Snowy Mountains and Saving Souls

We assume those left reading the blog have looked up the Camino de Santiago by now. In case you are still in the dark about it, the Camino is a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela where St. James the Greater, who was one of the 12 apostles, is buried.

There are several walking routes all over Europe ending in the city of Santiago de Compostela. We chose to do the Camino Frances. It is the most popular and well travelled (for us that meant safest for only English speakers) of the Camino’s. From St. Jean Pied de Port, France, it is 30-40 days of walking depending on your walking speed.

Some of you may be familiar with the Camino due to the documentary about it a few years ago and/or the Martin Sheen movie about it. We have seen the doc, not the movie.

We can’t remember when or why we decided to do the walk, but somehow it ended up on our travel itinerary.

Day 1: St. Jean Pied de Port – Roncesvalles

Distance: 23.6 km, including elevation 28.5 km (Sidenote: We won’t be converting kilometers to miles in our blogs. To better understand how much we are walking – 1km = .62 m. So 10km = 6.2 m, 20km = 12.4 m, and 30km=18.6 m.)

This was the hardest day of the Camino for almost everyone.

We began day one leaving St. Jean Pied de Port headed to Roncesvalles, Spain. Everyone gets an early start at the beginning of the Camino, often rising at 6-6:30 AM. We left around 7:30 as we were not aware of such departure times. We had covered 200-300 meters before stopping for pastries. Probably not a great idea, but who knows when you will be in France again.

After a croissant and pain au raisins (which was incredible and the best pastry of our two months of travelling so far), we were back on the road and ready to cover the other 28+ km.

No rain the first morning as we walked through the French countryside. Some of the walking is on the road, albeit very narrow rural roads. Much of it through mud/dirt paths. Our sights consisted mostly of valley views, cottages, and farm animals. The trail also followed the river dividing Spain and France so we trekked back and forth between the two countries for a bit in the morning.

Once solidly in Spain and having covered a few km’s, we stopped at the first supermercado we encountered. We had not brought sunscreen on the trip and the day was proving to need it. We bought what we needed and had our first conversation with a pilgrim on the same path as us.

She was English and carrying a larger pack than either of us. That was a bad sign as I (Clay) knew my pack was already too big. Elizabeth and I discussed whether or not we would see the woman later that day because the hike is extremely strenuous and she was already having a rough go at it.

Content with our sunscreen, we carried on. The countryside was lovely. We enjoyed being out in nature, away from large cities and traffic.

And then we began the ascent. The hill begins at 5 km but doesn’t start getting steep until the 17 km mark. And it doesn’t stop getting steep until the top of the mountain, km 23. The entire 6 km was also covered in snow/ice. So for every three steps you took, you really only took two because you slid back a few inches each step. For some of the more snowy portions, there was no place to take a break, to sit down, to take off your pack. So you just kept walking, waiting on the opportunity to drop the pack. I managed to find a limb to set my pack on to grab a few seconds of air.

Since Elizabeth walks hills at a slower pace than me, she caught up with me just as I was ready to start walking again. We discussed how difficult the walk was and then started walking again. Further, longer, steeper, and finally out of the snow for a strech, I sat down in the middle of the trail. I was spent.

By this point we had covered 12-13 miles, the last several all uphill. I pulled out my water filter and started drinking water running directly down the trail. I knew with the filter, it wouldn’t kill me. I also knew if I didn’t drink any water, I might die on the trail.

We also failed to eat anything of substance during this entire stretch of walking. Stupid we know, but we did not consider that for several miles we would be abandoned and left for dead in the Spanish wilderness (there was a clean, cleared off road only a 100 feet to the right of the trail that we later found out most people walked on because the snow was too challenging).

Eventually we made it to the top of the mountain, the last few feet crawling because the snow was too deep to walk through without falling or getting stuck.

At the top we were ecstatic, having covered all but 1 km left of our walk/hike for the day. We were exhausted, completely gassed. We celebrated for a few minutes and turned towards our final destination as a van pulled up at the top of the mountain. We don’t pay much attention to the van, but as the sliding door opens up, we see a familiar face. The English woman.

She locks eyes with us and we can tell she is embarrassed. She starts talking to us, and we are all laughing at how we all made it to the top of the mountain at the same time. She mentioned how she didn’t think she would use her “get out of jail free” card on the first hike of the Camino.

We didn’t mind that she cheated and she was disappointed that she was unable to climb the mountain. Of course, we were proud that we had worked our asses off to hike what we had set out to do. And a little annoyed. But that is not what the Camino is about.

We made it to our albergue and ended up staying in the same four person bed cube as the woman. We also were with an Australian woman who we got to know later on the Camino.

We both needed showers but had failed to pack a towel. We thought the places we stayed would have clean towels we could pay a euro or two to rent. Nope. So Elizabeth toweled off with her long underwear. Clay airdryed, after squeegeeing as much water as he could off his body. Shortly after we put “Buy a towel” on our to-do list. 

