Anything Goes But Clothes

We had come to expect the unexpected over our first two days in Barcelona's vibrant streets. Between Gaudi's free-form modernista influence on the architecture, and the liberal, laid-back attitude that gave it a hippie beach town vibe, we soon had the notion that anything could happen. This cultural intuition was reinforced over and over again as we walked down the famous La Rambla street and saw the muriad of creative ways people had devised to make a living here. Every few feet was a street performer dressed in his best grotesque costume from grim reapers to severed heads hoping sensationalism would draw attention, a desire for a picture, and a few coins in his tip hat. Others sat in chairs, on steps, and in the metro playing music ranging from Spanish guitar to reggae--cases open awaiting some euros of appreciation. As in Italy and France, African men with portable bundles of fake designer purses, sunglasses, and watches moved with the crowds and kept a wary eye out for the police as they peddled their wares. There were even random guys doing acrobatics near the outdoor restaurants while people munched on tapas for what we assumed was money, although they never stopped flipping enough for us to tell.

We decided to spend our third day in Barcelona relaxing on the nearby beach, and we were not surprised when we found men building sand sculptures near the boardwalks, a few coins already tossed in the sand-carved bowls in front of their creations. Embarassingly, we were surprised, however, by the amount of nudity on the beach. I have heard of topless beaches in Europe, but growing up in the conservative American South never quite prepares you for hundreds of topless women--young and old, but mostly old (the younger women seemed to coverup more)--laying out and walking around without their bathing suit tops on. Tops for them are like bathing suit cover-ups for Americans--only to be worn on the walk to and from the beach. Laying on the beach, listening to our iPods, and soaking up the sun, we would almost forget we were in Spain until we opened our eyes and saw naked breasts everywhere on the extremely crowded beach. It did start to grow on us the longer we stayed on the beach. Afterall, we spent a lot of time staring at naked statues in Italy, so this was just the next step up. However, Caitlin and I soon both decided that breasts have more allure in their tops--less is more people!

After about three and a half hours on the beach, our skin was beginning to fry, so we packed our bags and headed back to the hostel to change (after stopping for yet another gelato of course). We then headed along the beach to the other side of the bay where we had seen an advertisement the day before for an hour and a half sail boat tour. Along the way, just as we thought we had reconciled our minds to the sight of naked breasts, we came across a fully naked man sitting on the edge of the boardwalk. A few steps later another man was laying spread eagle on his towel in the sand in his birthday suit. Even that wasn't really shocking at this point, and then while walking through a crowded pedestrian street lined with cafes along the harbor, a man exited a restaurant buck naked except for his glasses and his backpack and squeezed by as if on a normal stroll through the street. Here we did gasp and eye bulge. We never really figured that one out. He obviously wasn't trying to get a tan--a nudist maybe? Even so, is that allowed on the street? We just had to shrug; it's Barcelona.

The shock wore off as we walked by more and more clothed people and approached the dock where we soon became the awkward owners of two tickets on a romantic sunset jazz tour of the bay via sail boat. Ok, so romantic wasn't in the title, but we feared it would be us and all couples. We had already seen enough PDA in Spain to last a lifetime, so we were relieved to see a good mixture of families, single people, and couples board our boat. We managed to secure a spot on the coveted, comfortable nylon netting at the front of the sail boat. Lounging in the cool sea breeze to the sounds of lapping water and a saxophone and catching the last few rays of evening sunlight, we forgot to care how single we were or how random this outing was.

Random and spontaneous are words to live by in Barcelona, and who better to exemplify this than Modernisme's prolific and eccentric architect, Antoni Gaudi (1852-1926). We decided to spend our last day in Barcelona visiting one of his masterpieces, Park Gruell. This city park sits atop a hill overlooking the city and is filled with winding paths, mosaic tiles, and buildings/structures like something out of a Dr. Suess book. Nothing that Gaudi did was geometrical, and the curves and imaginitive patterns are spellbinding. It was a perfect end to our Barcelona trip. Sitting on the late afternoon bus to Girona to catch our evening Dublin flight, watching the rolling hills, distant mountains, and unknown towns pass by, I knew that Spain would have to make it back onto my intinerary one day--although it's probably best if I don't expect it.