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

Sicily

Sicily is a land of both extremes and subtleties. The steep cliffs and mountains are intimidating, the ruins as beautiful as they are ancient, each castle is more impressive than the next, and Mount Etna stands as a pillar of both wonder and fear. It’s Wednesday now that I begin my introduction to this place. I actually wrote a little bit of the second post (which Mar finished) before beginning this one. Now that I have some time – I have fallen victim, as many before me, to a Sicilian danger (in the form of explosive diarrhea rather than attack from a mythic beast like the hydra or charybdis). As I sit in the hotel on our penultimate day I do not feel sad or upset for missing out on the amazing Valley of Temples. Rather the opposite, I feel content and fulfilled. How many people in the world get an opportunity like this? I never would have imagined myself here under these circumstances – not growing up, not even last year when I broke from my Pennsylvanian bubble and travelled to Puerto Rico. Thinking about this is all I need to do to bring a smile to my face even while laid up in the hotel room with a Herculean discharge coming from my ass. Welcome to Sicily!

-Greg

More Barcelona, San Juan, Fireworks, Food, Food, and More Food!

More exploring around Barcelona consisted of an attempted visit to Mount Tibidabo. I say attempted because we never actually made it to Tibidabo. We took the tram to metro to the train and tried to take that to another tram, but that’s when our journey stopped. The second tram we were supposed to take (the old tram) was closed (opened Thursday through Sunday, it was Wednesday). We ended up staring at the peak of Mount Tibidabo from the area of Barcelona just below it (don’t ask me the name because I don’t know it and I am feeling too lazy to look it up now and even too lazy to ask Mar who is sitting right in front of me). The second tram was supposed to take us to the funicular (or train that climbs a steep incline for those less wise among us - those like me the other day). Recapping, to get to Mount Tibidabo from Mar’s apartment it takes two trams, a metro, a train, and a funicular. To top off our frustration, the old tram which was closed, would be opened every day starting the next! Bad luck, but we were still in Barcelona, and the view of the city from even halfway up the mountain was very nice.

Later that day we went back to Mar’s apartment and packed our things to return to Blanes for the night. It was the day before Sant Joan, a holiday held throughout Spain in celebration of the summer solstice, and the city was already beginning light up (and quite literally since people were shooting fireworks all over the fucking place). To get us into the spirit I put on a song and busted out some of my best dance moves. Mar commented that I looked like a drunken chicken, as she does every time I dance (but this time even I believed that it was true). I grabbed her and we danced around the living room then out the door to Blanes.

On our way out of Barcelona we stopped to pick up Mar’s friend Anna (one of many Annas in her life), who also grew up in Blanes. Entering the car, she warned me that she wanted to make use of me (my expertise in English that is... if you can call it that). She then read sections from an article in the Economist in her Catalan/Scottish accent and asked me the meaning of certain words in each. Most I was able to answer with relative ease, but some even had me confused. By the end of the lesson the confidence I had in my ability to speak the English language had slightly diminished. It’s a good thing I am learning Spanish now. Hopefully I will have more luck with that.

When we got to Blanes (about an hour longer than it would have taken on any other day), we headed straight to an apartment in the middle of town belonging to friends of Mar’s family, Leo and Rosa. We parked the car and walked through the battlefield that had become the streets of Blanes (as the sun set, the number of fireworks being set off increased drastically). A short and treacherous walk later and we were in the apartment safe and sound from everything except the continual crack of fireworks just off the balcony (we were having dinner on the balcony). Enough complaining, dinner was sensational. Croquettes, Spanish omelet, and a delicious salted cured port for appetizers and pasta with crushed tomato and a mix of veal and pork meat for the main course - I was floored. I am not a huge fan of pasta in general, but every bite of this meal was fantastic. As we munched away, we watched as people on the beach celebrated with fireworks, swimming, and music. The occasional crack of exploding gunpowder was not enough to break my state of peace and relaxation.

After dinner Mar and I went for a relaxing stroll down the beach. Somewhere in between the time the 20th M80 or 3rd quarter stick exploded in front of us I became very sleepy. We left the chaos that had developed in the town and headed back to Mar’s house for the night. From bed I watched the twinkle of fireworks reflecting off of the sea, falling asleep to their metronomic cracks.

