On Monday 7th October, the man formerly known by some as Swifty (due to an ill-conceived nickname derived from someone once likening me to the pop artist, Taylor Swift) turned 21. My world has changed forever! Whilst the occasion of turning 21 is far less momentous in the UK than it is across the pond, it is certainly a reaffirmation that I am edging ever closer towards genuine adulthood, or perhaps an indication that I should have already reached that milestone by now. In any case, I am a year older and wondering whether or not to attempt to revive the old nickname, Swifty, now that I have it on my mind… Factors to consider: do I, a) in any way resemble the female, blonde and slightly framed singer, Taylor Swift? b) enjoy her music? c) admire her for anything other than being the inspiration behind the entertaining ‘goat editions’ of her songs? or finally d) wish to continue to be likened to her by endorsing such a nickname? Nope, that idea is well and truly dead and buried, but I had fun reminiscing in the process. Anyway, back to business… Right after this Swift number featuring a particularly talented goat:
Given that my birthday fell on a weekday this year, I made use of the weekend as my opportunity to celebrate. How did I mark the occasion? By having the family come to visit me in Barcelona! On the Friday afternoon, I left my office in Sant Cugat and headed to the Hotel Miramar in Montjuic, where my Dad awaited my arrival and where the family would be spending the weekend, with the girls due to arrive later that evening. After hopping on the tube (which I so love, lest we forget – you get signal down there and everything!) and arriving at Paral·lel, I embarked on my trip up a hill towards the Miramar. Note that with a successful ascent of Mount Kilimanjaro under my belt, I was not overly concerned about this hill leading up to the park in Montjuic. I should have been. It was steep. Clearly, it must have been Cataluña’s response to Kili; so I began my climb. The relief of arriving at reception eventually followed, as did the selfconsciousness given that I was more or less sweating profusely and most other guests, if not all, arrived by taxi and were looking far less like they had been caught out in a torrential downpour. I sauntered over to the desk and was promptly asked if I needed some water. Duly accepting the offer, I collected my room key and headed upstairs.
My dear father greeted me with a customary ‘Hello, homo!’ and welcomed me inside. Stepping forward, I was presented with a room practically the size of my flat! I knew from the moment I arrived at the hotel that we had chosen well, as this was a luxurious establishment, but I was very pleasantly surprised to find that my Dad had been on the charm offensive with the hotel staff and had subsequently been rewarded with an upgrade for his troubles (and a letter from the front desk?!). It was a beautiful room and I was already feeling spoiled the minute I set foot inside. As we sat and caught up, a huge storm began to gather and we started to wonder whether we would be stranded in the hotel for the night. A fair amount of thunder and lightning later, which we watched through the window with interest as it passed directly over the hotel, the storm subsided and we caught a cab over to none other than ‘La Cervecería Catalana´ for my second successive weekend. I’ve said it before and I will say it again; it’s a tough life I lead!
As always the restaurant was buzzing with tourists and locals alike, so we strolled to a local restaurant to sit at the bar, have a few pints and enjoy a large plate of jamón ibérico. I have already said my bit on La Cervecería, so suffice it to say that I was very pleased with the meal and even more so after the newly acquired taste of dry sherry (thanks for that, Dad). Back to the hotel, where I waited up for my Mum and sister, Emily. Their suggestion as soon as they walked through the door? Cocktails. Cannot argue with that. So I had a bit of a headache the following morning, but nothing close to the hangovers I usually experience after a night of drinking. Anyone who knows will be able to verify just how badly I cope in such cases! A quick fix of a hotel breakfast straightened me out and soon we were off to see the sights around the hotel, one of which was the beautiful view of the city.
Sat at a restaurant, sharing a Coca Cola Light with Emily and Phil (oh how I wish I was famous enough to be paid for an endorsement as simple as that), I looked over the city feeling glad for having chosen Barcelona as my home for the year. The three of us soon went off in search for mother dear to have some lunch poolside, which was predictably pleasant!
The ladies poolside
A 30-minute massage (yep, we were living it up) and some subsequently inappropriate jokes from Dad later, we began mobilising ourselves in order to celebrate my birthday as the sun set. A bottle of champagne opened, glasses full and raised to celebrate all things Dan, we stood on the balcony as I was presented with cards and presents. Thank you, family and friends, if any of you happen to be reading, for everything. Lots of love! Then, on to the surprise location for dinner. As we pulled up to the Hotel Arts, which I had never seen before, I had no idea what to expect. Walking in to a very grand-looking reception area, and into a lift of rich mahogany (‘Anchorman’ reference, I’m not starting to think of myself as a budding author just yet), I started to feel quietly excited. The restaurant was called Arola and as soon as we had been seated we were presented with an eager French waiter named Marc. He was a nice guy, anxious to impress, but then so would be anyone working at such a swanky restaurant as Arola. (Hotel Arts pictured below, right).
I would love to have dedicated my entire blog to the food we ate that night, because it really was outstandingly good. Simple tapas dishes had been reformulated to become more than just a plate of food, but a gastronomic experience. Prior to tucking in to each dish we would have to take a moment to reflect how brilliantly everything had meticulously been prepared. Minute cubes of Spanish omelette, for example, had resting on top of them reconstructed miniature egg yolks to create a mouthful of joy, which should give readers an idea of just how serious these chefs were about their food. Marc would come to the table and carefully describe how each dish had been crafted and we would exchange glances as if to say, ‘bit fancy all of this, isn’t it!’ But wow. It was just an incredible meal. The wine was delicious, the food even better and the company of my family topped it all.
The next morning, the family’s last in Barcelona, was spent discussing the meal of the night before. We couldn’t get over it, and I still can’t now over a week later. After a quick breakfast, we decided to catch the cable car from practically outside the hotel’s doors down to the beach. As we were carted across the city’s skyline, we nonchalantly chatted about our potential doom if the cable were to snap and our plan of action in case of emergency (you know, light-hearted stuff). Luckily for us, there was no such incident and we were transported safely back to ground level where we strolled to a beach bar overlooking the sea. It was all rather nice if you ask me.
Views from the cable car
Soon came the hour for the Watson crew to head back home, to London and to Basel, Switzerland. Not before, that is, they granted my request to visit one of my old haunts by La Plaça Reial for me to catch the Chelsea game against Norwich City. Clearly the East Anglian team took into account that it was my birthday and duly obliged by losing to Chelsea 3-1, courtesy of 2 late goals from my one true love, Eden Hazard and a fantastic Premier League debut goal from £30m summer signing, Willian, from the edge of the penalty area. All in all, that Chelsea win just about ensured that my birthday weekend could not have been any better.
My birthday itself was great, thanks to my colleagues at work and, in particular, to my housemates, who had balloons, a bottle of champagne and a cake waiting for me at home. Blowing out candles and being serenaded in various languages, I felt extremely grateful to everyone who had gone about making my birthday such a great occasion. I went to bed that night a very happy guy. I will sign off today by saying a huge thank you to everyone involved, to my family; I love you, and to my friends (old and new) the same! Not a bad way to turn 21!
Dan Makes a Friend Called Spain 