Bor (with an interlude at Montserrat)

Bor is a town in the Pyranees to the north of Barcelona where Mar’s parents have a house. As I write this I am sitting on the couch watching the sun shine down on the large mountain in front of me. Birds are chirping. Cowbells clank on cattle grazing just meters away (remember I’m in Europe so meters, not feet). The grass is green and soft, and the town is as charming as it is rustic. We came here last night in a summer reprisal of our visit last January. This time there would be less skiing, but hopefully no less fun.

Along the way to Bor (coming from Barcelona) we stopped at Montserrat, an extremely rocky mountain that appears to have no business sitting among its tree-covered neighbors. The mountain is about an hour or so away from Barcelona, and halfway up it sits a monastery famous as the home of both a chorus of young boys and the relic of Saint Montserrat. The monastery was built sometime around the eighteenth century (miraculously, since it is halfway up a mountain that would make it difficult to build even with today’s technology). Luckily, instead of climbing up the mountain to the monastery two options exist for super tourists, such as us, to reach it, a funicular and a tram. We decided to take the tram, which offers extraordinary views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. The tram runs every half our and takes only five minutes to reach the monastery.

Upon arrival at our destination, I was surprised to realize a small town exists near the monastery. This town is largely invisible from the base of the mountain but comes complete with a restaurant, campground, and even a hotel. Mar had stayed at the campground once when she was a child in, as she calls it, boy scouts. During the night she was here, her troop was so loud that the elders (I think that’s what they call adults in the boy scouts) made them walk barefoot in the middle of the night to a shrine nearly a mile away from the campground. Apparently Catalans are good at disciplining their children!

Along this walk, huge rock spires tower above you to the right, looking almost as daunting as they do from the valley below. To the left Catalonia stretches out into the distance, as far as the eye can see. The visibility reaches all the way to Mount Tibidabo, which forms the northwestern border of Barcelona. Mar looked out upon this land with the same set of eyes that I have used many times over as I gazed over Northeastern Pennsylvania from the top of Bald Mountain. This land holds, and always will hold, a special place in my heart. I got the impression that Mar felt much the same way as we stood halfway up Montserrat and looked out on Catalonia.

The monastery itself was quite beautiful also. It holds the remains of kings, monks, and some other important Catalans at the entrance. Further in is the relic of Montserrat, which was hidden in a nearby cave during one of the many civil wars fought in this area. Upon recovering the relic, the monks maintaining the monastery were shocked to see that it had turned from white to black, but they decided to hang on to it anyway, and now the catch phrase for Montserrat is “black but beautiful” (for the record I don’t know why it has to have the “but”). And it was beautiful – beautiful enough for me to give it a little kiss…

The monastery is up there! It's difficult to see because it has the same color as the rocks. We went up with a tram.



We left Montserrat, returning a couple hundred meters back down to reality, and continued to Bor.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I love my eggs in the morning. Rather, I love my sandwich with an egg over easy and melted piece of American cheese on an everything bagel with hot sauce and mayoketchup (also referred to as special sauce in many fast food places) in the morning. I haven’t had one since leaving Clarks Summit (and have been shedding a single tear every morning since). Upon coming to Bor I decided enough was enough. It was time to triumph over a bagel-less country by taking matters into my own hands (baking bagels, not conquering Spain). Since taking up cooking a few months ago, I have developed a serious interest in the practice. In my quest for the perfect dish, I have made goat cheese, hummus, roasted red peppers, and countless batches of foccacia to name a few of the better ones. How hard could bagels possibly be? A dough, boil, and bake later and I had five relatively healthy looking bagels coming out of the oven (and they don’t taste half bad either).
Resting and cooking in the Pyrenees.

Energized by the old morning standard, Mar and I went out to meet friends of her family, Ricard and Anna, for a hike. Ricard and Anna were the first ones Mar’s family knew to buy a house in Bor. Since then, many have followed suite. They also know quite a bit about the area since they have been coming here for years now. In their infinite knowledge they took us to a nearby natural park (I asked, but still don’t know the difference between a natural park and a national park) for a hike. After driving up and up and up a dirt road on a mountain, we arrived at a trailhead. The view from here was already spectacular – mountains and valleys spread out everywhere. Growing along the trail were wild strawberries and spices (oregano, thyme, etc.). It’s no wonder such amazing food comes from a country where such things are so plentiful that they fall by the wayside.
Wild strawberries.

