Enjoying Art, Architecture and Cuisine in Northern Spain by Suzanne Wright I spent glorious six days in Northern Spain, including Barcelona, San Subsiding and Balboa. The weather was mild, the crowds were thin and the architecture and cuisine were both as breathtaking as I hoped. In Barcelona, the capital of Catalonia, the city’s pulse lies on La Rambla, the city’s most famous street. It boasts strolling lovers, flower stalls, old men apprising young women in tight pants, mothers pushing strollers and protestors decrying the latest European Union initiatives. You can happily people watch here for hours. I also walked—and salivated—through La Bouqueria, the busy marketplace where vendors of fish, produce, poultry, cheese and baked goods offer an opulent spread of the freshest of edibles in individual stalls. On my first night, I had a great meal at Agua at 10 p.m., on the early side of dinnertime for Spaniards. You enter the restaurant through a deep blue tiled cube that leads you downstairs to a casual dining area overlooking Barceloneta, a Mediterranean fishing village. My friend Carlos ordered a bottle of cava, sparkling wine and we shared fried artichokes; ravioli with salt cod; asparagus with queso (cheese); and hake, a delicate fish, with balsamic vinegar. Afterwards we walked along the beach. The next morning I visited Monjuric, the highest point in the city, taking a cable car to reach the mountaintop. I toured the small, whimsical Jean Miro Museum, enjoying a lunch of rabbit braised with cinnamon and coffee sauce and red wine onsite. I walked from there to the Olympic Park, which is mostly cement. Next, I walked to Poble Espanol (Spanish Village), which was built in the early 1920s. It is a wonderful haven of red brick art studios, gift shops, bars and restaurants; I picked up three unique acrylic paintings for under $120. I tucked into bustling tapas bar, pointing at what I wanted from an array of half-size plates. Next day I focused on Antonio Gaudi’s revolutionary architecture. First, I visited Parc Guell in the northern outskirts of the city, where its gigantic mosaic lizard guards the entrance. Both kids and adults revel in the fantastic landscape that combines benches made from shattered, colored tiles and trees. Next, I marveled at the breathtaking façade of La Pedrera also known as Casa Mila, a graceful serpentine building that hovers over the chic Passeig de Gracia Boulevard. The building features whimsical chimneys and vents on the roof that peer down almost at the passerby. Billboards for Cortes Ingles, the big department store, proclaimed Gwyneth Paltrow as the spring spokesmodel. I also perused the façade of Casa Batllo with its scale-like roof tiles that suggest a dragon’s back, multihued mosaics and stained glass windows. It’s an almost foreboding building decorated with balconies that look like metal Carnival facemasks. Finally, I visited Sagrada Familia, the most popular tourist site and the unofficial symbol of the city. American architect Louis Sullivan has called it the “greatest work of all creative architecture in the last 25 years.” You simply can’t describe the edifice, nor can you contain it in the lens of your camera; you just have to experience it. This unfinished cathedral feels like the beating heart of the city, with its homages to both Gothic and Modernist periods. Carlos and I began our evening nibbling on salty anchovy-wrapped olives and earthy jamon (ham) at an intimate cava bar in Barri Gothic, where a sparkling glass of Spanish bubbly costs just two Euros. Next, we hit a tapas bar and enjoyed a perfect tortilla Espanola, a classic omelet with onions and potatoes. I ate gambas al aillo (shrimp with garlic) his way: shells and all; they were delicious. But I was addicted to tiny squid, flash-fried and served with only a squeeze of lemon; I ate two plates. Then we took a stroll through the night city, stopping to buy a bouquet of flowers from an all-night nursery. It was 2:30 a.m. I took a quick one-hour flight to San Sebastian the following day. I had long heard the fabled tales spun by foodies about the nouvelle cuisine of the area. San Sebastian is a lovely seacoast town of 40,000 and the capital of the much-heralded modern Basque cooking. It provided a quiet counterpoint to the energy of Barcelona, whose population, like Atlanta’s, tops four million. I added an easy day trip to Bilbao to check out the Guggenheim’s latest outpost, the undulating titanium building designed by Los Angeles-based architect Frank Gehry. The building is perhaps the most beautiful I have ever seen: it appears to move, to have it’s own life as you behold it, hypnotized by the changing sunlight play across the metal surface. I ate a wonderful four-course tasting meal at the museum’s bistro, which is operated by a world renowned restaurateur whose name I couldn’t pronounce. I take a bus back to San Sebastian, retire to my balcony overlooking the steel gray sea and la concha (beach), to sip a glass of wine and watch the parade of humanity on the wide paved walkway below. I feel Spain has entered my veins. The next day’s main activity is lunch at the famed Akelarre, a sublime restaurant perched on a green mountain that is a 20-minute cab ride from town. From my table I can see red roofs dotting the countryside, which is teeming with sheep. I am the only American in the room. During the course of my three-hour, six-course meal, I watch a storm roll in and roll out, all the while drinking a delicate local white wine called txakoli. Like the meal at the Guggenheim, this is haute cuisine: exquisite preparations of unexpected combinations and ingredients. This is the stuff of gastronomic heaven, including an utterly amazing mustard ice cream served with herbs and tangerines for dessert. After my meal, I take a long walk along the port, watching the fishing boats unload. In the Basque country, Spanish isn’t the mother tongue, Basque is. It looks Greek to me: with lots of Xs and Ks on street signs. Still, the universal language prevails: a smile, a laugh. A young man says to me, practicing his English, “Having green eyes is like having an emerald, a jewel, with you at all times, yes?” He is referring to a young blonde child who has walked by. I nod and agree. We point and laugh at our own brown eyes. The next day I fly back to Barcelona. Carlos, an air traffic controller, greets me at the airport and then we are off to Montserrat, home of a rare Black Madonna and Child. Although I am not Catholic, I am intrigued to see this centuries-old monastery in the rocks; Carlos has also never seen the place. An hour later, after winding through some spectacular scenery, we arrive. We can’t resist the local farmers who have set up tables with their wares: honey, cheese, jamon, dates. We buy small portions and have an impromptu picnic to fortify us. Good thing: there is a long line snaking out of the church, awaiting a look at the Madonna. She is encased in a glass box and is about a foot high with her child perched on her lap. Their faces are ebony and they are both enrobed in gold—stunning. Many people touch the glass and softly asked for blessings. Me, I felt blessed to just to have been there.
				Above: The breathtaking architecture along with the spirited culture and delicious cuisine will make you never want to leave Spain.