Then.

Remember this?

How I recognized how I ache for things once there over even when I can't appreciate them at the time?

I'm there.

Tonight I'm dreaming of hilltops in Bilbao. Dancing on rooftops. Leisurely comidas with my family. Long afternoons of tapas and wine on the Matallana in Puente Genil. Laughing with my roommate.

Right now it would be warm in my pueblo. (It would also be 6 am.)

Oh to be able to apparate home.

Hasta Luego/Keep it Positive

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go.

Today, I fly home. If you see an airplane in the...well, not night...sky maybe say a wish that my travels go smoothly. (I really stretched on that song reference, didn't I?)

Spain, it's been real. I'm going to miss your churros and salmorejo and Euros and language and most of all some of your people. 'Til we meet again, yeah?

{This is a sketch I did of the view out my piso window. I am not an artist, but I really enjoyed doing this in a therapeutic can-do kind of way and I am keeping it as a momento. There are more colors but they light blue sky and some of the greens didn't really turn out in the photo.}

United States, here I come! Family, please don't get so lost in my nephew's sweet eyes that you forget to pick me up at the airport. ;)

Besos!

Edit: Well, I'm sitting at the airport. Unfortunately there's been a delay that might result in me missing my connection State-side. I've been pretty down, but I'm trying to pull it together. There's this little boy in the same general vicinity as me and he looks like he's having the time of his life. A minute ago I looked over and he just threw himself on the ground, flat on his back, in front of the moving sidewalk and started giggling like a fool. (Don't worry, there was no one coming so I doubt it was an ill-planned suicide attempt.) He bounced up moments later and skipped down the next moving sidewalk. He isn't worried about delays or missed flights; he's just happy. I don't know that I can get away with lying in front of a moving sidewalk, but I am going to try to keep it positive. I've got plenty of books and music to keep me entertained. I'll get home eventually. All will be well.

For Good

I was at a tiny used bookshop in Córdoba when I got the call. Actually, it was the third call. The first came while I was catching a ride with co-workers into the city and the second was while I was touring the pleasantly tourist-free Mezquita. Finally, on the persistent third call I decided to step outside and answer. I wasn’t annoyed by the persistency, but I was nervous to answer simply because I knew who was calling from a previous voicemail—it was a Spanish woman, a wife and mother of two, who wanted private classes for herself and her family. On that day in November, I only briefly spoke with her to tell her that I was out of town with a visiting American friend and I would call her back soon.

My first class with Carmen and Carlos was only a week later. When we finally spoke on the phone, Carmen stipulated that she wanted a conversation class for her and her husband together with an additional class just for her husband, who was at a lower level of English than she. She also wanted the children to be present and for me to interact with them so they could have exposure to the language. Little Carlos and Noe were 4 and 2 respectively when I began. I was so nervous that first day. These would be only my second group of private lesson students in town and the truth was I had no idea what I was doing giving classes. Everyone said to just give classes even if I felt unqualified because Spaniards, especially in a pretty English-free pueblo, really just wanted a real native speaker to talk to and practice with. I taught myself the ropes of private lessons as I taught them.

The thing is, I’ve been giving private lessons to Carmen and Carlos twice a week for 7 months now and they have done more for me, meant more to me, and taught me more than I could ever have done for them.

This family took me in from week one. I mean it, week one. They found out about American Thanksgiving and invited me over for a comida (a big Spanish meal) so that I wouldn’t have to be alone. I was so nervous but excited to go. I didn’t know them well but they had a way of making me feel instantly at ease. They were easy to interact with, I could understand their Spanish and they were encouraging of mine, their children were the most precious I had ever met and I just loved them from the get-go. That first meal was one of my turning points in my experience in Spain. I spoke Spanish the entire afternoon, played happily with the sweet little ones, and bonded with Carmen and Carlos. I felt so bright from the inside out as I walked home in the pouring rain, a tray of dessert under my arm.