We had dinner later than most other pilgrims so Elizabeth could attend mass at 7. Since it was Palm Sunday, mass started outside in the church’s crypt. Elizabeth followed the procession to wherever the congregation and priests went. I stayed back sitting on a rail somewhere outside of the church waiting for the congregation to rejoin, bitching internally at the cold temps, choice of shoeware (flip-flops since I had just taken a shower), and anything else I could find to complain about.

And then I heard it. A loud banging sound. And again. And again. “God is that you?” I thought. Surely not. Sounds more like a door. And I follow the banging to a large wooden door. A door with people behind it. And the door is locked. Thankfully one of the individuals spoke English because I explained in my best Spanish that I only knew English. I also explained that I understood they were locked behind the door and did not need further information, especially in Spanish.

So I found a man who looked to be working at the church and attempted to explain to him what was happening. He told me he understood English, but after I explained, he explained that what I said was impossible. And he explained it to me with many hand gestures and in Spanish.

I explained again more slowly in English (which never works), and commenced to drag the old man over to the door so he could unlock it. Out popped three poor, unhappy souls whose only reaction is to walk off and leave without so much as a thank you to anyone.

That’s the last time I help strangers locked behind a large door.

Church was relatively normal but at the end the priest prayed over all the pilgrims. It was humbling to hear him pray for all of us in our native tongues. He prayed for us pilgrims in in Spanish English, Italian, French, etc. Although we still didn’t understand all of mass, we did understand the pilgrim prayer.

After mass we headed to our first pilgrim dinner. It was underwhelming and we tried to avoid this as much as possible in the future.

We eventually made it bed, ready for day two. The hill on the first day is known to be the worst you will face the entire Camino. Athough we were a little tired and sore we knew we could walk any day from that point on.

 

We Are Pilgrims on a Journey…

“…We are Travelers on the Road…”

After our stay in Barcelona, we left early in the morning for France and our new adventure – Camino de Santiago. Our train from Barcelona ended in Pamplona and the bus awaited us. While waiting for our bus to leave, we stopped in the Spanish post office, Correos, to forward most of our luggage to Santiago. Because we are carrying our clothes for 6 months and for various seasons, we needed to forward our luggage to the end so we didn’t have to carry it on the Camino. Basically, no one has any business carrying much with them on the Camino.

An hour plus later, with the help of four non-Inglés speakers, we managed to pack up a box and a large suitcase to send along to the finish line. Once everything was packed up, and by packed we mean wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up, we realized that we forgot to include the unnecessary binder full of travel paperwork. It was missed in the shuffle and with the amount of tape used to secure our box and luggage, the 2+ pound binder would have to travel some 500 miles on Clay’s back.

No big deal of course because we had decided to carry only what we would need for the trip in our packs. Of course, for some reason, Clay needed a hardback book and a paperback around 400 pages.

Now we know what you are thinking: “Clay, they make this thing called a kindle/nook. You should have invested in that instead of real books for this trip.”

And Clay’s response would be that he also has a kindle in his backpack. Now you know why his pack weighed around 30 lbs when it should have weighed 20 at most. He carried things he wanted and not just what he needed. The motto in Elizabeth’s family has always been “If you can carry it, you can bring it.” Clay may have taken that to the extreme.

But back to Pamplona. We walked around a little in the rain with not much success and headed down to the bus station to make sure we were in the right place at the right time.

We had not eaten yet and were hungry. Luckily the bus station had several restaurants. But only one open due to construction.We ordered a hamburger and suffice to say Elizabeth refused to eat what was ordered due to the odd color of the meat.

I (Clay) ate it instead with her looking on in disgust, anger, and concern. Disgust and anger that I told her that for what we paid for the burger someone between the two of us was going to eat it. Concern because she was certain that the burger was going to make me ill.

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I took every pill from the collection given to us by my mother that I thought would be necessary to prevent me from dying. Thankfully it worked. That or the burger was not in fact poisoned.

Once we got on the bus, things cooled down. We were pleasant and amicable and then worried about our decision to begin the Camino.

The bus ride is 2 hours of winding mountain roads leading you into France while crossing the Pyrenees mountains. While sitting in the bus, trying not to get too queasy, we were passing pilgrims walking along the road. These poor souls were wearing the best weather protection they could find and were still soaked to the bone, having walked for hours in the rain. And that is what we had to look forward to the following day.

Once we arrived in France, we headed to our first albergue. An albergue is a type of hostel where only pilgrims are allowed to stay. We were the only people spending the night in ours. That’s because it was not supposed to open until the next night. I guess we missed the sign somewhere. It would be our last good night sleep for many days.

We settled in our albergue and headed to the city office assisting pilgrims starting their journey from St. Jean. An adorable French woman, Charlotte, assisted us and let us know, in French, that only one route was available for hiking tomorrow. The Napoleon route was closed after a couple of pilgrims had to be helicoptered off the mountain after getting stranded. Instead we had to take the Charlemagne route, a shorter, but much steeper climb.

Once Charlotte sent us on our way, we headed to find full length ponchos. We had brought rain jackets, but after seeing those lost souls earlier in the day, we knew we were going to need something more robust to protect us and our packs (filled with books).

