I don't think I have ever had more mixed feelings about a city than I do about Barcelona. On the one hand, and as anyone will tell you, Barcelona is gorgeous and has absolutely fantastic architecture. It seems like everywhere you look there is another architectural masterpiece and the city itself is very well adorned, landscaped and laid out. Additionally, the party scene is great, there is a nice beach, the food and sangria is good, and it's tough to beat their weather. All that said, Barca seems like a fantastic place. And it is. But there are a few major drawbacks that have brought me to the conclusion that it is a fun place to visit, but not a place I would ever want to live.
One, it is the single most touristy city I have ever be in. I mean packed; almost literally crawling with tourists. And the tourists are all milling about in the most architecturally stunning or overall best common place areas, which means that to enjoy all of the grand sites in the city you have to wade through an endless surge of tourist bodies. Two, it is more expensive than anywhere else in Spain. Beers, sangrias, bocadillos, paella- everything was a markup of 50-100% from all other cities I've visited; even noticeably more pricey than Madrid. In a country where cheap deals abound, Barca stands as the lone bastion of unnecessary price gouging. Three, the people are... well, Catalan. And they are more than happy to remind you upon any occasion. Don't get me wrong, they should be rightfully proud, but it goes well beyond that- their pride has translated into a "we are better than everyone else" attitude and they look down upon foreigners (including those from other parts of Spain) with a snobbishness and standoffishness that leaves one to regard them as prickly at best.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Barcelona is famous for pick-pocketers- a "profession" I abhor. Believe me though, these people are most certainly professionals at their trade. I met three people during my stay there who had items stolen, including a girl who at a club had her phone, credit card, and euros stolen out of three different pockets from her bag which was across her chest. Unfortunately these few scumbag apples do ruin the whole bunch. As I sat on La Rambla (which without the constant preying on passerbys would otherwise be a wonderful place to relax) having my obligatory sangria on my last day, I watched woman after woman pass by clutching her purse in terror of some fiend dashing by and absconding with it. Even all of the tour guides I met had been stolen from. That's no way to live. I can't stand the thought of having to be constantly on-guard and alert, otherwise my belongings might be pilfered any moment I briefly lessen my vigilance. It just plain sucks.
My general thoughts aside, when you talk to people about Spain the two most common places people tend to visit are Madrid and Barcelona. And generally people have very polarized opinions about them- either they love Barcelona and hate Madrid or vice versa. After spending 4 outstanding days and nights in Madrid, I wanted to give Barca a completely fare shake in order to formulate my own (apparently requisite) opinion with regards to the two. So with that in mind, I planned to arrive in Barca in the evening on a Thursday and stay four nights at a large hostel in a room with the most beds I could find. In that regard at least, mission accomplished.
I ended up staying in the Equity Point Centric hostel which is a 7 floor mega-hostel that houses over 400 people. Yea, this place is serious. It's also garbage, and here's why: they nickle and dime you for everything. You walk in the front door and everywhere you look they are hawking something- from sandals to locks to towels. But all of that I can understand to a degree. What was absurd to me was charging me for a SHEET! I mean, seriously? This is the first hostel I've ever come across where the linens weren't included. And moreover, they included the bottom sheet just not the top one. What the hell man!? Everyone is just open-air free balling it? Then they charged me 1 euro per night extra to use a credit card! Evidently this hostel still believes it's 1992 in Barcelona.
Then, when you went to their bar to get a drink you couldn't utilize the traditional means of acquiring a beverage- meaning I give you money, you give me something to drink. No, we have to involve a robot and a series of ridiculous tickets. Let me explain. Let's say you want a beer. First, you have to approach a machine (not always an easy task depending on your human-robot game). Then you must locate the beer you want and size you want and figure out the price. Next you insert said amount. Then you press the button for your selection, noting that the arrows are actually backwards and you need to press the label on the left and not right, and finally, provided you executed all of this successfully, it will print you a ticket for your beer. Then you merely need to take the ticket to the bar, wait in line, and finally achieve your beverage.
Now, before we proceed, if you happen to have more than said amount you're in a for a world of hurt as the machine only gives certain denominations of change. But never fear, it will simply print you an additional ticket for the remaining change that you can redeem three floors down at reception... O_O In addition to this they close the kitchen and common areas after breakfast and at midnight, so you can't use the internet or get your food out of the refrigerator or cook unless they say you can. In summary, Equity Point is a fascist enclave and I wouldn't recommend staying there unless you love Stalin.
