Final Thoughts on Barcelona, Part II (Spain)

I like lists so without further ado...

Things we do not miss about Barcelona:

- High cost of living + low (and unstable) wages. Most people in major cities feel this pinch, but “El Crisis” surely puts this into a whole other category. In consulting, contracts that were ending were not getting renewed, and at the university, every couple months seemed to bring further pay cuts or more layoffs. Money was pretty tight for our tiny, sixth floor walk-up apartment, not to mention the obligatory surcharges we got for being suspicious foreigners. Try also wrapping your head around numbers like 25% overall unemployment in Spain and over 50% for younger folks. Most of the lucky  survive either with as many flatmates as they can find or staying much longer with their parents - a cultural norm turned absolute necessity. We suspected this culture of strong family ties (as well as the social support structure) was the main reason you didn't see as much anarchy in the streets you'd expect anywhere else with those kinds of stats.

- Difficulty level of just doing things. Bureaucracy always sucks. Trying to get any business or anything official done requires multiple trips, multiple offices, and multiple copies… and Spaniards/Catalans fiercely guard photocopier/printer usage. Only brought 1 copy? Even if there is a copier right on the desk of the clerk speaking to you, you will need to: leave the line, possibly even exit the building, find a print shop around the corner, pay for extra copies, and join the queue you've been waiting in all morning at the end with a new number... and most of the government offices/banks close for lunch and will not reopen again.

-Alienation. A common complaint for expats. Catalans have a reputation for being a little closed. When someone still referred to her colleague Señor so-and-so after working together everyday for 40 years,  you realize learning Catalan is only one of the barriers to face socially. It was our own fault, too. Many expats get around the isolation by clinging to others of their home country, but we didn't move to Barcelona to stay in all-Brit or all-American enclaves and so avoided them assiduously. The city's got a fantastic nightlife, too, so doubtless, we could have made more friends had not our hard partying, late night clubbing days been behind us. Lastly, people don't often invite others into their homes either so it can be tough socializing on a strict budget.


Things we miss about Barcelona:

- The city. I personally think it's the most beautiful city in Europe, possibly the world. We've always been drawn to bright colors, mosaics, and wrought ironwork, and Catalan Modernisme brings these elements together in intricate detail and with the finest craftsmanship. These architectural gems are sprinkled all over so that walking around Barcelona feels like visiting an open air art gallery. Should these man-made creations not stir or inspire you, the city is book-ended by the sea and mountains. Even though we're always a little too ADD for sun-bathing, our regular strolls along the beach and port (25 minute walk from our door) were weekend favorites. The pleasant alternative was hiking in Parc de Collserola, where a scant 15 minutes on the commuter train would bring you to the trail head on the mountain.

- The neighborhood. Even though Barcelona is a big city, you feel like you live in a little village within it. We lived in the barrio of Sant Pere, or as Rich first described the narrow streets and old buildings, "like in The Bourne Identity." We got to know the people in our neighborhood - our bread guys, the super nice vet, the pet store lady, the bodega man, all the dog owners in the park, the man from the theatre, etc. - at least in a friendly nodding and chitchat way.

- The weather. Barcelona is almost always sunny with something like 300 days/year. The perfect blue skies made hanging the laundry out to dry off our balcony my favorite chore. While it can get unbearable in the summers, the temperature can also be mild in the winters. We sat drinking coffees outside one day in February in t-shirts. Beware though that too much of this makes one's sense of bad weather get grossly out of whack. Any day it rains in the city (usually about two weeks total in the spring) is the equivalent of a blizzard hitting the Midwest. Classes get cancelled, traffic gets ridiculous, and people come into work late, or not at all.

- The food. There is the obvious. Michelin stars have been awarded to quite a few Catalan chefs, and while we never got into the world's best restaurant El Bulli, we had the best meal of our lives at Cinc Sentits. But even beyond that, we miss even the basics. What Spain may lack in variety, they make up for in freshness and quality of ingredients. A pair of tea-drinkers really miss the excellent and cheap coffee. Ah, the perfection of the cortado (1 shot of espresso: 1 warm milk) mid-morning or after a meal! Then there is the unifying lament of every European moving to the U.S.- the bread. For less than a euro, we picked up our crusty barra natural (like a baguette but wider) newly baked everyday. Even the cheap cheese for our sandwiches was fancy - the generic store brand was still a mild blend of cow, sheep, and goat's milk. In the U.S., everyone's big on eating local or with the seasons. As a concept, this might seem strange in Spain since it's just how people have always eaten. My favorite seasons were  clementine/satsuma (I had to stop a 4/day habit because my stomach acids were churning), strawberry, fig, wild mushroom, chestnut, and jamón (ok, the last one isn't quite but most people buy one around the holidays). It helps that the country grows much of the produce for the rest of Europe. Still, it never ceased to amaze me how much more affordable fruits and vegetables are there. I could go into the greengrocer and come out with a stuffed shopping bag for less than 5 euros! For one thing, within the stores, produce appears to be graded (and priced) at different levels, ranging from the cosmetically perfect apple Americans have come to expect down to sad-looking apple that got a little beat up in transit but is still edible inside and probably half the price. But I digress. Oh, the seafood! the butchers! the 3 course menu del días that are 10 euros! the sausages! the cava! I could go on and on...


All in all, while there are a few other things we don't miss about our lives in Barcelona, there are many more we are nostalgic for. It was a great and rewarding experience to live there and absolutely the best decision for us. Though we're calling this post "Final Thoughts...," we can hope that we haven't seen the last of Barcelona. 

Final Thoughts on Barcelona, Part I (Spain)

This week marks 3 months since Rich turned in the keys to our Barcelona apartment. With some time and distance between us and the city, it's a fitting moment for us to reflect on our grand adventure there.

I had originally intended to blog about many aspects of settling into our lives there. But I held my tongue for a variety of reasons. It was really hard, especially that first year. Pinching our pennies  because we had grossly underestimated the cost of living. Sending out hundreds of resumes, and yes, pounding the pavement old school, searching for employment in the midst of the world's worst economic crisis in one of the hardest hit countries. Struggling with the languages, spending a fortune on Spanish classes, and ever struggling in Catalan. Knowing our families - and particularly my immigrant parents - would be our main and possibly only audience for the blog, I didn't want to worry them even more. And we were exhausted. Battling all day with a foreign bureaucracy (I'm pointing a finger at you, too, British consulate!) or bank or service provider, you come home confused, humbled, shaken, and possibly crying. Sometimes it was all we could do to muster our energies and try again the next day. So forgive the blog for only accentuating the positive.