We didn’t know what to do or where to go after all this other excitement, so we walked around the city, taking pictures in the rain of old stuff. And to celebrate France, we headed to any pastry shop we could find still open.

We found a single place open and ordered dinner, and apple tart and a raspberry torte/cake.

And while trying to find some sparkling wine to celebrate France, we encountered what appeared to be a female biker gang. These women were all dressed in black, looking terrifying, with one of the women having face tattoos and short spiked hair. An ominous looking group, we made it a point to walk across the street to avoid bypassing them a second time.

However, they chose to leave the bar at the same time we were walking by and they crossed our paths again. Elizabeth and I awaited the worst: hateful comments in French, possible assault, something else nefarious. Once the face-tattoed woman got closer though, we realized things were not as we assumed.

The hair was a wig. The face tat’s were temporary, taken probably from a cracker jack box or a quarter machine. The women were no longer looking scary but silly, laughing and wildly gesticulating and wearing matching shirts with a picture of an adorable four year old from 1986. The pieces came together and we realized it was a bachelorette party.

You can’t be to careful in France though.

We headed home, enjoyed our pastries and went to bed, ready (or so we thought) for the next 30+ days of walking through Spain.

 

 

Figueres: We regress

Figueres is a fine town. It is host to the Salvador Dali Musuem. He designed the building. It has a large collection of his artwork and his jewelry work as well. When you see his very early work and non-surrealist work, you realize he had an amazing talent. There were a few small paintings in the museum which showed his ability for more mainstream artwork.

All in all it was a neat look into an odd artist.

After the museum we changed our tickets to an early return and headed back to Barcelona to get packed and ready to go before we started the Camino de Santiago. I (Clay) cooked vegetables for dinner and we went to bed. That sums up the day.

But back to the disaster alluded to in previous blog posts.

We had train tickets for 8:20 (2 tickets) to head out to Figueres. We normally walk to the train station. Sometimes we take the metro/subway. Sometimes we take a cab. Obviously it depends on the city and if we are carrying luggage. We also normally leave our apartment with enough time to do two of the three. So if it takes 30 minutes to walk or 15 by cab, we leave 45 minutes in advance in case we make a mistake. That is very early, but the extra time is built in to resolve any snafu’s or blips with bad directions, traffic issues, or whatever problems might arise. Travel is expensive and paying twice is painful.

7:15 AM: We left the apartment around this time and began our walk to the metro station. It was a 45 minute walk to the train station, but we were taking the metro, which should take less than 15 minutes. A car would take 20 minutes.

7:20 AM: We arrived at the metro station and bought our tickets (4 tickets). We went through the gate and began walking. Soon we realized we walked to the wrong subway line and needed to get to the correct side of the station. Of course the only way to do this was to buy new metro tickets because the other side of the train station runs different lines. So we bought another two tickets (6 in total) and walked to the other side of the same metro station. The tickets did not work. They don’t work because even though this is the same station, the R line and the L line use different tickets. This is the first station we have encountered where such an occurrence happened.

Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get on the train. So we bought yet another set of tickets (8) and started walking to the correct train line.

7:45 AM: By now it was closer to eight which was not ideal but not a problem. We could still make it on the subway. And if worse came to worse, we could still get there by taxi. We got on the train and headed off… in the wrong direction. We realized we were on the wrong train before the first stop. The problem is the first stop in the wrong direction was extremely far away. So far away that I realized we were toast because it’s now around 8:05.

8:05 AM: I decided let’s just take a taxi. Odds were we couldn’t mess that up and hopefully we could get close to being there before the train leaves. Also, the next metro train that was going in the correct direction wouldn’t be arriving for another five minutes, and we had messed up the metro so many times I didnt’t want to risk it any more.

If we had taken the metro, we would have likely arrived at the train station between 8:15-8:20. Probably with not enough time to get through security, but you never know. The big downside is the trains in Spain always, always, always left on time.

Of course in my haste, I forgot that the metro was faster than the taxi. So as we hailed a taxi and got in, I checked traffic. It was 8:05 and we were so far away from the train station, since we took the subway train in the wrong direction, that the traffic report says it would be 8:24 before we can could there for our 8:20 train to Figueres.

I (as if anyone is surprised) was lost in a fit of anger.

Our cabbie was driving as slow as possible. I could only assume to further enrage me. To make matters worse the song playing on the radio was none other than Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up”. Life was rickrolling us.

8:29 AM: We arrived at the train station. Between morning traffic (how could there be traffic at 8 AM when no one goes to work until 10) and the cab driver stopping at yellow lights expecting them to turn to red at any moment, we missed our train.

I went to ask the train people what my next steps were. The said, “Buy new tickets.” So we bought yet another pair of train tickets (10).

10 tickets (6 of which were not needed), a 20 dollar cab ride, and untold sums of money wasted on those extra tickets to get to a city an hour away. What should have been a seven minute walk and 8 minute metro ride turned into over an hour of pure hell. And complete incompetence on our part.

We boarded the train separately as we parted ways once we got our final set of tickets. We had been together for the last hour. We each played a part in missing the train and each needed time to recover from feeling like an idiot. If we had been forced to be together any longer that morning, we probably wouldn’t be together now.

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Barthelona day 4: This whole city is Gaudi

Today was a day devoted entirely to one man, Antoni Gaudi.  The most famous architect of Barcelona, probably Spain, and pretty well known around the world.

We began with his most famous house, Casa Batlló. Much of the audio guide made mention that the house has no straight lines.  While not entirely true, the architect tried very hard to avoid any straight lines. It is a magical building. Floating, dreamlike, wondrous.  Like spending the afternoon underwater in the ocean.

We left the house an hour or so later to begin our walking tour about Antoni Gaudi architecture.  The tour covered many of the Gaudi structures in and around the Barcelona downtown area.  It also covered several other architects who were influenced by Gaudi and those builders of the same period.  We enjoyed seeing the progression of the Modernist movement in Barcelona and its ultimate demise, another Gaudi house.

To finish the tour, we stopped at the Sagrada Familia.  We had to leave the tour early due to our entrance time inside the Sagrada.  It was worth it. I (Clay) am of the opinion that it is almost the perfect interior of a building.  It is incredible. My new favorite building on the trip.  I don’t consider the outside attractive by any stretch, but the inside will change your life.

Everyone we spoke with told us we had to visit the unfinished masterpiece. If there is only one thing to do in Barcelona, it should be visiting this place.  They were all correct.

From here we headed home before going to dinner. We tried another tapas place and it worked much better this time.  Part of that was the workers spoke English and you don’t have to order. They place the food on the bar, you pick it up, set it on your plate, and when you are done for the night, you hand them the toothpick, or kebab stick, or whatever wooden skewer affixed your tapas.

It was much more streamlined and less stressful for us.  We were able to eat without the panic of saying the wrong thing. A successful outing.

Barthelona Day 3: Picasso, Cava, and eating in a stranger’s house.

We had a full slate on this day and began early with the first stop at the Picasso Museum.  It does not house his well known works, but does contain a vast selection that cover his artistic life through his various periods.  It is interesting to see the artistic progression of an individual, especially one who went to such extremes as Picasso.

The museum does contain a large collection of one grouping of his paintings, Las Meninas.  The original Las Meninas is one of the most famous Spanish paintings of all time.  Picasso reinterpreted the painting with his own 58 versions.  You can find every one of them here. Or at least I think here. We did not count.

After viewing Picasso, we walked around Barcelona a bit and found the Arc de Triomf. It was a nice stroll down the promenade.

We then met our group for the Cava and wine tour. The Cava growing region is close to Barcelona so taking a day trip to various vineyards is easy to do.  We prefer Cava to Champagne based on our pocketbook so we were excited to visit.

While the downside to visiting vineyards this time of year is the lack of grapes present on the vines, it also cuts down on the crowds.  We also selected a smaller tour which visited smaller producers so we hoped to get a better tour experience.

We were not disappointed.  Our first stop was the Cava tasting and it was excellent. We tried three Cava’s each paired with a plethora of tapas.  The first Cava was easily the best wine we tried all day.  We did not buy a bottle, but we should have. It was an extremely expensive bottle of wine for Cava and the shipping costs were steep as well.

Instead, we chose a less expensive bottle and will get to enjoy at the end of our Camino, where it awaits in our luggage.

It was a great experience to visit this Cava winery and enjoy something locally that we enjoy overseas.

As we headed to our second tasting, we enjoyed views of Montserrat and got to know our group.  Four of them were from Arkansas. We did not get them to give us a Woo Pig Sooie cheer, but we tried. Perhaps they needed more liquid courage.

Our second stop on the tour was at a castle dated around the 13th century (they always seem to know how old these things are). It had been in the same family the entire time. The vineyard was only a side business for them and they only started to sell it in Spain recently.

Our guide had remained interactive with us the entire trip and this finally led to his undoing at the castle.  He led us down to the lower level/cellar in the castle into three separate circular rooms each about 12 feet tall and ten feet around with cast iron grated door leading to each.  He had told us what these rooms were used for earlier in the day and decided to quiz us.

As follows:

Guide: Does anyone know what these were used for?

Everyone but Clay: A room to store the wine. (except it was all garbled and the guide couldn’t understand what anyone said but Clay who said…)

Clay: The castle prison.

Guide: (hangs his head in shame and laughs) No.

Everyone got a nice laugh out of this.

After getting out of the wine prison, we had a couple of reds and a white.  They were good wines.

The guide again began giving us a lesson on wine, color, and several other items about fine wine. He was teaching us that the longer a red wine ages the less color the wine will have, but it will have more flavor.

Guide: So it you paint a house purple, like a grape, in ten to fifteen years, what will you have?

Clay: A raisin

Guide: (hangs his head in shame and laughs) No.

We finished the wine and cheese and headed back to Barcelona with rosy cheeks and full bellies.

And then it began to rain. A lot.  And traffic got much worse. And we stopped moving.

We sat in traffic for a while. So long that we had to drop off an Arkansas pair in downtown Barcelona so they could make it to the soccer match in town.  We ended up making it back to our place in time to get sorted and head out to our fancy dinner with strangers.

We found Eat With some time ago and have been excited to try it out in an International locale. Unfortunately, no one else was as excited, as we were the only people with reservations for the night. Perhaps Wednesday nights are not popular for eating out in Barcelona.

As we traipsed across a sodden Barcelona, we arrived at the warehouse where the host lives.  Imagine an abandoned, disintegrating building where hobos and heroin addicts hang out under stairwells to die and you have the right image.

We tentatively knocked on the door, hoping we have the right door and building.  We are welcomed in to a huge apartment.  The living, dining, and kitchen area are combined and run probably 60-80 feet long and 20 feet wide.  It was a massive place replete with antiques, general junk, and marble counter tops.

Two other guests showed up to eat with us. We think they were friends or acquaintances of the hosts.  They spoke no English.  To offset the issue, both of our hosts translated.  One was a native Catalan who knew at least Spanish, Catalan and English.  The other was Swiss and seemed to know as many languages as I  have fingers.

He was our main translator and conversationalist as he would talk to both couples and update each with what the other was discussing.  They were all very worried about America and Donald Trump. Do no visit Europe during an election year, especially when the US has lost it’s mind.

The food was fun, exciting, and different.  The first course, specifically the octopus, was the highlight of the meal.  The dessert pastry was also an excellent finish to the meal.  Each course was paired with it’s own drink.  The hosts did a great job of providing us a warm and inviting place filled with interesting discussion and equally interesting food.

We left for home completely satisfied.  Half from the food and half from not being murder in a stairwell.

Barthelona Day 2: A lesson on tortillas

Day 2 in Barcelona began with more food.  Our first stop of the day was to La Boqueria, an actual market for the people of Barcelona, but a bit turned on its side over the last few years with the influx of photograph focused tourists.  This was the meeting point for our cooking class  and it was here where Elizabeth was more excited than she had been for anything thus far on the trip.

The cooking class covered traditional Spanish/Catalan dishes. These dishes included tomato bread, gazpacho, paella, a Spanish version of creme brulee, and what turned out to be the best thing made, a Spanish tortilla.

Our group had a couple from Texas and very tired family of five from Boston.  There was also a couple from Canada wearing Canadian tuxedos. Elizabeth threw them under the bus at one point during the class when they cut her vegetables incorrectly.

The chef/teacher of the class took us around the market to show us how we should buy our produce and fish, ensuring it is as fresh as possible. He also led us in the kitchen to make sure nothing burned or was ruined by an overeager student.

All the food was excellent, but our favorite was the humble Spanish omelette, or tortilla espanola.  A little salt, fried potatoes, lightly caramelized onions, and scrambled eggs mixed together and cooked to remain a little runny in the middle. It was shockingly outstanding.

From here, sufficiently stuffed and struggling to do anything other than nap, we moseyed over to the Cathedral of Barcelona.  One of many churches on the list of churches to visit, it was a fine representation of a Gothic church. not particularly original, but it did have one element different from all the other we had visited thus far.

The stairs to the crypt were at the front of the altar.  In our experience, the crypt is notmally accessed via other means than the front of the church.  While we didn’t stay long, it was neat to see.

We couldn’t stay long at the Cathedral because we had to head to Park Guell.  Another work of Gaudi, the park provides nice views of the city and a quiet respite from the noise of downtown.  A couple of the building’s rooftops are famous for being in every picture you will most likely see in Barcelona. We took those pictures too.

To close out the night, we decided to give Spain another shot with crowded, confusing meals.  We headed to El Xampanyet.  One of the most famous and popular places to go in Barcelona for tapas, we expected it would be challenging. It was. Within seconds of arriving, I (Clay) was ready to leave. It was packed to the gills and people were falling out the door.  Getting close enough to order was difficult enough for people that spoke Spanish.  

Turns out we are still incredibly timid souls.  We discussed leaving, trying to order, or what we should do.  I think we covered all the stages of grief standing in the restaurant in only a few minutes.  After ordering a couple of cavas, we had outlasted several other folks and were able to lean an elbow on the bar countertop.

From our safe perch, we managed to point to enough items to get fed.  Of course half of what we ordered only came to fruition after eyeing what the folks next to us ordered and letting the barkeep know we needed an order to ourselves.

Unoriginal to be sure, but tasty.

We lived to try another tapas place.

Barthelona: A Catalan city with a Spanish flag

Side Note: We are finally back to blogging. At the moment we are attempting to catch the blog up to present day. Please bear with us as we get everything up to date over the next few days. This post picks up where we left off in March. We were just arriving in Barcelona. We were so young then…

We arrived in Barcelona, dropped off our bags and headed out for our walking tour.  Hosted by an American, he was easy to understand and we got his jokes. On the tour we learned about the Catalan Independence movement and how many of those individual in the region of Spain do not feel Spanish.

Instead they are Catalan and would never consider themselves Spanish. We saw Catalan specific architecture,  learned a little about Catalan cuisine, language and the Catalan Independence flag. Honestly, I was hoping to find a Catalan airport so I could have my passport stamped and say I visited another country.

