From Valencia to Barcelona.

From Valencia to Barcelona.

From Valencia to Barcelona.
Oh, it was not easy to leave Valencia, but it’s necessary! Although, on the last day of my stay in Valencia, my mother lost one gold earring there, which I think is a good sign … We did not go looking for an earring, because we had to catch mother’s leave to fulfill her childhood dream: visit the Salvador Theater and Museum Dali. And I say thank you to my mother and the world for what we got there. The truth is, in August, there are too many people in the Dali Museum to concentrate themselves in all the shades of beauty.
In advance, buying tickets at a discount for the bus Valencia – Barcelona for 12 euros (instead of 36) on the official website of the bus company ALSA, early Saturday morning we went to the bus station of Valencia. Tickets for the bus must be taken in advance in any case: whether you want a discount or not. There are so many people that they drove a second bus to take everyone to Barcelona.
Noticed since last year’s trip to Spain: no matter how tired you are, the landscape outside the window will permanently rivet your eyes (if you sit on the left side, it will be mountains). And if on the right, then you will find out that at some moments the sea is flirting with you between the rocks.
After 5 hours we arrived in Barcelona, where the air is a bit heavier and more intense than in Valencia. Barcelona in August is boiling with a lot of different tourists and migrants. I love Barcelona so much that I often thought about staying there illegally. Barcelona is my passion. In fact, it’s just a big beautiful city, in which there are too many tourists in the center and everywhere there is a construction, if you leave from the center. But I love this city very much. For example, because already at the entrance we are met by a wonderful fountain, which is ideal against the background of those mountains.
The first difference between Barcelona and Valencia struck my mother’s eyes, she noticed with horror rapture an empty bottle under the bench (of course, Valencia also had similar pictures, but the first foreign city in many remains in memory the best, in some cases perfect). But there are so many migrants in the city that garbage cans are all packed and, with all the desire to throw the bottle, and not to carry it with you, there will be nothing left but to throw it under the bench. And even this I love in Barcelona.
It seems that in Barcelona terrible-wild prices for ordinary people from the Russian remote places. Especially it becomes wild when a week before the trip you realize that all those two months that you are looking for an apartment for a month, a week, a day have passed in vain, because the day after tomorrow you have to go further, and the place where you throw your bones is simply not found . At some points when I was looking for an apartment in Barcelona, I was even taken desperate, and I began to consider options for campsites near Figueres, since the main purpose of the trip to Barcelona was still to get to the Dali museum. But in the camping the prices did not please us, that’s why we chose the most optimal option: a room for three nights in a huge apartment, which is about to become a real hostel. But so far, in my opinion, the Vintage Hostel in Barcelona is just a base for spending the night. 5 rooms, the doors close on a kind word and no more. There is a common room in which the door was not, as well as the light, so the inhabitants of the dorm walked with flashlights, returning at night with another Barcelona hangout.
We had a room with a view of the city and rich cultural plans in a notebook. Of course, the sensation was such that a hearing aid was built into the room – nothing could save the noise. However, the noise in Spain, especially at night – it’s just a noise that does not irritate, which you love.
The first evening we rushed to the center to eat the air of Barcelona. People did not hang from above – and why did everyone come to Barcelona? All here and now, such different and beautiful tourists, travelers and eternal vagabonds of dharma and seekers of truth.
We walked along Sants Street. On the way, I several times stuck in different people – well, there is no place to go freely. People are cheerful and cheerful. I think that in high season in Barcelona there are only tourists, and local people are dragged out to quiet villages, to the country.
Soon we rested on the Plaza of Spain, next to which is the bullring in Barcelona.
Very many come here specially to get to the territory of the arena: it costs 4 euro, it seems (the very idea of bullfight is times more expensive). The sun was setting and melting so much all around that at 6 pm the air floated before my eyes and my head was spinning: I do not think that admiring the sunset from the arena would be a complete pleasure. We decided to calmly pass by.
Then we turned onto the Gran Via and went to the Universitat metro station. They say: “Apple has nowhere to fall.” So here apples are a fine rain in hot weather and evaporate even in the air, not even expecting that they will find where to park.
I did not have sunglasses with me, and the Barcelona sun ordered me to go with my eyes closed to the Palace of Catalan music, so the feeling of something magical, as if preparing a surprise, intensified inside.
The palace of Catalan music, a huge building made in the style of Spanish modernism, is located at the metro station Urquinaona. Here we took the tickets that were purchased online for the next evening of Flamenco. Back to the hostel, we got small alleys, hoping to avoid the crowd. Somewhere it even happened, but by the evening, as is known, and the local people wake up and go out to freshen up. Near the metro Sants there is a small shop where we went for a biscuit. The seller either from Turkey, or Pakistan, asked: “The purpose of your visit to Spain?” Hmm … For the first time in Spain, I hear such questions. “Man, it’s time for you to go!” – I wanted to tell him, but I just smiled.
At night, someone decided to drill another branch of the metro that would pass right under the house where we tried to sleep. The sound resembled a slightly muffled drill. I lay without the ability to move from fatigue (for the evening on foot we wound 15 km in Bars), and also without the possibility of falling asleep. At the door, someone constantly shone a flashlight and hit me right in the eye through the crack. Therefore, in my head, my own surreal pictures easily appeared.
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