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