Barcelona, Segunda Dìa: Park Güell is Swell
Caution: this post contains pictures of cute animals, palm trees, sunshine, and amounts of whimsy that have been shown to induce seizures in adults. You may be inspired to listen to flamenco music for days, or consume alarming quantities of tropical drinks. You have been warned.
Rue de Gaudí is a lovely, shaded pedestrian boulevard that begins at the northern corner of the Sagrada Família and spans several blocks of cafés, restaurants, and souvenir shops. It culminates in the magnificent Hospital de la Santa Creu i de Sant Pau, for whose services I would deliberately break my arm. It has sixteen pavilions and numerous exquisite gardens - or so I am told, as I was not able to see for myself. Inexplicably, both the magic hospital and the magic fountains were conspiring against me this trip: the gates were closed and entry was barred. Perhaps someone especially contagious was running about the grounds, threatening to infect tourists. I would have braved the plague.
Our infirmary dreams thus thwarted, we had no choice but to find solace in another garden - Park Güell, site of Gaudí's mad-hat adventures in landscaping.
We stopped by a smaller park on the way up, home to a lovely old abbey and many lovely nuns, and also a basketball court, where we paused to munch on Spanish pastries. While in some the sight of sun-soaked cobblestone churches inspires religious fervor or, at the very least, some beatific smiling, in the Czar it inspired a flurry of Hamlet quips. I ignored him and filled up our waterbottles at the old-fashioned spigot. Get me to a nunnery, indeed.
Two ensaimadas and endless steps later - Park Güell, like so many places with great views, is located at the top of a very big hill - we arrived through the backdoor, and were instantly transported to a tropical paradise. There were palm trees, and brightly colored umbrellas, and a café that probably served daquiris and piña coladas. "Why, there should be parrots!" I said, and lo, who should utter a scratchy hello but
It was then that it fully hit me that I was in Spain.
Our first stop was the Banc de Trencadis, one of the longest and prettiest benches in the world, is a tiled beauty curving around the perimeter of the Sala Hipóstila, a stone forest of massive Doric columns. It was originally intended as a market; had Gaudí's plan been implemented, I'm pretty sure it would top La Boqueria. What beats buying sugar plums in a stone temple, in the middle of a fantastical park?
The bench proved to be quite comfortable, and more than amenable to a photoshoot in front of the city skyline, with the Hansel and Gretel gatehouses peeking out from below us.
Having feasted our eyes on the beautiful tiles and gingerbread houses, we then walked around for a bit, and I discovered my future home.
Further on, from the top of a pile of stones and stone crosses, I shamelessly took a dozen pictures of the city. We spent a good fifteen minutes sitting up there, enjoying the wind (it was so hot! Gaudí forgot to build an oasis) and resting our poor, abused bipeds.
We made our way back down and ended where we should have started, at the giant mosaic lizard that guards the front entrance. Mr Lizard was aghast that I had the aplomb to make a kissy face at him.
Then, as I turned around to wave my good bye to the park, I saw him. The most majestic pigeon I have ever laid eyes upon - the Lion King.
He made my day.
Rue de Gaudí is a lovely, shaded pedestrian boulevard that begins at the northern corner of the Sagrada Família and spans several blocks of cafés, restaurants, and souvenir shops. It culminates in the magnificent Hospital de la Santa Creu i de Sant Pau, for whose services I would deliberately break my arm. It has sixteen pavilions and numerous exquisite gardens - or so I am told, as I was not able to see for myself. Inexplicably, both the magic hospital and the magic fountains were conspiring against me this trip: the gates were closed and entry was barred. Perhaps someone especially contagious was running about the grounds, threatening to infect tourists. I would have braved the plague.
 |
| Yes, this is seriously a hospital. |
 |
| That is not Ophelia. |
Two ensaimadas and endless steps later - Park Güell, like so many places with great views, is located at the top of a very big hill - we arrived through the backdoor, and were instantly transported to a tropical paradise. There were palm trees, and brightly colored umbrellas, and a café that probably served daquiris and piña coladas. "Why, there should be parrots!" I said, and lo, who should utter a scratchy hello but
It was then that it fully hit me that I was in Spain.
Our first stop was the Banc de Trencadis, one of the longest and prettiest benches in the world, is a tiled beauty curving around the perimeter of the Sala Hipóstila, a stone forest of massive Doric columns. It was originally intended as a market; had Gaudí's plan been implemented, I'm pretty sure it would top La Boqueria. What beats buying sugar plums in a stone temple, in the middle of a fantastical park?
The bench proved to be quite comfortable, and more than amenable to a photoshoot in front of the city skyline, with the Hansel and Gretel gatehouses peeking out from below us.
 |
| It would appear I have been inspired to intolerable heights of whimsy. |
Having feasted our eyes on the beautiful tiles and gingerbread houses, we then walked around for a bit, and I discovered my future home.
Further on, from the top of a pile of stones and stone crosses, I shamelessly took a dozen pictures of the city. We spent a good fifteen minutes sitting up there, enjoying the wind (it was so hot! Gaudí forgot to build an oasis) and resting our poor, abused bipeds.
 |
| Also spotted: a rebellious Catalan roof. |
Then, as I turned around to wave my good bye to the park, I saw him. The most majestic pigeon I have ever laid eyes upon - the Lion King.
He made my day.
