A disdainful looking French couple was busy ordering the salesgirl around with the effortless contempt of deposed royalty. The wife was the color of old leather, a look only achieved through decades of extreme sun exposure and the chain smoking of unfiltered cigarettes. She barked orders out at the young sales clerk while simultaneously talking on her mobile phone and criticizing the service she was receiving to her husband, also on his mobile. Ignoring the French couple, I assessed the merchandise, and felt irresistibly drawn to a pair of silver sandals adorned with Swarovski crystals. The display shoe was in fact my size, a European 38, a clear sign from above. I slipped the supple leather onto my foot and it fit perfectly, tres Cinderella.
With childlike exuberance I approached the sales girl, who was partially hidden from view behind a tall and teetering stack of shoeboxes she was holding at Madam’s behest. I ask her ever so politely and in French, if she might ring this pair of sandals up for me and then continue catering to the needs of Madam. From behind the boxes the sales clerk smiled at me pleadingly with her eyes and then looked longingly at Madam for consent. Madam, never breaking from her mobile phone discussion, and quite obviously disgusted by the interference of “l’Americaine” nodded reluctantly, as if to say, “Go ahead you useless idiot and be quick about it.”
I paid and was delighted to have made my first purchase before breakfast, not something one does every day. After a satisfying breakfast of natural yogurt and walnuts we met our guide Marc, and driver Fernanado, who would be taking us out for an overview of Barcelona. At the Museum of Catalan Culture Marc explained to us how Catalonia is not part of Spain at all. I found this curious as I was reasonably sure I was indeed in Spain, having gone through passport control upon my arrival.
Marc went on to explain that in fact Catalonia is far superior to Spain and that the inhabitants of Barcelona and other Catalonian cities would be better off if they could officially separate from Spain. Unfortunately the Spanish Constitution does not allow for a state to separate no matter how superior they may be. Marc explained as an important point of reference how the Catalonian government recently outlawed bullfighting due to reasons of animal cruelty, and that the rest of Spain was outraged. This outrage outraged Marc.
Having been raised in Montreal and lived through the separatist movement first hand, I felt it best to simply switch the subject to various lunch spots in the Gothic section of town called El Borne. This prompted Marc to share with me how in Catalonia one calls the traditionally served tasty shared dishes found in small restaurants throughout the cities and villages, “tapas”, but that in the Basque country they are called “pinxos”, which Marc pointed out is clearly ridiculous.
Ridiculous or not, I must say I find them delicious. Marc took us to an ancient synagogue in El Borne as well as to the site of a recently discovered Roman villa, and to both the Modern Art and the Picasso Museums. That evening we enjoyed dinner at “Moments” restaurant in the new Mandarin Oriental hotel and were in bed by 2am.
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