Feb 29, 2008
On our way back to France Chess and I spend some more time in Barcelona. Right off the AVE (Spain's high speed train) we go back to La Bodegueta for cañas y bocadillos de atun con aceite. Then back to El Born for more drinks and food. Little detour by El Corte Ingles for some canned "almejas"(clams), "mejillones"(mussels) and chorizo "bellota"(the good stuff that comes from feeding acorns to pigs.) Got a tablecloth for my dad at Zara too. Second drink at La Taverna Basca Itera and third one at Taller de Tapas so that I can sip some of my favorite sangria again. Don't know what it is about their sangria but its smell reminds me of early childhood, back in the days when my parents were still together and partying like happy couples do, living on the African continent between the tropic of Cancer and the Equator. It smells like Martini Rosso. I get my buzz on and then ask what they put in their sangria. It turns out they mix their wine with Cognac and whiskey! I understand why the cloud in my head feels so wide and fuzzy. I tell Chess I don't want to stop by the chocolate museum - don't want to give myself any incentive to eat more of that addictive food. I suggest we pay a visit to the sea when we are done with our drinks. So what do we do after drinking? We head towards the sea, and on the way there make a lil' detour by the Museu de la Xocolata... and I buy me a big piece of dark chocolate with "almendras". It feels so good to go back to those familiar places that we end up zigzagging our way to the beach, passing by Cal Pep and that bar on calle de la Reina Cristina que se llama "la champaneria" that serves cava and lots of cured ham, and that is so crowded that you can always see people spilling out on the street from far away. And what's up with the spring/summerlike winter that has nothing to offer but above average seasonal temperatures? I can't help but think about global warming. It feels like all we are missing is our flip flops and bathing suits. But no, actually at this point there is something else lacking: time to go say hi to the Mediterranée. Back at the train station it turns out the Talgo is an hour late. Nice. Chess is on the lookout for an electrical outlet (seems like they are a constant in our life). She and I are sitting on top of our suitcase, on a cart, between a vending machine and a phone booth - the only place with a random power strip for us to plug in our laptop - watching yet another episode of Prison Break, like total junkies in need of a t.v-series-induced-adrenaline-rush fix. Sick.