Barcelona

BEDFORD ROAD: Barcelona was suprising. With a reputation the envy of just about any other city in Europe I expected its charm to leap out of every alleyway, echoing off every lavish gaudy (Gaudi) creation. However it didn't happen like that.

After a last drive through the Spanish countryside, the highlight being the jagged mouth of Montserrat looming on the horizon before stretching out through the passenger window for ten minutes (it was easy to see why it's inspired so many painters, wearrived at Barcelona central station. Abandoning our car we had the easiest trip to a hostel I think I've ever enjoyed.

For the next two days we soaked up as many of Barcelona's tourist attractions as we could. We walked by the beach. But it was packed with Eurotrash. We visited the Picasso Museum which was stacked with the most disappointing collection I could imagine. After taking a tour through his juvenalia you are dumped into his analytic cubist phase, however, the gallery doesn't own any of his great, or even very good, paintings. We visited Gaudi's famous La Sagrida Familia, but this great church has been under construction since the twenties I think (eat your heart out Multiplex) and its scheduled completion date is something like 2050. From the outside its faux gothic spires are jaw droppingly spectacular. Hand over ten Euros to get inside and all you can see is fucking scaffolding.

That was the problem with Barcelona. It's renowned tourist attractions, the Nou Camp aside, were rubbish. However once we found the vibe of the city it was amazing. Wandering the laneways in the older parts of town, drinking endless bottles of Rioja on one of the hills overlooking the nightlights, hanging out eating chicken and chips by the beach, it was when we discovered these things that we felt ourselves slide into the rhythm of the town.

The highlight was undoubtedly the rioja night overlooking the Olympic fountain which, to our good fortune, only operates from Thursday to Sunday night. We arrived late Sunday night and had to be at the airport on Thursday night. By all accounts the sound and light spectacular is exactly that. The shopping, which we only really discovered on the last afternoon, was excellent. The other major standout was the spectacular thunder storms that woke us up on two mornings, and drenched us as we tried to make our way home from Las Ramblas one night. Words couldn't do that torrent justice. Within five metres of leaving the pub every fibre of my clothing was soaked. Great rivers ran in the gutters threatening to suck the thongs from my feet.

As an aside Jaq and I took a half hour train down the coast to a lovely little beach town called Sitges. It also seemed to be Spain's premiere gay holiday destination. Think Castro. By the beach.