Beyond being constantly strong-armed by the hostel, the rest of my first four days experience in Barcelona was pretty great (albeit not as great as Madrid- but as the kitty says, tough titty). Day one Bill and I came in hot off the train fully intending to storm in straight for the night one pub crawl. Only, there was a great live band in the common area playing what I only know how to describe as Parisian-style music (accordion, violin, and vocals). I was so enchanted that I completely lost track of time and forgot to go downstairs. So we ended up just taking it easy and eventually going to a club where we had free entry that was filled with Catalan high school students on what had to be a post-prom outing of some sort. Whatever it was, all the girls were wearing sashes that read something like "Miss Catalan," and despite multiple attempts I could never get to the bottom of exactly what was going on. Needless to say it was a short night.
Day two found us signed up for the free walking tour. They have two through that hostel so we started with the Gothic tour. This took us by some of the following Gothic architectural monuments: Plaza Real, Picasso's school, the "3 day" wall, Santa Maria del Mar, the town hall, and the Cathedral.
At the end of the tour our guide swung us by this great little establishment that offers 1 euro glasses of "champagne" (which I'm pretty sure was cava despite not being designated on the label) and 1-3 euro sandwiches. It was incredible. If I could recommend one place to eat/drink other than getting an obligatory sangria and paella, I would heartily recommend this place. I returned twice- it was that great and cheap. Also, if you go before 5pm you can get an entire bottle for less than 5 euro and, my favorite part, they serve the drinks in old school french style wide champagne glasses. Te amo.
That night we actually did make the pub crawl which, I'll admit, was pretty dern fun. The first bar was unremarkable but the second bar was funny because they had just painted the bathroom door for some reason so everyone ended up with black paint all over their hands and clothes. Also, our Canadian friends somehow found Oscar Meyer hotdogs for 2 euros?? Here's a shot of us doing "tiger pose." I am a giant.
Anyway, bar three was my favorite as it was a proper Irish bar and I could get myself a Guinness. Here was taken my favorite photo of Barcelona, my new friend Gracie and I... well, I'm not sure exactly what was happening here. But in any event I can't stop laughing at this picture.
The fourth place we stopped was the club which was at least as fun as the ones in Madrid with the notable exception of the thieves. Ugh. A busy day and tough night in the rear-view mirror, Gracie and I decided to spend the next day relaxing by the beach and then taking a random stroll around town. Totally by accident we stumbled upon the Arc de Triumf and then down into Parc de la Ciutadella where there was an impromptu reggae show near the fountain. Despite my camera no longer having the capability to zoom, I was still able to snap some good shots (see flickr) before repairing to a local restaurant for some great sangria and paella.
The next day was time for the second of the two free tours, the Gaudi tour. We went by four of Gaudi's masterpieces: Palau Guell, Casa Batilo, Casa Mila, and finally the (still not completed) Segrada Familia. From the outside, and even under construction, Segrada Familia was impressive.
But you might think, "Ok Mike, we've read though mountains of your nonsense gobbledygook about all the cathedrals and other monuments you've seen, and yea, that picture above looks kind of cool, but seriously, why should I spend one more second of my life reading your drivel about cathedrals?" And that's a great question. Given all the cathedrals/basilicas/churches/mosques I've seen in the past two months I was tempted to pass on checking out the inside of this thing myself. But I'm so freakin glad I paid my 13 euro and went inside.
It is singularly the most impressive Christian edifice I have ever seen by a wide margin. And that includes St. Peters. Where St. Peters is "spectacular" because of its indulgent over-the-top ornate decorations and extravagant adornment of painting, gold-work, and sculpture masterpieces, Segrada Familia is truly spectacular because of its simplistic intricacies. Yes, simplistic intricacies. Granted that phrase in itself doesn't make much sense, but when you see it, you'll say "ah, simplistic intricacy." It's designed to look simple, based on simple concepts, but executed in such an intricate way it flatly takes your breath away. While the outside left me a bit wanting (although still unfinished it was cool), the inside gave me the exceedingly rare chill-bumps and dropped-jaw-syndrome I so rarely get to experience after seeing so much of the world.
