Woke up to the sound of rain.
We bounced and clattered our way out of the hotel and went for breakfast. Got talked into going into one of those franchised chains selling fast food baguettes and salads because Emma and Camille fancied their bacon baguettes. It was a terrible place. The croissants were too sticky and doughy, the coffee was barely warm and barely coffee and the bacon baguettes were more bacon fat than bacon. The counter assistant was unhelpful and rude and this was only the start of the day.
We need to go back to the Hosteria to check out before exploring more of Barcelona and once I was back in the room again, now it looked bigger than I remembered. They’ve either moved the walls back thinking that we weren’t coming back or they’ve substituted even smaller furniture while we’ve been out. The whole place is taking on a more surreal and unworldly appearance by the minute. Something’s going on but there’s no time to interrogate the giggling receptionist, we’ve got to go. With one last burst of speed walking down the corridor, on to the landing, we all bounce and rattle down the stairs to reception and stop, each one bumping into the one in front because Pauline at the front has bumped abruptly to a halt at the desk. As the receptionist starts giggling again we leave our overnight bags in the luggage room for collection later and check out. Will we ever be back here again? Probably not. It’s highly unlikely the Hosteria will still be here next week at the rate the rooms seem to be shrinking. It’ll probably disappear up it’s own spiral staircase in a matter of days.
It was now midday and until our bus leaves at 19.15 we’re going to see some of the remarkable buildings designed and built by the architect Gaudi. There aren’t too many to see but they are scattered around the city so first we’re going to make for the Gaudi cathedral which is the furthest away and make our way back from there. It was a long walk and when we got there the queue snaked along the front and down the side of the building, a massive queue and not appearing to move at all. We’d come all this way to see it and now we were standing around debating whether even this remarkable structure was worth queuing for God knows how long in the blazing sun. We made the mistake of debating this while standing in front of the entrance so by the time we’d convinced ourselves that we really should queue no matter how long it took, we had to join the end of the queue of which we would have been half way through had we joined it immediately we arrived. And it was a long wait. About an hour. I kept walking up and down to see what was holding us up but there was nothing obvious. It just seemed to take the Spanish a ridiculously long time to process each individual through the turnstiles. There were two ticket kiosks open, two closed and one open for pre-booked parties which was completely empty all the time we were queuing. Reminded me of the bus lane fiasco on our motorways. With so many people you’d have thought that they would have opened another ticket kiosk but no, they just carried on with just the two in such a painfully slow way you just started to lose the will to live.
The cathedral is still being built, it’s nowhere near completion and it’s more building site than building but what had been completed was fascinating. We even saved ourselves a few Euros by unintentionally walking into the museum without paying. We didn’t realise we were in it before we were in it and nobody challenged us.
Then it was off to find the Gaudi ‘Apartments’, a block of surreally designed apartments in another part of the city. By now it was 3 pm, time was rushing by and we’d only seen one building – the cathedral. We found the apartments about fifteen minutes walk away and our hearts sank as we saw another enormous bloody queue. This time we resigned ourselves to it and joined the end immediately. The building was cylindrical, built around an inner core with a large courtyard at the bottom. The top floor was open to the public but the rest of the floors were inhabited – by very, very rich people I should imagine. The rooms were massive but the apartments are also famous for the working chimneys designed and built in various Dali-esque shapes and sizes (all before Dali’s time). By now it was coming up to 5 pm and we had to join another bloody slow moving queue to get up on the roof for the chimneys. They were only letting a fixed number of people on the roof at any one time so it was chimney-pot luck how fast the queue moved, all dependant on how fast the people came down again. While waiting in the queue, the rain which had started earlier, became heavier and heavier but at least we were queuing inside the building. We were just praying it would stop before we had to climb up on to the roof. And just when you thought it couldn’t rain any harder the queue lady said to us, “OK go up.” I could swear she was smirking as we climbed up the narrow staircase to the roof. Miraculously the rain eased off once we were up there so we did manage to walk around the chimneys in some comfort in the end. I started to sing Chim Chim Cheree and went into my cockney dance routine but Pauline told me to shut up.
It was now coming up to 6 pm. We had to be back at the hotel to pick up our things and then on to the bus pickup point by 7 pm so there was no time to do any more sightseeing and even more disappointingly for Emma and Camille, no time to do any of the shopping that we’d promised them either. By the time we got to the bus stop it was bucketing down again, this time though we had umbrellas which Pauline had thoughtfully packed. The bus or coach to be more precise was one of these double-decker affairs and our seats were on the upper deck. We’d just reached the outskirts of the city and were motoring along what appeared to be a motorway approach road when the driver pulled over, stopped and got out.
As soon as the driver got out there was a mad rush of people off the bus. One bloke rushed off behind some bushes for a pee while most of the others were just lighting up cigarettes. I didn’t know where the hell the bus driver had gone, I couldn’t see him through the window and nobody else on the bus seemed too bothered. There was a lot of banging of doors coming from the rear of the bus but the engine was still running so perhaps the driver was just checking the luggage bays or something. Five minutes went by, ten minutes and still no sign of the driver. Where the hell is he? Has he had a nervous breakdown and he’s hiding behind the back of the bus after losing the confidence to drive it? Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s just ducked down somewhere, watching us and giggling.
And then all of a sudden, there he was again. He got back in, settled in his seat….and switched the engine off. All the people who had rushed outside earlier rushed back on the bus while the driver waited for them all to get on and then he got off again, followed by all the same people who had just rushed on again.
After another few minutes the driver re-appeared, got back on and started the engine. The people who’d rushed off the bus, rushed back on again and rushed off again, rushed back on again in a panic and while they were all shouting and trying to get back in their seats the bus moved off slowly and after a few hundred yards…stopped again.
The driver opened the door and got off again.
Meanwhile, all the people who’d rushed off the bus, then rushed back on again, then rushed back off again, then rushed back on again in a panic, rushed back off again and it was obvious that we were waiting for a recovery bus. By now the driver was talking nineteen to the dozen, had lit up a cigarette and was laughing and joking with the Spanish passengers outside. Gradually more passengers drifted off the bus, cigarette packets in hand and stood around indulging in that curious continental pastime of talking at loud volume without taking a breath to the person nearest to them while shrugging their shoulders and waving their arms around at the same time.
The recovery bus arrived and the 7.15 pm bus finally got going at 8.30 pm for the one hour journey back to Lloret. We got back to our hotel just in time to miss dinner at 9.45 pm.
All this mucking about has meant that we’ve missed tonight’s free show. It was called ‘Brasil Show’ and almost certainly would have been the ‘Samba Show’ with a different title and probably the same music which had nothing to do with Samba so would fit in well with the Brasil Show as would have nothing to do with Brasil either.
No comments:
Post a Comment