La Sementera

Barry and I are doing a small load of laundry - at a high price - so it gives me an opportunity to write more. We're on our last morning in Sitges, but we need a few clean items for the return trip home. I last left off in Torrijos...

Each day in Torrijos began with a nice breakfast at Dean and Antonio's, with pastries, toast, coffee, chorizo, cheese, melons (including yummy toad skin mellon), and coffee. Fortunately we didn't need to get up particularly early Friday or Saturday. While we got ready n the morning, we could hear music from the bin heads parade, which we missed, or children's singing from the children's event at the Town Hall up the street.

As mentioned in an earlier post, we were in tn during La Sementera, the annual celebration of the harvest. Someone pointed out to us that small town festivals are much different than city festivals, which are more of a series of large events. For small town festivals, everyone returns to their hometown for the big celebrations so they take on more of a social feel. Everyone hangs out for days, greeting friends and relatives, socializing, eating, and drinking. Torrijos has a sister city in Spain, with a relationship dating back generations, so a lot of people from the other town come to la Sementera to celebrate.

Waiting for the Moors and Christians.

The town seemed to go all-out for the festival. In addition to the big heads parade, there was a main parade on Sunday, with floats, which we missed. Saturday night beginning at 10 was the Moors and Christians Parade. Thousands of people's shows up to watch. The parade itself included four bands and ranks of people coming down the street in various costumes - Moors first, then the Christians, each accompanied by two bands playing the music appropriate for the procession. The costumes were wonderful. Each group had their own prescribed way of Marching or walking down the street. A person carrying some type of weapon lead each rank, dancing and encouraging applause. After the parade we had some very large churros - apparently a very popular festival tradition.

Some of the Moors.

Some of the Christians.

Giant churros.

Making the churros.

Paella delivery.

The other big "event" we experienced ( other than the fireworks) was the delivery of the big paella. At about 1:30 on Friday afternoon, the annual paella tradition commenced. A large truck drove into the Plaza carrying a room - sized paella pan filled with rice, seafood, and chicken, and covered with foil. A crane lifted the pan off the truck, and workers guided the pan through some brick columns into  the tent set up in the interior of the Plaza. Once in place, volunteers began serving the paella free to anyone who wanted some. We watched the delivery and sat to enjoy drinks and some picked vegetables from a street vendor before getting our Paella. Dean, who had stayed home to finish some work translating a speech for the University President, joined us as we finished our meal.

Stuffed pickle.

The Festival was set up on the two main plazas in the town, with a stage for DJs or live music in each square, beer and food tents set up by various restaurants and political parties, and Street vendors. Lining one street leading away from one of the squares was a line of food trucks selling churros and chocolate. At the far end of town was a large lot or field with people selling bags, shoes, shirts, and DVDs along the street, more vendors and trucks selling churros and all kinds of fair food, plenty of Carnival rides, and an even larger stage for the main concert. Friday night we walked to that end of town to see the sights and eat churros. We walked over to they stage to catch part of the concert by a young Venezuelan pop artist. Gywen and Antonio danced while the rest of us stood there listening like Americanos.

Dancing.

During the festival we met a lot of Antonio's family, including his sister and her family, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We also met friends of their nephew, former students, and a few other people along the way. It was definitely a social occasion, with elements of U.S. traditions like a  reunion, a flea market, a festival, and a carnival or fair.

Dean and Antonnio.

Torrijos is a nice small town of about 15,000, and it's not at all touristy. I believe it has roots in agriculture, and now it appears to be a fairly active center of commerce. There aren't a lot of sites to see, other than perhaps the church, so la Sementera was a great time to visit and experience a bit of the culture and a lot of the local pride.

12 Hours in Madrid

I feel like it's been forever since I've blogged, and if I'm jut writing about Madrid now, that essentially means I'm a week behind. After returning to Barcelona and experiencing the game cancellation, compounded by the general strike on Tuesday and just being tired, the wind was kind of knocked out of my sails and I couldn't find any time to sit and write. Now it's evening in Sitges. We've had dinner, adn rather than going out, we've spending some quite time in the hotel. We are sad to think that we only have one more full day in Spain.

A week ago today we awoke in Torrijos and joined Dean for a nice breakfast in his apartment. After breakfast he walked us to the train station to catch a train to Madrid for the day. We had some minor excitement at the train station, when an alarm sounded while Gywen was in the restroom. She swears she didn't do anything to trigger an alarm, and the cleaning woman certainly didn't seem concerned. Some man asked Dean about it in Spanish, and our joke for several days was that Gywen was known all over town as "that American woman who set of the alarm in the restroom."

Dean sent us off on the train around 10:00, as he had to go to Toledo to teach around midday. The train delivered us to Atocha Station in Madrid as expected, around 11:00. Having been there before, we found our way out fairly easily and set about looking for WiFi access so Barry could send off an important email he had composed on the train. My map showed a Starbucks nearby and we headed that direction, but ended up at a Dunkin' Coffee (a.k.a. Dunkin' Donuts, re-branded for Spain) drinking smoothies and coffee at the tables on the sidewalk while Barry took care of the task.

The task complete, it was time to start our sightseeing. We had no particular agenda which was fine, except that no one seemed to offer any strong opinions about what we should do. We considered the Reina Sofia museum, but opted instead to hop on the Madrid City Tour hop-on, op-off bus to get a 45 minute orientation to the city. I'm not sure how long the tour actually took, but we sat on the open-air upper deck as we toured around the central city from the Prado museum past some key monuments, fountains, squares, and churches as well as the Templo Debod, the Royal Palace, the Royal Opera House, and the Cathedral. It was a fun, relaxed way to get a sense of the city and we enjoyed spotting interesting architectural details, people-watching, and seeing the hustle and bustle of the large city. It certainly had a very different character than either Barcelona or Toledo.

We decided that lunch would be good once we had completed the loop, since it was approaching 2:00. After driving past numerous inviting looking cafes with outdoor seating, we got off at the stop closest to the Prado and ended up not finding any such restaurants in the area. We used the restrooms at Starbucks and started out walking to find a lunch spot. We headed toward a small plaza visible on the map and found absolutely nothing there. We passed a couple of fancy restaurants with linen table cloths and high prices. Finally, after walking several blocks and turning back toward the museum we found a small dive offering €10 lunch specials so we sat down and ate it.

Next we went to the Prado. There were a few things in the museum I definitely wanted to see, so we went directly to those areas to check them out. The first was el Bosco, or Bosch (c. 1450-1516), whose almost surreal paintings depict fantastically imaginative scenes based on religious themes. They are often large works filled with amazing detail, and it's difficult to imagine they were created more than 500 years ago. From there we went to check out Valázquez, the famous portrait artist for the royal family. The highlight there was seeing Las Meninas, the inspiration for the series of 40 Picasso paintings based on the work. The room featured many other very large portraits, and we concluded he was better at painting people and dogs than he was at painting horses.

Before leaving, I wanted to check out the Goya paintings, which spread across three floors and incorporate different styles and themes dating to different times. He moved away from religious subjects and more toward human pursuits, country scenes, and political statements, particularly in light of the American and French revolutions. Shortly after we arrived in the Goya gallery, Gywen headed to the restroom. Barry and I continued to take in the Goya, but Gywen didn't come back. We headed out to one of the main areas where we thought the restroom was, but there was no sign of her. Barry decided to continue the search while I ran upstairs to take in the Goya "cartoons" (tapestry studies, essentially) that I really wanted to see. I practically sprinted through the top floor galleries - enjoying what I saw - while awaiting a text from Barry to tell me he had found here. The text didn't come. Meanwhile, I had been texting Dean who had arrived in Madrid following his classes and was waiting to meet us. When her heard that we lost Gywen, he decided to come to the Museum to find us.

I headed back downstairs after my quick look at the cartoons, and discovered Barry and Gywen together near where I had last seen Barry. Apparently she had reported to the staff that she had lost us, and they took her into a secluded room while they called staff all over the museum looking for us. She got tired of being stuck in a room out of sight, so she stepped out into the museum, and that's when she saw Barry. We all headed to the entrance to wait for Dean. I quickly bought postcards and realized from the selection available just how much other great art we didn't see there during our two-hour visit.

Royal Palace

Dean found us seated outside the museum about 5:30. The other  thing in Madrid I wanted to see was the Royal Palace, and they had free entry at 6:00 so we took a cap across town to the Palace. When we got there, we discovered a huge line that snaked through the plaza between the Palace and the Cathedral. We stood in line for about 10 minutes to see how quickly it was moving... and it would have taken us probably another 30 minutes to get in the door. I wasn't willing to commit that kind of time to it, so we moved on.

We walked to the nearby park where the Egyptian Templo de Debod is - although it's actually a bit more of a hike than I expected. The park was lively, as people started to gather in anticipation of the sunset. The line to enter the temple was long - well, not long by palace standards - so we didn't go in. Gywen sat down on a bench while Dean, Barry, and I explored the park further. We stopped to look over the city to the west and take some pictures with the Palace and Cathedral in the background.

At Parque de Oeste near Teplo de Debod.

We decided to sit for a cool drink, so Barry went back to retrieve Gywen. As we sat outside the little cafe next to the park, we watched countless people and their dogs go in and out of the park and we decided we must have seen every dog in the city. As the sun set, we walked back through the park and took photos of the temple before walking to Plaza de España and Dean's car.

View toward Plaza de Espa from the cafe.

Fountain behind Templo de Depod at dusk.

Templo de Debod sunset

Dean drove us to a different neighborhood for dinner, to an area popular with locals. The restaurant we originally planned to patronize didn't have room for us, so we picked a different spot down the street. We had a nice variety of some typical Spanish dishes, and it was quite good. After dinner, around 11, Dean drove us all back to Torrijos. As we approached home, we passed the neighboring town of Novés and got to see their festival fireworks from the road. They were really quite impressive -  on par with those in Torrijos, although I don't think I am supposed to say that. We arrived home close to midnight and quickly fell into bed. I remember sleeping pretty soundly until the music from the festival woke us up around 4:15.

Non-Chronological Blog Post: FC Barcelona Game, etc.

At Camp Nuo, ready for a game.

It's Sunday. We intended to leave Torrijos at 6:45 this morning for our return to Barcelona. I set an alarm for about 6:00 before going to bed around 1:00. This morning I heard Gywen moving around and I decided I should look at the time. Unfortunately, my phone had shut down for some unknown reason. After holding in the power button for about 15 seconds it fired up, but it took a while to boot and "authenticating 1 of 1," whatever that means. When the phone finally worked it was 6:23. We jumped up and quickly got ready, and we were on the road at 6:56.

Similar to Indiana, Spain is in the wrong time zone geographically. Bless Dean's heart for driving us to Madrid in the dark. We arrived in the heart of the city at dawn and pulled up to Atocha Station at 7:5 - shortly before the Police closed the nearby streets for some bicycle event. Dean saw us inside and we said our goodbyes before going through security and finding our platform. Boarding was easy, and we were in our seats by 8:11 for the 8:30 departure.

As we were pulling out, we got basic breakfast sandwiches and coffee from the train's cafe car. We snoozed some and then I finished writing the last blog post just as we pulled into the station in Barcelona.

Today's big event was the FC Barcelona match against Las Palmas. In Sants train station, we found an official FC Barcelona shop so Barry and I went in to get the things we would need to be properly outfitted for the game. We each got a shirt and I got a hat, plus we loaded up on other things including a magnet, keychain, drawstring backpack, and souvenir mini soccer balls. There was a lot of other cool stuff, but we had to stop - they got enough of our money. Now wiht an additional bag of stuff to carry, we made our way to the Metro and on to Plaça Catalunya and the final few blocks to NH Hotel Centro.

Our rooms were ready early, so we checked in at about 12:30 and went upstairs to change into our new FC Barça gear. Then it was off to lunch before the game. The famous bar Els Quatre Gats is nearby, so we walked there and got seated at a table in the bar. We ordered a few tapas and drinks just like people have been doing there since 1897, including Gaudí, Picasso, Casas, and everyone else famous from Barcelona.

Soon it was time to take the Metro back past Sants to the stop nearest Camp Nuo stadium for the game. This game was nearly 50% of the impetus behind this entire trip, and was the event around which all of our other travel plans were made. It would fulfill a dream of seeing Lionel Messi - arguably the world's greatest active player, who is currently scoring a goal every 60 minutes on average - play in person. The energy in the stadium (which seats nearly 100,000) was bound to be electric. Sure, it was a low-stakes game versus a team that hasn't beaten them since the 1980s, but today is the day of the controversial, illegal, non-binding vote for Catalan Independence. Through the years, FC Barcelona has come to represent Catalan pride and the independence movement. The crowd would no doubt be fired up and chanting "votarem" along with other cheers and anthems promoting to desire for democracy and independence. We had our new gear and our tickets for row 3. We were ready.

Fans waiting to get in.

The gates were to open at 2:45 for the 4:15 Kickoff. We arrived at 3:15, exactly according to plan, and were surprised to find the gates to the stadium still closed. We joined the thousands of other people waiting calmly and patiently in the street, watching a steady stream of guys go pee on the nearby wall as we waited. Pun intended, I guess. Time passed and we began to remark on how strange it was that they hadn't opened the gates yet. Eventually, after wondering aloud, a Swedish couple next to use told us that English language media was reporting that the game wasn't happening. There was no mention of any problems on the FC Barcelona website or and of the local media, as far as we could determine. As this conversation unfolded, Dean began to text me with information confirming our fears: we would not be seeing a game today. A possibility was raised that the came would be postponed until tomorrow, but the truth won out as the most likely scenario - even in the total absence of any communication from stadium or team officials or police on-site. The game was to be played "behind closed doors," with no fans in the stadium, announced publicly 20 minutes before Kickoff, but not announced to the assembled fans at the stadium gate.

Needless to say, this was a huge disappointment. With no announcement, there was no cue for the crowd to disburse. A few people began wandering away, and after seeing a policeman drive up on a motorcycle I approached him for confirmation about what was going on. He was super friendly and seemed empathetic as he told me the game was going on today, but without spectators. We began the slow walk back up the hill to the Metro and rode in silence back to the hotel. Once there, we had no plan. But the concierge told us that a nearby Irish Pub was television the game so we finally decided to walk over there after Gywen offered to buy us drinks. We watched the second half of the game with the gathered faithful and watched Barcelona score three goals to win 3-0. Messi scored two, and I really was emotional both times he scored, knowing that we could have - should have - been there watching live. We may never have that chance again.

We walked back to the hotel after the game, past Plaça Catalunya, noting the eight police vans lined up in waiting in front of the pub, and five more in the Plaça, where TV satellite trucks were lined up, too many to count. A big screen was assembled, on which people were being interviewed in Catalan. We rested at the hotel before heading out to LA Rambla to grab dinner at the first place we saw. (I tried "mountain style" paella - not bad.)

Back here in the room, I can see on TV news channels in Spanish, Catalan, French, and Arabic that there are thousands of people now gathered in the Plaça, just under 500 meters from where I safely sit, but there is no English-language news to tell us what's actually going on. Bits of news gleaned from Twitter, foreign-language television, and online sources tell me that the police tried violently to stop voting at several locations today, injuring at least 844 people. It's an unfortunate and ridiculous situation, which I have vented about on Facebook.

It's now way past bedtime, and we've got a long day tomorrow. Hoping it will be a better day.

Return to Spain

I started this post on the train Wednesday morning, but then vacation got in the way of writing. Now it’s Friday evening and we’re taking a break from the festival in Torrijos, so I’ll write some more.

Wednesday morning was nice, because we didn’t have to get out of bed quite so quickly, and we didn’t necessarily need to rush to leave. After showering and packing up most of our stuff, Barry and I walked to the grocery store to grab some things for breakfast. We went around the corner to the post office to mail something, then back to the apartment. We had a nice breakfast of fruit, yogurt, cheese, little French sausages, and the bread we purchased Tuesday in Cucugnan. (Delicious!) We also made some coffee to help us through the day. I called a taxi which arrived promptly at 10:30 as requested, and we took a short, stuffy ride to the train station. I checked in with Europcar to make sure everything had been in order with the car, and we had a short wait before the train arrived.

We climbed on board and had a much easier time stashing our bags before the train pulled out of the station. We had some nice mountain views on the first part of the trip just south of Perpignan. The stop in Barcelona looked familiar. We traveled down the coast a while to Tarragona before heading across the countryside toward Madrid. Along the way we saw a very arid landscape with a mixture of white rocky cliffs, irrigated fields, quirky red hills, shallow valleys with more farming and natural vegetation, quaint small towns, industrial areas, and cargo transport infrastructure. Every time we went trough a tunnel my ears popped. We made lunch out of our remaining fruit, cheese, and yummy bread, along with some olive tapenade Gywen bought Tuesday at one of the wineries.

We switched trains in Madrid, wandering around a bit looking lost, because the signage wasn’t fantastic. About an hour later we were on the train to Toledo, and after about half an hour on that train we arrived. Toledo was impressive from the start, with some interesting buildings visible from the train platform and the station itself was beautiful, covered in colorful tiles. Our good friend Dean was waiting for us there and it was wonderful greeting him for the first time in ten years. He had come directly from work in his small car, so a few minutes later his husband Antonio showed up with the larger car so we could fit all of us and our bags. Barry went with Dean while Gywen and I rode with Antonio past the stunning city walls and around to the other side of the Medieval capital for the views from across the river. We stopped for a drink while overlooking the river and the city there, before heading into the center of the old city….

Toledo view.

I tell you – there has been no time to blog. Here I am again on Sunday morning, writing on the train back to Barcelona. We’re zipping through the countryside seeing interesting flat-topped hills, olive trees, distant mountains, and overcast skies. I just woke up from a little nap and I hope I can get this post finished and at least start the next one.

Me and Gywen waiting for the car parkers
in Zocodover.

Wednesday evening Dean and Antonio walked us through historic Toledo on the most level route they could navigate for us, beginning at the Zocodover market area. We passed shops on our way to Santa Iglesia Cathedral, Cardinal’s Palace, and City Hall then walked through part of the Jewish Quarter before passing through some former convents that have been re-purposed as University buildings. We finally arrived at a restaurant for dinner which was in a dormer abbey. Our table was in a private space downstairs, a small corner of the cellar with an arched brick ceiling. We feasted on a meal of multiple small dishes, culminating with some delicious venison from the nearby mountains.

Marzipan replica of a building facade,
in a shop along the streets of Toledo.

View of the church in Torrijos, from the apartment balcony,
just before the fireworks.

After dinner we drove to Torrijos, where Dean and Antonio live. Antonio’s family owns an apartment building there. They have a nice apartment on the third floor, his sister Carmen lives downstairs with her family, and an Aunt occupies another apartment. They keep a recently renovated apartment on the fourth floor for Antonio’s parents in case they ever need it, and this apartment was given over to us for our stay. They haven’t managed to install an elevator yet, so we carried the bags all the way up and got settled in. Gywen went to bed but we stayed up to watch the midnight fireworks from the apartment balcony. We arrived during the annual Torrijos festival Le Sementera, a celebration of the harvest that lasts for five days. This was the night for fireworks, and the town put on quite a fantastic show. I’m not sure Barry agreed, but I thought they were every bit as good as the fireworks in Barcelona although without the beach setting. The fireworks were constant – no breaks in the action like we have in small town American displays – and there were frequently as many as 6-8 rockets exploding at once. The show included some cool spiral fireworks and some very colorful ones, as well as quite a few that had secondary explosions of thick, poofy sparkles. It was quite a satisfying “welcome” to small-town Spain. We fell into bed shortly after the fireworks, although the local party went on well into the night, as evidenced by the music we could hear most of the night from inside the apartment.

And thus concludes Wednesday’s post. We went through some pretty tree-covered mountains and grape-filled valleys as we approached the coast. We are now approaching Sants Station in Barcelona. 

France

Waiting for the train to Madrid.

We’re back on the train, which just started rolling, on the way to Madrid – apparently facing backward for the entire trip – following two days in southern France.

Leaving Barcelona on Monday morning, we decided to skip the bakery and coffee on the way to the metro, figuring we could grab something once we got to the main station. We pulled our bags across the Gaudi sidewalk tiles several blocks to the metro station. The trip to Sants station took about 15 minutes, and then of course we had to navigate a series of tunnels and stairs to get to the railway station. There were a couple of cafés there, but we decided we should get through security first. We found our way to the platform without seeing any further options for food and coffee, but we decided we could get something from the café car on the train.

We boarded on time, but the train ended up leaving about 20 minutes late. I almost overheated trying to cram our bags onto the already-crowded luggage rack, but I rearranged the other peoples’ stuff enough that I eventually got most of our bags to fit. Once seated I started blogging, but Gywen and Barry quickly dozed off. I thought I one of us could go to the café car once they woke up, but they never came around long enough to make the effort worthwhile. Once we were in Perpignan we would have about half an hour before we could pick up our key and drop off our bags, and out host had recommended waiting at a nice restaurant to have a coffee on the terrace. I concluded that I could make it until then and looked forward to a nice sit-down meal.

The train trip passed quickly while I blogged. Although I was focused on my screen I did see some nice scenery along the way to Perpignan. We arrived there shortly after passing through a long tunnel into France. We took a taxi for a short ride to the restaurant where the very handsome, non-English speaking waiter informed us they were not serving food until Noon. There were customers enjoying coffee on the terrace, though, and we managed to convince him that we wanted some, too. The coffee helped, although it certainly wasn’t the large satisfying Starbucks-like beverage we’re used to getting at home. That’s not how they do things in France.

Coffee finished, it was time to walk about two blocks to the apartment, where the host Alexandre showed up to meet us with the key. We climbed two flights to reach the apartment which was a very large, bright, uniquely furnished space overlooking one of the city’s famous buildings near the heart of the city center. The apartment had a large common room with three bay windows, a kitchen and office, both with balconies, two bedrooms, two baths, and a laundry room. Alexandre recommended a lunch spot, so we dropped our bags and walked several blocks to the restaurant, crossing the lovely river and passing the historic Castillet along the way. Once seated we waited close to 15 minutes before an English-speaking server was sent to interpret the menu for us. The menu prices were a little high, but the Plat du Jour combinations were reasonable so we made selections from that list. I do think the food was worth the wait. Barry and Gywen both ordered salads with frommage and I ordered a salad with bacon and pate. For the main course, Barry and Gywen had salmon while I enjoyed a delicious tender pork in mustard sauce over mashed potatoes. For dessert, they had wonderful-looking apple tarts and I devoured a rich, flourless chocolate cake with pistachio ice cream. It was an indulgent and filling meal.

On the mini train.

Lunch ended in time for us to catch the 45-minute tour on the city’s “mini-train.” We drove through the streets on the little tram learning about the main sites and a bit of the city’s history. It was delightful being able to get the lay of the land while seated and mostly dry, considering it started raining during the tour. Starting at the Castillet, which was the main gate into the walled city during Medieval times, we drove past a beautiful park, buildings constructed on the site of the former wall, homes build more recently literally on top of the old wall, the Cathedral, the Maritime Court, former convents, the modern arts center, and the very large Palace of the Kings of Majorca among other sites.

At the end of the tour it was raining steadily, so we hung out for a few minutes under the arch of the Castillet while a busker filled the air with some very French-sounding accordion music. When the rain let up a little, we wandered through the streets until we found the massive Cathedral of St. Jean de Baptiste. Somewhat plain on the outside, it was much grander on the inside, although it was dim and solemnly quiet. We explored the various chapels and took pictures of the most interesting features, including the massive organ which we all wish we could have heard. We stepped out the side door and found a small chapel containing a famous wooden statue of the Christ. Beyond that was the famous crypt Campo Santo, which was closed for renovations.

Cathedral bell tower.

Plate by Picasso.