{May 28, 2011}

This post would literally go on forever if I continued to detail every kind thing this family has done for me, every adorable moment I’ve had with Carlosito and Noe, or every way that they have made my time here the success that it is. They are the people I feel most comfortable with in Spain, and actually anywhere, and they are truly my Spanish family. I love them. I really do.

Considering how much they’ve done for me and how many happy comidas we have had together, I sort of expected that we would have one last meal together before I left. By last week there had been no invitation—it wasn’t that I felt I deserved one, I just hoped for one because I wanted a last get together with them outside of classes. Well, they one-uped my expectations and invited me home to Carmen’s pueblo for the weekend! I was nervous of what her family would think of me, but didn’t hesitate to say yes.

It was such a treat and an honor to spend a few days in Carmen’s childhood home. I could feel the love and friendship the family has for me and it’s just what I feel in return. Carmen wanted to share everything with me so we spend hours (all of us—Carlos, the kids, Carmen’s father and brother) walking through the tiny pueblo of Cazalla de la Sierra and out into the campo to see the animals and get a good view. We picked up a dozen pastries from a local confitería because Carmen and Carlos wanted me to try everything. I was compelled to eat til I was bursting! I couldn’t get over the small-town charm…when Noe pointed at a roll of chocolates in the glass counter that he wanted, the woman who owned the confitería didn’t hesitate to give it to him free of charge as a gift to an old family friend’s son.

On Saturday we drove out to see the pueblo’s patron, la Virgen de la Monte. She’s kept in a beautiful little church perched on a mountain side with incredible green views. Carmen’s dad not only fitted me with a new baseball cap for the occasion but also bought me a little Virgen charm from the church. We then drove down to a pleasant little river, Ribera, where there was a shady picnic area and a rocky beach where you could wade in. I stayed dry on a rock and watched Carlosito have a blast in the cool flowing water.

So many people have made a difference in my life here in Spain, so many people will never be forgotten. No kind act has gone unnoticed or unappreciated, from a small compliment in passing to a kind shop assistant who was patient with me when I first arrived and blundered through my Spanish. But I can say without a doubt that the phone call I received from Carmen in November asking me for lessons was an act of God. I was suffering, floundering, trying to count up the good things and failing, and he sent me a family to take care of me. He gave me a family to love, a place where I could feel comfortable and safe, where I could let down my guards, practice my Spanish, and feel like I had a bit of home.

I love Carlos, Carmen, Carlosito and Noe very dearly. I look forward to keeping in touch with them for years to come, and with luck seeing them again both here and in the United States in the not-so-distant future. I will miss Carmen’s soft voice and sweet encouragements. I will miss Carlos’ wide smile and enthusiasm for American music. I will miss Carlosito’s quiet manner and bright grin and his love of playing games with me. I will miss precious little Noe’s chubby cheeks and adorably assertive manner when he calls “Kate” (with perfect pronounciation!) and then demands something or other. I will miss them so much.

But because I knew them, I have been changed for good.

List-omania

When I was unhappy in Spain, I resorted to lists. I am a lister. I needed to give myself goals and hopes and things to check off just to get through this thing.

To be honest, my first list wasn’t created out of a desire to pull myself up and get on with life, but was born of complete depression and a need to mark time to be sure it was moving towards that date when I could go home. It was a list of the dates of every weekend from that day in September through May 31st (my last day of work).

I cried hard looking at how many weekends I had ahead of me to cross off. Weekends were the worst at the beginning because I stubbornly refused to consider traveling alone, I had no friends to go out with, my roommate goes home every weekend, so weekends meant me alone in my piso with nothing but the tv.

By the end of October I was still miserable and marking off weekends as a survival tactic, but as I ran the ink line over the dates I was also beginning to have this tentative dream of finding myself approaching those last dates with sadness instead of excitement. I allowed myself to hope that I’d check off the last date and be nostalgic for all the weekends that had come before and what they had held. At the time, I anticipated the last weekend as my salvation point, but I secretly hoped I wouldn’t feel this way the whole time.

I’m sure you know where this is going. Especially if you’ve been reading my blog.

I slowly but significantly became happier, bit by bit, but always in an upwards climb towards “wonderful”. I kept checking off dates simply because I really love lists and crossing/checking things off. I meant it when I said I’m a lister. (I’ve even blogged about this before.) And now, that little dream of mine has come true, absolutely. I look back at every weekend since December with a fond memory to sustain me and a happy overall impression of my time here in Spain.

The other list I created to get-by was a silly little “Spain Bucket List.”


The funny thing about this list was that I threw things on it sort of at random—a few had reason behind them, a few were just things I knew I could accomplish (small goals are often the best ones), and a few were randomly selected pipe dreams.

And what’s so exciting is that as of last weekend I have checked every one of those items off the list…the ones I never really even imagined getting to and the easy ones.

Spain Bucket List

-Edinburgh
-NaNoWriMo
-Read 20 books (this was a “freebie” goal…I easily read 30-40)
-The North (as in visit)
-Participate in activities in Puente Genil
-Christmas with Spaniards
-Meet Irene
-Find Churros and Hot Chocolate
-Buy boots
-Send postcards to everyone on the address list (I sent over 80 cards!!!)
-Go to the beach
-Granada with Liz
-Portugal
-Mallorca
-Hike/walk outer limits/campo

Note on Postcards: I recently found out that some people never received their postcard from me. This makes me very sad because I was quite proud of the fact that I purchased, wrote and sent postcards to absolutely everybody who gave me their address and asked for one--and guys, there were over 80 people on my final address list. If you are fairly sure you gave me your address and you did not receive a postcard, I am very sorry; I can promise you I did send you one. I guess that's just how it goes with international mail sometimes. My apologies.

That's the way it should be

On Friday I went to Cordoba with my favorite Spanish family to watch their students perform in a song competition. It was cute watching all the different schools perform...the songs had to be in English for this competition and later I overhead dozens of students going up to their respective teachers asking what their singing lines had meant! It was hilarious and adorable. I was so proud of Carmen & her students. She took on teaching them "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious"...no easy task! Their pronunciation was wonderful and their costumes precious (lots of tops hats, umbrellas, white dresses and red belts.)

Well, as I was waiting for the show to start, I noticed "Together" was a song listed on the program. Now many of the songs listed on the program featured misspellings or wrong titles. When I saw "Together" my mind immediately jumped to something like this...

{"We Go Together" from Grease}

I was humming in anticipation of a childhood favorite. To my confusion and dismay, when this number started it was actually more along the lines of this...


...It was "We're All in This Together" from High School Musical.

Oh my.

Times have changed, haven't they? When I was a little everyone wanted to do Grease numbers for Talent Shows or sing-alongs. Now it's High School Musical.

Don't mind me while I go right along singing the nonsense lyrics of "We Go Together." (What exactly is "chang chang changity chang shoo bop" anyway? Because apparently that's the way it should be...)

:)

No place quite like your home

I haven't really been able to land firmly on "sad" or "thrilled" when it comes to how I feel about moving home in less than 3 weeks. I have a complicated mix of emotions on the issue (which I am sure I will expound upon in a future post.)

This weekend I escaped to the beach in Malaga. As I lay on the hot sand with the water just ahead to cool my toes and the classic beauty of the city at my back, I knew I was lucky. I soaked up the Vitamin D and got lost in thought. As my mind wandered from one thing to the next, a song kept popping into my head unbidden.



And while I was happy to be there on that beach, I decided I am actually quite ready to get home. Although Spanish life has been relaxing and the ability to take-off for a new city or a beach at a moment's notice is exciting, I couldn't help but look out at the vista and think..."it's no Colorado."

See you soon, USA.

P.S.: I love this song, but I am glad that my friend Shannon didn't introduce it to me until I'd gotten past the worst of my home-sickness. I was able to listen to it fondly throughout the winter, nod along in agreement, but not lose my cool. It's a great song.

Electric Twist

{"All you need are your kicks when you need them."}

Confession: I go up to my abandoned roof terrace at least three times a week and dance it out. The storks that live on the steeple across the street don't have TV, but they've got me. I bust a mean move.

This week's dance parties hosted by: A Fine Frenzy. Particulary the subject song (*points up*) and "Blow Away".

The bright blue Andalusian sky makes a great backdrop.

How I revolutionized the second grade with stickers.

Now that I am coming to the end of my time teaching in Spain (sniffsniff) I felt it was time for me to share some of my secrets to success—or at least survival.

Ok, in actuality my job is a piece of cake. Short hours, cute students, not much work. However, I do have one class (there’s always one) that may be slightly possessed. I won’t go into every detail, but let’s just say the two times a week I meet with them are the longest forty minutes of my life. It’s not just the normal types of misbehavior—talking, being out of seats, ignoring the teacher (although all of that is certainly part of the problem)—no, these children are also dangerous. They run with scissors, literally, and seem to be constantly maiming one another or themselves. I once witnessed one little boy convince another little girl to use a pencil sharpened on her skin…the scene got bloody fast.

My first few months here I merely tried to survive each session. I lost my voice many times but for all my yelling of the material they never once repeated the words I asked them to or paid me the least bit of attention. By Christmas break I had given up and sort of just stopped talking half way through class…no one, not even their teacher, noticed that I was just sort of standing by the board trying not to get hit by flying objects.

Well, I came back rejuvenated from my break and I decided I’d had enough. I wanted to at least pretend I could make a difference in their lives with my English lessons and I was blatantly tired of their horrible comportment. I don’t know how their teacher hasn’t had a mental breakdown! The problem is that there isn’t really any discipline in my school. This particular teacher threatens them with discipline constantly…she has an ongoing list of names on the board and she pronounces that they will lose recreo (recess)…but she never carries out these threats, so they are useless. It’s not my place to punish as I am just an assistant, but on returning to school in January I hatched a plan. I didn’t feel a great deal of hope in it, but I was willing to try anything.

Friends, my plan was stickers.

And oh how they have changed my life.

I went in on my first day of “the plan” and explained the rules, in English and in Spanish. Most of the class wasn’t listening, of course, but I explained anyway. Here were the “rules” to win a sticker at the end of a lesson:

1. Students must remain in silence.
2. If a student wants to speak, they should raise their hand.
3. Students must remain seated.
4. If a student wants to get up, they must raise their hand and ask.
5. When hands are raised, the student should wait to be called on (I had to add this one when it became apparent that they would raise their hands and then start speaking…)

I repeated the rules a few times and then continued with class. It was a madhouse. Save one student who has always behaved (in fact, I feel badly for him trying to learn in such a zoo), nobody followed a single rule. I knew that they hadn’t even heard the rules! But you know what? It was better that way. At the end of the class, I pulled out my sticker book and suddenly all curious eyes were on me. I really hadn’t expected mere stickers to hold so much power, but oh how they did. Everyone watched as I awarded my one student a sticker of his choice. I made sure to give it great pomp and circumstance so they would all notice.

Afterwards, I closed the sticker book and said goodbye as my lesson was over. They were all in an uproar! Why did he get a sticker? Where was theirs? Give me a sticker! Now that I had their attention I repeated what I had said at the beginning of class and explained that only one student had followed my rules. They were astonished.

The next day I started by explaining the rules again, still with little attention paid. But this day there were a few more students. Once again at the end the other students couldn’t grasp why they weren’t being rewarded with stickers. I called them out for all the ways they’d broken the rules and then left.

On the exercise went, although I varied my patterns. I never promised stickers, I only set out the expectations I had for their behavior. Once I had most of the class participating because they had finally caught on that I seriously wouldn’t give a sticker without good behavior, I became even a bit stricter. I had been a bit lenient about slips, but now I enforced a strict 3 strikes policy. If they broke any of the rules, that was one strike. The truth is that I always have the same two or three students who don’t care enough about stickers to behave, and yet they are always indignant at the end when they aren’t given one. Oh well, three students talking and out of their seats is so much more manageable than twenty!

Now that they are used to the stickers, I don’t bring them everyday. Sure, they get upset with me when at the end of class after they have worked so hard to follow the rules they aren’t rewarded as they think they should be—but I always explain to them that they should be paying attention and behaving well with or without stickers. Now when they ask me at the beginning of a class if I’ve brought stickers, I refuse to tell them but reiterate that it shouldn’t matter if I have them or not, they should behave. They don’t love this, but what choice do they have but to behave if there could potentially be a sticker in it for them?

Things can still be a bit out of control (and dangerous) in that classroom, but for the most part I now have much more of a handle on the situation. I have no illusions that they are really learning English, but at least for forty minutes twice a week I can get them to listen and repeat “mountain” a few times. I have greater peace of mind in the classroom—not to mention the use of my voice—and they occasionally get stickers. So I’m going to call it a win/win.

Lesson learned? Never underestimate the power of stickers and, well, blatant bribery when it comes to assistant teaching.

Bilbao *Swoon*

I love to travel. This is really no secret. I have never been anyplace that I sincerely dislike, although I wouldn’t necessarily go back everyplace I’ve been. For me, trips are often “made” by a combination of company and location. Good company can make me feel fondly towards an otherwise unexceptional location, while an outstanding location can make-up for bad (or no) company.

It is hard for me to rank the best places I’ve been because I feel like it has to be broken down into situational categories. How did time of year, weather, company, etc., effect my impression? Also, I just love pretty much everywhere I’ve been! The only ranking I can for sure give you is my number one favorite spot---that of course being Salzburg, Austria, home to my heart and my most precious memories. It will always be number one.

However, I am also an instinctual person and so while I’ve loved pretty much everywhere I’ve been, there have been a few special places that have immediately (like, the second I stepped off plane/train) secured a spot in my heart for no other reason than I just feel something more there. I have even felt that way about places before I’ve been there—I picked Salzburg for my study abroad based on nothing but the catalogue, pictures, and a really deep feeling in my heart that it was so very right. (AND IT WAS.) Before I went to Edinburgh for winter holiday, I felt the same…and from the minute I got on the bus to head into town to meet with Haley, I felt that certain something, and I was in love before the trip even started. When I proposed a few locations to Shannon for our trip and she picked Bilbao, I googled the photos and felt that hint of feeling. When we got into the taxi to drive from the airport into town—well, there it was for the third time in my life. I loved it.

This long intro is to say: I may not really be able to tell you why I loved Bilbao in any way that will stick out to you. Yes, it is an unarguably beautiful city but it admittedly is not particularly different than dozens of other scenic European cities. So just understand that I loved it, I just did.

We landed in Bilbao in drizzly weather around 7 o’clock on Tuesday the 19th. It was the longest short flight of my life because I was wondering the entire time if I was missing a call telling me my nephew had been born. I landed, switched on my phone and waited for it to beep at me that I had a voicemail…nothing.

We grabbed a taxi to get into town as the airport was a bit outside and although my phone was still glued securely to my hand, my eyes were glued to the scenery. I was in wonderland. Coming from the brown dusty south filled with endless rolling hills of olive trees the sudden pop of emerald green was like resuscitation for my nature-loving soul. Bilbao itself was set down in a valley between tall greengreengreen hills (emphasis green anyone?) with a river winding through it. The town had a picturesque mixture of old buildings and cobblestone streets as well as modern (but still lovely, not cold) buildings. I was positively giddy as we wound down the hilly streets into old town, breezing by parks set right against the river, families on walks, old churches, fancy buildings…I think Shannon was overwhelmed with my enthusiasm.

And then as we checked in to our beyond awesome hostal (hostel prices, but really a lower-end hotel; we had our own room and bathroom!), I got the text.

My nephew had arrived! 9lbs and 15 ounces (yep). I booked it to the computer in the sala and cried when I looked at my first picture. The other people coming in and out of the room gaped at the crazy crying American and I just stared and cried. Then I took a picture of the computer screen with my cell phone camera and made it my background.

Well, I finally stepped away from the computer so Shannon and I could go look around town and grab some dinner.

We were both enamored with the beautiful old part of town our hotel was in, the beautiful bridges over the river and the incredible view of the hills beyond the town in every direction.

As we walked back through the streets intent on finding dinner, we encountered our first Semana Santa procession. I was so happy as I had wanted Shannon to witness this distinctly Spanish tradition.

{Please keep in mind that the traditional costumes of the processors were around long before the KKK stole the look. Semana Santa is in no way related with the KKK.}

Wednesday morning we planned to make our way to the Guggenheim museum at a leisurely pace. We walked along the river, admiring the plentiful parks and trees stretching along it and we stopped for a bit on a bench to talk about life and our futures.

We spent a good three or four hours in the Guggenheim itself and I for one thoroughly enjoyed it. I’ve never been to any other Guggenheim, but this one blew me away. It was modern art to the core but featured huge and impressive installments. My favorite was a room (I mean a huge room—two stories high and stretching to the length of a football field) that had gigantic metal elliptical fixtures that you could walk into and find your way to the middle or to the other side. Explanations don’t do it justice; suffice it to say it was cool and I love interactive art. Pictures were forbidden, something we found out after we snapped a few from the second floor look out point.

After the museum we were famished so we grabbed kebabs for lunch. I love kebabs, the European equivalent to fast food, but I think some Americans might not quite know what they are. When I say kebab do you think meat, vegetables and sometimes fruit on a stick? Yeah, that’s not what this is. European kebabs (coming from Middle Eastern tradition) are delicious bits of lamb (traditional and preferred by me) or chicken/beef in a *pita or wrap with lettuce, onion, tomato and a tasty sauce; spicy if desired (I do not). I was first introduced to them when I lived in Salzburg and we had 2 stands right across the street from my flat—my friends and I used to go down and grab kebabs when we were feeling to lazy to cook and they were always just €3 or so. Anyway, I have never been to a European city where kebab places aren’t frequent and I love it that way. They seriously need to make their way to the USA.

*When I typed pita, I originally typed Peeta. This is very telling.

Anywho, tangent over. Shannon was imagining kebabs as the meat-on-stick deal so she volunteered to try the superior kind after I told her about them. I think she liked them—I hope.

After that we just explored a bit and took shelter in a mall when it began to rain. Luckily it didn’t rain long and then we sat on the wall by the river outside of the Guggenheim for quite a while just talking about things both serious and fun.

After our days adventure we opted for a low-key dinner with a plan to search out dessert afterwards. Well, dessert ended up being a little hard to find, but we did come across a really cool bar showing the Barcelona/Madrid game and we decided it was a good idea to have the classic Spanish fútbol experience. Shannon knows a lot about fútbol actually and explained bits and pieces to me. We both had a blast watching and were sad when the game was over—also sad that Barcelona came so close to scoring but never did so the game ended 0-0.

Thursday started off a bit sour. We had originally planned to go to San Sebastian on Thursday, a beautiful sea-side town, but discovered the night before that all trains and buses were sold out. DUH, it was vacation week. Oh well, we scrambled and came up with an alternate excursion location. Only problem? The forecast called for rain, which would render a beach day a bit pointless. We decided to check the next morning and, sure enough, rain. Ok, no problem, we’d wanted to rent bikes and explore more of town anyway. We had a nice café breakfast and headed to the closest rent-a-bike stand (they were frequent all over the city). But we couldn’t figure out how to get the machine to take either of our credit cards…until a nice man came up and explained to me in Spanish that the machines don’t actually take credit cards but pre-paid Bilbao bike cards. Ok. Alright. We’ll just head over to Tourist Information and ask where we can buy a card. We go in and…the place to pay for a card is closed until Saturday. We leave Friday night. Grrrr.

To be honest, at this point we both felt drained and frustrated. I really really wanted to ride bikes and we both just didn’t have the energy for another back-up plan. Sure the city was gorgeous and we’d be happy to explore, but we were a bit tired from almost a solid week of travel and had wanted some wheels. We just sat on the steps for a bit and watched a strange rally with some comically large bikes…

{This is before the crowd gathered around them.}

Finally we decided we could take the funicular about up the hill to see the city views we’d heard about. Once we formulated this plan we really began to take to it and decided if there were benches or park areas up there we could just spend the afternoon reading, writing, and basically relaxing. We were lucky to have a beautiful day in Bilbao, lots of sun and pretty warm, so our spirits quickly lifted.

Once we got to the top, I knew it was meant to be. It was beyond gorgeous up there, great views but also the advantage of endless park land, tons of full green trees, scattered benches and a few restaurants so we wouldn’t have to worry about going down for lunch.

We had a super tasty lunch at a sidreria and then spent hours soaking up the sun, napping off and on, listening to music, pondering life… It was perfect.

Friday morning Shannon finally got to taste Spanish-style churros which I’m always raving about. Clarification: Spanish churros are NOT Mexican churros. And I am unabashedly biased when I say Spanish churros are a thousand times superior. Growing up my very own Spanish abuela would make them when we visited and my mom makes them on special occasions (since they are quite a bit of work). I don’t know how to describe the difference to you, but the Spanish ones are less cake-y and more delicious.

You can all come visit me someday and I’ll make them (or beg my mom too).

We spent the little time we had left exploring the more modern part of town that we hadn’t yet seen and we found our way to a great park in the city center with a delightful pond and bridge (a la “You’ve Got Mail” in our minds).

And then it was time to go. Bus to the airport and a flight back to Barcelona where we spent only about 8 hours in a hostel before going back to the airport for our respective flights home.

{View from our hotel.}

And that's the end, my friends, to my really wordy re-cap of a very delightful trip.

*I apologize that most of the photos are of me--I feel abnormally vain, but Shannon put up mostly photos of me in her online album. Eeeek awkward. ;)

Barcelona: Like a jewel in the sun

Two weeks ago I was in the middle of a Semana Santa travel adventure with Kindred Spirit Shannon. Our last-minute travel plans all came together wonderfully and I would say our trip was a huge success—I believe Shannon would agree.

I’m going to break up our trip by location so as not to inundate anyone with too many photos and fun facts at once. Since Shannon was kind enough to upload her photos I can go ahead and do a post, though they will only upload super tiny. My apologies.

Well, we started our adventure in Barcelona in the region of Catalunya in the north of Spain. In Catalunya they speak Catalan, not Castilian (Spanish) so I warned Shannon that we both may have to puzzle out certain things together. Luckily, they are also required to speak Castilian, so while a lot of signs were written in their native tongue, I was able to get us around with my Spanish. Shannon flew in and I took the wonderful AVE train up from my pueblo and we met up at our hostel, Casa Gracia Hostal, around 3pm. (If you are ever hostelling in Barcelona, I highly suggest this establishment; I have stayed in hostels a lot and can attest that it was one of the nicer ones for reasonable rates. They offered a small breakfast, computer/internet access, clean rooms and linens and the staff was very friendly and willing to help us sort out anything we needed from printing plane tickets to airport metro instructions.)

Shannon was of course jet-lagged and I was a bit tired from my early train so we took it very easy our first night. We caught up at a café and then just wandered a bit before having an early tapas dinner and heading to bed. Not many photos from this night, but we did admire the Gaudi architecture that is everywhere and that we couldn’t help but compare a group of trees we found to the Whomping Willow.

Saturday morning we were up and running early for our Barcelona bike tour. I really enjoyed this start to our trip as we got to see a lot of landmarks and parts of the city in an easy, breezy and short amount of time. I also just love bikes. We ended the tour at the beach for a bite of lunch and a drink before biking back to the shop.

{In park Ciutadella}

{La Sagrada Familia}

After the tour we needed to relax for a bit so we headed back to the famous Spanish steps we’d seen earlier on to sit and talk.