The inside itself is designed less like a Catholic basilica and more like a temple to nature. It's like something you would expect to see in a Zelda game or something. I honestly couldn't stop snapping pictures of the columns, designed to look like a forest, and the immensely intricate ceiling (mimicking the a forest canopy). Anyway, my pictures don't do it justice although flickr will give you a better idea. As much as it irks me to send more tourism to that tourist-crushed city, you need to go and check it out for yourself. You won't be disappointed.
After being thoroughly impressed by Segrada Familia I made my way up the hill to Park Guell where I was equally thoroughly unimpressed. The park itself was nice, don't get me wrong, and the viaducts are a very cool well executed idea. Not to mention the "serpentine" columned plaza overlooking the park entrance with the lizard and iconic buildings. That said, after Segrada Familia it was underwhelming. Moreover, there were somehow MORE tourists there than anywhere else in Barca. It just sucked because you couldn't enjoy it as a park (unlike the Parc de la Ciutadella which I thought was great). There were some top notch street musicians though. Here is a blah obligatory photo of the city from the park. So lame.
Now that, as Rage would say, I've done what they told me, I was free to rage and rampage throughout the city at my whim. Since it was Sunday afternoon and I had designed to give Barca an exactly equal shake as Madrid, my next step was to get the hell out of the city for at least 24 hours. With that in mind, I packed up my gear and prepared to take the 7am bus to Andorra (a little country in the Spanish Pyrenees between Spain and France). Being the prudent gentleman that I am, I decided to make sure I knew how to get to the hostel I had booked once I got there. At this point it was midnight. Upon reviewing the reservation I discovered, much to my horror, that I had booked the hostel for the wrong night- specifically for a night two months from the day I was planning to go.
Well, we knew a snafu like this was bound to happen at some point. But, to compound matters, I had also booked the wrong nights for my two-night return to Barca at the sister hostel to my Madrid hostel, Hostel One. Houston, we have a problem. On a long-shot I emailed the hostel explaining that I was a bonafide idiot and requesting with all possible humility a room for the next three nights. It should be noted that in my mind had this failed, and despite there being plenty of available hostels in Barca, I had resigned myself to sleeping on (or under) a park bench. Thankfully my boy Juan came through in the clutch and I was set. I don't have any pictures for this period so here is one of the sun setting on Passieg de Gracia from the terrace of the EPC (which another ridiculous rule you couldn't eat AT ALL or drink anything that wasn't purchased at their bar OR have real glassware). Was so happy to leave Nazi Germany, I mean EPC.
The next day the cumulative effects of my adventures in Valencia and the first four nights of Barca had set in and I felt truly awful. Mercifully I wasn't hungover, but alas an ungrateful sickness had settled in. Since Hostel One is so freaking amazing I decided to spend the day there and recuperate. It was also imperative to stay indoors that day as I had to do laundry and thereby the hostel had every stitch of clothes save for my gym shorts and one t-shirt in the wash. Not that you care to know but I didn't even have boxers or socks to spare (and by that I mean on). So, I spent the afternoon uploading pictures and watching movies such as the Big Lebowski in the MOVIE ROOM! WHAT? OH YES!
As if you needed any further endorsement from me: if you have the option, stay in Hostel One! The next day I got in touch with Gracie again who, rightfully, assumed I was in Andorra, and we decided on a repeat of our initial beach day. I like the Barca beach quite a bit but not nearly as much as the ones in Almeria or Valencia. If you want beer or "mojito mojito" there are plenty of Senegalese guys ready to quench your thirst. But, it did have the common Mediterrenean beach trend of having freaking FREEZING water. After three attempts Gracie finally convinced herself to take a full dip (with only minimal persuasion from yours truly).
Thankfully there are no pictures of my pale self emerging from frosty waters, although I must note that despite my inability to tan I'm getting about as close as I physically can. My last day in Barca (day 7 if you've been counting) I was solo as everyone I had met had moved on. While it was awesome meeting and traveling with all my new friends it was nice to have a day to just roam the city on my own- pop in the headphones and just do it. Since I had seen pretty much everything "touristy" I decided to take a stroll up from Plaza Espanya to the Palau Nacional (which is now the National Museum of Art). When you step out of the metro station it seems as if it will be a brief 5 or so minute walk up to the palace- FALSE. It's like 15-20 minutes. The street just seems to go on forever and from that distance you don't realize how massive the Palau Nacional really is.
