Juicy Jones - fresh, healthy vegan food experience in Barcelona

One thing I love here (among many others) is that you can find absolutely delicious food for every taste. Whether you are a true meat lover or vegan, organic, gluten-free, milk allergic, whatever - you always have plenty of options to choose. One of my favorites when I fancy healthy, fresh drink is a vegan place called Juicy Jones. They have an amazing selection of fresh juices and smoothies (also made out of veggies, not just fruits) and a fixed priced menu available all day long for a very reasonable price. Upstairs is the juice bar and downstairs the restaurant. I actually never tried the restaurant yet, but am completely in love with the juice bar. I have heard that the food is relatively simple but good, consisting mainly of salads, soups, rice, polenta and Indian spiced veggies.

The address is C/Cardenal Casañas 7, one of the streets off from la Rambla to the Gothic. It's very close to metro Liceu and open from 10:00 till 24:00. I have not managed to find their website yet, but googling it gives you several reviews, most of them as positive as mine. 

Spanish healthcare - breaking a bone in Barcelona

My fixed, broken humerus

Most of the time, life is pleasant in sunny Barcelona. The quality of life is high. One enjoys simple things - running along the beach, swimming in the turquoise sea, bicycling around and clubbing till sunrise at one of the numerous discotecas.

So what happens when one day you are not able to enjoy those simple things? Nothing good, dear readers. In terms of getting yourself injured, Barcelona (or Spain) is not the place to be. Quality of life is reduced, and it's reduced considerably.

I was on my way home last Saturday night, trying to take a cab in Passeig de Gracia. It was raining like hell (again, what a strange summer) and the pavements were extremely slippery. I was walking, not running and I was wearing flat shoes. My last thought was something like "shit, should I take the sandals off" and then I flew in the air. I landed on my left humerus which got broken right under the scapula.

First I was taken to Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau by the ambulance which some of the lovely people on the streets ordered. I was given morphine as I couldn't stop screaming. I was in general very happy with the nurses and doctors there, they were doing their best to ease my pains. They took the x-rays and found out the arm was broken, not twisted. I needed an operation. After finding out I lived in Ciutat Vella, they organized a transportation to Hospital de Mar, which is the closest hospital for people living in my area. The ambulance guys were very sweet. It was only after my arrival when everything started going downhill.

Hospital de Mar, right by the beach

Background information: I have had the pleasure of visiting Hospital de Mar before. I have always been very happy with the service. It's a public hospital, but they do have some private organs, as far as I have understood. Generally the public healthcare in Spain has always surprised me; it has been fast, efficient and I never paid anything.

However, the recent experience changed my opinion slightly. So I was brought in on Sunday evening. I had my humerus sticking out of my arm. I was in incredible pains. They left me on the corridor without medicine, without anything. I was there for a long time, trying to ask more morphine and when would the operation happen. Got zero answers and some paracetamol.

Finally, a doctor came. He told me they were not sure if the operation was on Wednesday or Thursday. I couldn't believe what he said. I was expected to lie on the corridor for 4 more days with a bone sticking out of my arm? I started screaming again. It wasn't helping at all that my boyfriend saw some cockroaches scurrying on the floor....

Luckily, I was able to think in the middle of all the pain. I HAD TO GET AWAY from that place. I realized I still had my travel insurance valid as I was in my home country in May. I started calling. I found out I could go to any private hospital in Barcelona and they would cover unlimited amount of costs. I would have laughed but it hurt too much.

Hospital de Mar refused to help me in search for a hospital before they got a guarantee of payment from my insurance company. At the time, I found it inhuman as it took hours and a lot of tears from my side to organize it, but now I kind of understand it. It's just bureaucracy and they have to obey it. After the paper was faxed to them they turned very helpful, phoning all private hospitals, asking which one of them would be able to operate me asap. Finally, they got a confirmation from Pilar de Sant Jordi, a private clinic in Gracia, and the ambulance came to pick me up again. I was moved there on late Sunday night and the staff in Hospital de Mar said that the operation would be the first thing on Tuesday morning. Fantastic, I thought, just one more day in pains and then the nightmare would be over!

Pilar de Sant Jordi

In Pilar de Sant Jordi, I was given a private room with a bathroom and a huge window. There was a spare bed for my boyfriend. It felt like heaven. There were a lot of nurses coming and going, checking how I was. I felt I was finally taken care of. I passed out immediately and slept for almost all night. The calmante (pain killer) was now injected directly so it had more effect. On Monday morning, I met the doctor. A nice guy, but felt the waves of horror arriving again when he explained they would most likely operate on Wednesday evening. I was desperate. Why would they say first Tuesday morning, and all of a sudden change it again? Bloody hell, should I go to another hospital then?! I started to feel very much pissed off with the Spanish manana attitude. A burst of non-scandinavian rage, tears, yelling and swearing in Spanish was needed until another doctor came to inform that the operation would finally be on Tuesday, but on the evening. Hmph, I thought; me-hospital 1-0.

The operation was successful. It was the technique that surprised me; they had basically nailed the bones back together with a metal stick supporting them. In the Nordics they usually use a cast and just wait for the bones to naturally to grow again, which takes months. It was quite a shock to see the new x-ray pic showing a lot of metal inside my arm, but on the other hand, I was able to MOVE the arm on the next day! Amazed by that, I decided to forgive the future beeping at the airports, huge scar and just hide the creepy x-ray pics somewhere out of sight.

So, happy ending? No one knows. Recuperation is in process and every day I feel stronger. But here, you never know about manana. What did I learn? Trust the public healthcare in Spain during the winter months. Trust it if you have a minor problem, like flu. Trust the private healthcare if you want, but I would not count on it. It offers nicer setting, but the core problem is still the same, endless waiting. (Note: I will buy a full insurance next week, allowing me to use the private healthcare in the future. But this is just my choice).

So what to do if you break a body part in Spain? Pray and wish the best of luck. :-)