Anne spotted this shop in the Borne that we now call the little spice market. Her grandfather in Turkey had one just like it, with the exact same bales. So for a flavor of the east without the travel, we get a fix here! On Passeig de Picasso.
Yesterday's proud article on Barcelona's designers. And they picked Benedicte's beautiful tables to REPRESENT. Handmade tiles pressed in the old times by Barcelona's historic artisans, found in the dumpsters. Rescued, bag after bag. Now Benedicte has an incredible collection that she makes into lovely tables for her clients. A piece of history, with a modern flair. www.mesabonita.es
The trashcans in Barcelona are amazing! Every day is trash day. Regular trash, organic trash, recycling, all of them. I take out my trash and leave it in a community bin. Hands free, just step of the lever. BUT, I don't live right next to them because the trucks come by every day. LOUD. Watch out!
Peddle, peddle, faster, faster, the big wheel turns the little wheel. On the handlebars, spin, tune, buff. The knife sharpener at work.
No bullfighting aloud in Barcelona! The rings retired or reinvented as shopping malls and music halls. Ferdinand would be so happy.
OK. I'll just say, this is the one celebration in Barcelona that is not for me. I like the idea of beginning a party at dusk, eating pastries and drinking champagne together in the middle of the night, and then staying awake until dawn, as my Barrio did together last year around the bonfire. And I like the stories. My friend met a great guy at a San Joan party on the beach, they talked all night until the sun came up and now they're married. But the reality of fires and bottle rockets, tended by drunken civilians, sends me to hide. I choose up the coast. Way up. Here's a moon rise and a sunrise from Callela to rival the pyrotechnics!
One of the things I really like about the Miro Foundation collection is the statues outside on the second floor. Make myself part of the art! Can I cross my legs and sit without a chair -- like the lady with the red legs? Can I jump high enough to put my face through the opening in the tall guy watching over me?
The flags say, "Independence from Spain." Soon, there will be enough so that when they flap in the wind, they will sound like drums. Yellow as a golden warrior's shield. Red as four fingers of blood, stripes drawn down the shield after battle. And a lone white star for independence.
By Maia Pay Ozguc
Barcelona Impressions.Be curious. Be present. Be Barcelona!