Month: September 2014

My memories of Barcelona in June 2005 are entirely good, an elegant city full of great architecture and art which I enjoyed with my late partner, Phillip and joined by New Zealand family.  This time it’s for the LGBT Panter Esports and I’m travelling alone to meet up with my Out to Swim team-mates.  Last time, Ryanair dropped us in some remote airport miles out of town.  They’ve moved up in the world and now deliver me to the main city airport connected to the city by a train.  You have to know about this train, because the signs to it are not obvious and there are plenty of arrows pointing to taxis and buses.  A card for 10 rides costs only €10 from a machine which takes VISA.  There’s a bit of a wait for the train but it drops me only a few blocks from the Hotel Constanza.  It’s taken most of the day to get here but I’m determined explore and reacquaint myself with this city.

This time I’ve got downloaded maps of streets and Metro on my phone so nothing much can go wrong.  Out in the street, I can almost feel the elegance and style radiating from the houses.  I find the La Rambala and walk down through the crowds noting that the sellers of caged birds have thankfully gone and there is only tourist junk and stalls selling flowers and seeds.  I don’t linger except to notice at the very bottom, that the living statues have got ever more inventive, expanding to mini-stage sets and mechanical contraptions to entertain the audience. I find my way with the help of my phone maps into a fascinating labyrinth of tiny streets and squares leading back up the hill towards the Cathedral.  Barcelona has become a party city.  There are Museums, exhibitions and galleries on just about every street. Everywhere there are festivals and each square seems to have a temporary sound stage set up with music playing.  On the sea-front a band are doing a sound check, in a small square outside a large civic looking building there is a political demonstration with red balloons and music.  At the front of the cathedral there is a mediaeval band playing haunting music. Circles of elderly people are forming from the crowd to perform a sedate and elegant dance with tiny steps.  The inside of the cathedral is worth a look, particularly for the impressively tall columns around the back of the high altar.  Between the choir and the altar is a set of huge steps descending to the crypt – something I’ve never seen before.

 

It’s time to go and register for the games. David & Martin are not arriving until later in the evening & I’ve no idea what the others in our swimming team are up to.  So when I get across town to Tarragona by Metro there’s not a soul I recognise in this brightly lit sports hall.  I collect my plastic entry card, a yellow band for free entry to the party and a rather handsome back-pack with maps, info and promotional literature.  A helpful guy shows me on the map where the dinner is to be held and I wander off to have a beer as I’m very thirsty.  After another one, several handful of salted peanuts and olives I decide that it’s time to look for a bar.  I’ve done some research and there’s a gay place which serves tapas.  After a bit of wandering around, looking at the maps on my phone and trying to get orientated after exiting the metro, I find this place, a small bar with only two customers.  It’s late by London standards, but night-life in Spain starts even later.  Undaunted I order a beer, but the choice of tapas is quiche or Spanish omelette – both look unappetising but for authenticity I go for the omelette which is of course made with potatoes.  It’s OK, and calorific but I don’t stay long, moving on to the area near my hotel for a top up of pasta from an Italian place.

Saturday is race day, but not until 3pm, so I’ve booked a ticket on-line for La Sagrada Familia – Gaudi’s great cathedral which I saw nine years ago.  Begun in 1882, Gaudi spent 40 years working on it before he died after being run over by a tram.  The last time I saw it, much of the first work was in need of cleaning and restoring and a start was being made on the nave with huge stone pillars surrounded by scaffolding.  It’s a bit of a shock coming out of the Metro to see that the nave is almost completed and the whole thing has grown taller with cranes looking down on the already tall structure.  La Sagrada occupies a small block of the city and it looks like a cuckoo fledgling bursting out of its tiny nest.  The cathedral has expanded to take up all the ground and is now pushing upwards.  The transept runs west-east and the nave north south. The tower on the west side has been cleaned, but seems somehow at odds with the newer work, some of which is concrete, awaiting stone cladding.  The south end of the nave is waiting to be finished while there is clearly a huge spire being constructed in the middle of the building.

I’d read about the crowds of thrusting tourists in the area and how local people are pissed off with it all.  It’s phenomenal – people everywhere and tour busses passing bye every few minutes.  The best thing to do is to retreat to the garden squares on either side and allow the trees to mask the ugliness of the crowds.  Here, only a few people have got the same idea.  A group of Australians are having their photograph taken by another tourist, local people are enjoying the shade and a drunk is thrashing around in the bushes, trying to rejoin his mates after relieving himself. He manages to regain his composure once back on the path, symbolically dusting off his shabby clothes to remove any pristine foliage, possibly clinging to him.

