I had the good fortune of visiting Barcelona on Thursday and Friday as part of a 2 day work  trip. I had planned to spend longer in this fascinating city, but unfortunately the timing didn’t quite work out this time. So I had to be content with fitting in a mere few hours of mad sight-seeing; gleaning a wee taste of what the city has to offer. I must admit I wasn’t all that prepped on places to visit, as the trip was mostly work related – my previous impressions of Catalonia’s Barcelona, was the fantastic coverage from the 1992 Olympics, and the certain idiosyncrasies of a misunderstood waiter who plied his trade in a Torquay hotel that went by the name of Fawlty Towers.

I stayed in Hotel 1898, on La Rambla, a 2 kilometre long, tree-lined pedestrian strip and one of the major tourist and commercial thoroughfares of the city. The street is edged by busy lanes of moped and black and yellow cabs, as well as your typical high street shops, hotels and bars. During the day it plays host to street performers, buskers and market stalls, some of which sell anything from live chickens, to ducks, rabbits and guinea pigs. By night, however the strip does take on a different perspective. The market stalls are shut, but the selling continues from lone Spaniards flogging cans of beer, to swarms of ladies of the night sauntering down the strip, peeling off in tourist targeted sorties, preying on inebriated folk as they leave bars late at night.  I experienced this first hand – and no I wasn’t inebriated.  After leaving O’Hara’s Irish bar at 11:30pm on Thursday night, in the 10 minute walk back to the hotel, I was propositioned at least 5 times. I kept the head down though and made it back safely, making sure my wallet was secure – as I had been briefed before the trip that pick-pockets might be a problem.

Hotel 1898 is a beautiful hotel. It used to be the headquarters of an old tobacco company in the 19th century. 1898 was the name given to the hotel commemorating the year when Cuba and the Philippines claimed independence from Spain. There is a magnificent view from the roof-top – most notably were the imposing domes of the Palau Nacional and the winding spire of the Olympic Stadium. I managed to take a picture of this fantastic view in later afternoon when the domes were in silhouette, and the sunlight was peeping through the steeple windows. Unfortunately, my time didn’t permit me to visit the Olympic Stadium or the Palau Nacional and it’s National Art Gallery of Catalonia.

Silhouette Spires of the Palau Nacional and Olympic Stadium, Barcelona

I did manage to visit a couple of other major points of interest though. On Friday morning, I visited the Museu Picasso. This art gallery contains works from Pablo Picasso’s own private collection. Picasso donated them on his death, and his collection contained pieces from major artists like Renoir, Matisse and Cezanne and of course Pablo’s own work. What makes this museum unique is that it establishes a time-line and shows how the works of other artists influenced Picasso’s own painting, which ultimately lead him to exploring new techniques and cubism. When I hear the name Picasso, I usually associated him with his cubism work, but this gallery revealed he was an exceptionally talented portrait artist. After the museum visit, I took a cab over to the Le Sagrada Familia (Catalan for the Holy Family), a magnificent cathedral designed by Antoni Gaudi. It is still under construction, and the visit inside reveals a hustle and bustle of carpenters, masons, and plasterers building something truly spectacular, and no doubt consistent with Gaudi’s original vision. What is incredible is that construction started in 1882 and is not due to complete until 2026 – a true wonder of architecture and human endeavour, especially considering since Gaudi died in 1926. The entrance and rear facades of the cathedral are a sight to behold, phenomenal intricate sculptures, mounted by imposing spires.

Of course, I did eat out at some great places on the 2 nights I visited. On Thursday night, I paid a visit to El Gran Cafe, a 10 minute walk from La Rambla. This cafe was beautiful inside and reminded me very much of Buenos Aires – but then not so surprising since Argentina was a colony of Spain. The food was also pretty good. On Friday night, I visited La 7 Portes (The Seven Doors). This is near the harbour of Barcelona and well worth a visit. The seafood was fresh and the Paellas were scrumptious. http://www.7portes.com/ .The bill was also a nice surprise. A 3 course dinner, coffees and a couple of bottles of Ribero del Deuro was significantly less than what you’d expect to pay in London.

Barcelona is fascinating, and I would have loved more time to stroll the narrow streets, and take in more of the tapas bars and cafes. I did duck into one particular bar, fascinated by its collection of hanging cured hams. The picture is below. I thought it summed up the character of the city quite well.

A local bar festooned with hanging ham, Barcelona

So, yes I do plan to return to Barcelona and take in more of it’s architecture and culture. One thing that was clearly noticeable was the unique identity of it’s Catalonian inhabitants. Catalan, a Spanish dialect, is the official language here and so you will find different spellings for Spanish words, especially if you have a Castilian Spanish phrase-book. But, it’s a significant language (more Catalan speakers exist than Finnish for example), and on the return flight back to London, British Airways issued an apology over the intercom, because the Catalan version of the safety audio was broken. I look forward to my return to Barcelona.

Mags and I just got back from a 6 day, “escape the London winter blues”, break to Tenerife. We crawled countless travel web-sites, trying to optimise weather and budget. As it turned out temperature won-over budget – and the Canary Islands bubbled to the top pretty quickly. As we hadn’t been to any of them previously, we literally just picked Tenerife because we’d heard of it.

Must admit, we had reservations about going. The Canary Islands have a bit of a reputation for attracting loutish Brits, right the year round, given the fantastic climate that abounds in these isles. Of course Tenerife, revealed no surprises there. On arrival in the North West of the Island, at our hotel in Playa de la Arena (Arena Beach), we were greeted with many a northern English accent. (Liverpudlian especially). In fact, you could have been forgiven for thinking you were on the Costa Del Sol, another Spanish locale of the British perusasion, the only apparent difference being the stark volcanic sands of Arena beach, reminding you that you were in fact on an island and at the feet of a massive volcano – El Teide – at that.

We could quite happily have lapped up the sunshine, reading a good book poolside at our hotel, but we took a couple of side-trips (having hired a car at the airport – an absolute must) to see what else the island had to offer. On Day 2 we headed further north, which, from where we were, meant only one thing – ascending the steep meandering passes of Guia de Isora, for the coast road ended at the gigantuan cliffs of Los Gigantes (the second highest cliffs in the world apparently – the highest being?).

The steep ascent alone, was fantastic, revealing stark, jagged lush green peaks and sheer cliffs. A short drive from Santiage del Teide, which would seem to be the turning point from up to down, we came across the route to the small pueblo of Masca. A mirador (look-out) above the winding road into the Masca valley was awesome. You would not realise you were on a beach moments ago. In fact it very much reminded me of the road to Coroico in Bolivia. Masca itself a collection of vermillion terracotta roofed dwellings at the foot of a miniature green outcrop, nestled in a valley, imprisoned by mountainous spurs – a scene every bit the  replica of Huanya Picchu, in the Peruvian Andes – albeit on a smaller, but no less grander scale.

We ascended again, and took the road to Buenavista on the north coast, before heading westward to the north west corner of the island – El Teno. The view from the peninsula sweeps from swathes of cactus and rock, to the looming Los Gigantes cliffs and to the bustling beach resorts of Puerto Santiago. This was very impressive, and well worth the white-knuckle hair-pin bends and passes. This little jaunt concluded with some tapas in Garachico, a quaint sea side village on Tenerife’s north coast, notorious for its misfortune, in particular having suffered a lava wipe-out at the hands of El Tiede in the 1700s. Thankfully our tummys negotiated the seafood tapas and the winding return journey in Tenerife’s twilight.

A couple of days later, and we ascended Tenerife once more – (well El Teide really. Tenerife actually means White Mountain). This time our mission was to climb the peak. (For the record Tenerife is dormant for the moment, having last erupted in the early 1900s). Tenerife sprung yet more surprises, with sweeping forests of pine before unveiling an unreal landscape of old lava beds and scarred terrain. A short drive into El Teide valley, and we came across the Roques de Garcia – which are a small collection of rocky outcrops, plonked in the middle of nowhere. One in particular looked certain to topple with the next gust of wind.

Thankfully we beat the tourist buses and made it to the Telerifica (cable car) just before midday – ascending to well over 3,400 metres altitude in a mere 8 minutes. El Teide stands as Spain’s highest peak – which is a bit rich – given the Canary’s lie off the Morrocan coast, and should really be claimed by the African continent – but nonetheless – the legacy of the Spanish Conquistadors means the Canaries and El Teide in that are a Spanish outpost. (Much to the chagrin of the indigenous Guanche I’m sure – if they’re still around – we didn’t stop to ask.)

Given the altitude, there was a discernable drop in temperature and oxygen, but the view was spectacular, and as there was little wind, the temperature was quite comfortable. The peak of the mountain was pocked with the odd scattering of snow, but looking downwards to the undulating jagged valleys of lava and rock fragments and then beyond to the cloud line was inspiring. We spent about an hour, the time it took to do the undulating return trip to the western side of the mountain. Alas, we could not do the short scramble to the peak itself, because you needed a special pass allocated in advance (conveniently granted by some tourist office in Santa Cruz, the Tenerife capital, which was miles out of the way). But we were content with the panorama nonetheless.

Descending the mountain, our afteroon meant another unending winding descent through pine forest, to the cloud line and fog, fog-lift and then to the balconied streets of La Orotava on the north coast. Had a fab lunch in a local restaurant, which reminded us of the streets of Buenos Aires. La Orotava sits just above Puerto de la Cruz, the main coastal resort of Tenerife’s north coast – and well worth the side-trip.

But that was it for the day, after getting lost in the side-streets and switch-backs of La Orotava we eventually found the northern motorway, on to wards Garachico, ascending winding passes to Santiago del Teide and back to Playa del Arena in time to duck in to Highland Paddy’s Irish bar and watch the 43-13 drubbing Ireland gave England in the 6 nations rugby. All in all a fantastic day.

So, if heading to Tenerife, take time out of the costas and head to the hills – it’s well worth a look. Check out the pictures in the album and you will see what we mean.