So there I sat at the old, wooden bar and ate my toast with a café con leche while watching the cute, blond, Eastern European waitress and less-cute Italian bartender do their chores. The table area was full of mostly old guys reading their papers and drinking coffee. More than once one of them (seemingly) secretly came to the bar to order a coffee with a little liqueur poured in. Good for them - at 10am.
Back at the Pension Plaza de Goya, a little nervous for the late hour (10:30am) - I'm always nervous in the late mornings when I'm still in the pensiones/hotels because you never know when/if the cleaning staff will barge in to clean your room and catch you naked. Thankfully, this never happened during my Barcelona stay. In fact, it's never happened to me in my life. So why does it make me nervous? I know. It's irrational.Showered, things put away and in their place (I also like to have everything packed away so the cleaning staff doesn't have to work around it), dressed and off I go. I feel obligated to return to the Alimentaria Food and Beverage Expo - since I went to so much trouble to go, but my days are few and "BarcelonaMan" is more about BARCELONA than the expos it hosts. So fine. Off to the bat cave!! Errr.... to the metro station! (insert cheesy action music here)

Exiting the metro at Plaza Espanya, I find myself facing the forever-being-renovated old bullring, the "Arenas de Barcelona". I don't think they'll be using it for bullfights, however, as they're putting a dome on top and bullfighting is now no longer popular in Barcelona City.
In the distance you see the hilltop Palau Nacional, home to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya (MNAC). In the foreground you have the twin towers which "frames" the endless museum-bound boulevard nicely. The MNAC is someplace I'd never visited so this was my chance. Luckily, there were escalators to the top but took some of the stairs, making me feel like Rocky Balboa - until my knees hurt and I got back on the escalators.





Through the twin towers of "Avila" I cross the street, waiting for the hop-on-hop-off Barcelona Bus Turistic which comes in about 10 minutes. I flash my card, they wave me through, and the mostly empty tour bus goes uphill and passes the squiggly Torre de Calatrava communications tower, the Olympic Stadium and Olympic Museum, and get off at the Plaza de Dante. There, I get the Teleférico de Montjuic, riding with a group of Asian teenagers who didn't stop oooh-ing and ahhhh-ing over the views of Barcelona down below, snapping off photos like crazy.


Passing through the Plaza Poeta Boscá of the Barceloneta, I soon thereafter found a tiny little bar-restaurant called the "Ke? Bar". It was more bar than restaurant but they did have a tiny dining room in the back. The front, bar section is where I entered and immediately felt comfortable. This is a hippy-ish bar, old, worn-out sofas and cushion-covered beer kegs. The barmaid, Sofia, is probably nearly 50 and greeted all her regulars with a kiss as they walked through the door. I think she was from Argentina. She urged me to take the sofa to eat the "Manu" sandwich I ordered with a beer (actually, 3 beers in total).

The "Manu" consisted of york ham, cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise and tomato. It came with avocado too but ordered mine without. It was quite good and a bargain at less than 10 Euros total (including the 3 beers - or was it 4?). Better yet was they had free Wi-Fi internet so I was checking email and doing what I could - which was the same as 3 or 4 others sitting around the joint. One regular, "Pierre" (yes, he was French, and yes, that was his real name), continuously asked the barmaid to translate things for him and to "secretary" his calls in Spanish. At first I thought he worked there - or was the owner - because he kept going behind the counter to get things, pens, paper, drinks. But at the end, Pierre paid his bill and left so apparently he was just a well-known client, a local expat.
I like the Barceloneta. It's very small-town-ish, very mixed ethnically, and well-known for its nightlife - AS IS my next stop, the EL BORN district. El Born is a very nice neighborhood and has a lot of charm. Similar to the Gothic Quarter for its narrow, winding streets and stone buildings, El Born is upscale compared to the Barceloneta. It has more stylish, modern, fusion-type places but also a few good, no-nonsense local places - which is what I always seek. You know what? I'm tired of touring. Let's relax and have a few beers and things to eat. So that's just what I did. At only one place in Barcelona did they give a free tapa with my beer order. Barcelona, as it becomes quickly evident, is not known for their tapas culture, not free nor otherwise. Barcelona, however, does have several popular Basque pinxtos places which are popular with the locals.
After a couple of real bar-bars, I found myself at the entrance to the Picasso Museum at 6:30pm. I'd been to the Picasso Museum in El Borne before but this time it was just after dark, the illuminated old stone patio and pillars are beautiful. The museum is REALLY something! I don't remember it being so interesting. Maybe it was because I'd already consumed 4-6 beers in the previous 3 hours - or maybe not - but I really enjoyed it! But if you know Picasso's work, its incongruence takes on a whole new dimension after bar-hopping.




Oh, my. I'm not a fan of English OR Irish bars in Spain, I avoid them like the plague, in fact, but my beer was already sitting in front of me so fine. I asked the Wi-Fi password and started checking email. Soon after, he started telling the couple that he'd attended TWO revival tour shows of the British Punk Band "The Sex Pistols". I, believe it or not, was a Punk (light) in my day, "The Sex Pistols" being my favorites, so I joined in the conversation - something I rarely do at bars. Odd thing is, I REALLY enjoyed myself, for which I later felt ashamed, and swore never to go into another Irish/English bar again until I was in Ireland or England. Done. Pact made. Still, I gave the bartender a good tip simply for being a Sex Pistols fan.
Finally I reach the Ramblas once again, take a few last photos and get on back to the Pension Plaza de Goya where I went to sleep early. Tomorrow, I return to Madrid but expect a blog entry for that day as well.