My 60th in Spain 2018: Barcelona

For my 60th birthday trip, I wanted to experience a unique culture steeped in rich history, and one that was totally new to me. Spain had long been in my sights, since both Matthew and Stephen visited there and loved it. What intrigued me most was the Muslim and Christian background of southern Spain, and that region became the main focus of our journey. I couldn’t ignore Barcelona, though, with its Gaudi masterpieces and proud Catalan identity. We started there, on a walk through the Barri Gotic and lunch at Quatre Gats. We read that Picasso and fellow artists discussed art over drinks and tapas at this locals’ favorite, very close to the small 12th century Santa Ana Church where we took in a candlelight guitar concert that evening. We would listen to many musicians playing on the streets, but these two virtuoso guitarists were in a league of their own. Stephen and his friend Tyler played guitar on the steps of some church in Barcelona, but we found it was neither the imposing Barcelona Cathedral nor my favorite Santa Maria del Mar in El Born. This small neighborhood church was built entirely with local funds and labor. Its purely Catalan Gothic interior and the memorial to the Catalan Alamo of 1714 is a reminder of the proudly independent people of Barcelona who were besieged and conquered by the Spanish, starting two centuries of cultural suppression. The old neighborhood of El Born had other attractions for Mark and me, like the excellent Picasso Museum and the colorful tapas bars. Our favorite was El Xampanyet, est.1929, the liveliest and friendliest spot which was always packed with locals and visitors socializing in the tight quarters. We tasted the best Catalan bread at another pretty tapas bar in El Born and had our most memorable lunch at this little chocolate cafe where we chose options from a 3-course menu of the day for 10 euro. No wonder it was a locals’ hangout. The prime location of our hotel on the Passeig de Gracia meant we could walk to El Born, and nearby La Pedrera and Casa Batllo, and even as far as the waterfront and Sagrada Familia. Mark was surprised that our constant walking kept us just as active as hiking in the Alps. He appreciated our slower day walking to the waterfront where we spread some of Stephen’s ashes and then sat for a while in this tented bar on the beach. It was a young crowd relaxing there, a far cry from the bustling streets of neon signs and designer shops on the Passeig de Gracia.