As time went on, our situation improved, and we also just got the hang of things... It's ok if we forget to write our meter reading down on the sheet appearing on the front door to the building (or, as in one case, if I accidentally write down a number several orders of magnitude different!)... This is the corner shop that doesn't overcharge for fresh milk (since most people seem to prefer the horrific UHT milk)... Being able to sleep through the hourly ringing of the bells from the 4 surrounding churches, the relentless clanging call of the butano men one must hail to deliver orange gas tanks to your door (we dodged a bullet renting a place with piped gas), or worse, the drunk French tourists on the balcony of the illegal vacation apartment just outside our bedroom window... There were other aspects of everyday life I could have commented on. But Barcelona seems like the world's most popular place for attracting expats and there are even more Catalans. To presume my foreigner's observations would contribute anything different smacked a little of implied judgement of local norms or conceit, which, as an American abroad, I am conscious of the stereotype. So I stuck to a mostly tourist's perspective.

My further reflections will continue in the next post...

Granada (Spain)

One of the places in Spain I have always wanted to see is the Alhambra... and I am not alone. Over two million people per year come to Granada to visit the massive palace and fortress complex. The Muslim kings who ruled much of Spain - and, indeed, most of the Iberian peninsula - for over 700 years originally built it for defense. You can still visit the remnants of the early citadel, known as the Alcazaba, and appreciate the restful luxury that the Generalife and its extensive formal gardens could provide royalty as a summer palace.

Most of the postcards of the Alhambra focus on the Palacio Nazaríes, built by the Nasrid emirs in the 14th century. Getting in is a little tricky, as there are signs everywhere reminding that entry is strictly controlled by a limited number of tickets with set 30 minute entry slots. Rich and I were a little concerned that our past visits to similar sites in Turkey and Morocco would dim our opinion of the Palacio Nazaríes, and we are quite happy to report that it did not. Always enchanted by colorful mosaic work and intricately carved stucco, the architecture and decor we saw were of particularly fine quality, and probably more importantly, in far better state of upkeep and preservation. Restoration work on the iconic marble Fountain of the Lions was only just finished this past December.

Back down in the city, we decided to pamper ourselves like sultans. A hammam is a traditional Arabic bath, and even though we'd had some experience with these elsewhere in Europe and Morocco, this place really pulled out all the stops! Located in a 13th Century building, the owners of this hammam really tried to recreate ancient baths with more intimate rooms, gorgeous mosaic work, and superb temperature controls. The circuit consists of a warm room with the pool set at a cozy 36 C (or 97 F);  a blissfully hot room at 40 C (or 104 F); and a cold room, whose 18 C (or 64 F) plunge pool makes your whole body feel like it's having a heart attack. In between, you can take breaks in the steam sauna or at one of the tables with piping hot pots of traditional mint tea. Rest, and repeat!

I also tried out the traditional hammam treatment. They lay you on a table and pour buckets of warm water over you. There is a light, tickling sensation as you get covered with a thick blanket of bubbles. Then, using a rough glove (or kessa), they scrub you down like you haven't been scrubbed since your mom caught you making mudpies. After the rinse, your exfoliated skin feels fantastic, and you adjourn back to the pool rooms.

Any description of Granada itself would be lacking without a shout-out to its overwhelming ghosts of the past - Ferdinand II and Isabella I. Known simply as Los Reyes Católicos (the Catholic Monarchs), this power couple were the ones who created the unified Spain. Not content with simply ousting the Muslims from the peninsula, they also ushered in the Inquisition. They were also the ones who sent Christopher Columbus off in 1492. You can visit their sarcophagi in the ornate Capilla Real and view the actual coffins through a window set a few steps underground. Creepy!

Food Fantasyland in San Sebastián (Spain)

Celebrity chef and consummate traveler Anthony Bourdain once named San Sebastián the place he would want to die in. Even among Catalans (who include such Michelin-starred luminaries as Ferran Adrià), the Basque Country stands out as a culinary destination... with Donostia-San Sebastián as its crown jewel.

In the Basque Country, tapas (small plates) are known as pintxos, which roughly translate to something speared. This makes sense since the bulk of options are a slice of bread with a pile of interesting toppings pierced by a long toothpick. Since the pintxos are usually laid out on the bar for customers to help themselves, the toothpicks serve a practical purpose, too. Once finished, you hand over your fistful of toothpicks for the waitstaff to tally your bill. Somehow this grand honor system works.

The traditional manner in which to partake of such beautiful bites is... bar-hopping. You stop in each place, grab a pintxo or two (preferably that bar's specialty), and move on. A nice accompaniment is Basque txakoli, a dry white wine that gets a little sparkling with its traditional high pour into the glass. Our first night, we decided to hit the pubs in spontaneous succession down one street in the old part of the city. Most joints are packed with patrons juggling plates and jostling for space along narrow counters. While the food was still above average, we weren't blown away by anything. Expectations running high, we were a little confused and disappointed so we had to regroup.

Things went phenomenally better on subsequent nights. Armed with a well-researched list of each place's premiere pintxo, we didn't allow ourselves to get carried away by the proffered abundance and frantic energy. The results were incredible! Truly sumptuous plates with well-balanced and many layered flavors. By far, the most successful were items we ordered à la minute - succulent seafood, crisp and melting pork belly of piglet, rich veal cheeks in red wine, and the list goes on and on. We only had one misstep - asking for what roughly translates to "a cone of lamb and cheese," we instead received a large plate of as-yet-unknown cut of meat consisting of mostly tiny bones, skin, and cartilage sauteed with bell peppers! At Bar Zeruko, we succumbed to the fajitas effect (as in, sizzling platter passes by: Ooh, what's that?! I'll take one of them!), ordering avant garde tapas that encouraged playing with your food. However, our favorite place by far was tiny La Cuchara de San Telmo. Tucked away down a back alley, the chalkboard with its rapidly disappearing menu items are a testament to its popularity. It was so good that we went twice!

See pictures in the Spain album on the left for gratuitous food porn.

San Sebastián and Bilbao (Spain)

The Basque Country is an autonomous community in the northeast corner of Spain. The Basques have an immense pride in their ancient culture and language - Euskara bears no relation to Latin languages and throws in a lot of x's and k's to boot. The resulting differences culminate in repeated calls for Basque independence from Spain, and in the past, nationalists in the separatist ETA sometimes punctuate the struggle with incidences of violence and terrorism, not unlike the IRA in Northern Ireland. Nevertheless, many people are drawn to the region for tourism because, as some Spaniards simply put it, it IS like visiting a different country.

