Bye Bye, Barca...

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I don’t suppose we’ll meet again, but it’s been interesting knowing you…

We flew out of Spain on Tuesday 18th August, back to Orly, but scarcely on a high note. For our final night in the city, we went down town to the beach at Barceloneta, and there we drank uncold beer at 3.50 a glass at a sullen beech bar (slap it on the table, and no receipt), and wasted some 180 euros in an excessively mediocre restaurant opposite which served tinned (?) vegetables and shredded lettuce with sole grillé (inadequately filleted) and of which – with the help of a few life-saving brandies -- I blotted the name forever from my memory. No I didn’t: it is Ria de Vigo. Even good Spanish brandy can’t drown it. Point: avoid the beachside tourist traps, and anything that shows pictures of the food served…
Ah, well, you can’t win ‘em all. But I think its worth noting that – apart from the paella at Sitges, which was in a class of its own – the most enjoyable food Barcelona’s eating-places turned up was in the little suburban and city cafes, with their tasty ‘tapas i burradillos’. If ever I go again to Spain, this is a lesson I shall firmly remember.



Apart from food and drink, what will I remember of Barcelona? The heat, of course. That vast heat. And the noise. The vast noise. The thronging town in general, especially on that amazing Fiesta Night… the colour, the smiles, the croquetas, the berberechos, the cold beer and the Vichy Catalan, and the endless traipsing..
The Sagrada Familia, of course, but from the distance. The Placa Reale where we finally sorted out the best cafés (and believe me, there is a huge difference in price, quality and above all, service) and spent a few refreshing hours during our wanderings in the old town. The little area of Sant-Feliu with its charming cafes, and its big classic church, on the Placa de Vila, built 2 months after my birth. And, of course, the magnificent night with Shakespeare at Manaró.
And the swimming pool, without which life in that city would surely be impossible.

We rolled into Paris at the cocktail hour, and made our way straight to my favourite bistrot, Place Saint-Marthe, where the culinary disaster of the previous night was quickly forgotten in the embrace of the marvellous Parisian cuisine that you find there…