Warm and Slow, the City of Barcelona

The light shines a dirty brown tint through the clouds as they smother the stars that slip past; dirty blotches dot the ink sky. The day had not gone well with delays on every port of call from Bristol to the hotel front steps. All this left us late and tired. The start of my week of relaxation had finally begun. I sit in a towel on the flimsy balcony furniture looking over the street trying to take in the new warm colours of the world around me. Travelling the short flight has made my body ache, and the pull of the soft, clean, white linen sheets of bed are appealing. It was only midday, but the smells and sounds of the bustling streets below had to be investigated. Strolling along the shaded pavements, littered with fallen purple blossoms, the air was thick with the afternoon haze and we peered through shop windows and took photos of unsuspecting locals trying to push past the waves of tourists. The heat of the sun soon left, and the lights began to flicker on throughout apartments and flats that rise and hang over the street. Too tired to make any big decisions, we head back to the hotel for food, and a warning to anyone going to Spain, meat and cheese are well, the basis of any meal. Gorged on meat platters and spicy photos we return to the room, where I now sit watching the city slip into the shades of colourful neon lights.

The first full day has its challenges. Spending the whole day on your feet is fine because eventually you can’t feel them anymore (until you take your shoes off and the agonizing pain starts). Unfortunately, we realised that our hotel is not where we first thought it was. It appears that everything we want is on the other side of the city, and again my feet ache thinking of it. The day started well; a walk in the sun through the palms, watching the reflections of the boats flash across the water. People sit and chat and the laziness of the morning hangs amongst the ever-increasing heat. The aquarium is across the harbour and we stroll over taking photos of everything trying to take it all in. It's cramped inside but large enough to still see everything. The rumble of hundreds of voices talking in many different languages about what they see fills the stuffy air. One of the largest aquariums in Europe whose size is quickly justified, the large Mediterranean tank holds everything from sharks to inquisitive divers that float uncontrollably through the water, only to be pulled and pushed in the right place by the staff.

The skies have turned grey and our impeccable timing allows us to witness specs of rain begin to dot the dry dusty pavement as we leave the aquarium. The rain doesn't change anything, though. People still meander around taking photos and chatting. The only thing that differs is what the people walking around are selling. It has shifted from carved elephants to umbrellas. I bought a waterproof suit but refuse to wear it until I see a local wearing one. We then made our way down beautiful old streets to the Picasso Museum, which can be found by the long queues that wrap around the outside loft of the building. For those who enjoy art, it's definitely worth a visit. I hadn't realised the extent of the work he produced over his lifetime. Picasso was a truly talented artists whose passion for the colours and soul of Barcelona often inspired his work.

Evening meal started off with a meander to find some food. Unsuccessfully, we strolled off only to be a confronted by a large drunk Spanish man who had to be pushed out of the way to avoid an altercation. As we quickly left the area we appear onto a larger lit street with large towering trees wrapped in necklaces of fairy lights giving the area a happy yellow tint. Crowds of people moved against each other other dodging restaurant staff lunging out from behind tables while waving creased, laminated menus. We sat down under large parasols and ate what tasted like shop bought pizza. It's worth checking tripadvisor for everywhere in the city, just to be safe.

Although Las Ramblas (the larger lit street) thrives at night, the daylight reveals details we had missed in the dark. The Gothic architecture clings to each building with decaying signs hanging off them. The trees are covered in purple flower petals and the sun casts intricate patterns through the canopies onto the paving slabs below. As we stroll through the streets heading toward to the beach, we pass artists, businessmen, homeless and the wealthy, all of which share the same patch of street. I guess with any city there is a poverty gap, but it felt strange seeing people sleep outside fenced yacht clubs that line the harbour. The end of Las Ramblas opens into the harbour where an antique market lined with items of someone else's memories can be found. The stone harbour walls shine and water crafts of all shapes and sizes float against pontoons, drifting to a slower pace.

The beach is long and narrow. We lie on our towels amongst the people of many different nationalities, all enjoying the Spanish sun rays, slowly cooking themselves and seeing how far they can stretch the realm of "indecent exposure." That night, we sleep under the sun which slowly burns our backs and shoulders. The only excessive noise to be heard is that of American and English tourists who, for some reason, make me feel embarrassed. Ships of all sizes sail by while people of different classes enjoy the sea in different ways. Soon the heat becomes too much and we head into the Gothic quarter, or the ever more confusing labyrinth of interconnecting streets and passages that shows the cities age. The quarter is flowing with tourists taking pictures and locals trying to wade through the crowds to get on with every day life. After a shower at the hotel we head back out with our destination being a restaurant that we couldn't find on maps until we used our eyes and common sense, like people before phones. The food was good and the staff were friendly. It was a good end to a hot day.