Working my way around to the east side (I remember, with my family, being almost the only party sitting by the pond) I find there is a queue to sit on the stone wall and be clicked.  Behind me the click of boule is more entertaining.  A tour guide passes, explaining via headphones to her flock that boule is the most common game played by old people.  They are all old and concentrating on their strategy, with studied aggression.  A tape measure is produced to decide between two balls and one last throw sends rivals flying.  I’m trying to decide if the new builders of the La Sagrada have interpreted Gaudi’s imprecise plans in keeping with the early work.  The east towers have not been cleaned and I’d forgotten the bunches of grapes and fruit nestling on top of pinnacles along the nave.  It takes a while to work out that the lower windows looking into the crypt are mediaeval in style and the whole thing gets more outrageous the higher it gets.  Moving around to the east end – some of the oldest work – now cleaned, I can see that it does work even if the height may be out of proportion to its length.  It’s time to go in and see what’s been happening in the last nine years.  Then, a New Zealander was in charge of the project.

I’m waiting for my time slot when some tourists ask the ticket checker where to buy tickets.

‘Around the other side, but they are now all sold out for today.  There are only 100 tickets available on the day.  You need to book on-line, in advance.’

As I enter, the morning sunlight light streaming through a stained glass window is blinding.  I can see that the interior is complete, all of a piece and absolutely stunning.  The pillars in the nave seen nine years ago are impossibly tall.  Tree-like they stretch to support the ceiling. Those around the ambulatory and altar are even taller; reaching up to what will carry the spire.  There are many people inside, but not too many.  Everywhere the stained glass brings in colour and the plain glass making up the entire south end shows up the colour of the stone pillars.  I sit in the ‘quiet’ seats in the nave, momentarily irritated by northern Europeans talking loudly behind me.  You can go up the towers by lift for a further fee, but these were sold out when I booked a few days ago.

 

It’s time for something to eat before swimming and a local ice-cream parlour seems OK, but in the end I go for a Greek salad (with spinach substituting for cucumber) and coffee.  My next stop is Diagonal where the Jardins de Salvador Espriu look interesting.  It’s a classy square with a fountain frequented by clean pigeons and a sculpture of two women rebels.  It’s peaceful and an old woman in eccentric pink attire is asleep on the stone seating clutching a red and yellow check umbrella against the sun and with her feet sheltering in a plastic shopping bag.  I sit and rest my legs, conscious that I shall have to use them soon for swimming. The swimming pool is a moderate walk from here and I arrive far too early.  The atmosphere in the pool reception is hot and humid and I manage to find a shaded park bench around the corner for a snooze.

 

 

The Morning after Pride

 

It’s rained copiously overnight with thunder and lightning but Sunday dawns sort of bright with some sun.  I’ve got three things in the list today before flying out.  First up is to explore the Christianshaun area a bit more.  There’s the Danish Architecture Centre which looks interesting.

It’s housed in a big old warehouse and mounts temporary exhibitions.  Today there’s one which greets me with the message that the exhibition is outside – in the city.  It’s about sustainability and building for human beings and communities rather than the eye-catching design.  The main feature is a plastic model of a circular student hall of residence (the Tietgen Dormitory) photographed by a drone.  The images are printed and pasted onto the model.  Bedrooms and studies face outwards while the living areas look into the circular central space.  This apparently creates a community feeling where everyone can see (if they want to) what everyone else is doing socially.  It’s been a successful social experiment.

Other featured buildings in the exhibition include a bank just down from my hotel, the New Opera House and National Theatre. Upstairs is a small exhibition about Japanese architecture for family living in very small spaces.  From the outside they are unremarkable but full of invention inside.

 

I walk a few blocks, intending to look at Our Saviour’s Church, which on a Sunday is supposed to open at 10.30am. It’s the one with the brown and gold spiral steeple. There’s a service going on and the tower is closed due to bad weather.  King Christian’s church is having a christening which people are rushing to attend.  The tower is covered in scaffolding so not currently photogenic.  The Crypt however is open, displaying family memorials and wooden coffins, presumably containing bodies.

