Back to Barcelona

The Costa Brava pulled us to the east, Barcelona called us southward. In the end, Barcelona won. Our last day was wonderful. We found a lovely new hotel with beds for five, tried them all and made our selection. Then back in to the centre of the city for one last trek. Off to Casa Batllo, then the Palace of Catalan Music, down to the beach for dinner and back to Montjuic so see it lit up at night with a series of ever more impressive fountains shooting enough water into the air to make all the Stage 4 drought restriction sufferers spit (except we don’t want to waste the fluid).

Those of you who know me well will know that I have been restraining myself. I have tried to not write about the food I ate and saw in every single blog entry. But like a dessert (postre in Spanish), I will allow myself one last indulgence. Fittingly enough, it will be our last meal. If you find descriptions of how wonderful someone else’s life is just stomach turning then look away now.

First, we were sitting at a seaside café at Barceloneta, the beach front of Barcelona, it was light until at least 9 o’clock when the sky slowly turns a royal blue colour that we simply don’t have in Australia. We had a really good bottle of riesling, a slight breeze blew up and, for the first time in ages our first inclination was not to remind each other how very hot we were.

We ordered potatos brava which is usually stewed, but in this case big pieces of fried potato with sweet red pepper sauce and aoli, then fried little fishes, we thought they were most like sardines, but were twice told that the name of them is actually “little fishes”, marinated grilled cuttlefish, deep fried small red peppers and salad. It was just too good and we almost managed to finish it. We rode the train home in the rush hour (about 10.30pm it seems) in a cacophony of end-of-the-day conversation. Debbie and I kept our mouths shut because we had just consumed enough garlic to ward off even the most persistent vampire, much less an innocent commuter.