Tuesday 7th December 1999

After the night spent partying, it was a real struggle for Martin and Eryl to get up, so the return visit to the breakfast bar just around the corner was really, really needed!

We then went out to Parc Güell to soak up some more Gaudí. We had originally intended to go on to the Sagrada Família and then the Cathedral, but quickly realized that we would not have time during the day to do all three, so we decided to spend more time in Parc Güell, then go straight to the Cathedral and leave the Sagrada Família until Wednesday morning.

// climb to the top of the hill //

// Gingerbread House //

// snack lunch at outdoor cafe, Michelle heard another Quebecquoise //

As it was by then getting late in the afternoon - and also that we would be leaving the next day - we decided to take our "shopping list" and go and pick up the various bits and pieces that we had distributed so freely around Barcelona over the course of the tournament weekend.

First item on the list was Clare's fins, so we made our way out of the park and walked down the hill to the Piscine Club Natacio Catalunya. Michelle asked the receptionist about the fins; he didn't know anything about them, but called to a colleague, who pointed to a shelf underneath the counter and said to the receptionist "patas de pato", which translates as "the feet of the duck"!

Next on the list was Martin's red Octopush file, so we left the pool and walked down the hill to the main part of the town, where we took the Metro to Piscine Sant Jordi. The receptionist had not seen the red file, and so called the pool handyman, who turned out to be the same one who had been on duty on Saturday. However, the man was a master of self-control, as upon catching sight of the same guy who had lost his glasses down the ventilation shaft three days earlier, he exhibited not the slightest sign of wanting to slap his forehead and go "Doh!" very loudly. The red file was duly found and returned.

Shopping list completed, we reverted to cunning plan B, the next item on which was the Cathedral. Rather than taking the Metro, we decided to do the quick and dirty and take a taxi, so a taxi was duly flagged down, and Michelle gave the instruction to take us to the Cathedral. However, no sooner had the doors closed than both boys were asleep and snoring loudly. The city was in the grip of rush hour, so the journey that at other times might have taken ten minutes took at least half an hour, but it made no difference to Martin and Eryl: they were gone. However, Martin must have slept particularly heavily, because when he was woken up at the other end he had absolutely no idea of where he was, who he was, or anything!

The Cathedral was really really impressive, and is a magnificent example of how important it is to the Catholic Church to be big and imposing.

However, we were not able to see much of it because, although we were able to go inside without any problem, there was a mass currently in progress, so many of the areas of interest, such as the altar and the choir stalls, were currently in use and therefore out of bounds.

We looked around for a bit and then went back outside. It was quite saddening to see how commercialised the event of Christmas had become, because immediately in front of the cathedral were row upon row of stalls selling every kind of icon of Christianity, from the Nativity to the Crucifixion, and ranging from the reasonably tasteful to the downright vulgar.

Slightly further away from the cathedral were other street-sellers pedalling items such as Spanish dolls dancing to a tinny version of the Lambada, khaki-suited soldiers crawling along the pavement pausing every so often to fire off a burst of rounds on their machine guns, and laser-pointer pens, for which Eryl was the perfect victim. A few minutes and a couple of thousand pesetas later, Eryl was the proud owner of a laser pointer and went around happily making his mark on the front of the cathedral, nearby buildings, and anything  else that got in the way.

It was by then about 7pm, and dinner was starting to call. Michelle's guidebook recommended a restaurant by the name of "Restaurant Egiypte", so we made our way through the back streets to where the guide book said it should be, but we found no Restaurant Egiypte, only a sign saying "we have moved". We then followed these directions and, with the help of our city map, found the new place. However, that didn't help, as it didn't open until eight o'clock, and there was no one there, so we could not even make a reservation.

We don't know what Michelle had in her bag, but it certainly caught the attention of one member of staff!

Eventually, we decided to move on and head back to the restaurant, which we now found open and able to accommodate us. We all agreed to try the unusual stuff on the menu and ended up with one starter of herring with cheese and grapes and another of black rice and cuttlefish, followed by main meals of boar and rabbit with snails, with a green salad on the side. We finished up with a shot of a Basque liqueur called "Pacharan" before heading back to the hostel for an early night (2am), ready for a 9am assault on the Sagrada Família.

However, one of the roadside bars proved too much for us to resist having "one for the road", although by this stage Eryl and Martin were considerably lacking in any finesse they might once have had, and both ended up knocking over their beers!