A short hike and about 20 wild strawberries later and we had reached the top of the trail. We climbed to a rocky outcrop above us to see the incredible view of a valley sprawled below us. No matter how many and what adjectives I give you, I don’t even think I can do justice to this view by explanation, so I will let the pictures do the talking here. Enjoy!

So I have been here for longer than I can even remember now (I think it has been about five weeks) and so far virtually every meal I have had at someone’s house has been noteworthy. As Ricard and Anna prepared lunch I thought maybe the time has come for a meal to pass without being memorable (just from the law of averages, not because what they were preparing didn’t seem good). Oh how I was wrong! We started with an ordinary looking salad that had an extraordinary taste due to the inclusion of honey drizzled across the top. I never expected adding honey could change a salad so much. It took an ordinary salad to a very high level. I will definitely keep this one in mind for the future. Next were hamburgers (or hamburgesas as they are called around here). We ate these with a sauce made of mustard, local mushrooms called ceps, olive oil, and Parmesan cheese – very good as well, but not mind-blowing like the salad. Finally, we had a Spanish omelet, which, as has been the case with every Spanish omelet I have eaten thus far, did not disappoint. So I was delightfully wrong in my assumption and analysis of law of averages. Maybe the average here is simply elevated to begin with when compared to mine (I actually thought this months ago… I just thought it would make more interesting writing above to put it the way I did).

A short siesta followed lunch and then a walk around town to look at Ricard and Anna’s previous house in Bor. Next door to this house stands a farm with pigs, cows, and dogs (and plenty of each). I thought Mar was going to lose too much air and suffocate from all the times she went, “oiiiii!” while we were there. Then someone brought out a puppy. I’m amazed she didn’t pass away from its preciousness right on the spot (I even came close).


We went to buy fresh cow milk to prepare the flan and mató.

This post has to come to an end now, so I will finish by saying dinner was even better than lunch and consisted of three different types of sausages, bread with tomato that I have come to adore, potatoes with tomato and a very good sauce on top, flan, milk curd with honey (called mato here), and plenty of wine. Goodnight!


-Greg

Bike, bike, bike.

This is a recompilation of pictures from our biking rides. Going with the bike in Blanes may be my favorite activity.




Going up the mountain to get to Mas Montells, a solidified and extinct volcano.



That tiny mountain at our left is Mas Montells.

We also went to the cactai Botanial Garden. Then my back hurts and I wonder why....
Exploring the Botanical Garden. They allowed us to leave the bikes in the entrance.

A nice pond.
The Botanical Garden ends in this gorgeous beach. The water is so clear! My parents took their wedding pictures in this place 33 years ago!

We went downtown Blanes. I live up in a hill so the beginning is nice, all the way down. The view is very nice also. This is Blanes port. And that rock in the middle is called Sa Palomera.
In front of Sa Palomera. This is Blanes main beach.
In front of the beach there's a very long promenade where everybody hangs out at sunset. I live in that mountain behind me, the top of it has an observation tower called Sant Joan.
Coming back home.
Arround 9pm, the farmers start pouring water to their crop. They wait until the sun is about to go out to avoid evaporation of the water. Water is very expensive in Blanes!

Hospitals

We went to the doctor several times this month. This is a picture of my mom and Greg waiting in the waiting room. It looks dark because it was very bright outside. This public hospital is facing the sea. The system may be crappy but certainly the location is very good!

Madrid

We went to visit the Normon laboratories, a family owned business. We were both shocked by the modernity of the installations and by how drugs are made.
We went with the high speed train and it was Greg's first experience in a real train. They took us to the grand Casino (which is not a Casino anymore) for dinner and to a Castle close to Madrid for lunch. The food wasn't great but we met some funny crazy pharmacist from the south of Catalonia.
Both places were amazing!
One of the room in the Casino.

The main stairs.From the second floor. We were having dinner in the room that you can see from those windows.


The castle were we had lunch.