We explored more of the quaint city streets and read the historical markers as we made our way to La Loge de Mer, now the home of the city council. I asked a man there where to find the Picasso exhibit recommended by Alexandre, and he pointed me upstairs to the third floor. That wasn’t actually the Picasso exhibit – but there was a gallery there with an exhibit of photographs of Picasso which we fun to see and gave us more insight to Picasso’s personality and his life as a real person (as opposed to my perception of him as a esoteric, dead artist). A few blocks beyond old Court we found the Hyacinthe Rigaud Museum with the Actual Picasso Exhibit, a temporary showing highlighting the two years he spent time in Perpignan as a guest of the Luzerme family. All of the accompanying text was in both Catalan and French, so we mostly had to guess about what we were looking at and what Picasso was doing there. But we saw a sizable collection of nice paintings, sketches, cut and torn paper, and pottery as well as historical photographs and video. The Museum is actually in the former Luzerme home, where Picasso stayed during his visits.

The Museum’s permanent collection was quite large and included an interactive audio/video tour. We walked through, listening to a few highlights from the audio tour, seeing some historic alter pieces, more Picasso works, sculpture, modern art, and many paintings. The core of the collection was work by Rigaud and his contemporaries. He was a very talented 17-Century local artist what became known primarily for his excellent portraits. There was a lot to see, and as much as I wanted to take it all in I started to get a headache and had to resort to a quick walk-through of some of the galleries. I’m sure Gywen was tired, too. After seeing all we could take, we exited back into the rain to head toward home. Nearby we found a small bakery where we purchased some sandwiches and cool drinks. Barry had a mozzerlla and tomato sandwich on a roll. Gywen and I had baguettes that were split down the middle and stuffed with chicken, cheese and mustard. It was tasty, and just what I needed after a long day. I also had a really big pistachio macaroon which I ate too quickly. Barry ran out to a grocery store that evening to pick up food for the next day, while I blogged. We couldn’t find anything in English for Gywen to watch on TV. She retired to read in her room and Barry and I hung out the rest of the evening using the WiFi, staying up later than we should have.

Now we’re back in Barcelone, stopped on the platform en-route to Madrid. Barry had a little cat nap on the way here, but he’s awake now reading about Weimaraners on his computer. Barry and I are enjoying some beers we bought yesterday. Mine is “Dark Owl” from a brewery called La Mandra, and Barry has an IPA from the same place. I’ll have to look that up at some point…

Yesterday morning, Tuesday, we grabbed some yummy pastries and coffee at the shop next to the apartment which Barry and I ate while walking to the train station while Gywen stayed at the apartment until we went back to pick her up. We walked from the Place to Catalogne and the historic Aux Dames de France department store across from the apartment down Av. General de Gaulle to the train station. I believe I heard this street referred to with two other names during our visit, and on the mini-train the guide told us that Dali called this street the “Center of the World.” That’s cool, but the street isn’t, I assume, what it used to be. It was a relatively narrow street lined with businesses, apartments, ethnic restaurants, and a few abandoned buildings, some of them which had once been grand. The narrow sidewalks were lined with Palm trees, so I can imagine the street was once more impressive.

At the station, we went to the Europcar desk and picked up keys to the car we had for the day. We made our way out of the garage and across town to pick up Gywen and the food we had packed for our road trip. We headed northwest form the city toward our first destination, as per usual about 20 minutes behind schedule. We didn’t find the signage pointing to Mas Amiel winery particularly clear and made a couple of wrong turns along the way. At one point, I tried to make a U-turn in the road, but the car didn’t have a great turning radius and I hadn’t yet figured out how to put it in reverse. There was a significant drop-off, so while I sat in the car Gywen and Barry jumped out to push us backward into the road – unable to move us until a nice woman came up behind us and got out to help. She couldn’t get around us, so she had little choice but to jumped out to assist and did so with no questions asked. Finally, we found the turn-off to the winery and drove up the little lane through the vineyard to the impressive new tasting room. We were the only gests there at that point, just about 20 minutes after opening, so we enjoyed a nice relaxed tasting in which the friendly man poured samples of about a dozen wines for us. Behind the counter was a gorgeous view of the vines and mountains through the large picture window, which made the experience even more enjoyable. I think we enjoyed all of the wines, and we bough a few bottles before leaving.

We had asked the server of other good wineries in the area, and he recommended Domaine Thunevin Clavet, just down the road in Maury. Once again in this place we were the only guests, and here we found a very pleasant and chatty woman who told us all about their wines and poured several for us to taste. This place was less scenic, being right on the highway, but it was a sleek modern building. We happened to be there when some of the workers came in just having completed the harvest for the year. Again, we enjoyed much of what we tried and we left with a couple of bottles.

Or next destination was visible from the parking lot – one of the several castle ruins in the area. We drove up the mountain to Château de Quéribus where we opened the back of the car and ate a quick picnic lunch. While Gywen rested in the car, Barry and I hiked to the top of the mountain to the ruin site. Exploring the castle took longer than the walk up or down. It was a fascinating maze of rock and masonry dating to the 1100s originally, and occupied, I believe, until the 1600s. The entrance featured a number of small passages through which you could see and shoot things at approaching invaders at various points along the path. We saw the remains of a barracks, cistern, large hall, main house, oven, courtyards, tunnel, and block house, as well as the vaulted, arched ceiling of the castle owner’s residence. The views from the top were definitely one of the highlights of the site and we enjoyed taking in the views of the Pyrenees, the surrounding vineyards, nearby villages, and neighboring castles. I took us an hour to make the hike, explore the ruins, and take in the stunning views.

View from Quéribus.

Our plan was to visit nearby Château de Peyrepertuse next, even though we decided we probably wouldn’t have time to buy tickets and walk into the ruin site itself. We didn’t make it there. Along the way there is the scenic village of Cucugnan, which boasts a 17^th-century windmill which was central to the local economy when wheat was the main crop in the area. I wanted to just pull up and snap a photo, just to see it, but it turns out you can’t always do that in France. The village, like many others in the area, is built on an illogical hillside and the windmill is at the top. Naturally, the streets are tiny and certainly not built to accommodate tourist traffic. We found a parking spot just about as high as we could go, but then we had to make Gywen get out and walk with us up the hill the rest of the way into the village. We took our time, and along the way we found a tourist shop with postcards (bought some), nick-knacks, lots of books about regional history and cooking, as well as stories, imagery, and merchandise related to the Knights, the Crusades, Joan of Arc, etc. (This is where Barry and I bought our beers... just finished mine).

Further up the hill we found a simple church where Gywen and I sat for a bit while Barry explored a little more thoroughly. Finally, just beyond the church, we reached a large bakery attached to the base of the windmill. Inside, a friendly young guy helped us select a beautiful loaf of hearty wheat bread and some cookies before Barry and I climbed up the penultimate rocks to snap some photos of the windmill. We had a leisurely stroll through the village back down the hill to the car.

Once on the road, we headed south out of the immediate vicinity toward the main Pyrenees range. We took winding roads through towns like Latour de-France – all of them scenic – until reaching a scenic overlook just outside of Ille-sur Têt, where we found nice views of the rock formations at Les Orgues d’illa and the even closer, striking rock formation on the other side of the road. Originally I had wanted to stop and hike at the park, but we were short on time at this point so we were content to take a few photos and move on.

Next we headed to another winery we had picked out in advance, the coop at Vinça. The coop was founded in 1926 by a few dozen families in the area with small farms, and most of the original families are still owners of the coop today. Another couple came in while we were there, but again we had the nearly undivided attention of the very friendly woman in the tasting room. She explained a lot about the wines, the coop, and the area, and she let us taste anything we wanted to. We probably tasted about eight; some were ok, but most were quite good. A number of wineries in the area historically make sweet wines, and we tasted one here that was not made by the coop and was quite good. We bought that and another traditional Catalonian dry red before leaving. And now we’re carting around a bunch of wine.

Eus.

Our final stop of the day was the nearby village of Eus, designated one of the ten most scenic villages in France. Like Cucugnan, Eus was built on a hill – but a much higher one. At the very tope was a remarkable stone church, and naturally we had to go there. We stopped a couple of times for photos on the way up, and at times the low evening light made the yellow stone hillside structures almost glow. Unfortunately, it was fairly cloudy so the light wasn’t as spectacular as it could have been, the mountaintops were obscured, and the approaching sunset was muted. We drove up as far as we could to park, and Gywen stayed in the car as Barry and I walked toward the periodically ringing church tower. We went through a couple of sharp turns and short steep climbs through what qualify as streets in this town, past all the cats, reaching a narrow passage beneath the bell tower. Then we went through an arch under the church steps and around the corner and up to the entrance of the church. It was not 7:00 and the church was closed, but we enjoyed the view from up there.

The drive back to Perpignan was fairly quick and uneventful. We dropped off Gywen and all of our acquisitions from the day at the apartment and went on our car-return adventure. I had googled the closest gas station, and as we drove past I was frustrated to see that it was closed. We pulled over and looked up other options. The next closest station was in the parking lot of some sort of superstore, so we zig-zagged our way through town to get there. This was an unattended station, and the pump wouldn’t accept our credit card because it requires a signature in Europe. Nearby was a kiosk where one can insert money and get a ticket with a number to key in to authorize the pump for the amount of the bill used. But the pump keypad had no English instructions and no “enter” button which one might intuitively push after entering a code. Somehow Barry finally stumbled across the correct menu and selected the correct steps to allow the pump to credit us for €10, and we filled the car with Diesel. (First we had to Google the French synonym for “Diesel.”) Then we dropped the car at the train station and walked back to the apartment, where Gywen had begun to worry that something had happened to us.

By this time – a little after 9:00 – we were pretty hungry, and we forced Gywen to walk a few blocks down the street in search of food. We had seen some crowded looking places when we drove by, so we thought we might find something good in that direction. We first came to a place that had a decent crowd and a nice menu of tapas and paella, which they advertised as being served until Midnight. We forged on to check out the other places, which turned out to be crowded bars, although one of them had nice looking tapas. I decided on paella, so we circled the block back to the first place. Upon arrival, they told us we couldn’t order food because it would take over an hour and essentially the kitchen was closed (at 9:30) because they only had one chef that night. So much for the sign on the wall advertising paella all night. The man there recommended we go to the Italian restaurant which was actually across the street from our apartment. Back we went. We sat outdoors there, which was pleasant aside from the cigarette smoke coming from every direction and, later, the street crew that showed up to cut up the street in front of the restaurant. We had a friendly server who was a former baseball pitcher, and we filled ourselves on nice salads and a tasty pizza with ham, sausage, eggplant, and mushrooms. I wasn’t done though, because I didn’t think I should leave France without ordering a crepe. I got one with chocolate and Garnd Marnier flambé (which never actually caught fire), and I do not regret it.

We drug ourselves back to the apartment and utilized the WiFi for a little while before falling into bed, thankful that Wednesday morning would not start so early.

Getting There, and Two Days in Barcelona

Third day into the trip, and now that I’m sitting on a high-speed train to France, I have time to write. The train isn’t moving yet, but we should be leaving any minute now.

The trip started off well enough, although Rufus didn’t want us to go. He laid down in the yard with his belly in the air, limp as could be, so  Barry had to pick him up and carry him to his pen. We left home about 20 minutes late, but Gywen was waiting at the curb with her bags so we made up some time picking her up. Barry bought some new headphones in the Indianapolis airport before we zipped through security and stopped for a quick bite at Harry & Izzy’s – shrimp cocktail and Bloody Mary’s. Gywen added soup, Barry had a salad, and I had some amazing filet sliders.

Sunset over the Atlantic.

The flight to Atlanta was fine, and we switched terminals to get on our flight to Paris. On that flight we got dinner and I watched some animated Story Corps stories… alternating between uplifting and really sad war stories. I lightened the mood by watching Baywatch before mostly falling asleep for the remainder of the flight. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, but at least I could doze. At one point Barry pointed out the beautiful sunset over the Atlantic.

We arrived in Paris early in the morning, and apparently about 11 minutes ahead of schedule. We were almost at the far end of the international terminal, for we walked quite some time before getting to a spot I recognized, where we quickly used the restroom and headed down the escalator to the main section of the airport. We kept following the signs for the F2 terminal, finally getting to the security checkpoint. That line took a while, but at least we kept moving and we didn’t have a major hold-up. On the other side of security was a mess. The Border Patrol lone for international visitors extended beyond the snaking stanchions and double back on itself in front of the entrance for the European visitors. On our side, out of 10-12 potential lines, there were four officers checking passports. The line was NOT moving. There were some airport workers directing traffic, when they felt like it. By this time, our flight was boarding. We asked a woman if we should stand in that line if our flight was boarding, but she seemed unconcerned and said she guaranteed we would make our flight. I asked for her name, and she covered her name badge and made up a name, and then told me if there was a problem I should come back and find her.