San Sebastián, or Donostia in the Basque language, is only about 20 km from the French border. The city has a population of only about 180,000, but its reputation as a holiday destination far exceeds its size. The biggest draws stem from the sea. San Sebastián is gorgeously picturesque with its own perfectly curved stretch of sandy beach in La Concha and the small island of Santa Clara in the middle of the bay. If sunbathing seems a little too tame for your tastes, the beach of Gros (or Zurriola) regularly puts San Sebastián on the list of best surf cities. Finally, you can learn more about the long tradition of Basques as whalers and fishermen at the aquarium and sample the bountiful briny catch at Bretxa market.

The express bus from San Sebastián to Bilbao (100 km to the west) made it quite convenient for a day trip. Along the way, we passed sheep-dotted mountains, snug farmhouses, and a few vineyards - not surprising, since Spain's most famous wine region La Rioja includes a slice of the Basque Country.

With about 1 million inhabitants, Bilbao has a distinctly more metropolitan flair than little San Sebastián. But we braved the steady rain for one reason and one reason only - the pièce de résistance  of Bilbao -  the Guggenheim Museum. Flowing and shimmering metalwork from Frank Gehry houses contemporary art on the banks of the Nervion River. Inside, there were exhibitions on droopy plugs and bathtubs from Claes Oldenburg as well as disturbing drawings from Viennese artist Egon Schiele who may or may not have been a pedophile. We also really enjoyed wandering through the giant, metal labyrinth by Richard Serra (and I got excited when I recognized another of his pieces in the Toronto airport!). But let's be honest, even on the inside, most of the museum's actual contents were out shown by the swooping and soaring spaces of Gehry's architectural wonder... so, go, see it for the building, just not for the art! 

Sitges and Vilanova i la Geltrú (Spain)

Sitges is a charming seaside town not far out of Barcelona. In fact, if you ask Barcelonins what beach you should frequent, the mere mention of Barceloneta, the city beach, will reap you shaking heads and snorts in disgust. Go to Sitges, they'll say. And so we did.

A scant 45 minutes on the train takes you to this little gem of a town. Meandering streets with the occasional touch of Catalan modernisme architecture take you downhill from the station to the beach. A wide and immaculate promenade takes you past gorgeous sea-facing villas and sailing clubs along the smooth, golden sand beach. Restaurants serve up paella and fideua (a very Catalan dish similar to paella but made with short noodles) to the hungry hordes, but there are plenty of low-key spots along the boardwalk, catering to sandy bodies and selling bocadillos (like a sub sandwich) and grilled combination plates.

The stretch between Sitges and the neighboring town of Vilanova i la Geltrú has a lovely trail offering stunning views of the turquoise Mediterranean and rocky outcroppings. On a sunny day, you can see from the top of a cliff to the sea bed. While you'll get the occasional topless beach-goers in Sitges, as you go further away, the tiny coves along the trail become populated with more nudes. Sitges is very popular with the gay community so don't be surprised if you come upon well-muscled and oiled bodies trysting. Pepper interrupted some sunbathers in a tranquil inlet by bounding up and down through the waves and stopping for a poo 20 feet from their blankets! Mortified, we cleaned up after her and got out of there as quickly as possible.

Wine and cava in the Penedès region (Spain)

One of the highlights of living in Spain is the wine! You can get quality wines for low, low prices. If you're drinking at home and want to go the ultra-cheap route, bring a clean bottle to your local bodega and get it filled from one of the small casks for about 2 euros. When you ask for wine with your menu del día (= lunchtime set menu), in some of the more generous places, this results in a whole bottle being plunked down on your table. And then there's my personal favorite: in Barcelona, it's not uncommon for restaurants to sell cava (Spanish sparkling wine, or "xampany" colloquially in Catalan) by the glass. In fact, the tiny, narrow cava joints are among the most regularly packed bars in the city, and at 1.50 euros/glass, who wouldn't want to be drinkin' this Cristal?

While Spain's most famous region for wine is La Rioja, the Penedès region (appellation: Penedès DO) is not a far runner-up. It is centered around the towns of Vilafranca del Penedès (also very famous for their human tower-building castellers) and nearby Sant Sadurní d'Anoia, around 60 km west of Barcelona in a car. Since we don't have one, we explored the region with the rest of the guiris (Catalan for "foreigners") on a coach bus tour. In our defense, there were at least a couple of other local couples - including Catalans! - who also opted for the tour, sharing our drinking and driving concerns.

Our first stop was at the Bodega Jean Leon, whose original owner made his fortune as the proprietor of La Scala restaurant in Hollywood. Most of the wines produced on this estate are French varietals, and they gave us a too-young Merlot (bleagh!)  to compare with the full-bodied reserve Cabernet Sauvignon later. I should mention that "taste" in Spain is a bit of a misnomer. Receiving closer to half or even nearly full glasses of wine for each one, we felt it was all the more reason to get someone else to drive.

In contrast to the smaller estate, we also stopped at Torres, a global behemoth whose estates flourish not just all over Spain, but in California and Chile also. Does Sangre de Toro ring a bell? A covered tram brought us all around the vineyards and winery, showcasing their green building and sustainability commitments. We tried three wines paired with typical cheeses, and one Moscatel-Gewürztraminer blend made us reconsider our usual prejudice against white wines.  

Friexenet, our final stop, is no small potatoes either. In case you doubt its status as one of the largest producers of cava, the tour winds you through the deep levels of caves where barrels upon barrels hold the wine during the first fermentation and stacks of shelves store the millions of bottles during the all important cava-making second fermentation. Another three glasses of the effervescent gold (ok, so one was more of a rosé) met us at the end of the tour. Featuring blends of the three traditional cava varieties (going by super-Catalan names of macabeu, parellada and xarel·lo), they were delightfully refreshing and paired well with the bounty of tapas arrayed before us. Carquinyolis, a sort of Catalan almond biscotti, made for a delicious ending to our lovely day!

PortAventura in Salou (Spain)

Back when Rich was a kid, if his birthday fell on the weekend, he always thought it'd be fun to go to the theme park to celebrate it. Alas, in such climes, they were never open by the time the auspicious date rolled around. Not so in sunny Spain!

Just outside Tarragona in the town of Salou is the theme park PortAventura. They've been running their annual month-long campaign to draw visitors in with their Halloween-themed additions and deals. The promotion through the Rodalies de Catalunya (the regional railway service) is a pretty good one, considering the train stops only a short walk from the gates and the total price for transport + entrance is the same as entrance alone. The Halloween theme was also very prominent with jack-o-lanterns galore, ravens roosting in trees, and cobwebs draped in all the rafters. The psycho-killers jumping out from shadowy areas did lead to quite a few screams from unaware folks and nervous laughs from their friends. The long line into the Mayan Curse experience was transformed with such haunted house-style antics as fog and zombies that it did make me jittery. Even the dead-eyed one who bore a passing resemblance to Bono was pretty creepy.