Birthdays

We celebrated my sisters 25th B-day and my 28 and 1/2 Birthday.

My dad (Antoni), uncle (Mariå) and grandpa (Josep, aka Avi).

My cousins Lluis (11) and Joaquim (14). Joaquim was bothering Lluis all the time and here he was pinching him. Lluis is a little bit dramatic, I have to admit!
My cousins (Lluis and Silvia) with my aunt Cristina. Lluis was explining us that in his class there are 25 kids and they are allways together except for religion class in which they split the ones who take religion and the wants who take "alternative". He said everybody wants to go to religion because they do nothing but that in alternative they have to hand in assays all the time. He clarified ho the class was divided: out of 25, 19 go to religion and 6 go to alternative. "Me, three negros and two whites" We all started laughing as his classification! (which was totally innocent)


Greg fell asleep with my sister Anna.


Greg waking up!

In the shadow of Mount Etna

It was day 2 of our Sicilian adventure, but it was more than just that – it was July 4. For the second straight year I was spending the fourth away from America (not complaining this time either, but Happy Fourth of July to anyone reading from America!). We woke up early (around 9 am, which is still early for me) and headed eastbound for more churches and ruins, neither of which we ended the day without seeing.

Our first stop was a church, or a sanctuary rather (which appears to be the exact same thing as a church). The sanctuary was seated at the top of a mountain with an amazing view of the coast below. A nearby railing provided the dual purpose of offering a view of the Mediterranean and its coast and providing sanctuary from a dramatic and ruinous fall (there are lots of cliffs in Sicily). The church was nothing spectacular, at least not after a full day of visiting spectacular churches the day before. I found myself taking the history for granted. “Oh, this church was built in the 15th century, it is brand new!” When we walked upstairs Mar was disappointed to see that instead of a window to the sea there was a big mosaic of Jesus. I suppose you have to take what you can get.

Later we stopped at a medium sized town on the northeastern coast of Sicily. From here it was only a 3 km swim to the mainland. (Mar writing from now on because the kid is tired). At the beginning of our relationship I sent text messages to Greg as a good morning thing with the sentence “Good morning Calabria!”, so I was excited to be in a church in Messina facing Calabria. The best view was, again, from where the church was standing but this time there were no Jesus blocking God’s most beautiful creation: our planet (well, Swiss created Lindt Chocolate which is kind of in the same level of wonderfulness). We were hungry so we decided to go to Taormina, a wonderful town about 30 km from Messina. It is pretty intense to get to Taormina. It is on a super steep hill and the highway does some crazy loops six flag style. The road goes out the mountain and back, into tunnels, up and down… we all got sick, me being the first one. The nicest thing about Taormina, archeologically speaking, is a Greek amphitheater, rebuilt by the romans, that was partially destroyed during the WWII. It looked like a normal roman theater but it is the emplacement that is nice: from the amphitheater you could see the bay and the Edna smoking (Greg: Concerts would be amazing here and the news is Joe Cocker is coming to town soon)! Taormina is one of those typical Sicilian small towns with narrow streets and hundreds of geraniums everywhere.

I recently cut Greg’s hair, so my mom made him wear a terrible hat that my dad wore for two decades (at least!). It is pink and purple, a marvelous combination of colors… very masculine. Greg looked super turisty with that hat!
We went to sleep to an hotel even higher in the mountain. In a very small town called Castellomole. Because it is in the top of the mountain we had a 360 degrees view. From our balcony we had an amazing view of Taormina. Castellomole has only one street for cars that ends up in a cozy square were cars are not allowed to park. The rest of the town is pedestrian and all streets are made out of stairs. Greg’s knee was kind of bad. We have to get that fixed; one lame per couple is enough. We had dinner in a nice terrace. We are eating too much, and very late. My stomach is not used to this anymore. Eating pasta or a pizza with salami and cheese and walnuts and Gorgonzola at 11pm is too much. Greg seems to be pretty fine doing that. He falls asleep, though, immediately after we eat.

