le Baguette

Sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason.  And watching Montpellier's denizens queue up for baguettes on Sunday morning lent proof to the French nation's love for bread.  Baguettes down the street, baguettes on bicycle, baguettes en masse.

I was that creeper trying to take discrete photos on my iPhone:

the queue for the baguette

 

 just a little walk home with baguette

yellow trousers, tucking into his baguette on the way home

 

bulldog waiting for baguette

                                                   Cradle your baguette like a baby

 

baguette from the market

 

armful of baguettes

 

baguette on bicycle

 

Who can blame the French?  They make bloody good bread--inexplicably crunchy yet soft and delicious.  So good I couldn't resist.  

Barri Gotic

Last Barcelona post, I promise.

Snaps around the Barri Gotic and la Boqueria, a huge (and rather touristy) market filled with ridiculous food:

Any guesses on what this shop sells?

Near the square with the beer:

The beer in the square: 

Nowhere near any of this: 

Cones of meat and fish for sale: 

Close up: 

Vegetarian delight:

And fruit: 

Lots and lots of meat:

Fancy walk up tapas bars in the market:

Next stop, Montpellier!

The Beeeeeach!

It's quite clear that I'm a sun deprived American living in a, at best, fickle-weathered nation and at worst, a volatile weathered one.  This became most clear when we found Barceloneta, a neighborhood of Barcelona lined by a pedestrianized seaside walk that leads to several beaches.

The sun was out and there was a mild breeze from the North-Northwest.  It was warm, not hot.  But I immediately whipped off extra layers in what can only be defined in the style of Michigan-girl-sees-the-sun-after-a-long-winter.  Midwesterners, you know what I mean.

 

 

 

Mojito popsicles. Yes please.

The Best of Barcelona's Quirk

I can appreciate a place where anything goes and Barcelona adopts this attitude in spades. The quirkiest finds existed in the Barri Gotic and El Ravel neighborhoods.  The first was once home to a range of artists and architects and the surrounding narrow streets and gothic architecture are an American abroad's biggest dreams of Europe.  El Ravel is, apparently, the equivalent to London's Dalston/East End area.  It was/is home to a large immigrant population, was/is deemed a bit seedy but gentrification is slowly making its way across the area.  Case in point:

El Ravel 

Cat Sanctuary and Playground: 

Sort of near the gigantic statue of a cat:

No name needed:      

 Costume and fancy dress shop that doesn't mind if you don headgear and take ridiculous photos:

We're reenacting Super Mario Brothers here just in case the reference eludes

Beautiful bar in El Ravel with actual candle candelabras and an old lady owner who continued to read her book through our cava drinking tenancy

The Museum of Ham is: 1. not a museum 2. Insane 3. This Italian boy's heaven: 

the world's most gimungous apples

I'm not sure if the double bass is defined as 'quirky'  but I happen to love them and they happened to be dotted all over the city.  Thus, my homage to the double bass: 

 If you look closely, you will see the man throwing every dance move from the last three decades.  Not sure if my personal favourite was his rendition of Thriller or the equally terrifying Ricky Martin hip shakes.

 Why gingerbread lady, why??

Barri Gotic Graffiti:

 With a touch of Ghana:

 

Too many pictures.

Why Spain has got it right

El Corte Ingles in Central Barcelona stocks over 100 types of canned fish.

If you find yourself in a bind, there are also free public toilets.  If you can make it up to the ninth floor without wetting yourself, that is.  The view from the top: 

 

I think that says everything you need to know.

Barcelona

There's nothing not to love about Barcelona.  It's one part winding cobbles, one part friendly locals, one part bustling metropolis and one part laid-back beach.  The city feels big enough to be invisible and yet small enough to find places you want to keep on returning to, if you can find them.  

My last foray through Barcelona was fraught with too-hot-to-sleep hostels, being wracked with the no-money-blues and chasing a lovestruck friend who was chasing a rather tall, hairy Australian man through various city locales.  This time was entirely nicer--we booked ourselves into a city apartment in the Eixample District just near the Sagrada Familia, the weather was a perfect 20c and, though hairy, Paul is neither tall nor Australian.  In fact, there was no chasing, just leisurely strolling through various neighborhoods at leisurely paces.

Some highlights of day one:

The tapas bar crammed to the rafters with Spaniards and two very, very charming barmen who helped us pick every tapas dish under the sun.  We ended with honey liqueur, stumbled home and, despite our best attempts, never found the place again.  

Since we arrived into Barcelona the morning of Palm Sunday, the city was decked in various palm frond arrangements.  These weren't your average Sunday morning Catholic mass palms.  These were hybrid monsters weaved into shapes, baskets, animals and fringed in colours, bows, you name it: 

 He finally found someone with a larger head than him: