is any peanut butter at all), B-B-Q sauce, popcorn and Pepsi cola; toiletries: Crest toothpaste, Palmers body lotion and black shaving products - which I have to hunt down an ethnic store to buy because white people skin products are shit - and antibacterial bodywash; miscellany: Vanity Fair or Newsweek magazines and service with a smile.

I've encountered success with finding some items, and all by surprise. Last month in Barcelona I found Brugal rum - my favorite rum - on the shelf in Carrefore and some time after that in Berlin my eye spied a generic "American" brand of crunchy peanut butter. Yum-yum!

Two weeks ago I lucked out with a black store that was plenty stocked with Palmer products and Magic razorless creams. And then I was wandering through the Reicher supermarket one night and - lawdy be! - there was popcorn seeds. To boot, the popcorn was endorsed by the famous TV chef Nelson Müller. Never heard of him before in my life but he's a black man.

Booyah! 

 

Gold ATM

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If it was installed when I was in Madrid last month I would've 

stopped by. Booyah!

Immigrant workers in Spain

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Looking back on it, every time I felt slighted by the customer service in Spain the worker was an Indian-looking girl. Typical of her primitive caste, she probably felt it beneath her to have to wait on me. But get this: that's what waitresses do...they wait on customers, including black customers. Somebody needs to bring those bitches up to speed on the job description. Not that the Spanish people are racist-free sans the Indian-looking waitresses.

Made it to the Barcelonan beach

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On Monday I made it to the beach -- again -- and this time I made my self stay. Apparently I (or my bathing suit) cut quite the figure because everyone wasn't hiding the fact that they were looking at me. Does discretion count for nothing these days! The water was colder than I remembered from three years ago. But that was three years ago and we do tend to re-color our memories. Many people were selling things on the beach but they weren't as bothersome as what I'm familiar in Mexico. Not an irritant at all, actually. Go figure! Anywho, I bought a mojito from this kid who started making them for sell next to my beach towel. Wasn't the best mojito but, hey, it was 3€ and the kid was just making a hustle. Gotta admire that.

Before the beach, though, I took in a back massage at noon and learned that the months of stress were solidifying in my shoulders. I sort of knew that much already but a masseur can only do so much in one session so...I've got to stop thinking of massages as "luxuries" and more as necessities. Because, man, I don't go through Life inactively and maintenance is never a thing to put on the back burner.

On Tuesday I made up my mind to travel to Madrid. I made it up too late and was only able to book a seat on the 4:30 bus. Thing is, it takes about eight hours to get from Barcelona to Madrid via bus. The ride was pretty boring and the landscape is as well. The one cool thing was seeing the bull silhouettes during various points of the trip.

I arrived just past midnight. I was surprised by the lack of facilities on the bus. Why in the hell would you use a bus without a bathroom on an eight-hour treck?! Quite inconsiderate of the company (ALAS), I think. From the bus station I quickly rang two hostels and lucked out with a bed in one. Whew!

Went to see the bulls but the bulls were full of it (Barcelona)

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So nice to be in Barcelona with its sunny Barcelona weather! The day before I arrived it rained all afternoon long in Berlin and my connecting flight in Prague also saw grey clouds and rain; but as soon as we reached Catalonia skies it has been nothing but blue skies onward.

I was anxious to get down to the beach today but that eagerness dampened upon seeing all the other people already crowded on the sand. Like a hard-on zapped at the mere sight of Ellen DeGeneres, my interest in an afternoon at the beach went limp. Oh well maybe mañana.

A McDonald's ice cream cone brightened my mood as I walked back to my room to get ready for an evening at the bullfights. Olé! But it wasn't to be. 


When I get to El Monumental, the last active ring in Barcelona, the people at the gate won't let anyone through without a ticket and all the ticket windows are closed. Time was 7 o'clock and the fights started at 6:30. Why would they close the box offices this early? Seems stupid to me. Even more so when it's a known fact the stadium is never even half full -- and after next month will be zero full owing to the ban on bullfights. There was quite a handful of disappointed tourists. Oh well. That's more money in my pockets.  

