Flying to Barcelona: November, 2008

Our flight from Los Angeles to Barcelona went about as well as could be expected. Our son Jay gave us a ride to the airport to board an Air France flight that left at 10 PM, and we made it through security with no problems.

Once airborne, I had a glass of champagne to celebrate, but we passed on the meal offered, since it was, after all, almost midnight.

I watched “Mama Mia” on the little entertainment device mounted on the seat back in front of me. When I have this ability to watch movies of my choosing on my schedule, it always makes the flights pass much more quickly.



I enjoyed the movie.  When it ended, I drifted in and out of sleep, perhaps snoozing about one or two hours, but after about five hours, I fired up another movie, “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.” I had seen it before, but somehow remembered very few details, which made it surprisingly enjoyable.

Upon landing in Paris, we passed through security and found our gate for the connecting flight to Barcelona with over an hour to spare. It felt good to stretch our legs, and soon we were on the short flight to Barcelona.

By the time we landed and caught a bus (for 4.15 Euros each) to Catalunya in the heart of the city, the time change and travel time made it 10:30 PM, but the sidewalks of Barcelona were jumping.

Several avenues radiate from Placa de Catalunya like spokes, so it took a few minutes to find the right one, but we soon were walking down Pelayo to our hotel, the Atlantis. This three star property lived up to the billing as well-located, and the room proved to be about what a seasoned traveler would expect for about $190 per night in Barcelona.

The lobby was small and unimpressive, and the room was large enough to hold the beds comfortably but without a lot of space to spare like Americans on a first holiday might expect. The base of the wall had been scuffed from many suitcase openings, but the room was overall in good repair. The desk clerk was polite and spoke English, but asking where we could find hot chocolate met with a blank stare.

Despite being close to midnight, it felt like afternoon on our circadian rhythm clocks, and this was Barcelona, where midnight is early, so we joined the masses strolling La Rambla and many of the little alleyways. It's an exciting place to be.

As we walked, we looked for a chocolateria, or something like it. We had heard rumors of hot chocolate as thick as pudding in Spain, and upon mentioning it to Amy in Paris, that had become our goal.

We eventually passed La Poma, a sort of Barcelona version of TGI Friday, and inside the large window storefront some people ate what looked like delicious pizza, so we went in.

Sitting on our table was a cardboard ad for hot chocolate and churros, so we had accidentally found what we were looking for. We went back and forth about whether to order a pizza, finally deciding that it was midnight and perhaps we should hold back until breakfast for a full meal. Amy ordered the hot chocolate and churros, and I ordered an Estrella Damm cerveza. Julie surprisingly ordered a strawberry milkshake, something she would normally abhor on her low carb, low fat diet, but we were in Barcelona, on the far side of the world. 

My beer was tasty, but I must admit the two spoonfuls of Amy's chocolate that I purloined were better. It had a consistency somewhere between hot chocolate and pudding, and it tasted very much like melted milk chocolate with a touch of cinnamon (from dipping the churros). The churros themselves weren't crispy or very tasty, but I would still recommend this treat. Over the course of our time in Barcelona, we found many places where they served this rich dish, but we never ordered it again, so I guess once was enough on this trip.

We all slept well. With an early morning wake up call, we would have time to explore Barcelona

The hot buffet breakfast included with the room was pretty good. I went into the breakfast room prepared to speak a little Spanish which I had learned in high school. I had been on Air France, where I had used my limited French skills including “merci” and “bon soir” to good effect, and I had been studying Italian with a Berlitz audio program in the weeks before the trip, so I felt like I should be ready for about anything. I went down to the breakfast room before the girls, and I eavesdropped on some of the other guests

They were all speaking German. Apparently, most of the other hotel guests were visiting from Austria, which I learned when I started a conversation by asking, “Sprechen ze Deutsch?” That is about the limit of my German, and in fact that wasn't even the right question to be asking, as it was pretty obvious that they did.

They spoke about the same amount of English, but I managed to sneak Arnold Schwarzenegger's name into the conversation, saying something mindless about him being our governor in California, and we all smiled and nodded as if we were actually conversing.