PortAventura has many of the run-of-the-mill attractions you'd expect to find in a good amusement park in the States. The designers did seem to do an above average job in the quality and details of the differently themed regions. For example, a rainforest in Polynesia was manifested not only in flora but in a microclimate of humidity, and the Great Wall wraps around an Asian-style garden in China. The biggest draw in 2012 is the new roller coaster (which is, in Spanish, literally a "Russian mountain"). Shambhala, now Europe's tallest coaster and also boasting the tallest drop, is fittingly billed as a Himalayan expedition. It gets a thumbs up from both of us... and a special mention for the curiously free, big air feeling that comes from dangling feet, the lack of an over-the-shoulder harness, and an unobstructed view throughout the ride. Dragon Khan goes for loop-de-loop gold with its 8 inversions (very disorienting afterwards), and Stampida brings you back for old timey, rickety wooden thrills in a dueling roller coaster race. But the best on-board roller coaster photos have got to be from Furious Baco. The individual cameras trained on each rider catch precious expressions on video as you get launched, reaching a speed of 83.9 miles per hour in 3.5 seconds! Sorry, mom and dad, in the shock of the moment, most of my video was the stream of expletives also being launched from my mouth. 

Tarragona (Spain)

After a little over an hour on the express train from Barcelona, we arrived in Tarragona. We'd heard nice things about this town in southern Catalunya so we thought it would make a nice day trip during the public holiday of All Saints Day. 

The town is ancient, with the ruins of the Roman "Tarraco" having been designated a UNESCO World Heritage site. You can wander around the old town looking for the 30 locations marked along the urban archaeological route from the tourist information center. Some of them have beautiful mosaics and intricate scale models for you to really appreciate the Roman heritage. Or so I've heard. Unfortunately for us, many of the museum sites were shut for the public holiday... in direct contradiction to the opening days and times posted on the doors themselves, I might add. We had to content ourselves with the sections of ruins visible from the roads and other public spaces. Since these included Roman walls, towers, and a fairly intact amphitheater with a stunning view of the Mediterranean, it wasn't such a bad consolation prize.   

Like Barcelona, Tarragona has its own highlights of Catalan modernisme architecture. Delicate, intricate ironwork shows up here and there, and even an old slaughterhouse was done up mighty stylish. Probably the best example, though, is the fantastic tomb of King Jaume I inside the Ajuntament (City Hall). The architect Lluís Domènech i Montaner worked his mosaic magic again to house the Catalan king's remains in a gorgeous boat flanked by angel sculptures.

More stone figures appear in the form of apostles on the edifice of the Cathedral of Santa Maria. You can count on the church to be open on a holy day. Despite a few dark chapels along the edges, the interior of the 12th century cathedral was actually quite light and expansive. We also took a walk along the quiet cloisters, but we couldn't quite bring ourselves to disturb the peace in the lovely interior garden. 

La Mercè 2012 in Barcelona (Spain)

Another year, another La Mercè. Barcelona's major festival is in honor of its patron saint, Our Lady of Mercy, and it was interesting seeing it this time through the fresh eyes of our visiting family. They gasped as the human towers of castellers climbed higher and higher (and had to stop watching after seeing a tumble or two), flashed photo after photo of the dancing gegants and capgrossos (giants and big-headed figures) during the processions, and thought all of Barcelona mad as the diablos of the correfoc (or "fire run") shot rounds and rounds of fireworks into the crowds. The accompanying wine and cava festival was set up by the Arc de Triomf, and we all got a little carried away with our tasting of the local vintages.

Finally making it up to Montjuic, circus-style performers from the invited city of Montreal showed off their magic tricks and acrobatics just outside the walls of the 17th century fortress that overlooks the city. The Canadians could be found down over in the Parc de la Ciutadella, too. A pair of artists channeling Daft Punk danced in sophisticated lighted robot suits to electronic music. Another performer drew scenery and characters with sweeps of sand on a lighted display, which when projected, produced a fascinating kind of shadow puppet theatre. For a more interactive event, there were all sorts of steam punk-style machines - or movable sculptures? - spread throughout the park, and a big stage featured alternately dancing tutorials (even lindy hop!) and some loose kareoke.

While the Ajuntament de Barcelona (the city council building) again featured an entertaining light show on its edifice, it was clear that this year, the pièce de résistance was saved for the city's most iconic building - Sagrada Família. Even without adornment, everyone can agree that the facades of Gaudí's masterpiece are impressive. But putting a perfectly executed, three-dimensional light show onto the Nativity Façade was absolutely mind-blowing. The extravaganza highlighted the intricate detail of the carvings, and all the world's creatures seemed to flow forth from the Tree of Life sculpture. The building itself was a chameleon, shifting convincingly from molten gold to crumbling stone to an Eden-like waterfall and even to an under the oceans view. The production was so faultless and so vivid that everyone watching had a minute or two of stunned, jaw-dropped silence before erupting into raucous applause. It was truly one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life. 

Girona (Spain)

Girona, northeast about an hour and 15 minutes on the train, makes for a popular day trip outside of Barcelona. An ancient city, it seems like lot of history's heavy hitters - Romans, Visigoths, Moors, Charlemagne, and Napolean - conquered and ruled Girona at one point or another. Today, it means there's some beautiful architecture. There are cobblestoned, narrow streets and grand churches. Brightly-colored facades of houses overhang the Onya river as it lazily winds its way through the center. The Passeig Arqueologic takes you through some beautiful gardens, and you can actually walk along the battlements of the ancient fortress walls, some of which date back to the 9th century. The Banys Arabs look older, but the baths are actually a 12th century Romanesque construction.

We also popped into the local CaixaForum for some impressionist works. One of the things that never ceases to amaze me in Europe is the abundance of masterpieces very casually available to the public. Entry is free, there are only a few rooms, and yet any one of the Gaughins or Monets in this one collection would be the centerpiece of an American gallery.

As visitors to Girona, we happily played into the role of tourists and ate in one of the many restaurants lining the sunlit Plaça de la Independència (even though we studiously avoid doing such things in Barcelona's similarly picturesque Plaça Reial). Luckily, we managed to find the one place with a reasonably priced menu del día (lunch with multiple courses at a set price), and the gazpacho was wonderfully cooling in the heat. 

Catalan National Day in Barcelona (Spain)

September 11th is an important day in Catalunya but for very different reasons. It is the National Day of Catalunya. On this day nearly 300 years ago, Catalans suffered a defeat when backing the losing side in the War of Spanish Succession. Nowadays, the holiday is a lot like Independence Day in the States (day off work, flags flying, parades, etc.)... except imagine if the U.S. hadn't actually gotten independence yet and was still under the thumb of the British Empire. Because that's how a lot of Catalans feel. Although it is an autonomous community in Spain, Catalunya too was once its own empire. It has its own language and culture distinct from Castillian, aka what most people outside of Spain think of as Spanish language and culture. You don't have to drive far to see graffiti with "Catalunya is not Spain" in giant letters. Within Spain and even within Europe, Catalunya has been very strong economically with big industries and tourism, but with what many locals see as paying too many taxes back to the capital in Madrid and without getting much back. The Catalan independence movement has always been at least simmering in the background, but with the Spanish economy and government tanking, calls for secession have grown even louder.

There is always a big parade/protest for the National Day of Catalunya in Barcelona so we decided to take a look. Near Arc de Triomf, dozens of stalls were selling everything you need to show your national pride or support: t-shirts, bandanas, placards... even Catalan cola! The red and yellow stripes of the Catalan flag are a pretty common sight any day in Barcelona, but man, were the independence flags, sporting the extra white star on a blue triangle, really flying off the shelves! A very popular fashion choice is what I am calling The Superhero, tying the full-size flag with strings around your neck like a cape... a sort of Captain Catalunya? The Parliament of Catalunya building was open to the public so we had a wander around inside. Interestingly, the building and the park it is in (Ciutadella) was originally part of a fortress built, not to protect the city, but to maintain control of the rebellious Catalan population after the aforementioned War of Spanish Succession. We passed a troop of soldiers in re-enactment-style costumes with drums and muskets, but the real show was the parade. Whole families - from babies in strollers to grandparents with walking sticks - were chanting protests and singing nationalistic songs. Every road or alley we passed was packed with people streaming to or from the march. Final numbers vary, but an estimated 1.5 million people marched in Barcelona. When you consider the entirety of Catalunya is only 7.5 million, this meant that 20% of the population was there. Absolutely staggering! 

Whitewater rafting and canyoning in Sort (Spain)

Having sold our beloved car in the States, any time we get into one now seems like a special occasion. We headed further into Catalunya, driving northwest for 3 hours into the Pyrenees. The landscape was beautiful: golden with ripening fields of wheat, zigzagging in shallowly terraced strips, the occasional green vineyard, and dotted with monasteries and ruins. When we ordered a lavish array of tapas in the village of Tremp, the bill including drinks came to only 5 euros per person! It really hit home we weren't in Barcelona any more.

The tiny village of Sort, or "Luck" in Catalan, is famous for the lottery. The lottery, particularly the Christmas drawing, is hugely popular in Spain. In December, lines wrap around the block in the preceding weeks, and everybody plays, usually with colleagues from work (kind of like how nearly everyone in the States fills out a bracket or belongs to an office pool for March Madness). In a somewhat self-fulfilling prophecy, a store where the winning lottery ticket was purchased advertises the hell out of the boon and immediately increases future sales (and of course, the probability of more future wins). With a name like "Luck," many visitors to the mountain village purchase 2 souvenirs: a lottery ticket from the shop La Bruixa d'Or ("The Gold Witch") and a lucky witch doll. Rumor has it that the owners have capitalized so well on the mystique that the shop is only open in the 3 months before Christmas and spend the rest of the time jet-setting in their private yacht.

La Bruixa d'Or was closed so we opted for another kind of gamble - extreme sports! Marking another item off the bucket list, we went rafting on whitewaters of the Rio Noguera Pallaresa. During the beginning practice section on the river, what Rich describes as a "completely expected collision with a rock" sent me overboard into the literally breath-taking chilly waters. After floating downstream aways, I eventually got hauled in again. The dip made me very reluctant to revisit the experience, even during a practice drill for capsizing. Later, a couple of others in our crew also went for unintended swims, but everybody survived. Even when the raft caught some air a few times. The 3 hour trip navigating the Class III+ rapids was definitely invigorating! If only it didn't take us all about 6 hours to warm up again.  

This wasn't such a problem the next day. Clad in only an unflattering getup of helmets, swimsuits, and neoprene socks with sandals, we got plenty warm enough by hiking to the Sant Pere de las Malesas canyon. The first challenge of the day was just getting into our 5 mm wetsuits. A shoehorn wouldn't have gone amiss. We donned diaper-style harnesses, and away we went! Tramping through small pools and sliding down rocks, the physical challenge and fear didn't threaten to overwhelm me as it did when we tried canyoning in Turkey. Maybe this is because I conducted myself honorably in the two rappeling (= abseiling) sections this time. Actually I quite enjoyed the free jump from the waterfall and the "scoot down chicken-winged" section of a funnel. Rich, of course, wished it had been a little more extreme, but he was very grateful we didn't have to hike back in soaked wetsuits.    

Primavera Sound 2012 in Barcelona (Spain)

We've found the live music scene in Barcelona to be a little disappointing, mainly for the price and somewhat the variety (mostly big headliners). So our strategy has adapted: blow our hard-earned cash on the glorious marathon of shows that is the Primavera Sound Festival.

The bulk of the action takes place for three days at the sprawling seaside complex of Parc Forum. However, there are various venues around and about the city hosting sporadic shows on the bookend days as well as in the preceding weeks. I was bummed to miss The Walkmen, who were playing 5 minutes from our apartment. But the scheduling is not very amenable to us working folk. Shows can start as early as two o'clock in the afternoon and often run until 5 a.m. It requires a variety of energy conservation techniques (e.g. cat naps at home or propped up against a sea wall) and caffeine management.

On the first day of the main event, our old friends Death Cab for Cutie and Franz Ferdinand didn't disappoint. Solid performances for huge audiences... and you can always trust Franz Ferdinand to get the indie kids dancin'. Unfortunately, the newer bands did not live up to my expectations. The xx had a pretty elaborate stage set up, including a giant plexiglass X that slipped its hook so a roadie had to be hoisted like a cheerleader to fix it. With all the smoke machines and lasers, the band seemed to be more interested in style than substance. Or maybe I'm just not emo enough. Japandroids's lo-fi appeal was lost in a wall of noise, and not in an awesome Mogwai-kind of way. To be fair, the giant solar panel structure overhanging the gig might have been working against the acoustics. Far and away one of my favorite performances of the whole festival, Beirut was incredible in its three-horned glory (trumpet, flugelhorn, and trombone). It might be a cheap thrill, but really, can anything else tug on your heartstrings more than a little mournful brass? What more can you expect from a guy with French horn tattoos on his wrists? A little funereal, a little mariachi, a little gypsy, apparently. Hats off to the Jimi Hendrix-like wizardry of the accordion player, too!

