Barcelona Travel Diary Day 1: The Blue Period, The Green Experience

A Wanderlust tour of Barcelona.....

Today was our first full day in Barcelona, and Barrett and I had many adventures. First we breakfasted at a bakery called Santa Gloria. They offered pastries and coffees. Croissants are different in Spain. They don’t quite shatter beautifully into buttery flakes as they do in Paris. However, here “chocolate” croissants are either dipped on either end in chocolate or are filled with nutella. Both are delicious, but very sweet. I opted for an apple tart while Barrett ordered cannolis. Here we planned our route through the Gothic Quarter to the Picasso Museum.

Along the way, we walked past a Sephora that boasted a red slide entrance with a sign reading: Slide into Beauty! As we approached the University of Barcelona, there was a long line of cosplaying witches from all Hogwart houses and various reputable schools of witchcraft and wizardry. I audibly gasped. I had serendipitously happened upon a Harry Potter Festival called Witch Market. Each year they choose a different book 1-7 as their theme. This year, as you may have guessed, was book four The Goblet of Fire. I was dying to go inside, but I lacked the language skills. Their website said all tickets were sold out, and for a moment, in my childlike disappointment, I had the thought, “how could this have happened to me?” I looked up from my phone and remembered I was in a bustling, beautiful city where every corner offers a unique adventure. I also noticed my husband had continued walking and was far ahead of me and my wallowing. So we beat on, crossing a couple of intersections until we found ourselves in front of the Christmas Markets at the foot of the Catedral de Barcelona. The city is renovating the outside of the cathedral, as many of the spires are crumbling. Oddly, they covered the construction nets with an advertisement for Samsung Electronics.

Inside was gorgeous. The architecture of the ceilings captures one's attention like the intricacies of a kaleidoscope. Along the perimeter of the sanctuary were small alcoves carved into rosewood and various granite and stone each displaying different Saints where one could pray and “light a candle.” Instead of the wax candles one could light for the Virgin Mary, the saints boasted machines with electronic candles. Each candle cost one euro which you could put in the slot and bingo bango, your candle would illuminate for your prayer. I was curious if they feared fires, or if like the construction facade, everything costs… I lean towards the latter, as not only was my entry fee nine euros, the cathedral charged an additional eight euros for the elevator ride to the top. I know salvation isn’t free, but in my experience, the cover charge is typically guilt and self loathing.

The center of the chapel was my favorite. There was a large elevated stage for the Mass services, but then there was a section of wooden pews enclosed with an ornately carved wooden structure. However, it was the marble floors that drew me specifically to this area of the sanctuary. The marble was black as obsidian with a large white marble inlay the shape of an X. Well, perhaps it was meant to be a cross, but see, that’s precisely what they want you to think.

I began whisper-yelling to Barrett, “Let’s bash this in!” As usual, he looked confused over my enthusiasm and wanton disregard for decorum. “Let’s grab something heavy and bash this in.” I insisted. “You know, like Indiana Jones… to find an underwater crypt that will lead us to the Holy Grail!” Barrett didn’t remember what I was talking about, so eventually, I moved on. Nevertheless, I maintain, the Holy Grail is underneath the marble X in the Cathedral de Barcelona. Am I insinuating you should try excavating it from what is assuredly an underwater crypt teeming with mice and mischief? Of course not. But you know how to reach me if you do.

Before exiting the sanctuary, I lingered over my favorite fixture of any Catholic church, the confessionals. Large wooden rectangles ornately carved and crafted. Anonymity is sexy, and these pillars of mahogany, ostensibly one fixture, provide separate entrances, the doors themselves indicating your class and rank in the church, the black lattice windows hiding your identity, only fragments of lips, eyelashes, teeth, perhaps an iris visible in the shadows. With one of your senses dulled, all the rest would be heightened, your every breath, perhaps even the palpitations of your heart audible. Confessionals are what’s missing from Christian churches. The trade off is Christians can speak to God wherever they are without an intermediary.

For me, this idea I could be in conversation with God whenever I wanted translated to writing. I sit in front of my computer screen, and I write my truest feelings, my most raw expressions of myself. It’s a nakedness I could never experience with another human being. Once I commit something to paper, I can take a deep breath. I am absconded, and I float away from my desk forgiven and blessed. Perhaps writing is my religion, the page, my confessional, my audience, the one who decides my fate and my acceptance into the true afterlife: The Literary Canon.