After walking around the surrounding park area for about an hour I finally made my way to the Olympic Stadium. Wow. I love this place for two reasons. One, it was the site of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics which I vividly remember watching despite the fact that it was TWENTY years ago... ugh, so old. Two, there were no tourists. In fact, there was hardly anyone there at all. With all the waterfalls it was so peaceful and quiet, I was tempted to cancel my last night at the hostel and just squat there. I found the plaza where the stadium is absolutely fantastic except for the columns which, oddly, look like Newark, NJ smokestacks. I assume the Barca architects didn't have that frame of reference.
The stadium itself is great and you can walk in, stroll around, and relive your favorite 1992 track and field moments in your mind. Here's the photo of me so you can verify that I'm actually doing all this and not just stealing photos from wikipedia...
Perhaps my favorite venue in the whole Olympic park was the diving pool which looks out on an incredible panoramic backdrop of Barca. It was truly breathtaking (again see flickr). Anyway, I passed the rest of the day by finishing up the remaining obligatory items on my list. Sangria on La Rambla where, as I mentioned, every woman passed by clutched her purse as if her life depended on it. I swung by Vaso de Oro, a very local joint near Barceloneta, to try their house-made beers courtesy of the Three Sheets recommendation (and I must say they have great beer but even better tapas options- try the tuna picante or the sauteed peppers). Finally, our night cap was attending the free opening show of the music festival kicking off in Barca that weekend. At first I considered staying a few more days; then I checked the prices of the hostels and festival itself and decided- nope, time to go to France.
In all, Barcelona: great place to visit, but never live there unless you love tourists, surly locals, and being stolen from.
Then, when you went to their bar to get a drink you couldn't utilize the traditional means of acquiring a beverage- meaning I give you money, you give me something to drink. No, we have to involve a robot and a series of ridiculous tickets. Let me explain. Let's say you want a beer. First, you have to approach a machine (not always an easy task depending on your human-robot game). Then you must locate the beer you want and size you want and figure out the price. Next you insert said amount. Then you press the button for your selection, noting that the arrows are actually backwards and you need to press the label on the left and not right, and finally, provided you executed all of this successfully, it will print you a ticket for your beer. Then you merely need to take the ticket to the bar, wait in line, and finally achieve your beverage.
Now, before we proceed, if you happen to have more than said amount you're in a for a world of hurt as the machine only gives certain denominations of change. But never fear, it will simply print you an additional ticket for the remaining change that you can redeem three floors down at reception... O_O In addition to this they close the kitchen and common areas after breakfast and at midnight, so you can't use the internet or get your food out of the refrigerator or cook unless they say you can. In summary, Equity Point is a fascist enclave and I wouldn't recommend staying there unless you love Stalin.
Beyond being constantly strong-armed by the hostel, the rest of my first four days experience in Barcelona was pretty great (albeit not as great as Madrid- but as the kitty says, tough titty). Day one Bill and I came in hot off the train fully intending to storm in straight for the night one pub crawl. Only, there was a great live band in the common area playing what I only know how to describe as Parisian-style music (accordion, violin, and vocals). I was so enchanted that I completely lost track of time and forgot to go downstairs. So we ended up just taking it easy and eventually going to a club where we had free entry that was filled with Catalan high school students on what had to be a post-prom outing of some sort. Whatever it was, all the girls were wearing sashes that read something like "Miss Catalan," and despite multiple attempts I could never get to the bottom of exactly what was going on. Needless to say it was a short night.
Day two found us signed up for the free walking tour. They have two through that hostel so we started with the Gothic tour. This took us by some of the following Gothic architectural monuments: Plaza Real, Picasso's school, the "3 day" wall, Santa Maria del Mar, the town hall, and the Cathedral.
At the end of the tour our guide swung us by this great little establishment that offers 1 euro glasses of "champagne" (which I'm pretty sure was cava despite not being designated on the label) and 1-3 euro sandwiches. It was incredible. If I could recommend one place to eat/drink other than getting an obligatory sangria and paella, I would heartily recommend this place. I returned twice- it was that great and cheap. Also, if you go before 5pm you can get an entire bottle for less than 5 euro and, my favorite part, they serve the drinks in old school french style wide champagne glasses. Te amo.