On the second day, I Break Horses put on a good show even if the synthy atmospheric stuff felt a tad misplaced on a sunny afternoon. The War on Drugs rocked the Pitchfork stage. They were less Arcade Fire than I expected, but that was fine by me. We stayed to the very last song, which meant arriving late to The Cure extravaganza on the main stage. Clearly, everyone came to Primavera Sound for this show. Even the VIP section on the hill was absolutely packed. Robert Smith still looks like Elizabeth Taylor after a night of heavy drinking, but the band sounded even better than when we saw them in their own Curiosa Festival in the States. It was mostly a hit parade, but hey, if I'm singing along to "Just Like Heaven," too, I'm not gonna complain. Given the distance to the stage, we bowed out early, gambling on checking out the newer band Wavves. It was a mistake. Yes, we got very close to the stage. But their bouncy punk efforts, which might have been plucky and amusing in 16 year olds, just seemed kind of pathetic when they're mid-30's trying to recapture lost youth... and we found out The Cure ended up playing a 4 hour set :(  For surf rock done right, better to turn to The Drums, whose "Obama/Oh mama? I wanna go surfing" song popped with energy. All of their songs were very tight, and the lead singer's gumby-like dancing and strutting really drummed up the crowd's enthusiasm. With the funky fun of The Rapture, a dance party is practically a requirement. I was a little disappointed that the keyboardist didn't ride his keyboards like the last time we saw them (strangely enough, also at the Curiosa Festival), but you've got to give him credit for still being the most enthusiastic cowbell player you'll ever see! 

The third day had a lot of ups and downs. Tall Firs doodled around on a couple of guitars, but their low key set really suffered without a drum kit. The more upbeat Milagres show was a welcome relief, but Beach House's dream pop with the lead singer obscured in the smoke and synth brought us back down again. Chromatics were a better option, but to really liven up the festival, who'd have thought to look to Kings of Convenience as saviors? That's right. The Norwegian duo, whose music harkens back to Simon and Garfunkel, and who have an album called "Quiet is the New Loud," rocked the joint! I was surprised to see them on the main stage, but judging from the masses, we weren't the only ones looking forward to the show. The first half's easy breezy harmonizing with acoustic guitars and relaxed banter was well-suited to the sunny seafront. Then they brought on a rhythm section and the most happy-go-lucky electric guitarist to go all out disco dance party. I knew Erlend Oye moonlights mixing electronica and hanging out with folks like Royksopp, but it's still quite another thing to see the shift in person - from earnest bookishness in big glasses and a baggy cardigan to gangly, swaggering funk frontman. They were having a grand old time (even taking pictures with their own camera on stage), and the crowd were, too. Hands down, the best show of the festival!   

Sant Jordi in Barcelona (Spain)

In our household, Saint George has always been thought of as an English saint. After all, his red cross on a white background is the English flag and, consequently, adorns many sport-related paraphernalia. In Catalunya, he - as Sant Jordi in Catalan - is even more venerated. For starters, it seems like the most common name in Barcelona. Even in our small circle of acquaintances, we know seven  Jordis! As the patron saint of Catalunya, his feast day on April 23 is a major public holiday.

Here's the legend, as it has been explained to me: A dragon was burninating the countrysides, and the peasants were offering up virgins as sacrifice. The beautiful princess tells her father that, out of responsibility for the realm, she will volunteer herself. The distraught king offers half of his kingdom to save her. Sant Jordi happens to be riding by and courageously goes forth to slay the dragon. The blood spilling from the stab wound turns into a rose. Sant Jordi gets the girl, they get hitched, and they live happily ever after.

In Catalunya, this romantic story also gets entwined with two other significant events that happened on or near Sant Jordi's feast day. In 1616, these were tragic days for literature. William Shakespeare, whose famous works include the star-crossed lovers of Romeo and Juliet, died on April 23 in England. His Spanish counterpart Miguel Cervantes, whose classic novel Don Quixote follows the title character's chivalric adventures dedicated to his lady love Dulcinea, died on April 22.

They all come together in the Catalan holiday. The tradition is for a man to give a rose (honoring Sant Jordi) to the special woman in his life, and for a woman to buy a book (honoring the authors) for the special man in her life. Nowadays these definitions have expanded to include, not just romantic partners, but your mother, father, sister, or brother. Such a popular holiday, of course, has not escaped commercialism. The streets are absolutely packed. Every charity, school club, or organization sells roses, and every bookstore opens outdoor stalls with discounted books. To sweeten the deal, many stores host famous authors who will sign your new book... if you're willing to wait in the interminable lines. We saw a lectern set up on one pedestrian street, where a succession of folks were participating in a marathon public reading of Cervantes's weighty tome. There is even a growing number of bakeries and pastry shops advertising Sant Jordi cakes (another variation on the sponge cake and cream so omnipresent in Spain) and breads (striped in alternating red sobrassada sausage and yellow cheese to mimic the Catalan flag). It's fantastic!

For some reason, the rampant commercialization of this particular holiday doesn't bug me like Valentine's Day in the States. Maybe it's because there is no pressure to anticipate and prepare for the holiday beforehand. The expectation is that roses and books will be bought on April 23 - which explains why Rich was perplexed to be the only customer in a bookstore earlier in the week - and there is no excuse for forgetting on that day because it's impossible not to see or hear the festivities. Maybe it's because even a hefty mark-up on roses, with only a single one to buy, still only amounts to a few euros. But let's face it... anything that encourages widespread reading will always be ace in my book!

Skiing and snowboarding in La Molina (Spain)

Our ski gear has been moldering away in the closet despite the pain in the butt it was to bring here. Rich's got some use at a "conference" in Austria last year which oh-so-conveniently doesn't schedule talks in the afternoon so as to take advantage of the powder. However, mine hadn't seen the light of day for ages.

La Molina is a ski resort in the Pyrenees near the French border. You can buy a "skitren" pass through the Catalunya train authority, which includes the roundtrip train ticket (2.5 hours each way), bus transfer to the resort, and a lift ticket for the day - all for 42.50€! To put this into perspective, the lift ticket alone is 39.50€. We also knocked off a little more by taking advantage of a 2-for-1 rental deal Rich found. Toma!