One thing of note on the tour was our visit to an outer section of a small church.  It was here where individuals were executed by firing squad during Franco’s dictatorship. It was also bombed during WWII. A lot of history in the pock marked wall, none of it good.

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The courtyard now serves as a playground for children at recess.

From there we headed to the beaches of Egypt.  Apparently Barcelona, on the Mediterranean coast no less, has no natural beach. For the 1992 Olympics, the city began bringing in sand from Egypt. The tradition continues to this day.  It was a cool, cloudy day so we sat on the shores of Egypt and enjoyed the sailboats (perhaps Phoenicians) pass by.


We grabbed a bite to eat at an craft beer restaurant before heading to Las Rambla.

We had been warned about Barcelona and Las Rambla by everyone on the internet and everyone we encountered in every city we visited whenever Barcelona was mentioned.  Our host in Barcelona gave us a map and noted the streets we should not walk on, should not speak English on, nor mentioned Airbnb on. We were told Barcelona is very dangerous and there is a 90% chance you will get pick-pocketed and it will happen on Las Rambla.

This was a right of passage we did not suffer however, as our Waterloo was but a few days away.  

Instead we walked gaily down Las Rambla enjoying the sights and sounds of the Time Square of Barcelona.  Full of street performs, black market goods, and local artisans peddling small paintings of large buildings, it was fun to see what all the fuss was about.

We found our next experience not too far down Las Rambla and planned to enjoy ourselves further.

The Jamon Experience is an incredibly campy tour/museum/visual and audio experience paired with some of the most expensive jamon money can buy.  The tour bit consists of dark rooms with projectors and mirrored walls to allow the participant to watch and learn about the process of jamon making, from the birth, life, feeding, and death of the black hoofed Iberian pig.  The oldest woman on the tour could not resist taking pictures of everything, very much against the rules.  Probably how I (Clay) will be in a few decades.

Thankfully that bit was not too long and we headed upstairs to sample the finest jamon the Iberian Peninsula has to offer. We were able to try six different jamon varieties and a few glasses of cava.  The first couple of pieces were relatively run of the mill jamon, but the last four were special because they were from very specific Iberian regions and followed further stringent rules and regulations.  These were the Dom Perignon of pig legs.

At the tasting, no one was talking to one another around our large table of eleven and the middle aged American couple on the tour broke the ice.  Providing various opinions on the jamon, they got the ball rolling and it didn’t stop for a good hour.  Another couple was on the tour from the Netherlands and a group of five was from Belgium.  The Belgian group was there to cheer on the 72 year old patriarch of the family who had run a marathon in Barcelona earlier in the week.

At some point, the American woman mentioned that one of the Belgians looks a bit like Mark Wahlberg.  He did not.  She persisted and everyone looked at her as if she was crazy.  Nevertheless, and in probable hopes that others might begin to think a little better of her judgement, she admitted that her husband is often told that he looks like Liam Neeson.  

We had already discussed this amongst Elizabeth and myself, but it set off a flurry of laughter, comments, and hearty agreement from the others that he did look a bit like Liam but the Belgian still did not look like Mark Walhberg. 

We left there to float among the petty criminals of Las Rambla and headed home full of celebrity sightings.  We finished the night at a falafel stand, finally getting our needed vegetables.

Segovia: The Romans Were Awesome

One of the benefits of arriving early somewhere is that it is empty.  The downside is getting up at 6 AM on vacation to do that. Nevertheless, Segovia is a place well worth the effort.  Home to one of the longest remaining and intact Roman aqueducts in the world, it is the most amazing thing we have ever seen.  Nothing more to add except for a few pictures maybe.

After a while of standing in awe and walking the length of the aqueduct and a little breakfast at Dunkin Coffee (not Dunkin Donuts), we headed to the Cathedral of Segovia for Mass. On the way to Mass we heard what sounded like a parade starting up, but instead of the music of a whole band, we heard one single drumbeat. What we stumbled upon was a rehearsal for Semana Santa.

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If you are not familiar with the holy week preparations in Spain, it involves a huge “parade” of sorts where statues weighing hundreds of pounds are carried on the backs of volunteers. Each towns celebrations are a little different. What we happended to witness in Segovia was the volunteers practicing. On their back was a cardboard cutout of the statue. We assume they were practicing keeping in time so that when it is the real deal, they don’t drop and destroy the hundred year old statue.

After looking in awe at the rehearsal we headed into the cathedral for Mass. We weren’t sure where to go exactly, but we followed a man that was walking with purpose and he led us to the chapel we needed. Again I (Elizabeth) was not struck by the Holy Spirit with the ability to understand Spanish, but the priest spoke beautifully during the homily.

During Mass, the altar began to beat like it had a heart, dull but consistent, ever present.  Then the tinkling of chimes appeared to follow in tune with the heart beat. Turns out the xylophone sounds were just a rouge unsilenced cell phone. And we figure the heart beat was the drums from the practice parade and not from anyone buried behind the altar, like the Tell-Tale Heart. But it was exciting for a few minutes.

After Mass we got a map of Segovia and some information from the local tourist office. The tourist office pointed us towards the castle of Segovia as well as some of the other places to walk around.  The castle is not completely authentic as it was rebuilt after a terrible fire in the late 1800’s and does not mirror the style of the period when the original castle was built. Still a beautiful place.