-Greg and Mar

First day – Churches, temples, and more churches

It was our first day in Sicily. We had arrived late the night before so it was our first real day in Sicily. Mar woke up, dropping her pillow (which may or may not have contained a dead cat), to the floor. The previous night had been rather sleepless for both of us as Mar spent the better part of it killing mosquitoes with loud and violent claps… I think her grand total was somewhere around 9 or 10 (a veritable mosquito genocide).

Heading out of our room, we saw the sea for the first time of the trip. We did not notice that our hotel (or should I say motel) was perched on a hill with a lovely view of the sea. Reinvigorated, we headed to meet Mar’s parents for breakfast, which consisted of a coffee and a croissant, both of which were pretty good. After breakfast we got into the car and headed east to see our first set of ruins of the trip (many, many more to come).

As Antonio, Mar’s father, weaved in and out of traffic, turned, stopped, and turned over and over again through narrow, winding streets I began to feel a little sick to my stomach. I don’t get seasick, I’m fine on rollercoasters, and airplanes don’t bother me a bit (even when they are flying through strong storms), but I tell you, dear reader, this ride almost got the better of me. If it weren’t for a brief stop, during which I scarfed down some blood sausage, I might not have made it to the ruins at Segesta. Luckily for all of us I did.

Segesta has the ruins of a Greek temple circa 450 B.C., and what’s left of a Roman amphitheater and medieval castle. Over the course of the centuries (or I guess in this case millennia) many different groups have occupied Sicily, from the Greeks to the Arabs. Each has left its mark on the island in some way, and in many areas, such as this one, marks from several different civilizations overlap. Standing at the castle’s main wall, which looms over the valley below (it was a pretty smart place to put a castle), I wondered about all the wisdom Sicily must have – all the innovation, development, and conflict that it must have seen. The temple begs the question, how did people almost 2500 years ago carry giant pillars to the top of a hill. The answer can be nothing other than sheer determination. It amazes me that people could accomplish this without the aid of the devices that we now take for granted every day of our lives. Furthermore, the castle made me realize our capacity for violence. Before I had time to fully process this thought, we had to run to catch a bus back down to the car (being on Antonio time means you don’t wait for the next bus, you run to catch this one). Leaving these ruins I felt incomplete, just as Sicily must feel knowing that yet another occupant undoubtedly lies in its future.

Continuing to Trapani, a town that overlooks Sicily’s capital, Palermo, we went to see a cathedral filled with breathtaking mosaics. It was built during a competition in the 11th century: whichever town built the most beautiful church (according to whom, I do not know) would be made the capital of Sicily. Palermo ultimately won the competition and remains the capital of Sicily to this day (I don’t know how because this cathedral is much nicer than the one in Palermo). After the church we had lunch at a restaurant with a patio gazing out at Palermo. The bruschetta at this restaurant was prepared with one of the best tomatoes I have ever had.

Palermo in few words – better from a distance, stairs from Godfather II, Mar liked the cathedral because some Catalans are buried there. Ok, enough about Palermo.

After our brief interlude at Palermo, we headed along the coast to Cefalu. This coastal town was built around a massive rock that explodes from the surrounding scenery as you approach. Perched atop the rock is, you guessed it, another cathedral. The town itself would be beautiful even without the giant rock. It has that classic fishing village feel with the Italian flair of many narrow, zig-zagging pedestrian streets. The streets are so beautiful that they appear planned, almost as though a movie is to be filmed just after you disembark. The town also holds another of the dueling cathedrals of the 11th century – beautiful, but still not as nice as the first.

I didn’t want to leave but eventually it was time to move on. We piled back into the car and continued on the winding roads to our nightly accommodations. Along the way I observed the main highway that crosses the north of the island. The entire way, the road alters between bridge and highway, bridge and highway, never seeming to transform into a normal road (apparently the Sicilians could not make up their mind in deciding to build their roadway above the mountains or through them). Apparently the mafia put this principle to good use in silencing a pesky judge (but that is another story for another blog).

The hotel this night was much better, the finest Asian luxury as Antonio would say, and did not contain any pillows with skeletons of dead cats. What it did contain was a fantastic ocean view. Next to the hotel was a restaurant with an ocean view from its back patio. I tell you, eating dinner there as the waves gently rolled in was closer to heaven for me than any church ever will be. Yes, it was a good first day…

-Greg