The conditions for skiing have been pretty miserable this season, across much of Europe and even in parts of the U.S. We knew going into it that any snow would be man-made, and riding the train up through a green and muddy brown landscape seemed to confirm everyone's dire predictions. The resort itself is not huge, but for a day or weekend trip, it's not a bad option. There were a few greens, some blues, and more reds and blacks (European for black diamond and double black diamond, respectively). The slopes were pretty empty because of the conditions, but this was fine for me. Ever since nursing a pair of injured knees back to health (one from a skiing injury), I've been pretty shaky on skis. Short, leisurely trips are just what the doctor ordered for building my confidence back up... and to not get re-injured. In the meantime, Rich channeled his inner Shaun White to practice some tricks and even took his board down some of the rails and jumps of the snowboard park. Apparently, La Molina even hosted the World Snowboarding Championships last year.

During our surprisingly reasonably priced lunch at the lodge (unheard of in the States), the unthinkable happened. It started snowing! The snow was coming down so thick and fast that even one of the cafeteria workers was warning some people who had driven up from the city to leave early due to the road conditions. Finally, the entire slope was covered with a nice blanket rather than just the sad little strips confined to the runs in the morning. Visibility was even becoming an issue even though the fresh powder was thoroughly agreeable. Eventually, we called it quits as Rich's rental board started to ice up, and we needed to catch the train to get home at a reasonable hour. We'll just have to go back!

Fútbol from a casual fan (Spain)

For everyone else in the world besides Americans, football (i.e. "fútbol," or soccer in American) is THE sport. It should come as no surprise that many supporters live and die for their teams. The fans of Fútbol Club Barcelona (aka "Barça"), however, are legion. I've have found Barça fans all over the globe, from the highlands of Nicaragua to remote villages in Asia.

Their rival is Madrid. Forget Purdue vs. Indiana, Carolina vs. Duke, even Yankees vs. Red Sox. Real Madrid vs. F.C. Barcelona is the rivalry to end all rivalries. Their meetings ("El Clásico") during the regular and post seasons have occurred nearly 250 times, and they are two of the richest, most successful clubs in the world. Even deeper than that, Barça has long been a symbol of Catalan pride and nationalism. During Franco's regime (who supported Madrid), regional identities and cultures suffered from oppression, and Barça matches were one of the few places Catalans could represent, so to speak. One of Barça's club presidents was even assassinated by Franco's troops. So, yeah, you can begin to see where history lends weight to their slogan "More than a club" ("més que un club")...

Heading into the hallowed ground of Camp Nou, I felt a little trepidation, not being a bred-in-the-bone devotee. Camp Nou is the largest stadium in Europe (and the 11th in the world), but I was more struck by its functionality. Entrances and staircases didn't feel crowded as people streamed in, and for anyone who's ever been to any American college or pro stadium, there seemed to be an utter void of advertising.

Barça was playing Real Betis, a club out of Sevilla. We were lucky to catch a glimpse of some serious bling, as star player Lio Messi (always looking the happy-go-lucky innocent) and team captain Carles Puyol (always of the long, flowing curls) both accepted glittering trophies from recently announced awards.

High up in the nosebleed seats, we still managed to have a decent view of the pitch. The atmosphere was quite business-like with the majority of fans concentrating seriously on the action below. Apart from one group of continually chanting Barça supporters, it was also surprisingly quiet. There were no announcers or color commentators over the speakers, even the referee calls had to be divined on the basis of hand signals alone, and not a single burst of loud pop music - say, Queen or the Black-Eyed Peas - that would normally interrupt every pause in an American game to "pump up the crowd." Of course, there were no cheerleaders either, but Barça's manager Pep Guardiola, who could easily have a future as a male model, makes for a nice bit of eye candy for the ladies in his dashing suit and tie.

We expected Barça to win, but after 2 goals in less than 20 minutes, we weren't quite sure if we wanted to see a complete slaughter. However, Betis picked up their game and rallied to tie before the half. Barça's faltering actually seemed to invigorate the somewhat stoic stands. Besides the colorful phrases flying over our heads that made us wish we knew more Catalan, it was absolutely hilarious seeing the previously sedate middle-aged lady in front of us spitting out venomous curses and making obscene gestures at the ref! Luckily, Barça came back from the half, displaying once again their breathtakingly beautiful brand of ball-handling, to score 2 more goals. Right was restored in the world, and when the match finished, we were able to sing along as they blasted the anthem - with subtitles - , "Barça! Barça! Barça!"

Jamón (Spain)

Many years ago I picked up a copy of a posh magazine, possibly Gourmet or The New Yorker, and read an article where the writer waxed nostalgic about the best meal he had ever eaten. In some house in the Spanish countryside, in some distant past, he had dined simply and divinely on only bread, red wine, and ham. Afterwards, he discovered that the wine just happened to be a select rioja from a great house from a great year, and the ham was the king of hams. His trek to discover the origins of the meal has stuck with me, and since moving to Spain, I wanted to experience such great food.

Even though "jamón" translates to "ham" in English, to even consider it in the same universe as ham (yes, even a honey-baked ham, Dad) seems shockingly disrespectful. Spanish jamón comes in two forms: jamón serrano from the white Iberian pig and jamón ibérico from the black Iberian pig. While jamón serrano is still yummy, jamón ibérico is in a league of its own.

The ancient Iberian breed has slender legs and black hooves (why they are also called "pata negra"). If they are going to be the best of the best, otherwise known as jamón ibérico de bellota, they will finish their lives roaming free on a pastoral woodland with ancient oak trees, scarfing down over 20 lbs (10 kg) of acorns a day. After slaughter, the legs are packed with sea salt and dried in the cool, mountain air for 2 years or longer. To protect and maintain the quality, there are even appellations like you have for wines.

After careful deliberation, we opted for a starter jamón. It was on sale... in a supermarket... and it came in a carrier that looked like one for tennis rackets... with the foot sticking out. Sure, it wasn't a "bellota," but it was still a jamón ibérico. Since one of the ways to ruin a jamón is in the carving, we didn't want to practice on something that, since its introduction in the U.S. in 2007, retails for over 90 dollars a pound! We named our jamón, Jorge. [Note: This is not a typical practice, and many Spaniards/Catalans were quite amused by the idea.] At around 90 euros (~ 115 dollars), Jorge still wasn't cheap. However, after getting 4 months of daily sandwiches out of him, he proved to be a smart investment.

