Sunday was drizzly, and Carol was sick with a cold. We didn't get out until close to noon. We went up to the plaza in front of the Cathedral for what turned out to be a oddly moving Catalon tradition.
The Sardana is a folk dance, where people join hands together in a circle and dance with slow, precise movements.
When we first got there just before noon, there was a band playing for a circle of dancers that increased in size. It seemed a bit ho-hum. Then, Carol tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out at least three additional circles. The size of the circles grew as more people arrived to join in.
It became oddly affecting. Some circles danced more demonstratively than others. One circle featured dancers in white shoes, with fake flowers on the shoes of the women. There were more people watching than dancing, but the audience was appreciative of the dance.
From the photos below, it will look like everyone is old. And they are. We only saw one person clearly younger than us in the dance circles. Most were clearly older. Hopefully this is not something that is dying out, but something that, as one gets older, they decide they want to do.
I can't help but think that public folk dancing is something you will see breaking out in American towns and cities. It was pretty cool, in its own way.
Now I gotta cut loose.
Lose, your blues. Everybody cut footloose.
You're burning, yearning for the some-somebody
to tell you that life ain't passing you by
You'll get by if you'd only cut loose. Footloose.
Kick off the Sunday shoes.
After lunch at our favorite toothpick tapas place (Sagarda), Carol wanted to get out more, so we walked down to the beach, to the promenade around the W Hotel. Just outside our apartment, we watched two teams playing a rousing game of Petanque, which is similar to bocce, but also reminded me a bit of cornhole. Given that it was red versus blue, it also reminded me a bit of American politics, although with a lot less yelling and cursing. Well, maybe there WAS a lot of cursing, I don't know Catalan curse words!
We hung out at the promenade for a while, watching the Med and enjoying the day. Even though the weather was, for a change, not spectacular, it was still a worthwhile way to pass the time on a sick day.
Petanque was happening right
outside our apartment building.
It's like cornhole, but, well, different.
I had been looking forward to Sunday night for quite some time. Going to Camp Nou, the Yankee Stadium of Spanish soccer, was something I had decided we had to do whilst we were here in Barcelona.
Carol understandably begged off. Being sick in a crowded sporting event is not fun, and she preferred to have the time to rest. So instead I went off on my own to the game. The subway was crowded, and all I had to do was follow the crowd to get to the game.
I stopped off at a bar, grabbed a counter seat, a beer, and dinner in that order of priority, and watched the fans stream by on their way to the game.
The last time I had attended soccer matches was London, spring of 1984. That was before the birth of the Premier League. The fan experience at Camp Nou was not what I expected. The fans were polite, there were lots of kiddos, I didn't see anyone drunk, and if there were rude chants, I couldn't tell. Actually, there was a little less fan enthusiasm than I expected, except, of course, when Barcelona scored. Which they did, four times.
And all four goals were impressive. None as impressive as Suarez's bicycle kick for the first goal, although Messi's free kick goal was a thing of beauty as well, placing it over the wall. Here's the highlight package.
The game was well-played. The ref handed out yellow cards like they were candy, but play wasn't dirty. He even gave a red card to a Barca player with little time left, but from the highlight reel it seemed like a garden variety foul.
Seville had excellent chances, and easily could have scored 2-3 goals. The Barca goalkeeper made a brilliant save early, and an open Seville player banged a shot off the post. A few inches to the left, and it's a goal. Barca did have the better of the play.
It was what fans of the game talk about when they call it the beautiful game. I was enthralled. Behind one goal were the superfans, waving banners/flags and banging on drums. The fans in the rest of the stadium are not allowed to have flags. I was out of place with no Barca gear on.
Messi jerseys look just as bad on fat old Spanish men as Brady jerseys look on fat old American men.
By the way, Messi is enthralling to watch. The whole crowd would hold its breath as he dribbled past three or four Seville players, only to have his pass be slightly off or not converted. Still, it was something to watch.
There were displays of good sportsmanship by the Seville players, and those earned cheers from the Barca fans. There were some incredible plays by Barca players not named Messi, and those earned big cheers, of course.
The stadium is a bit dated. Inside the seating area is a cathedral, but outside the fan experience is underwhelming. No places to buy gear in the stadium. All food stands selling the same unappealing hot dogs and sandwiches. They should hire Jerry Jones to consult for them.
Camp Nou, a soccer catheral.
Barcelona was consistently
putting pressure on Seville.
Soccer selfie.
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