That night we actually did make the pub crawl which, I'll admit, was pretty dern fun. The first bar was unremarkable but the second bar was funny because they had just painted the bathroom door for some reason so everyone ended up with black paint all over their hands and clothes. Also, our Canadian friends somehow found Oscar Meyer hotdogs for 2 euros?? Here's a shot of us doing "tiger pose." I am a giant.
Anyway, bar three was my favorite as it was a proper Irish bar and I could get myself a Guinness. Here was taken my favorite photo of Barcelona, my new friend Gracie and I... well, I'm not sure exactly what was happening here. But in any event I can't stop laughing at this picture.
The fourth place we stopped was the club which was at least as fun as the ones in Madrid with the notable exception of the thieves. Ugh. A busy day and tough night in the rear-view mirror, Gracie and I decided to spend the next day relaxing by the beach and then taking a random stroll around town. Totally by accident we stumbled upon the Arc de Triumf and then down into Parc de la Ciutadella where there was an impromptu reggae show near the fountain. Despite my camera no longer having the capability to zoom, I was still able to snap some good shots (see flickr) before repairing to a local restaurant for some great sangria and paella.
The next day was time for the second of the two free tours, the Gaudi tour. We went by four of Gaudi's masterpieces: Palau Guell, Casa Batilo, Casa Mila, and finally the (still not completed) Segrada Familia. From the outside, and even under construction, Segrada Familia was impressive.
But you might think, "Ok Mike, we've read though mountains of your nonsense gobbledygook about all the cathedrals and other monuments you've seen, and yea, that picture above looks kind of cool, but seriously, why should I spend one more second of my life reading your drivel about cathedrals?" And that's a great question. Given all the cathedrals/basilicas/churches/mosques I've seen in the past two months I was tempted to pass on checking out the inside of this thing myself. But I'm so freakin glad I paid my 13 euro and went inside.
It is singularly the most impressive Christian edifice I have ever seen by a wide margin. And that includes St. Peters. Where St. Peters is "spectacular" because of its indulgent over-the-top ornate decorations and extravagant adornment of painting, gold-work, and sculpture masterpieces, Segrada Familia is truly spectacular because of its simplistic intricacies. Yes, simplistic intricacies. Granted that phrase in itself doesn't make much sense, but when you see it, you'll say "ah, simplistic intricacy." It's designed to look simple, based on simple concepts, but executed in such an intricate way it flatly takes your breath away. While the outside left me a bit wanting (although still unfinished it was cool), the inside gave me the exceedingly rare chill-bumps and dropped-jaw-syndrome I so rarely get to experience after seeing so much of the world.
The inside itself is designed less like a Catholic basilica and more like a temple to nature. It's like something you would expect to see in a Zelda game or something. I honestly couldn't stop snapping pictures of the columns, designed to look like a forest, and the immensely intricate ceiling (mimicking the a forest canopy). Anyway, my pictures don't do it justice although flickr will give you a better idea. As much as it irks me to send more tourism to that tourist-crushed city, you need to go and check it out for yourself. You won't be disappointed.
After being thoroughly impressed by Segrada Familia I made my way up the hill to Park Guell where I was equally thoroughly unimpressed. The park itself was nice, don't get me wrong, and the viaducts are a very cool well executed idea. Not to mention the "serpentine" columned plaza overlooking the park entrance with the lizard and iconic buildings. That said, after Segrada Familia it was underwhelming. Moreover, there were somehow MORE tourists there than anywhere else in Barca. It just sucked because you couldn't enjoy it as a park (unlike the Parc de la Ciutadella which I thought was great). There were some top notch street musicians though. Here is a blah obligatory photo of the city from the park. So lame.
Now that, as Rage would say, I've done what they told me, I was free to rage and rampage throughout the city at my whim. Since it was Sunday afternoon and I had designed to give Barca an exactly equal shake as Madrid, my next step was to get the hell out of the city for at least 24 hours. With that in mind, I packed up my gear and prepared to take the 7am bus to Andorra (a little country in the Spanish Pyrenees between Spain and France). Being the prudent gentleman that I am, I decided to make sure I knew how to get to the hostel I had booked once I got there. At this point it was midnight. Upon reviewing the reservation I discovered, much to my horror, that I had booked the hostel for the wrong night- specifically for a night two months from the day I was planning to go.