As it was Saturday, we wandered with the tide of the crowds and found ourselves in the Santa Caterina food market full of stalls, tapas bars, spice and fish markets. Barrett bought a meat cone from a butcher. Yes, a cone of meat. The pure joy radiating from him as he sauntered through the rest of the market eating slices of Iberico and tiny blocks of cheese from a paper cone is an image I will always remember.

Planning a trip to Barcelona? Make the most of your time with my Ultimate Guides:

1. A Moveable Feast: The Ultimate Guide of where to nibble and nosh in Barcelona

The Picasso Museum

Finally, we arrived at our destination, the Picasso Museum in the El Born district of Barcelona. His work, donated to the municipality in part by Picasso himself and in part by his best friend, is spread across five grand palaces. This summer Barrett and I visited a special Picasso exhibit at the Museum of Wine in Bordeaux; however, this was a much more intimate view of the artist, as it charted his entire career and was curated by Picasso himself, his family, and his closest friends. I was taken by his first large work, Science and Charity. He created this piece with the intention of gaining critical attention and hopefully acclaim. This painting is a political and social commentary centered around a woman on her deathbed with a doctor on one bedside, a nun on the other. The work is large, technical, and powerful. Not only did he win his first prize for this piece, but it was his entrance to the Art Avante Guarde. He then split his time between Spain and Paris until he committed to a full move to Paris in 1904.

However, I was most captivated by Picasso’s work during The Blue Period. His “friend” died by suicide (the subtext here was lover but…). The loss of this friend was sudden and tragic and during this period of grief spanning three to four years, he painted entirely in blue. His subjects were figures he observed in public who were lonely or discarded, couples in cafes looking melancholy, bleak landscapes, all in an array of beautiful blue hues. He painted a self portrait during this period, and he’s staring straight forward, his eyes piercing through the canvas, as if he is staring directly into your eyes. The vulnerability of his expression left a distinct impression on me. I think his intention was to stare grief directly in the eyes, to face his feelings and paint through them until slowly, he could find himself on the other side. Forever changed, this “period” imprinted across his heart, mind, and soul forever.

As I weaved into the next room marking a new era “beyond” The Blue Period, I noticed the first few works in his next collection were still splattered in blue. Grief doesn’t die, after all, it’s a lens by which those touched by tragedy will always view the world, even when new colors begin to resurface. I noticed many people just moved right through The Blue Period rooms, but I couldn’t help but linger in this sanctuary of sorrow and loss.

Virens: The Green Experience

Dinner was at a Michelin Guide restaurant called Virens. We ordered the tasting menu called “The Green Experience,” a vegetable forward menu with one small meat course. While Barcelona is known for their Jamon, there is an interesting and sometimes aggressive plant movement spreading through the city like vines creeping slowly and purposefully up a veranda.

The restaurant was gorgeous. As you walked in through the double doors, there was a staircase leading up to a second floor, the banister wrapped in a Christmas garland. We were ushered to a small table on the first floor. The vaulted ceilings added to the grandeur of the building, the lights were warm, the walls were an inviting deep forest green. The double doors to the kitchen were a crisp stainless steel sliding automatically when a member of the staff approached from either side.

The dining experience was lovely from start to finish. For three hours our joyful waiter guided us through each course beginning with a vintage she described as a “happy wine” through eight delicious courses, most such beautiful works of art my fork felt like it was defiling a masterpiece better suited for staring than eating. At the end of our menu, I was more than sated, I was completely full. We were never rushed through our menu. In fact, our server at the culmination of the meal said, “I hope you enjoyed your experience.”

Before leaving, I visited the bathroom and realized this restaurant was part of an expansive boutique hotel. The walls of the lobby were large sheets of glass. A door man pointed me in the direction of a winding marble staircase down to the toilets which were equally luxurious. A Christmas tree decorated in an ombre of champagne hued ornaments was the centerpiece of the lobby and reminded my cold, aching heart that this time of year was meant for more than mourning.

Our night cap was at a gastro bar called Alchemix. The drinks were themed and the presentation was a performance of its own. Each mixologist crafted the drink to perfection and was served in a unique vessel. I find Disney follows me everywhere subtly reminding me, “I’m just an Orange County girl living in an extraordinary world.” So I ordered the Mrs. Pots, and what arrived before me was a frothy cocktail overflowing with foam served in the Tea Cup Chip from Beauty and the Beast, notes of lavender and Saint Germain meeting my lips while Mrs. Pots steamed away. It was quite the spectacle.

The best part of the evening for me was watching each member of every establishment we visited take special pride in their work. The food is cheaper, the experience is finer, the people are happier. God bless the living wage.