The next day I was feeling rather guilty from days of overeating and little to no exercise. Mar suggested we go biking around Blanes, and I was immediately up for this idea. Since neither of us wanted to go biking on the road, we piled the bikes into her car and set off for a nearby trail. It had been a long time since I was last on a bike so I took things cautiously at first. We rolled down a dirt trail past farms growing olives, lemons, grapes, and many other things that I did not bother identifying. The countryside in Blanes is exactly what I would expect from a small town in Spain. Everything had a certain weathered feel to it, as though millennia of farming had slowly washed away much of the land’s color (at least this is how it appeared to a Pennsylvanian). Rocky hills slope down to dull valleys. One farm connects to the next, to the next, to the next. The landscape holds a certain aura of wisdom and experience unlike any I have seen before.

The next day we had a lunch at Can Vinyals. We woke up inspired and went on the bike again to the botanical garden near Mar’s house. Thankfully the ride was short because my ass was rather ripe from the ride the day before. Each pump of the pedals sent a shock wave of soreness and pain surging from my ass. By the time we got to the garden I was hobbling. I quickly forgot as we walked through the dry forest of cactus the garden displays. In between rows of cactus were Roman-looking buildings to rest and grab some shade. Mar is going to post pictures very soon (if not already) so you can see for yourself.

Ok, Can Vinyals, this was the big one. The lunch I had been waiting for. The one we had all been waiting for (actually I think Mar already wrote about it). Paella! Mar’s dad was preparing his paella de sepia (cuddlefish) with rice made black from the fish’s ink. It was pure bliss. With each bite I felt compelled to close my eyes and drift off to an enchanting island of flavor and pleasure (no I am not talking about Puerto Rico). During this meal I sucked shrimp heads, chomped down muscles, and savored bits of sepia. I was hooked! As if the paella wasn’t enough, it was followed by chorizo that exploded with the flavor of spice and fat in the mouth and black sausage (black because it contained blood) that was absolutely divine (I feel like I am running very low on adjectives by now).

After lunch Mar took me around and showed me some of the games she used to play when she would visit Can Vinyals while growing up. Using a piece of tall grass with a seed pod at the top, they would bend the stem around and shoot the pod off in a game called pistol. This felt very familiar to me since when I was a kid I was always looking for similar ways to wreak havoc and role play in war or the wild west or (insert violent boyhood fantasy here). The next game was called how many boyfriends (another boyhood favorite of mine). To play this game someone takes the seeds off of a different tall piece of grass and throws them at your shirt. The number that stick corresponds to the number of boyfriends that you will have. I got 18 (YES!!!)!!! I hope they are all handsome!

The next day we did even more biking. This time through the downtown area of Blanes, out to the edge of town by the beach, around some trails near the farms we biked by the first day, then to the pharmacy that Mar’s mom owns. Along the way I remarked to Mar something along the lines of, “Come on Lance, let’s hurry things up a bit.” No more than two minutes later while crossing through Blanes, a man crossing the street as a passed shouted, “Contador!” I guess I need to take the country I am in into account next time I try to make such a joke.

I’m tired now so this post needs to come to an end. I know a good way...



-Greg

Barcelona Day 2

Ok so it has still been a while since my last post, but luckily Mar decided to take up the reins and write a few posts of her own (as you probably have seen). I love the tiny grammar mistakes she makes. They don’t break the cadence of her story at all (at least not for me), and they lend even more authenticity to the blog!

It was another day to explore. Today Mar decided to ditch the thesis and come with me (sorry thesis). We took the tram to the metro on our way to the outskirts of the downtown area. When we arrived, Mar took me to the area of UB (University of Barcelona) where she took classes for her masters degree in biomedicine (not to be be confused with the masters in nutrition or the masters in film... apparently she likes getting masters degrees). We went into the building with classrooms and the nearby library. The campus at UB is very spread out, not confined like the campuses I am used to. It also seems more modern than most big universities I have seen in the states, which seemed strange to me in a city as old as Barcelona. It almost seems as though the university is breaking from the city’s Gothic style for a more modern look. I found myself a little disappointed in this, but the library was far more satisfying - big stone pillars that transformed into arches at the ceiling filled the room. Yes, I rather enjoyed the library.

