Spain-i-licious Serendipity: Bar Hopping in BCN

I found a bar in Barcelona. I know – amazing, right? To find a place for cocktails in the self-proclaimed party capital of Spain, the fiesta capital of the world.  It is called BAR-celona, haha.  But, you see, those other bars, they don’t have Estefania, a Windex-wielding, hip shaking, singing camarera.

Allow me to start at the beginning.  It was our last day in Spain and before I headed home, I wanted to snag one last savor of sangria.  In spite of touring on my feet all day, I dragged myself out of my cozy hotel room, motivated by the promise of a fabulous evening at the magical El Bosc de les Fades.  This lushly decorated-and I mean lush as in forest and greenery-bar was recommended to me by a reader of my blog as a lively locale for good sangria.  It needs nothing further to entice me.  I had taken a sneak peak that afternoon and, though it wasn’t yet hopping, it looked like a fun place!  My 19-year old nephew and traveling companion felt the motivation to sleep more strongly than go out for the only weekend night of our visit to Spain.  I was undaunted.  I emerged from the metro station directly in front of the entrance before 2am  to find the doors tightly sealed and any sign of revelers long gone. Pish. What kind of self-respecting bar in Barcelona closes before 2am?!?  Well, I was out and about and rather than pout (hey, that rhymes!) began to stroll the Ramblas until I turned towards the Plaza Reial for a nighttime look-see.

There was a rowdy crowd spilling out of one joint in the corner and I could easily surmise it wasn’t for anyone who was not in their first year of college.  In a quieter corner, I found a very chill lounge, Santamonica, and ventured in to sip my sangria.  The theme was Mexican, believe it or not, though the music often included lively Cuban salsa , and when asked if I wanted tacos or a burrito my answer was an emphatic “NO”.  I quickly explained that I hail from California and I want my last meal to be very Spanish!

Of course she sports an Olé lighter! Estefania

It was while I was nibbling on tapas and soaking in this comfortable yet stylish hang out, replete with zebra and leopard patterned cubes for seats, that a lively senorita motioned for me to move my drink just in time for it to miss the voluminous spray from her bottle of cleaner.  I could have sworn I saw her doing a ”cleaning jig” but kept my eyes on her to be sure as she waltzed from table to table, deftly swirling her polishing rag while her hips moved in a complimentary motion. Yup.  No need for a flamenco show here…they have built-in entertainment.  I kid you not, I witnessed this for myself:  At one point when she was done swiping an empty table, all male eyes on her, she turned her back to it and WHOMP – she pushed it back with her derriere!  Such a talent.

After Hours Palm Tree Climbing in Barcelona

She was not bedecked in the glitzy mini skirt get-ups that are prevalent here now; rather she wore jeans, a white tank top, and a perky short ponytail.  But she wore her vivacity like a million dollar mink. Hmmm “minx”? In between serving, flirting, pouring drinks and kissing her novio on the forehead, she graciously posed for a picture with her accessory of choice.  She laughed excitedly when I conveyed – somehow in Spanish – that I wanted to write about her.  I got two kisses (on the cheeks – sheesh!) for my efforts, along with a shot of some delicious unknown alcoholic substance, albeit nowhere as fiery as she.  Great.  Here I had decided not to imbibe too heartily so as to keep my head straight on my 4AM trek home.  Ah well, this being Spain, one tends to toss such precautions aside.  Had I grabbed a taxi, I would have missed the palm tree climbing rabble-rouser! I rested for 30 minutes before leaving the hotel for the flight home.  Thank you, Barcelona, for turning one apparent disappointment, into a serendipitous sangria surprise.

(All photos by G. Stark)