El Raval

El Raval once had the reputation as the rough part of town—the area you wanted to avoid when in Barcelona. It was riddled with petty crime, drug trafficking and prostitution.
 
All this supposedly changed around the time of the Barcelona Olympics in 1992 when the area was cleaned up.
 
I thought I was in the clear when I booked a hotel for four nights in the Raval District with my 17-year old daughter. But then, just before arriving, I read an article in a Spanish newspaper about a street fight in Raval, with the two combatants wielding knives. The dispute was over drugs. Upon further investigation, I learned that drugs and violence were on the rise. Unwilling to change my plans, I was anxious to see what kind of experience I was in for.
 

The view from our hotel window.

El Gat de Botero.

We arrived in early afternoon and found our hotel on the corner of two narrow streets. The window of our seventh-story room opened to a sea of rooftops, satellite dishes, and T.V. antennas. Not a street could be seen. In the distance—a good view of Montjuïc.
 
We didn't waste time in our hotel room. I was anxious to get out and explore. We soon found ourselves back on the street, walking through passageways just wide enough to fit a car. The apartment buildings were stacked high and packed tight, making this area dense in population. A small grocery store fronted a narrow street. We saw a used clothing store and the occasional bar.
 

Back side of the Church of Santa Maria of Montalegre.

Front side of the Church of Santa Maria of Montalegre with kids playing basketball.

As we made our journey, we passed by the old and new. The Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art is a sleek white building with glass windows. The Church of Santa Maria de Montalegre is over 100 years old and has its origins from a monastery built in the 14th century.
 
During our walk we came across three different plazas or courts, each hidden in their own little nook. The three nearly touched each other, only separated by a passageway. One of the plazas served as a neighborhood playground. School boys shot baskets on a paved basketball court surrounded by apartment buildings. Grown men sat on chairs and shot the breeze.
 

Parish of Sant Pere Nolasc Mercedaris.

The Monastery Sant Pau del Camp dates back to the 12th century.

As we arrived at the Carrer dels Tallers, the congestion of foot-traffic increased. This is one of the main corridors between the University area and The Rambla. The street was dotted with music stores and tattoo shops. I took a moment to make sure my backpack was securely locked up.
 
I will admit, there weren't really any “attractions” in the Raval that we sought to visit. Most of our exploration came from wandering indirect routes to and from our hotel. There were times we could have taken the Metro to get us “home” for the night, but instead we chose a new path through El Raval.
 

Graffiti in the Raval District of Barcelona.

Fruit shop on Carrer de Sant Antoni Abat.

You never knew what you would find. Sprinkled throughout the Raval are churches and monasteries from the medieval period and later. More modern is the sculpture of a giant cat on the Rambla del Raval called El Gat de Botero. Much of the intrigue is that you don't know what you will find around the next corner: ancient, modern, Catholic, Muslim, Catalán, Turkish. El Raval was once known as Barri Xino, or Chinese Neighborhood. It is not, nor ever has been, a typical Chinatown like those in other cities. Instead, the name was given (probably pejoratively) to denote the large foreign population that lived there.
 
One day we ate lunch at a bar in the Plaça del Pedró. I watched through the window as pedestrians passed by. They wore shawls, tunics, and were certainly not of Spanish descent. Kebab shops in that neighborhood were plentiful, as well as fruit stands. Even the owners of restaurants that sold tapas and paella were of foreign lineage.
 

Plaça de Pedró

Saturday evening we were in our hotel room when I could hear pyrotechnic blasts coming from somewhere on the street. The view from our hotel window was a sea of rooftops and I couldn't see a thing. I felt like I could judge the direction of the din, but this was difficult to discern considering the way sound can echo off buildings. The noise persisted and at last I could make out a faint wisp of smoke. I told Kaitlyn that we had to go down immediately to investigate.
 
I followed the street in front of our hotel and crossed to Sant Antoni. There, in front of the market, was the center of attention.
 
It appeared as if we were in the middle of a battle zone—explosives going off all around us! It was 9:30 at night and becoming dark. Dozens of people dressed in orange (probably fire-proof) over-shirts with hoods, with the words “Diables de Sant Antoni” on the back. A giant pig-on-wheels stood in the middle of the cordoned street. These people held torches with a fountain of “sparklers” shooting from the tips. They ran up and down the street and even onto the sidewalks, whisking the torches into the spectators, causing us to crouch for cover. Meanwhile it sounded like a constant stream of missiles going off, creating a squealing that was so high-pitched it was deafening. We couldn't hear ourselves talk.
 

Unexpected fiesta on Carrer Comte d'Urgell.

Amidst all the noise a band of at least ten people pounded on drums and blew their horns. They swayed to the music and wore uniformed shirts.
 
Then they lit off fireworks. For the next ten minutes explosive colors streaked into the sky and popped over the rooftops, their booms echoing off the buildings. Then, the giant pig became attached with swirling arms that shot sparks as it raced down the street.
 
For about thirty minutes (after we got there) all around was chaos. Then, suddenly, it came to an end. Before it ended, the sweepers in yellow jackets used their brooms to brush the empty casings into piles in the middle of the street.—This is an example of what I love about Spain. It is possible to bump into a local celebration at any time and any place.
 

One of my favorite places to stroll at night was El Raval. All streets were well lit and many were full of people, mostly youth, heading to the bar for a night of drinking. There was an aura of danger. I always made sure my backpack was locked and that I was not carrying my camera around my neck. Most of the storefronts were closed, but the bars and restaurants were alive, as well as most of the small grocery stores. All the streets were narrow and I enjoyed wandering and “getting lost” at a whim. A couple of times we had to sit down and pull out a map to figure out where we were in relation to our hotel. While some of the streets were alive with people, others were empty, but still well lit. On these streets the only noise came from the balconies and through the windows where we could hear people talking and the sound of television.
 
In addition to the party-goers, I found kids in the streets and shop owners sitting in front of their store on a stool, shooting the breeze and smoking cigarettes. I saw couples pushing a stroller near midnight, and two older ladies slowly walking arm-in-arm, chatting with each other.
 

Barcelona is well awake after midnight.

Typical street in El Raval.

On our final night in Barcelona, Kaitlyn and I had to make one final pass through El Raval. Even though it was approaching midnight, the streets were alive as ever. The nocturnal nature of Spain never ceases to amaze me.
 
Although we aimed for the purpose of soaking up Raval's atmosphere one last time, our secondary goal came of an epicurean nature—to find churros y chocoloate. It wasn't hard to find. We found a bar with a table next to the window. The setting felt cozy. Wine bottles stacked the shelves behind the bar. A leg of ham sat on the counter, ready to be sliced. Stone walls along the backside made our chamber feel centuries old.
 
When our order finally came—a cup of thick hot chocolate and a piping-hot churro in the shape of a bow-knot—we savored every bite. Through the fatigue of a late evening, we inhaled every scent, listened to every sound, took in the jumble of sights. This was our last night in Spain and we wanted to remember every second of it! ♠