A little later we walked to Barceloneta, the main beachfront area of the city. Mar showed me the Olympic Village (the center of the 1992 Olympic Games held in Barcelona), the main port of the city, the Museum of Catalan History (which overlooks the main port, and other things in the area. To tell you the truth, I was not too crazy about Barceloneta. It felt far to contrived and inorganic to me, standing in blatant contrast to the nearby Barri Gotic, which is the exact opposite.

To cheer me up Mar took me for patatas bravas (the Catalan version of french fries) at a nearby tapas bar called El Vaso de Oro, which sits in an alleyway in Barceloneta. This place, although in Barceloneta, felt very right to me. It is a tiny bar staffed by only a few men. There aren’t any waiters or waitresses - you just go up to the bartender and order whatever food and drinks you want. They bring the food to you (or just have a chain of customers eating/drinking there pass it back to you if it is too crowded). It is an authentic place that knows its role (simple food and drink) and does it very well. My frown quickly turned shortly after arriving here!

That day turned to night and we did other things around Barcelona that I can’t quite remember at this point since it was last week. I didn’t get the chance to update as soon as I had liked to, but a week without posting is better than a month.

Love always,

-Greg

Black Paella

Paella is a Valencian dish. Valencia is a region of Spain that is just under Catalonia. When Catalonia was a country, Valencia was part of it. They speak Valencian there, a dialect of Catalan. The Valencian Paella is the most well known Paella but there are many different types of Paella. In my house we make the Paella de Sepia (Cuttlefish Paella). Since we put the cuttlefish ink too, the rice turns out black. The paella contains cuttlefish, shrimp, crayfish, clamps, and mussels.
As an appetizer my dad made baby squid with garlic and parsley. Even Greg thought the squid was too fishy for him. It was so fresh it was literaly like licking a rock covered with seaweeds.


Greg trying to learn from my dad.

With my sister and me.

All together.

-Mar

Breakfast in Blanes

I like to have breakfast in my parents house. The kitchen has a nice view and we always eat toast with cheese and different types of dry sausages and dry salty ham (we call it Jamón Serrano and it is kind of similar to the italian proscuitto).

Siting at the kitchen table having breakfast. Anna, my sister, right next to Greg. Susagna (with the black bikini), and me.

Another view. We, the kids, were having breakfast while the parents were taking a bath in the swimming pool.

-Mar

Barcelona

Now I am about caught up, so posts will probably contain more details from now on (unless I get lazy, which is definitely a possibility).

We came to Barcelona on Sunday. Since then Mar has been spending a lot of time working on her thesis and her paper that was recently accepted for publication in ACS Nano (I am very proud of her for that). Actually, I wasn’t planning on doing a summer blog until I spend the day exploring Barcelona on Monday. Then I decided that some things from this trip just have to be immortalized.

Sunday night after arriving, we were quite hungry and tired. We didn’t feel like cooking or going very far to get dinner. Luckily there is a shoarma place just around the corner from Mar’s apartment (shoarma is an Arab sandwich, akin to a gyro, that usually contains lamb or chicken). Anna, Mar’s sister decided to come along as well. As we sat out side eating shoarma and drinking beer, the conversation seamlessly switched between Catalan and English. The scenery was nice, a quiet city street with tons of trees and a park just nearby. Under the streetlights, listening to Mar talk with her sister in Catalan, I had one of those all too rare moments in life where everything just feels right. I began to wonder how I ended up halfway across the world with the company of people who grew up in a different culture than my own, feeling so comfortable. I always dreamed of doing something like this and now I am realizing that dream. My trip to Puerto Rico opened more doors than I ever could have imagined (I met Mar in Puerto Rico, in case you didn’t know that already).

I woke up Monday morning feeling particularly lazy. Before heading out to explore the city I had to fix the internet on the computers so Mar could work on her thesis. I have never been very good at dealing with internet problems. There as a lot of frustration involved (and even a broken lamp), but by lunch time the internet was up and running. We had lunch at the apartment, and after I headed out to explore the city.

