At carnival time

At carnival time Las Ramblas ramps up its innate capacity for spectacle. The already colourful boulevard is swallowed up by a long procession of clowns, horse-drawn carts, floats, musicians, mounted police, acrobats, dancers, giants, strange creatures with monstrously large heads – the cabezudos, or ‘big-heads’ – and thousands of costumed revellers. These are accompanied by excited groups of children – and quite a few excited adults – scampering after the boiled sweets that rain down like confetti from carriages and floats. The first time I watched it, I found myself shamelessly fighting with four year olds for my share.
The best place to see the carnival procession when it comes down the Ramblas is from the windows of the Palau Moja. A solid, imposing eighteenth- century city palace, it is now home to the culture department of the Generalitat of Catalonia, the regional government. One year I watched from its wrought-iron balconies as, below my feet, the carnival procession dissolved under a sudden downpour of rain. The heavens rumbled. The skies opened. Sodden devils, tottering giants and wobbling big-heads ran for cover. It was a wash-out.
From the book ‘Ghosts of Spain’ By Giles Tremet

Barcelona’s bustling, tree-lined Ramblas

Barcelona’s bustling, tree-lined Ramblas boulevard is a boisterous fusion of noise, colour, and activity. Herds of pedestrians push their way past, the squawking menageries at the exotic bird stalls and the bright, sweet smelling flower stalls. Circles of spectators form around dancing, juggling and fire-eating street entertainers . Human statues stand silent watch as teenage Moroccan bag-snatchers weave through the crowds and, at the port end, a handful of dumpy, cheap prostitutes pitch for business.
I know of not other city where a single street is so important. From sex shops and souvenir stalls to the opera house and, in la Boqueria, the best fresh food market in Spain.. Las Ramblas caters – in one way or another – for the most elemental desires of life. This is where Barcelona celebrates, protests and riots. Built over the course of a stinking stream once known as the Cagalell – the Stream of Shit – it is, more importantly, where Barcelona meets itself. For it is almost impossible, in one of the densest cities in the Mediterranean, for one Barcelonés to walk down Las Ramblas without seeing another he or she knows.
From the book ‘Ghosts of Spain’ By Giles Tremet

Spanish jails are remarkably modern

Spanish jails are remarkably modern, well equipped and tolerant places. Some boast glass-backed squash courts, swimming pools and theatres. Most of the British prisoners in them do not apply to serve their time back home in Britain’s run-down, aggressive, Victorian built prisons. I’ve seen the inside of Brixton, the Scrubs and a cpouple of other’s , a prison-hardened East End drug trafficker in Salamanca’s Top Jail told me once. ”This is a million times better. I miss my mum, but I’m not going back.’
‘A country ‘s health can be measured by how it looks after its weakest member’s, a Spanish prison governor explained to me. If that is so, Spain in in fine fettle. Amongst other things, prisoners get private conjugal visits from their wives or girlfriends in rooms equipped with double beds. This jail, and others, are mixed, though the different sexes live in separate wings. Some couples even meete and get married in Spanish prisons.
From the book ‘Ghosts of Spain’ By Giles Tremet