Post castle, we sat down to rest and eat at Meson Don Jimeno, a restaurant specializing in the local delicacy of roast suckling pig.  It’s a baby pig, whose only nurishment has been it’s mother’s milk, roasted in the oven. It comes out golden brown with crispy skin that cracks apart.  We also had roasted lamb, sangria and almond cake.  Each were very good.

The sauce for the lamb was reminiscent of the jus that is paired with the Greek chicken at Niki’s West for those reading in the Birmingham metropolitan area. For those other’s reading, the jus was lamb jus, herbs, and has a bit of vinegar.

We walked down the mountain after lunch to burn some calories and to get some other pictures of the castle.  We had great views, saw some peacocks, and visited the remains of a monastery built by the Knights Templar in the 1200’s that at one time supposedly held part of the cross Christ was crucified on.  We were told the building is the last surviving building of this style from these Knights in the world.

I could not verify any of this online, especially not the bit about the cross, but it makes for good storytelling. We finished the day where it began, staring at the aqueduct, trying to imagine its existence 2000 years ago.

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Tomorrow would be Barcelona.  Home to the Catalan Independence movement, the Sagrada Familia, and a looming disaster so large it’s a wonder we even made it out of Alabama.

Madrid Part Tres: Naps, Art, and a Tired Stadium

After waking late and still feeling exhausted, we walked to Temple de Debod. I took a nap as Elizabeth enjoyed the sunshine.  There are some great views of Madrid from around the temple area. The temple was a gift from Egypt to Spain for help with the Aswan Dam project.  The US helped as well and was also given a Temple, it sits alone in a large room at the Met in NY.

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From there we grabbed lunch at a hipster food court for tapas, Mercado de San Miguel.  As it was Friday, we were allowed to have something other than jamon.  We enjoyed crab something, a couple of different burrattas, and some potato chips.  I had to eat more than I wanted since Elizabeth was not feeling well. After eating her portion too, I was not feeling well.  

A nap for Elizabeth and some reading for me and we were headed to the Prado.  

The Prado is mostly a museum for world famous Spanish artists, heavy on the Goya and Velazquez.  It’s free at night so after a long wait in line, we got to visit a few sections of the museum.  We enjoyed a few Roman works from the turn of the AD as well as Historical Portraits which are painted to portray certain historical events. These really brought the history of Spain to life. Unfortunately, we only went to the museum this one time and only stayed for a few hours before it closed.

After the museum, we thought we would give churros another shot, hoping Granada was the exception and not the rule.  Chocolateria San Gines is open every day, all day and has been for over 100 years.  Even through a dictatorship with a nightly curfew for citizens.  It is one of the most popular places to go for churros.  Still no cinnamon or sugar.  We officially ended our hunt for churros and called it a night.

After our lazy day, we went back to the regular scheduled program. The next day was full of excitement. First on our list was the Thyssen museum in Madrid. It has many fine works by Van Gogh, Gauguin, Monet, Manet, Beirstadt, and other well known artists.  One of the temporary exhibits was about a family of painters/artists from Pennsylvania, the Wyeth’s. It was free with the general admission ticket and well worth the visit.  Especially since the exhibit was organized in association with the Denver Museum of Art. A museum we visited a few months ago when we were skiing in Colorado. The Denver Art Museum had a Wyeth exhibit but we chose not to pay to see it then.  We are so cultured and refined, art follows us.  

We enjoyed the museum for so long, we were not left with time to do much else between the museum and our first futbol match. We did grab some sweets before the match to tide us over.  I planned for us to eat stadium food, but this turned out to be the first real snafu of the entire trip.  We arrived in the area of the stadium two hours before the start.  We wanted to soak up the atmosphere, the stadium, and all that goes along with futbol and fandom.

The stadium is around 50 years old so it looks dated from the outside, but not awful.  Fans here don’t tailgate.  Those of drinking age mill about in the streets near the bars with beer in hand(s).  Anyone with kids is waiting on the gates to open.  We grabbed a beer and began to walk around to get a picture in front of the stadium. 

During our milling about, we noticed plastic bags the fans were carrying.  We also noticed the tables set up hawking team apparel and foodstuffs.  We realized all the plastic bags contain food and we are the only people sans bag.  In an effort to fit in, I sauntered over to a table for a couple of snacks and was robbed for the first time as I paid five bucks for a handful of cocktail nuts. I was certain I was taken, but didn’t know the Spanish words to insult the guy, his stand, and his mother so I left his stand with my five Euro bag of nuts.

Feeling like a dope, we decided to go ahead and enter the stadium of Atletico Madrid, at present the best team in Spain.  I wanted to walk the concourse, take a few hundred pictures, grab our dinner before the show starts and settle in for the big match.

None of which happened.

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As it turns out, the stadium is more like Legion Field than Bryant-Denny or the Georgia Dome.  Imagine the Braves playing at Rickwood Field before people decided to fix it up for movies. If the Falcons and Braves need new places to play right now, Atletico needed a new place before this one was built.  It’s deplorable.  Their new stadium is set to open soon.  Doctors who give out tetanus shots will be disappointed.  