It was obvious it would have taken another hour to an hour and a half to get through that line, so after about five more minutes I walked to the front and asked another woman if we should continue to stand in that line while our flight boarded. I was persistent enough that she took pity and we jumped ahead, with about 5 people in front of us. Still, the officer was in no hurry and it took us forever to get through. The “nice” woman reassured us that it wasn’t a far walk on the other side; the gate was just at the top of the stairs. Not true. Once we finally got TO the stairs, we had to take a left past a long line of shops to get to the actual gate area, and our gate was the last one. By the time we got there, the plane was still there but the gate was closed and we could not board. It took us just over an hour and a half to get from one gate to the next

We found the AirFrance counter, where the unsympathetic agent booked us on the second flight out later in the day – the next flight out was already overbooked by 10. We had a four hour wait until our new flight, but he refused to give us a meal voucher because the delay “was not the fault of the airline or the airport.” Regardless, we found a café and grabbed a quick bite.

Upon arrival in Barcelona we were supposed to stash our bags with the apartment management company and then visit the Picasso Museum at 1:00. With the flight delay, I called the museum when they opened and changed our entrance time to 4:45. I read for a while, and then shortly before boarding Barry and I got some pretty nice chair massages. Finally we boarded, and then we sat on the plane for about an hour and 10 minuets while they changed a tire on the plane. My frustration and anxiousness increased by the minute.

When we finally landed in Barcelona, I felt rushed as we made our way to the ground transportation with a sense of urgency. We took a bus to Plaça Catalunya, which was quick and efficient, and we saw some interesting sites along the way including Plaça Espanya. I got the sense that I was going to like Barcelona, although I wasn’t exactly relaxed. From the bus,w e took the Metro two stops to La Ramblas, which looked lovely, and found the spot to drop our bags and pick up the apartment key. I kept trying to rush the woman who checked us in, but her English was not excellent and she insisted on going through every step of check-in and explaining how all of the keys worked. It was now past 4:50, and I finally got it across to her that we were supposed to be at the Museum in about 7 minutes before our tickets would be no good. We took off walking up the street toward the Museum, but it was clear we wouldn’t make it, so Barry finally prompted me to call them again. Now our 4:45 entry was switched to 5:15 and I could stop worrying about missing it. About 5 minutes later we arrived.

The walk was interesting, even if I couldn’t enjoy it. I felt like our vacation had a “soft opening.” We were there, but I didn’t feel like I was on vacation yet. Nothing but worry from the time we landed in Paris until we got to the Picasso Museum 11 hours later. But the walk through the Gothic section of the Old City was nice. Lots of crooked little streets to look down, plenty of tempting looking shops, stately municipal buildings, and lots of people. Very European, obviously. The street to the museum - one long straight path - changed names twice, and I couldn’t properly pronounce any of the street names to the poor woman on the phone at the Museum. But in the sense of the changing street names, at least Barcelona has something in common with Bloomington.

The Picasso Museum was nice – beginning with some incredible portraits and landscapes he painted as young as age 13. He really was quite talented. The collection progressed chronologically through different stages of his life, often corresponding with a change in residency. I really enjoyed some of his sketches and drawings, which I thought often showed his sense of whimsy and humor. I was struck by how he could capture a form with amazing accuracy with a few simply strokes of the pencil. The works moved into the Avant Gard from the time he lived in Paris, and began to take on elements of pointillism and expressionism. We saw a number of works from his Blue Period, and a few from the Rose period, before reaching a display of works from 1957, the year he spent making 40 interpretations of the Velázquez painting Las Meninas. He was really into the Cubism at this point, and the works were colorful and fascinating in their variations. What an obsession. Shortly before leaving we saw a collection of his pottery, which was brilliant and, I guess, revolutionary.

At Correfoc.

We left the Museuam as it was closing and headed back to pick up our bags. To my delight, we ran straight into the little devil’s Correfoc, or Fire Run. A highlight of the festival la Mercè, this parade featuring and intended for children and young people is a procession of costumed people, drummers, giant spinning sparklers, and loud firecrackers. The marchers delight in spraying the onlookers with sparks, and we had to duck a few times to shield ourselves from direct hits. We took this in for a while, getting our fill before crossing through the parade to get back to our luggage. As we approached the place, we encountered a Gigantes parade coming directly at us. This parade featured a series of small bands – one quite mariachi-like, and another heavy on trombones – and giant figures with papier mache heads representing various characters like knights and royalty. This was a lot of fun, but the parade was a bit stalled, maybe because of the other parade, and we finally got back to the office in the midst of the chaos and picked up our bags.

Casa Battló.

A short Metro ride later and we were in the Eixample, the neighborhood of our apartment, which dates to the early 20^th Century and features a grid of wide streets and boulevards. We exited onto the street directly in front of the Gaudi masterpiece Casa Battló, lit up beautifully for the evening. We walked about three block to find the apartment where we discovered that the “second floor” was four flights up the stairs. We sent Gywen up in the tiny lift with the bags while Barry somehow figured out how to open the door. I had already failed that test. We were all starving by this point, so we quickly turned on the AC, opened the windows, dropped the bags, and headed back out to get some dinner.

A couple blocks away we found a sit-down place that might have been a little more expensive than we initially wanted, but it was a nice Don Quixote-themed place that was comfortable and relatively quiet. We ordered a much-needed bottle of Cava and shared a number of diches including two salads, some shrimp, and a baked sea bass. Satisfied, we made our way back to the apartment to get settled in and to stay up a bit too late utilizing the WiFi.

In the time it took to write this recap of the first two days, the train made it to Perpignan. I’m now getting back to writing after a full day here. We’re exhausted. My feet are tired. We are crashed at the apartment, where the TV only carries programming in French and the trash has not been emptied. It has been raining off and on. Barry ran out to the supermarket – I think to get wine – so I hope the rain holds off.

Our second day in Barcelona started with us leaving the apartment about 18 minutes late and grabbing take away breakfast on the way to Casa Batlló. This is one of the most famous homes designed by the Modernista master Antoni Gaudi, and one of the three Art Nouvou homes making up the “Block of Discord” on Passeig de Gràcia. I expected the home to be funky. I did not expect to find such a brilliant, innovative, intentional, and functional design. Excellent use of light. Thematic consistency. Sculptural details. Human-centered design. Excellent craftsmanship. Color and beauty. Creative solutions to air flow. Elegantly concealed water tanks and rainwater drainage. Nods toward sustainability. I was in awe at every turn, and actually felt very emotional experiencing such architectural brilliance first-hand. Adding to the tour was the “enhanced reality” audio-tour. We could look at the devices in each room and see what the house would look like with period furnishings, moving windows and doors, additional fixtures, etc. The tour was time well spent, and they had a really nice gift shop where we spent some cash, but not nearly as much as I could have.

Following the tour, it was Festival time once again. We headed into the Old City to Plaça de Sant Juame, just between where we experienced the Correfoc and the Giant’s Parade the day before. As this was going to be one of the highlights of the festival, it was extremely crowded. Lots of good people watching, of course, which was true across Barcelona. Anyway, there were thousands of us trying to get up the narrow street between the Metro station and the square in front of city hall. There was a constant stream of people leaving the square (a surprising number of them pushing baby strollers), but almost too many people to move forward behind those exiting. We continued to press our way forward for 10-15 minutes until we finally reached the entrance to the square, at which point there became a lot more room to move around in spite of the massive crowd. When we arrived there were a couple Giants dancing in front of the municipal building, and a concert band was playing while dignitaries sat on the city hall balcony. An announcer spoke in Catalan, and when the band played an anthem or a “Catalana popular song,” many people in the crowd sang along. Several chants of “Votarer” broke out, along with other patriotic chants calling for the upcoming vote for independence. There was a lot of energy surrounding the upcoming vote and the Spanish government’s push to stop it. Shirts and flyers promoting Democracy, Catalan flags on buildings, flags worn as scarves, hand symbols… Everyone is pretty fired up about it. The Canadian expat we spoke with said she’s not leaving her apartment on the day of the vote, because she expects things to get crazy.

Approaching Plaça de Sant Juame.

Finally, the main event started: The human pyramid display, or the Castillers. From a small street next to city hall, individual castiller teams were introduced and built single towers 4 people high, then moving them to the front part of the middle of the Plaça. It was impressive each time, but the final team actually ran to the center of the Plaça and elicited huge cheers from the crowd. But the best was yet to come, when the teams began, simultaneously, to build pyramids 8 people high. Each time, the smallest person climbed to the top and over the next level before immediately sliding down the other side of the tower. I wanted more – I would have loved seeing them stop there to stand upright. Is that too much to ask?

Before that event wrapped up completely, we moved a few block to the north to the front of the impressive Cathedral to catch some of the traditional Sardana dance. There were two large circles of people in the street with hands joined, doing the steps of the dance. We watched them go through the dance a couple of times and, although I hadn’t been paying close enough attention and Barry said he hadn’t figured out the steps, I was just about to go join them when the dance ended.

View from the lunch table.

From there we walked around a bit – more then Gywen would have preferred – to find some lunch. We ended up seated at a café just outside of the Royal Palace where we selected a set menu of shared tapas that came with a pitcher of Sangria (described on the menu as a “Litter of Sangria”). It was a large assortment of good food – more than we could finish. It was lovely just sitting, with shade, good food, drink, and people-watching.

Lunch!

View from Montjuic Castle.

After lunch, we took the Metro to the Funicular up Montjuic, then took the Cable Car to the Castle at the top of the mountain. At the top we found the Circus portion of la Mercè. There were lots of families there, and dogs, and stages with solo performers, and some people in papier mache big heads, and food trucks. Barry and I walked the perimeter of the very large castle and on the back side we discovered the docked cruise ships and the port. We watched the port operations for a while, which was of interest to me after having recently read Door to Door. We walked past the crowds of people lined up to enter the castle and met up with Gywen at the cable car station. We took the scenic ride back down the mountain with a nice couple from Minnesota and then took the Metro back to our apartment. We crashed there for a bit (and approved time sheets). Gywen stayed in for the rest of the night, but Barry and I ventured out again for the evening.

Slightly refreshed, we ventured back out to the Metro to head down toward the beach. We got off at the Barciloneta station and followed the crowd down the impressive street of restaurants toward the large, brightly lit Ferris Wheel. We stopped for Gelato at the first shop I saw, a promise I had made to myself when we left the apartment. When we reached the beach, we found a large crowd of people waiting for the finale Fireworks show of le Mercè, scheduled to begin at 10:00. We walked down the beach toward the jetty and finally found a few square inches of wood to sit on facing the jetty. A guy came by selling Mojitos, so I made an impulse buy of two over-priced and watered-down drinks to “enjoy” during the show.

Going back down the mountain.

The fireworks were impressive, with multiple cannons and typically many simultaneous explosions of dazzling color. It was fun to hear the entire beach-front react to the most impressive fireworks. My favorites were some that left a bright orange trail as they spiraled up, then exploded into thick showers of orange sparks falling gently to the earth. As good of a show as it was, Barry and I were surprised to see some flubs – and so was the rest of the crowd. A couple of tubes must have fallen over, as at least two exploded on the ground. It was certainly impressive to see something that large light up the sky from the ground, but also a little worrying. A couple others shot off over the water and exploded from the surface beyond the Jetty. All things considered, it was a fun show and a memorable experience.

Gin selection at Lime House.

After Fireworks, we walked to a wine bar Barry had discovered online and had some nice regional wines and amazingly delicious tapas served up by a friendly wait staff, with free Wifi, a lively soundtrack and a dancing barkeep. They also served us free shots of a caramel flavored vodka that was as good as candy. We had a great time at le Dissent, but finally moved on to check out the highly-recommended Lime House bar. It was funky, with some Modernista flair, but the kitchen was closed. They only took cash, so Barry had one IPA from Scotland and I had a yummy drink made with Vanilla Gin and lemonade (more like a lemon Schwepps). We were out of cash and it was way too late, so we headed back to the apartment and crawled into bed.