Well, we knew a snafu like this was bound to happen at some point. But, to compound matters, I had also booked the wrong nights for my two-night return to Barca at the sister hostel to my Madrid hostel, Hostel One. Houston, we have a problem. On a long-shot I emailed the hostel explaining that I was a bonafide idiot and requesting with all possible humility a room for the next three nights. It should be noted that in my mind had this failed, and despite there being plenty of available hostels in Barca, I had resigned myself to sleeping on (or under) a park bench. Thankfully my boy Juan came through in the clutch and I was set. I don't have any pictures for this period so here is one of the sun setting on Passieg de Gracia from the terrace of the EPC (which another ridiculous rule you couldn't eat AT ALL or drink anything that wasn't purchased at their bar OR have real glassware). Was so happy to leave Nazi Germany, I mean EPC.
The next day the cumulative effects of my adventures in Valencia and the first four nights of Barca had set in and I felt truly awful. Mercifully I wasn't hungover, but alas an ungrateful sickness had settled in. Since Hostel One is so freaking amazing I decided to spend the day there and recuperate. It was also imperative to stay indoors that day as I had to do laundry and thereby the hostel had every stitch of clothes save for my gym shorts and one t-shirt in the wash. Not that you care to know but I didn't even have boxers or socks to spare (and by that I mean on). So, I spent the afternoon uploading pictures and watching movies such as the Big Lebowski in the MOVIE ROOM! WHAT? OH YES!
As if you needed any further endorsement from me: if you have the option, stay in Hostel One! The next day I got in touch with Gracie again who, rightfully, assumed I was in Andorra, and we decided on a repeat of our initial beach day. I like the Barca beach quite a bit but not nearly as much as the ones in Almeria or Valencia. If you want beer or "mojito mojito" there are plenty of Senegalese guys ready to quench your thirst. But, it did have the common Mediterrenean beach trend of having freaking FREEZING water. After three attempts Gracie finally convinced herself to take a full dip (with only minimal persuasion from yours truly).
Thankfully there are no pictures of my pale self emerging from frosty waters, although I must note that despite my inability to tan I'm getting about as close as I physically can. My last day in Barca (day 7 if you've been counting) I was solo as everyone I had met had moved on. While it was awesome meeting and traveling with all my new friends it was nice to have a day to just roam the city on my own- pop in the headphones and just do it. Since I had seen pretty much everything "touristy" I decided to take a stroll up from Plaza Espanya to the Palau Nacional (which is now the National Museum of Art). When you step out of the metro station it seems as if it will be a brief 5 or so minute walk up to the palace- FALSE. It's like 15-20 minutes. The street just seems to go on forever and from that distance you don't realize how massive the Palau Nacional really is.
After walking around the surrounding park area for about an hour I finally made my way to the Olympic Stadium. Wow. I love this place for two reasons. One, it was the site of the 1992 Barcelona Olympics which I vividly remember watching despite the fact that it was TWENTY years ago... ugh, so old. Two, there were no tourists. In fact, there was hardly anyone there at all. With all the waterfalls it was so peaceful and quiet, I was tempted to cancel my last night at the hostel and just squat there. I found the plaza where the stadium is absolutely fantastic except for the columns which, oddly, look like Newark, NJ smokestacks. I assume the Barca architects didn't have that frame of reference.
The stadium itself is great and you can walk in, stroll around, and relive your favorite 1992 track and field moments in your mind. Here's the photo of me so you can verify that I'm actually doing all this and not just stealing photos from wikipedia...
Perhaps my favorite venue in the whole Olympic park was the diving pool which looks out on an incredible panoramic backdrop of Barca. It was truly breathtaking (again see flickr). Anyway, I passed the rest of the day by finishing up the remaining obligatory items on my list. Sangria on La Rambla where, as I mentioned, every woman passed by clutched her purse as if her life depended on it. I swung by Vaso de Oro, a very local joint near Barceloneta, to try their house-made beers courtesy of the Three Sheets recommendation (and I must say they have great beer but even better tapas options- try the tuna picante or the sauteed peppers). Finally, our night cap was attending the free opening show of the music festival kicking off in Barca that weekend. At first I considered staying a few more days; then I checked the prices of the hostels and festival itself and decided- nope, time to go to France.
In all, Barcelona: great place to visit, but never live there unless you love tourists, surly locals, and being stolen from.
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