Dave Smith and chums went out to Catalonia and did a little more than watch the Mags get pumped!
It’s 4am, it’s cold, it’s dark and the alarm rings in the distance. I’m already awake anyway having checked the time multiple times in the night, much to the grumbling distaste of Mrs S trying to sleep next to me. I get up half asleep, but excited and into the shower before leaving quietly for the waiting taxi to the airport.‘Is this the way to Barcelona?’, I fail to ask the taxi driver, but it is and I can’t wait.
The flight is full of Mags, some of whom are necking vodka from water bottles; another time check and it’s 6:35am. The mood on the plane is excitement as a bright day is replaced by the sort of sun that only seems to appear nearing the end of a plane journey to Spain.
There’s a chaotic, long line at passport control (thanks Brexit), but we’re out and blinking into the lovely Spanish sun.
Due to the unrelenting schedule of Newcastle United, a periodic ‘when can we go away again?’ from the family and needing to earn a living to ensure this shebang can continue, I decide to work from our handily placed Barcelona office for the day.
I have a colleague who lives in Barcelona, and it just so happens he’s a top bloke, so we do a satisfactory day’s work interspersed with a trip to a couple of great Tapas places.
Work finally finishes and I lope round to my hotel in the wonderfulEixample area of the city, and get chatting to the hotel owner, who it turns out is a huge socio. He also happens to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of all football, and our mix of pidgin English and Spanish is an absolute treat.
Once I am finally checked in (and the youtube videos of previous Barca-United games are finished), I venture out to a cracking local spot for acana to just take the world in.
It’s crackers, we’re playing Barcelona away, yet there are still people moaning. What would satisfy them, I wonder to myself. ‘La Cuenta’ taken care of (€1.95 for that beer), I make my way down to one of my favourite bars in Barcelona: ‘Bodega del Vermut’ and settle in with a Gilda and a vermut. This place is superb, and I get to practice some more Spanish, with the hosts graciously ignoring my lack of tenses.
Some pals arrive; they are pissed and want to sing NUFC songs in here. The hosts are wonderful again, the clinking of their tills supporting their welcoming attitude. When we leave, we are 25 strong and the owner thanks us for a wonderful evening. I apologise if we have been noisy in Spanish and he tells me:‘de nada, has sido muy divertido’.
We end the night in another lovely bar just into theGothic Quarter. Good pals, good mickey-taking, nice beers, and just great crack. Everyone is in high-spirits and some high on spirits, but it’s time to call it a night.
The next morning is cloudy, but only temporarily. We have breakfast, and the sun begins to shine. It’s warm now and we head up on the metro to take inSagrada Familia. It’s majestic in the Catalan warmth as we take pictures and ‘dee a bit touristy stuff, like’.
We’re back on the metro now down toBarceloneta, the locals curious at our shorts, and soon to be at the beers flowing on the port.
Edged into a beautiful spot, we have some decent local food and tinto de veranos. Before long, we realise we have been here for 3 hours and it’s nearly €10 a pint; time to find something off the back streets.
Naturally, we enter ‘La Bodega’ and I marvel at its traditional feel. Once again, we settle in and wile away the last couple of hours before the ascent to the ground with respectful and good-natured chat between us to uphold our reputation with the locals.
Now, you’ve read the match report, you’ve winced at the goals, and you’ve drifted into ‘what ifs?’, so i’ll swerve rehashing the actual game, but what a feeling it is to be back in this football ground. It’s encompassing stands, booming club anthem and incredible pitch laid out in front of you. Just amazing!
Weary, but not quite ready to tread the same well-worn path as the post Marseille debacle, we are quickly on to the metro after the game and find ourselves in possibly the best bar of the entire trip. The food, drink and atmosphere are amazing and an impromptu breakout of a guitar with everyone joining in.
Turns out this is a Basque bar and therefore no surprise of how welcoming they all were.
My bed was calling me though, a long day in the sun on a variety of drinks, and I fancied the walk back to my hotel, taking in this amazing city. I’d 100% come back; I’ve no choice as I am bringing one of my daughters next month.
She won’t let me down by squaring the ball across the pitch, will she?
Dave Smith