It’s raining again so I shelter under an awning by a bus stop waiting to be transported semi-dry to the Carlsburg Glyptotek, just near the Tivoli Gardens.  Copenhagen has been flooded and the bus is diverted.  Everywhere are fire-hoses pumping water into canals and harbour.  As I walk down the side of the Tivoli Gardens, clinging to my very small umbrella, there are huge queues of bedraggled tourists standing next to their tour busses.  They look very pissed off because the Tivoli Gardens are flooded.  It’s still raining and I can see a few rain-coated dads with similarly waterproofed children in the soft play areas seeming to have fun.

The Glyptotek looks like a much more comfortable option and I discover that it’s free on Sundays – no wonder it’s popular.  Just as I make a start of the ‘Ancient Mediterranean’ section, there’s a text from David. He’s just seen Luci onto the train to the airport, is soaking wet and wonders what I’m doing today.

‘Come to the Glyptotek, it’s just around the corner from the station,’ I reply.

Several texts later he arrives and we sit in the Winter Garden, a covered atrium in the centre of the building.  He dries out and after some lunch and coffee we investigate the collection.  There’s a modern wing – out the back – accessed by marble steps and ramps which houses a very good collection of impressionists – Manet, Monet, Van Gough,  Renoir & David.

 

Of particular note is the Gauguin collection ranging from excellent early work to later Tahitian examples.  If you’re a fan of Degas and ballet girls, then this is a good place for you – bronzes and paintings.  There’s an accent on sculpture here and a vast collection of classical heads which have been ‘dug up’ minus their bodies and ended up here.  Some of them are missing bits, so there’s a display of spare parts used to restore statues for exhibition purposes.  We can’t see it all in our time left and now that the rain has abated we separately collect our luggage, meet back at the station to head back to London.

The National Gallery of Denmark is on the menu today and one of the first things I notice; waiting at the bus-stop is that all the buses are flying the Danish flag on one side and the rainbow flag on the other.  Public buildings are also sporting the gay flag – I can’t imagine that happening in London. The imposing gallery building looking all newly scrubbed, towers over me as I alight at the stop.  It’s only just opening time so I’m one of the first.  It’s free with a small charge for the lockers.  There’s quite a good collection of French impressionists and several good Van Gough paintings.

Then there’s a section on European art and another for Danish and Nordic Art.  It takes several hours to get through all this and then I discover a whole new wing of contemporary design

out the back and connected by a glass roof.  There’s a café in the basement looking out on to a park – where I have a coffee break – and a sculpture street above to be investigated. I discover more stuff made after 1900 including Danish, French and international work where Matisse and Picasso can be found so I extend my visit.

I’ve had an email about the Gay Pride march, but the details are confusing and I’m under the impression that it all starts at the Town Hall at 1pm. There’s nothing happening here except bands doing sound checks for later and an old bearded man who has

acquired a blond wig, shouting drunkenly, ‘No music! F..k you!’ in a very loud voice.  Eventually David and Luci arrive and we suspect that the parade is going to end here.  We walk towards where we think the parade is coming and settle down for a drink and food, but realise that the march is turning off further up the road.  Downing our refreshments, we make our way back to the rear of the Town Hall Square and manage to catch the start of the Parade and the Water Polo Boys who have been marching in the rain, in their Speedos.  We resist the urge to join the march, and enjoy the pageantry which is more varied, elaborate and sophisticated that London Pride (we like a bit of vulgarity in London).  The marchers squeeze into a narrow space leading to the Square and then disperse.  We hang about with the Water Polo guys for a while before going to the Gay Street, which has been blocked off from traffic.  Beer is on sale here for 40Kr but around the corner there’s a straight place doing it for 25Kr.  So every time we need another round we go back round the corner to the cute guy with a beard.  He’s pleased to see us and sort of OK with us flirting with him.

Studiestraede is full of plastic gazebos, sun-umbrellas and out-door seating.  It rains intermittently so we all have umbrellas at the ready.  Each bar has its own DJ with out-door speakers blasting out disco music.  We wander up and down with our cheap beers enjoying the sights, but tend to return to The Jailhouse (from last night) where the men are sexier and the music better.  We manage to find a place to sit under a gazebo and watch a crowd of people doing the most fantastic dancing in the rain.  Some girls wearing Conchita Wurst tee shirts briefly stop to shelter from the rain. Then one of the British gay football teams joins us and I try to explain the joke about ‘Wurst Fu?r Alle’.

We try the sausages (wurst) plain and with chillies – they are delicious and somehow the afternoon stretches into the evening and I don’t have any more room for beer.  The rain becomes torrential and people take shelter or melt away into the night.  Miraculously the buses are still running.