DESTINATION The Cava Bar, Barcelona
INSPIRATION Sommelier Palmer Emmitt sends me to a “shady little meat market/champagne distributer.”
My first mission in Barcelona: find the Cava Bar. The spot was best described to me as a “shady little meat market/champagne distributer that is by far the most unique and fun place I’ve ever been anywhere in the world.” Coming from Palmer Emmitt, one of my most well-traveled friends and a sommelier, this was a big moment. Did I mention Palmer had been to Barcelona 14 times?
The bar was down an alley, off the beaten path, dirty and raw but pulsing with an energy I wanted most to remember Barcelona by. Walking through the garage-like door that opened onto the street, I was in awe of the elaborate production. Meat hung from the ceiling, butchers pointed into the crowd, and sandwich makers smiled as they passed out orders, trusting patrons to pay for what they ordered. It was so crowded that even early in the evening the plastic champagne flutes couldn’t be refilled fast enough to keep a close check. I couldn’t imagine anyone stiffing them though, considering champagne was about a dollar a glass and sandwiches the same.
The place was full of travelers and locals and everyone stood around—within inches of one another—drinking and swapping stories. I enjoyed a long happy hour, and met interesting people with fascinating life stories, before deciding to walk back to the hotel. There was just enough light left in the sky for me to feel safe.
FROM Palmer Emmitt
TO Angie Banicki
subject Re: 30 before 30
The big thing not to miss is Can Paixano, a.k.a The Cava Bar, a shady little meat market/champagne distributor that is by far the most unique and fun place I’ve ever been anywhere in the world. You also must spend a morning at the Sagrada Familia, the great Gaudi cathedral that has been under construction for the last 100 years, and hike to the top of one of the towers. It’s the most beautiful and fascinating structure and it will change your life.
On the way back, I got caught up window-shopping, stopping at every street seller to examine their strands of colorful Spanish jewelry. By now it was dark, but I felt safe knowing there were people all around me. As I strolled along, my thoughts were on the Camino de Santiago, the 500-mile religious pilgrimage through Spain. The teachers I’d just met at Cava had been telling me about the walk—30 days, city through city, visiting historical and spiritual monuments, making friends young and old. One of the men I’d met had lived in Los Angeles and after the trek had given up his job and moved to Europe to continue his pursuit of spiritual truth.
CAMINO DE SANTIAGO
El Camino de Santiago is the pilgrimage route to the Cathedral of Santiago De Compostela in Galicia in northwestern Spain, where tradition has it that the remains of the Apostle Saint James are buried. in English, it is called the Way of St. James and it has existed for over 1,000 years. Tens of thousands of Christian pilgrims and other travelers set out on this pilgrimage each year. The most popular route, which gets very crowded in mid-summer, is the Camino Frances, which stretches nearly 500 miles from St. Jean-Pied-Du-Port near Biarritz in France to Santiago.
Lost in thought, it all seemed to happen so quickly. He was a road- runner—that little Spanish man bolted out of the alleyway and swooped right past me. I felt the swoosh from behind and instinctively held tight to my stuff. Every muscle taut throughout the “struggle.” The rest was slow motion and partially blurred. The pickpocket’s biggest mistake was grabbing for my BlackBerry. I held it in one hand, and my clutch in the other. That little thief could have had my cash and IDs for sure, but buddy, you messed with the wrong girl for a BlackBerry.
BIO >> PALMER EMMITT
I’ve known Palmer since I first moved to LA—we were part of a group of friends in our early 20s who were all figuring ourselves out. Today Palmer has his own business, Cellar Door Wine Consulting, and travels the world as a sommelier. He had wanted to find a way to travel for work and he made it happen, way before I did.
My arm whipped back and out came a loud, low scream-ish bark from deep down within me, in a place I didn’t know existed—a transsexual buried inside who took over with his male cojones. It was a sound I’d never heard before and I felt 8 sets of eyes within 10 feet staring at me. Just watching me—pretending they hadn’t seen or heard the interaction. Not one of the couples, tourists, or street vendors came to see if I was okay. I couldn’t even be mad at them for not trying to save me, for I was mortified by the caveman unleashed from within. Just get home. Instead of searching their averting eyes for compassion or embarrassment for not acknowledging the violation, I looked down, holding back tears. Probably because I knew they were actually frightened by the beast inside me who showed his fearlessness in my moment of pain. I preferred indifference in the moment, but later I realized this was the genesis of my indifference to Barcelona.
Back at the hotel, I snuck by the white desk at the entrance, not wanting to have to talk to anyone. I was pretty shaken up, but wasn’t ready to admit it to myself or anyone else. Falling onto the bed in my room, I tried not to be a crybaby, but tears welled up beyond my control.
I had a fierce gorilla inside protecting me, with a growl so low, so primal, it made people run—run from fear of the freak within.
TRIPPING POINT
Travel isn’t always perfectly safe, but it’s usually worth the risk. Sometimes you just have to grab life by the balls.
YOU ARE READING
30 Before 30
Non-Fiction30 Before 30. Thirty days in Europe. Thirty inspired moments of adventure to live it up before my 30th birthday. Just the idea of it gave me purpose. Here was a reminder that I could choose a new path, even if it was only for 30 days. A little backg...