(I thought she was taking a picture of the steps, not me!)

These were the steps were Columbus came to speak with Queen Isabel and request funding for his venture to the New World. Actually, he came several times as she rejected him the first few.

After our break we took the metro a ways to get to the famous Gaudi park, Güell. Turns out to get up to the park you must climb a huge, I mean huge hill. Luckily, the city has put elevators directly into the street going up the hill. Yep. Call it laziness, but we were grateful (and you did still have to climb occasional parts).

Once at the top, we had great city views.

Do any of you watch America’s Next Top Model? It’s ok, you don’t have to admit it, but if you do—or did—some of these shots might look familiar. One of the season finale fashion shows took place in this park! So, of course Shannon and I had to strut our stuff and pose where the top model girls did.

Besides its top model appeal, this park is just seriously fun and gorgeous with bright colors, great look-outs and that signature Gaudi style. Honestly, at one point Shannon & I felt like we were standing in Disney World.

That night we went over to another part of town (Placa Espanya) to check out the fountain shows at the Palace that we had heard about. It was pretty cool to watch and we particularly appreciated the part set to Queen’s “Barcelona.”

For dinner we headed to Placa Real for dinner at Les Quince Nits as recommended by the delightful Aiketa. We really owe you, Aiketa, because we loved it! As in, we ended up going twice in our four days in Barcelona because we knew we loved it and because Shannon had this amazing duck confit the first time and after tasting her dish I instantly regretted my own choice—you can guess what I ordered the second time.

Sunday we deemed our market day. We had a huge list of market addresses, what they featured and other basic information. Unfortunately, with all the planning I tried to do I failed to notice that most markets are, of course, closed on Sundays. Katefail. Oh well, a few were open and both Shannon and I scored a couple of souvenirs (a fascinator for her a la Kate Middleton; a watch necklace for me). There was also a grass-roots type market going on from the stretch leading from the Arch down into park Ciutadella and that ended up having plenty to occupy our time. I think we were there for hours, both finding great gifts for friends/family and for ourselves. Their was also a food market accompanying it which offered world-wide fare. Literally. I think we ended up eating from a Tibetan tent.

(Unfortunately there are no pictures online of this. Oh well, we enjoyed it and that’s good enough.)

After exhausting ourselves at the market, we headed deeper into the park to find a patch of grass and nap/write/read for a bit. The park was filled with families and friends doing the same and it was really pleasant.

For dinner we went to a little pizza place on a side street (also recommended by dear Aiketa) and that was just what we needed. Tasty pizza, really low-key, practically no tourists and dirt cheap—right off Las Ramblas!

On Monday we took the train out to Montserrat, a beautiful mountain top escape that features a monastery and basilica. It was really truly gorgeous and we both appreciated being out and away from the city for a bit.

On Tuesday we headed out to find some of those markets we’d missed on Sunday, starting with the famous La Boqueria, right on Las Ramblas. This is a typical big-city Spanish market, a permanent covered fixture featuring booths with fresh seafood, meat (as in legs and heads and such), fresh fruits, cheeses, candy, little tapas stands, etc. I love these places as they really stimulate your senses with the noise and colors and smells. I wanted to eat everything, but we settled for some fresh juice. Shannon: Kiwi; Me: Blackberry Coconut.

We were pretty warn out from our non-stop four days so we ended up settling at a café for a few hours while we waited to head to the airport for our flight to our next stop: Bilbao!

Barcelona was great to us and we both loved it…but we loved Bilbao more! Come back to hear about our peaceful stay in this luscious green northern city.

*I had the worst time trying to put this post together. Lately blogspot is messing with my formats like crazy and any time I make the slightest change (like add a comma or a space), suddenly there are like ten spaces between each paragraph or picture! I swear I almost chucked my computer across the room. Anyway, sorry that the format is not pleasing to look at but after fixing the spaces ten times (literally) and having them revert, I gave up. GR.

**Title from the song "Barcelona"