I hate spending money; so I need only the slightest provocation to keep it in the pocket

One thing I've learned being black is never to beg anyone to take your money. If the store clerk is too busy or surly to greet me or wait on me, then fine. My money spends just as well at the next business. As it is, I hate spending money; so I need only the slightest provocation to keep it in the pocket. Would've loved to have watched the dying sport in the famed El Monumental but I can think of something else to do with my 75€. You can believe that. Business MUST be good if they can turn it away. Olé! olé! 

Heard the one about the racist war?

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A Spanish traveller I met last year in Germany sent me the following video today (Spanish subtitles) of a war veteran speaking about the ongoing Iraq War. I believe in war but I no longer believe in this war; I believe in peace and I believe this war will not bring it. I lost faith after "Mission accomplished".


 

Carmen ballet (Hamburg)

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I went to see the Ballet Teatro Espanol's flamenco production of Carmen playing at the Hamburgische Staatsoper. I expected to enjoy a Spanish take on the famous opera with whims of castanets and passionate boot stomps interspersed throughout singing. Well. There was no singing and no shortage of stomping (and clapping and angry whooping) to punctuate the non-existent singing. Flamenco, flamenco, flamenco...and only two minutes of castanets in the first act.

What transpired on stage in the second half of the show I do not know. I left at Intermission. Maybe if I'd stuffed aspirin tablets in my jacket pocket instead of crunchy almonds to snack on I might have had the nerves to stand the rest of that bull fighting bangy yelping cacophony. I didn't so I didn't.

The dancers were superb. I, however, did not anticipate nor desire to see a non-stop stomping production. They stomped my ass right out of there.

Ideal Youth Hostel (Barcelona)

The name is hype because I received less than an ideal reception.

This hostel does not accept walk-ins...or probably the case is they wouldn't accept my walk-in. I attempted to buy a room on three---three!---different occasions after consulting HostelWorld.com for room availabilities and each time was given the old line about needing to book online. Unlike the time in Hollywood, California, I did not have my white friend on hand to come in after me and secure the room.

Carrer de Unió Nº 12

A black Ugly American: It's a good thing.

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The one notable thing that distinguishes Barcelona from all the other Spanish speaking lands in which I've lived and visited is that I don't feel like a walking oddity. There are no gawkers, finger pointing, long stares, or awe struck strangers and faggots running up to ask, ¿De donde eres?!

Why, Blackland, you ignorant peasant.

No, Barcelonians - or whatever the hell they call themselves - realize black people exist outside of the moving pictures; and, so, I've rarely felt a dozen pairs of eyes watching me as I go about my business.

Have you any idea how awkwardly delightful it feels NOT to be surveillanced?

Why, a black man can get used to this!

Customer service, more times than not, though, still takes a coffee break when I come to the counter. It is these instances on which I seize the opportunity to be the Ugly American and demand better. For a black man to be an Ugly American is advantageous.

Prejudices against dark skinned peoples don't get tossed out like outdated computers or big lapel jackets. In Catalunya's case, there are loads of Africans, Brazilians, Cubans, and some Dominicans who, while desired, are not all that wanted. Not really. So when I am slighted by mis-association I do what any red-blooded American does: I get loud and pompous and wonder why in the hell can't anyone around here speak English.

It works. And that's a good thing.

INOUT Hostel/Alberg (Barcelona)

The unanimous downside of this hostel is that it sits sufficiently high up a hill. Beyond that it's all good.

INOUT's (alberg means campground) subtly perverse name refers to the indoor (hostel, restaurant) and outdoor (hiking, pool) facilities. The place is located 15 minutes tube ride outside of Barcelona---and only accessible by train or motor so you can't cheap out and try to walk there---and way more than the lauded 300 steps from the train stop. It would be good if the hostel deployed a golf cart to collect guests. Getting to the front door is a hike!

