This morning (more precisely: around lunch time), a little birdy cheerped in my ear that I had posted pictures of my room and the interior of my house, but I hadn’t posted anything from around Barcelona.
“Would you like to see some pictures from around my neighborhood?” “Yes.”
The result is this post.
Preceding these photos was a coffee at a women’s bakery, reading at a new library just a 10 minute walk from my front door, and a semi-burnt fried egg. And no, the bakery wasn’t actually just for women. But, if you walk down the street here, you will sometimes get the feeling that THAT bar is just for men. Only men sit there. So, I keep walking past those places until I found one that looked lady-friendly. The bakery was the perfect spot because there were only women. I fit right in. Though my café con leche wasn’t as splendid as the other places I had been, it was 20 cents less. I’ll accept that as par for the course.
Okay. So this afternoon, my planner said “climbing.” Not being one to break my plans with myself (HAH!), I hopped on the Bicing and went. (You can track your minutes online and I have biked 2 hrs and 6 minutes since arriving. Not bad!)
First, I crossed the street to pick up a bike and then I was back and in the bike land on Passeig Sant Joan.
Am I still a cycling paparazzi even if no one is in front of me?
The bike lanes aren’t everywhere, which makes total[ly NO] sense to me. So, sometimes I am forced to pedal alongside 160 horses[power]. I don’t particularly care for that. But, red light means SchnappShot.
I had to abandon my bike early because my very sophisticated and very free and very Frunch sounding app, biciclette, advised me of this:
That is to say, no bike parking. So, I walked the rest of the way to the gym.
I signed up for a 10-entry bono and got a pair of shoes and proceeded to get very lost on the unmarked walls. The other gyms have routes marked out, which make me feel like I am working on one specific thing at a time. Supposedly, there were some routes marked, but I didn’t see any that made sense. I tried a few, gave myself an “E” for effort and cut things short after an hour of easy-ish climbs and silent tears for the lack of knowing if I was accomplishing anything new.
Here is where I advance myself to geezer-complainer-age: There were like 15 rugrats under my feet, which smells like American Lawsuit to me. Birthday parties rock. But, I felt maybe a few precautions were skipped. Having the cuties run around the walls, gently push feet off holds (okay, so this only happened to me once), and generally amble unaware that someone could be jumping (or falling, if we’re talking about me) from above…yikes!
Somebody call the waaambulance. Moving on!
I biked home next to this bus and this small church. (I was sorry the bus was blocking my view, too.)
When I got to my station, I was pleasantly surprised to find there was still space left for my bike. And since I had taken few photos of my ‘hood, I decided to keep walking around for a few more blocks. Gràcia is super close by, so I headed there, looking extra touristy in my electric-teal rain jacket. Embracing the awkward brings us these glimpses of a rainy afternoon, Catalan-style.
What I imagine the first Gràcia houses looked like when it was still in the boonies of Barna.
Fruits, vegetables, and independence make for a nutritious diet.
Looking UP at the entrance (ish) to Gràcia from my part of town.
Hope you feel like you got a little taste of the neighborhood!
Peace and cheese cubes,