BEST DAYS AND NIGHTS IN BCN
By: Becky Blake
When: Saturday night
Where: El Raval
Who: 2 Belgian friends and me
What: First excursion on my new bike and Festa del Raval
“I’ve got a bike you can have,” said a friend of mine after listening to me complain for the umpteenth time about the unreliability of the Bici system. “Although it might need a bit of cariño.”
Hmm. I knew what that meant. I could picture my future bike, rusty and orphaned, forgotten under a leaky tarp at the back of his roof terrace. “How much cariño?” I asked.
An hour later I was struggling home on the metro with a folding bike that was missing a seat, and a seat post. There was a gigantic lock with no key attached to the back. The tires were flat, possibly from a puncture. The bike was really, really dirty.
I was not feeling super confident about my mechanical skills, but after an afternoon of trips to the ferretería for tools, and to Decathlon for a seat, I felt like I had bonded with “Ibiza” and we were ready to go for our first ride.
I was planning to have dinner with a couple of friends who had also offered to help me with the repair, if necessary. I figured they were going to be pretty impressed when they saw that I had fixed the bike myself! I set off down Passeig de Sant Joan. After a couple of blocks, I was picking up speed and feeling really proud of myself when the seat suddenly tipped skyward causing my bum to descend quickly towards the ground. I gently applied the brakes. Something was wrong.
I very carefully rode/walked Ibiza the rest of the way to my friends’ house.
“Could you guys maybe bring down your tools?” I asked sheepishly, into the intercom.
After my seat was repaired, we headed off for dinner, Ibiza and I taking up more than our fair share of the narrow sidewalks of El Raval. When we got to the restaurant, there didn’t seem to be a good place to park the bike. The only options were a couple of street posts that both had broken chain locks clustered around their bases. Dodgy looking guys were already eyeing my little beauty from the shadows.
“Maybe we can take her inside?” I suggested.
After a bit of huffing and puffing, we managed to get Ibiza folded up and through the restaurant without causing much of a stir. The Bici system was starting to make a little more sense to me.
After dinner, we wanted to go for another drink. But where to go? We all looked at Ibiza who was sitting in the corner and seeming more and more like an unwelcome tag-along friend that nobody really liked.
We started walking through the streets and ended up in front of MACBA where a large crowd was standing in front of a stage. It was just after midnight which seemed like a good time for a show to start. Plus, there was a bike rack. We decided to stay and see what was going on. I locked up Ibiza, giving her a couple of nervous backward glances as I walked into the crowd.
Usually, if there’s an event going on in front of MACBA, it’s going to be something cool. The concert that night was different though. The show began with eight performers in sequined costumes running out on stage and wiggling their sparkly bodies everywhere. There was one performer who looked like it might have been her first time dancing without a pole, and another whose hands kept flicking out at us like the tongue of a lizard. The band seemed to specialize in cheesy pop songs from the 70’s and 80’s, but the crowd was loving it, singing along to Addicted to Love, All Right Now, Highway to Hell, I Will Survive, YMCA, I Feel Good, Simply the Best, Walking on Sunshine.
Some elderly men who were selling warm beer from a makeshift tent informed us that it was the closing night concert of the Festa del Raval. In Barcelona, every neighbourhood has its own special festival during the summer, a chance for all sorts of people from the neighbourhood to come together to celebrate.
In El Raval, this neighbourhood mix means a blend of young and old, dogs and kids, locals and tourists. A chubby guy with a t-shirt that read “Dónde esta mi cerveza?” was getting his groove on in our direction – a cerveza in each hand. Sipping on our own warm beers we gave him the thumbs up, then spent the rest of the night dancing alongside swaying old ladies, skateboarders with rat-tails, and towering Dutch tourists.
When the concert was over, I nervously approached the bike rack. Despite our awkward beginning, I’d already grown attached to Ibiza. I shouldn’t have given her a name! When I saw her tiny frame waiting, I was relieved and promised myself I would buy her a better lock. She was, after all, the perfect companion for a summer in Barcelona. All I had to do was pedal my tipsy, dance-tired body back uphill to Gracia and then we were going places.