Having honed our knife skills, this year we wanted to push the boat out. Ramón the Jamón is a bellota, and not just any, but a "gran reserva" carrying 3 J's on his label, out of a maximum 5 J's, from D.O. Guijuelo, an appellation in Salamanca. In the interest of full disclosure, Ramón is technically not a true jamón (made from the hind leg) but a paleta (made from the front leg). There's really little difference between them except size, and consequently, a paleta is marginally cheaper than a jamón. In this first week of eating, Ramón has truly surpassed his predecessor. He sports the hallmark deep red hue with marbling of golden fat that melts in your mouth. He's sweet, nutty, and not too salty with a complexity of flavor that puts Jorge to shame. We look forward to many more exquisite meals!

Finally, for you detractors out there, here is a funny little true story. A group of scientists at a European conference were arguing over ham. The Italians were proclaiming that prosciutto di Parma (a standard-bearer which many of you might be more familiar with) was the best in the world. The Spaniards vigorously championed jamón ibérico. Being scientists, of course, they came up with an experiment. At the next meeting, they brought a plate of each for tasting. In the end, there was some prosciutto left over, but the jamón plate was clean. Spain was declared the victor!

Valencia (Spain)

About 15 years ago, I was accepted into a summer language exchange in Valencia, Spain. Much to the consternation and disappointment of my Spanish teachers, I turned down the prestigious - and very pricey - program. Instead, I chose to muck about in Indiana cornfields doing agricultural research. Since that decision led me eventually to a scholarship, a degree, and a career, I can't say I've ever regretted it. But now I'm living in Spain, why not have a look-see?

Valencia is 3.5 hours south by train, and the ride down frequently features the sea on the left and orange groves on the right. Upon arrival, the weather was so wonderfully warm (in January!) that our coats and sweaters quickly became a burden. It may be the third largest city in Spain, but strolling through the old parts of the city, Valencia felt like a quaint little town. Valenciano is a dialect of Catalan so a lot of the street names and the flag also looked familiar.

The Museu de Belles Arts is housed in the lovely St. Pius Palace. The collection has over 2000 works, including those of Velazquez, Goya, and El Greco... and the entrance is free! Unfortunately, our visit was cut short. Rich was struck down by illness (possibly airplane-borne) and spent most of his time in the hotel room. I popped out for a bite to eat before returning to take care of him.

The invalid had recovered enough the following day to take in the Cathedral and get a bit of fresh air - with frequent rests! - in the Jardins de Turia, a riverbed converted into a large, beautiful city park. We even caught a group practicing parkour (free running, see the chase sequence from Quantum of Solace). They weren't quite James Bond or Jason Bourne, but they looked like they were having lots of fun.

Our visit to Valencia was crowned by an excellent meal. Outside Spain, paella is thought of as the national dish. Inside Spain, everyone knows it's Valencian... and boy, they sure do it right! Our paella valenciana was a heavenly concoction of rabbit, chicken, fava or broad beans, runner beans, and artichokes in a bed of saffron rice. The meat was very tender, the vegetables gorgeous and smokey, and the toasted rice on the bottom worth every delicious scrape. Even with Rich's poorly stomach, he managed to eat almost half of the pan. In a country of great eats, this paella was easily one of the best meals we've had in Spain.

The final verdict of our visit was that it only whet our appetites for Valencia. We hope to return some day... if only for the paella!

Madrid (Spain)

Although Catalunya is lovely, it's a little disappointing that, after over a year, I haven't seen more of Spain. Madrid, the capital, made for a great getaway. For some unfathomable reason, the fast AVE train (2.5 hours) between the two cities was ridiculously more expensive than the flights (1 hour) from any of a handful of discount airlines. Later, a quick poll of Barcelonins revealed the AVE to be far and away the preferred method of travel, which explains how this business model thrives.

With Madrid being Barcelona's rival in all things, it's difficult not to make constant comparisons. Right away the architecture tells you that you're not in Barcelona any more. Whereas Barcelona's Modernisme delights are full of color and whimsy, the edifices of the capital are imposing, wanting you to cower before their might and money. The city's bigger and sprawling, with an extensive subway system and an enviable amount of greenspace, like the Parque del Buen Retiro (300 acres), near the center. Even with the size, we still opted to walk to the tourist haunts. Puerta del Sol, famous all over Spain for its televised New Year's Eve celebration à la Time Square, was dominated by a giant Christmas tree light structure. Plaza Mayor was packed with a Christmas market selling mostly tat and overrun with Bob Esponja (that's Spongebob Squarepants) and other odd characters available for photo opps - at a price, of course.

You can also visit the Palacio Reial, the official residence of King Juan Carlos... although the royal family actually live in another "more modest" palace? (Somehow, those words don't really jive.) It is oppulent with a grand staircase, a mile-long table in the state dining room, countless gold clocks, and five Stradivarius instruments!

The real jewel in Madrid's crown, though, is the Museo del Prado. In visiting one of the world's best art museums, we knew we had to pace ourselves... so we spent nearly an entire day there. It is impressive. In an average museum, you might be lucky to see a few paintings from each master. In the Prado you can wander through gallery after gallery devoted to the different periods of Goya, El Greco, Velazquez, and others. [It was really cool seeing Velazquez's Las Meninas in person, especially after seeing Picasso's labored deconstruction of it in our Barcelona museum]. The Prado's permanent collection is so extensive that it allows for interesting arrangements. One room might contain a formal family portrait alongside complementary ones of each member at their own hobbies, all by the same artist. Another room had portraits of dwarves that had been associated with the royal court. Of course, this being Spain, one would expect to see many religious-themed pieces. What I didn't expect to see was so many representations of breast-feeding, at least 2 dozen. Amongst the most disturbing variations on this theme were a heavily bearded lady nursing... and the Virgin Mary dribbling her "bounty" onto the fires of souls in purgatory! And while we're talking disturbing, Heironymous Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights also figures prominently among the Prado's collection. If it wasn't so strong an assertion against temptation and sin, it would have been Exhibit A in the case for burning at the stake back in its day (the late 1400's). The wild and trippy masterpiece has more in common with surrealists like Dalí - heck, it could even grace a Pink Floyd album - than anything else you've seen in a church.

Lastly, the food... While Barcelona has some fantastic eats, everyone agrees Madrid has superior tapas. Consequently, we went out for a tapas pub crawl in the La Latina neighborhood. There were a couple of false starts, including some croquettes that we later saw featured randomly in a Spanish foodie magazine (disappointing). But we had some fine beers and cheap beers (not the same ones though): and hit the motherlode in a bar where each tapa was so big, it was a challenge to put in your mouth. Bacalao (salt cod) and other seafood was piled 2.5 inches high, and other tasty treats needed the old knife and fork. Other typical Madrid treats we got to try were cocido madrileño (lovely chickpeas and different meats stewed until tender) and gulas (baby eels)! All in all, we had a nice taste of Madrid, but we definitely would like to go back.