Having eaten more than my fair share since arriving and resolved to do some exercise, I decided to walk to the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter). I left the apartment showing some Philly pride in a Flyers shirt, and headed down Avinguda Diagonal (you should be able to guess what that one means on your own) toward the water authority building (which looks like a giant, blue penis). I crossed several neighborhoods along the way, passing schools, parks, and plenty of bars and restaurants. Eventually I made it to Parc de la Ciutadella, the main green space in Barcelona. Walking along the northern edge of the park, I stopped for a little while to enjoy the scenery before continuing on toward the Arc de Triomf.

Just before reaching the end of the park I got a call from an ecstatic Mar telling me that her paper was accepted to ACS Nano. I continued on with a smile on my face to the walkway leading up to the Arc. This open space allows the Arc to be seen in all its majesty from a distance. I proceeded down the walkway gazing with awe at the Arc when suddenly I saw some guys with blonde dreadlocks and full hippy attire walking toward me. I continued past them when I heard out of the corner of my ear, “Hey, Philly!” (remember I was wearing my Flyers shirt). One of the hippies told me (in a British accent) that he had spent some time living in Philadelphia a few years ago. We chatted for a minute about the city. Just before heading on our respective paths he remarked, “The best thing for Philly was Lindros, and the worst thing for Philly was Lindros.” I never expected to meet someone in Barcelona who knew who the Flyers were, let alone about some of their history!

Continuing on, after many struggles zig zagging through the city streets, I made it to the Born. The Born borders the Barri Gotic and is essentially the shopping district of Barcelona (but beautiful nonetheless). I walked through the Born, Barri Gotic, and Raval (the section bordering the Barri Gotic on the other side) for several hours, stopping only to buy a travel guide and drink some orange mango juice at the central market off Las Ramblas. During my walk I found myself going in circles several times. The streets of old city Barcelona are extremely confusing, narrow and windy. It is extremely easy to get lost here. At one point I walked past a bar with a nice patio, then walked for a few more minutes in what I thought was a totally different area only to find myself walking past the same bar and patio again.

After a while I resolved to leave old town Barcelona... but I had completely lost my sense of direction. I decided to choose a direction and walk straight. After a while I noticed the scenery changing and knew that I was getting out of the maze that is the old city. I walked until I saw a street sign an noticed that I was walking in the direction of Plaza Espanya (the opposite direction of Mar’s apartment). I reached the plaza and main road and turned toward the apartment. Having walked at least 8 miles already, I was beginning to lose my resolve to exercise, so I took the metro back. Public transportation in Barcelona is fantastic - fast and easy to use.

That night I cooked a dinner of tortellini, chicken sausage with onions and tomato sauce, and salad for some gracious Catalans. It was a good first day and night in Barcelona.

-Greg

Greg did all this walking by himself but the day after I went with him. We went to the Marine section and here are some pictures. I'll let him do the explanations since he's much better than me at writing.

This is a neighborhood called La Barceloneta. The building in a sail shape is a W hotel, that was built last year and that completely changed the Barceloneta shore. Some people like it and some other don't.

You can still see the W hotel. Right next to it there's a tower that holds the teleferic (cableway) to go up to the mountain of Montjuic. This is the old port from the terrace of the History of Catalonia Museum.
Ciutadella Park was built in 1877 where the Ciutadella (Citadel) was. The park was built to host the Universal Exposition in 1888. 2,000,000 million people attended this exposition back then. That is a lot of people! The Citadel was built by Felip V, the Spanish king who invaded Catalonia. Once they won and they annex Catalonia to Spain (1714), they built this Citadele to protect themselves in case Catalans started a riot or another war.

In the same park is where the Catalan Parlament is. Catalonia is part of Spain now but it has it's own parlament because a lot of powers were transferred from the Spanish goverment to the Catalan goverment, such as education, healthcare, and pretty much everything BUT taxes. Catalans still pay taxes to Spain.

Close to the port, there's the France Station.This train station connected Barcelona with France. Barcelona was the first city in Spain to be industrialized during the Industrial Revolution.