By: Becky Blake
When: Saturday night
Where: El Raval
Who: 2 Belgian friends and me
What: First excursion on my new bike and Festa del Raval
“I’ve got a bike you can have,” said a friend of mine after listening to me complain for the umpteenth time about the unreliability of the Bici system. “Although it might need a bit of cariño.”
Hmm. I knew what that meant. I could picture my future bike, rusty and orphaned, forgotten under a leaky tarp at the back of his roof terrace. “How much cariño?” I asked.
An hour later I was struggling home on the metro with a folding bike that was missing a seat, and a seat post. There was a gigantic lock with no key attached to the back. The tires were flat, possibly from a puncture. The bike was really, really dirty.
I was not feeling super confident about my mechanical skills, but after an afternoon of trips to the ferretería for tools, and to Decathlon for a seat, I felt like I had bonded with “Ibiza” and we were ready to go for our first ride.
I was planning to have dinner with a couple of friends who had also offered to help me with the repair, if necessary. I figured they were going to be pretty impressed when they saw that I had fixed the bike myself! I set off down Passeig de Sant Joan. After a couple of blocks, I was picking up speed and feeling really proud of myself when the seat suddenly tipped skyward causing my bum to descend quickly towards the ground. I gently applied the brakes. Something was wrong.
I very carefully rode/walked Ibiza the rest of the way to my friends’ house.
“Could you guys maybe bring down your tools?” I asked sheepishly, into the intercom.
After my seat was repaired, we headed off for dinner, Ibiza and I taking up more than our fair share of the narrow sidewalks of El Raval. When we got to the restaurant, there didn’t seem to be a good place to park the bike. The only options were a couple of street posts that both had broken chain locks clustered around their bases. Dodgy looking guys were already eyeing my little beauty from the shadows.
“Maybe we can take her inside?” I suggested.
After a bit of huffing and puffing, we managed to get Ibiza folded up and through the restaurant without causing much of a stir. The Bici system was starting to make a little more sense to me.
After dinner, we wanted to go for another drink. But where to go? We all looked at Ibiza who was sitting in the corner and seeming more and more like an unwelcome tag-along friend that nobody really liked.
We started walking through the streets and ended up in front of MACBA where a large crowd was standing in front of a stage. It was just after midnight which seemed like a good time for a show to start. Plus, there was a bike rack. We decided to stay and see what was going on. I locked up Ibiza, giving her a couple of nervous backward glances as I walked into the crowd.
Usually, if there’s an event going on in front of MACBA, it’s going to be something cool. The concert that night was different though. The show began with eight performers in sequined costumes running out on stage and wiggling their sparkly bodies everywhere. There was one performer who looked like it might have been her first time dancing without a pole, and another whose hands kept flicking out at us like the tongue of a lizard. The band seemed to specialize in cheesy pop songs from the 70’s and 80’s, but the crowd was loving it, singing along to Addicted to Love, All Right Now, Highway to Hell, I Will Survive, YMCA, I Feel Good, Simply the Best, Walking on Sunshine.
Some elderly men who were selling warm beer from a makeshift tent informed us that it was the closing night concert of the Festa del Raval. In Barcelona, every neighbourhood has its own special festival during the summer, a chance for all sorts of people from the neighbourhood to come together to celebrate.
In El Raval, this neighbourhood mix means a blend of young and old, dogs and kids, locals and tourists. A chubby guy with a t-shirt that read “Dónde esta mi cerveza?” was getting his groove on in our direction – a cerveza in each hand. Sipping on our own warm beers we gave him the thumbs up, then spent the rest of the night dancing alongside swaying old ladies, skateboarders with rat-tails, and towering Dutch tourists.
When the concert was over, I nervously approached the bike rack. Despite our awkward beginning, I’d already grown attached to Ibiza. I shouldn’t have given her a name! When I saw her tiny frame waiting, I was relieved and promised myself I would buy her a better lock. She was, after all, the perfect companion for a summer in Barcelona. All I had to do was pedal my tipsy, dance-tired body back uphill to Gracia and then we were going places.
Comments
Post a Comment