The rooms are the best I've seen plus the cheapest (10euros).

Bed stations have semi privacy and individual reading lights, a socket (the better to charge the cell next to your pillow), headboard shelf and wooden lockers with hangers. My stay came in the winter months so I was thrilled to find blankets and working radiators in the rooms. With bathrooms in the rooms those late night nature calls are not a trek.

Every worker is top-notch professional and helpful; but most are mentally challenged (the night auditors, though, seem aloof beyond excuse). This is one super clean hostel! The special persons who work here even clean spots already clean.

And since the place is mindful of handicapped persons, ramps, bathrooms and even light switches are designed with them in mind.

The distance from the city center should please every Canadian and backpacker who claims aversion to "touristy spots" and the mountainous vistas, with their calm and majesty, can't fail to inspire the writer or photographer within. I also like INOUT because of the round-the-clock free Internet (and wireless) access and small but doable kitchen. There are also coin-laundry machines on site. Combined washing and drying costs just 4.50.

What I did not like was the doors and windows left constantly open. Like, I said I was here in the winter so, yes, it was cold...especially at this altitude. Hello! So much for an "energy crisis". Also, the dorms are needlessly equipped with a buzzer that BARKS every time the key is used. So say hello to 2am---and 3, 3:20, 4:10, 4:40, etc.---wake-up 'calls'! The distance from Barcelona means you're far from the hustle and bustle---as well as everything else, including supermarkets and convenience stores and taxis.

Nevertheless, I only intended to sleep two nights and wound up extending my stay and making several friends hailing from several countries. So, yes, will definitely stay here the next time I'm in town.

I'll just be sure it's during the summer winds.

Major del Rectoret, 2
34 932.800.985

Catalonia Hostel (Barcelona)

Centrally situated, this place is a good deal. There's free (and fast!) Internet and wi-fi, free coffee and tea, a suitable stove top, and hot showers. It's easy enough to find from the metro stops (Provença or Diagonal) but fails to advertise a visible sign out front, opting, instead for a tiny dentist's plague by the doorbell so be on the lookout for 116. It would be easier to find if they mentioned their proximity to the fancy Catalonia Hotel...after all it's not like a backpacker is going to chose the latter over the former.Thankfully the lift worked otherwise the three floors up would have been a bitch. The hostel remained clean and clean-smelling due to the superwoman energies of the cleaning lady who, I gathered from her constant stare, had never seen a real live black man up close. She and other staff had the habit, too, of leaving open windows and letting in cold air. Brrr!
Admittedly, the air was appreciated since this place is not non-smoker friendly and way too many foreigners think nothing of lighting up in your face, but cold is cold and I did not like having to suit up inside because smokers were too inconsiderate to take it outside.The staff are top notch and attentive but not all that culturally sensitive:

One described me in a note to her 
next shift co-worker as "el negro"

because, clearly, it would not have done to identify me by my registered name.

Like hotels the Catalonia Hostel jacks up the rate for weekend stays yet unlike hotels the beds do not come with blankets and the television is without movie channels---or very clear reception for that matter...although the cleaning lady was always able to watch her telenovelas.
Paseo de Gracia, 116
34 934.160.905

Graffiti (Barcelona)

Maybe one could have an "even better" stay in Barcelona if the city planning wasn't reflective of Gaudi! Street numbers rise and fall without rhyme or reason, making finding any business not next to a Starbucks, El Corte Inglés, or McDonald's an adventure in itself. Case in point: Graffiti. The rounded building shown above is not the hostel and I could find no 257 along Arago Street (that's carrer or calle if you speaky the Spanish and not Catalan). BUT I did find 256! Close, but no Picasso.

So for all of you haters who bemoan the American global influence you'll be damn glad if you're lucky enough to count on a Mclandmark the next time you try to locate something in Barcelona.


Carrer de Arago 527-529