Barcelona Idler

I know that Tom Hogkinson, Idler author, argues that going to the gym is the modern equivalent of the torture chamber.

Clearly he’s never been to the kind of idler-friendly gyms I go to! After a hard night’s idling, which lets face it usually involves excessive quantities of some sort of narcotic, mornings can often be a little, well, groggy…so I head for the gym. I use Holmes Place, just off Plaza Urquinaona - a little upmarket, but worth it for the luxurious facilities and good-looking staff

Work up a little sweat to clear out the toxins, cool down with some stretching, pad down to the pool for a few gentle laps, followed by a jacuzzi and then relax in the steam room…aah…refreshing shower, then a relaxed, healthy, and always tasty lunch in their restaurant. Emerge onto the streets of Barcelona feeling like a new man!

Now, I’m sure this is a contentious subject, as everyone has their own opinion on this one. Well, here’s mine, based on extensive paella eating around Barcelona…my vote goes to Can Majó, right on the Barceloneta sea front. In fact, all the seafood I’ve tried there is fantastic, right down to the cod buñuelos, which I normally loathe.

They have an outdoor terrace, perfect for a leisurely lunch as you watch life go by on the esplanade. This does leave you open to blackmail by those damned accordion-carrying buskers, but ignore them and they will eventually go away. Honest, just please don’t give them money, or they’ll be back!

Best to reserve a table (93 221 54 55) as it gets full pretty fast on the weekends.

Cycled down to the beach today, I love being by the sea even if it’s too cold to contemplate getting wet. You get a different kind of person on the beach in winter than you do in summer - many more loners, oddballs, and idlers Or maybe they just stand out more easily, as there’s no-one else to blend in with.

I watched a lone surfer attempting to make the most of the waves, which were robust by BCN standards but pretty poor by most others. There was also an impressively long, almost invisible string, which almost lopped my head off - looking up, this was attached to a kite a long, long way away, and being flown by someone who was clearly in his own class of idler!

Cycling back along the seafront, past all the restaurants, I noticed that yet more of the sand had been eaten away - obviously a big storm recently that I somehow missed. Some of the walkway is now a couple of metres above the level of the sand, making cycling a little more perilous than usual. Must have been an interesting night for the resident drunks on that stretch of the seafront - I’ve been in Barcelona for over 3 years now, and am constantly amazed that whenever I pass that spot, the same couple are still there. The woman of the “house” sweeps the sand from their little patch, makes string braceletes, and chats amiable enough with the old boys from the card-playing club…though I’ve seen her on full form in the Plaza Reial, not a pretty site…

On my way back, I passed through Plaza George Orwell, aka Plaza Tripi - so nick-named as many of Barcelona’s more psychadaelic (how do you spell that anyway?!?) residents used to hang out there. I say used to, as since the introduction of 10,000 additional local police, the Barrio Gotico has changed quite dramatically. In fact, as I munched a felafel from Dionysos, I was the only person stationary in the whole square! Gone were the druggies, gone were the dealers, gone were the attendant colorful characters…in fact, it was pretty dull! Maybe a return visit on a warmer Friday night might be a different story, I hope so - better slightly risque than dull, no?!?

Of course, I’ve been meaning to do this for years, but somehow never got round to it…