I think to myself, “This stadium is old, that’s ok. I’ll just walk around…”

Nope.

At the Atletico Madrid stadium all sections are fenced off.

So again I think to myself, “Fine, at least the Spanish eat well. I’m sure the concession stand has great food…”

False.

No hot food in this place.  A couple of cold ham sandwhich options, bagged Lay’s chips, and popcorn from who knows where.

Souvenir cup? HA!

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So with thirty minutes before the match starts, we are sitting in the stadium staring at an empty bag of trail mix. Dinner would have to wait, but only for us.

The game begins and Atletico is much better than Deportivo, who is in last place.  At halftime, everyone pulls out their plastic bags and begin to enjoy their homemade bocadillo (cold ham sandwich), together.  Entire families enjoying dinner with one another.

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Atletico continued to dominate and won convincingly.  At some point, probably when it dipped into the 30’s, the couple next to Elizabeth offered up a sliver of their blanket.  A most generous offer since the stadium doesn’t sell hot drinks either.

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We had a good time watching the match, but it was an eye opening experience with respect to general sporting atmosphere.  The fans were rambunctious, but not rowdy.  The main cheering section never stopped making noise for the entirety of the match. We left as the match concluded to head to a place with hot food and prepare for our daytrip to Segovia the next day.

 

Madrid Part Dos: Tapas and Scottish politics

(Note: This post was supposed to have more pictures. The pictures never arrived so it’s mostly a long story about some food and politics. Sorry.  The next post will have more pictures.)

Our tour began, as all things do in Spain, with jamon.  Well it actually began with meeting our guide, a Londoner, and the rest of our tour, an older English couple from York and a young Scottish couple.

After the introductions, the jamon started flowing. The first stop was a highly rated tapas bar with the “best” jamon in the city. Expensive to be sure, but “best” is obviously subjective. It was very good, as were the olives, potato chips, and tomato bread.  Vermouth was paired with these items.

The tour guide began with a history of tapas, how tapas should be eaten, ordered, etc.  The exciting part began with a dialogue between the Londoner and our young Scottish bloke.

A remark was made by the Scottish man about eating and drinking. The Londoner replied about his abilities because he is British. Before she can return to her talk on tapas, the Scotsman immediately retorts that he is Scottish.  She continued with tapas as if he had said nothing (and maybe she did not hear him, but I (Clay) heard it all). And thus was our introduction into local opinions on the Scottish secession movement.

For those unaware of the international political landscape, Scotland and Catalonia have both recently held votes on seceding from their larger countries, the United Kingdom and Spain, respectively. We will learn about the Catalan opinions on it’s on secession movement when we visit Barcelona. For now, we return to tapas.

Stop two on the tour took us to a lovely little tapas venue where all the food is cooked upstairs in the proprietors personal kitchen and served down in the bar.  Here we had freshly pickled anchovies, a blue cheese and cider smothered bread, and some off menu meatballs with jus. More local vino of course.  All tasty and we enjoyed soaking up the sauces with more bread.

Stop three is where we ate some exceptional mushrooms.  This place pretty much focuses on mushrooms done one way.  Griddled in olive oil with a little piece of chorizo where the stem has been removed. Sprinkle with salt, some parsley, maybe a bit more of olive oil. Hot off the griddle, these were outstanding.  Adorable little morsels and paired with sangria even in winter.

Between stop three and four is where the American politics talk began. It can be summed up with saying fear and Donald Trump.  The Scots and English are as worried as the Spanish are.  I diffused the talk with a few stupid jokes/remarks and we all laughed and headed to the next stop.

Four is another spot that serves basically one dish, garlic shrimp.  Drop the smallest shrimp you can find (used so the oil can penetrate the shrimp deeper), into bubbling oil filled with garlic and a little chili powder.  Sop and scoop with bread (always bread). Enjoy with a local red.

At stop five we encountered a menagerie of grilled items. Peppers, pork loin, kidneys, intestines, and thymus gland (sweetbreads).  And too many other items to count. All of which were exceptional.  Paired again with red wine.

Here though is where the Scottish Independence debate really developed.  It was mentioned briefly around the table between the older English woman and our young Scottish bloke.  Suffice to say she could do nothing but shake her head in disgust as the voice of a free Scotland tried to explain why he felt the need for Scottish Independence.

The talk died down as food hit the table, but in about 10-15 minutes I, could not help but poke the hornet’s nest.  I posed a few questions to our Scotsman, and he took off. The English woman, representing the Crown, said little other than occasionally adding some form of admonishment of the Scottish people and how good they have it at present.
This discussion was occasionally broken up with more tapas and then from our guide. She went on to discuss watching a pig get its throat slit. A perfect conversation ender.  The pig death was a part of a  Madrid Bizarre Foods episode she is set to appear on with Anthony Zimmerman.

All in all it was a great tour with very exciting conversation.  But the night would not end there, as we said our goodbyes, the Scots offered to head out on the town with us.  We immediately accepted their offer.  Since we are planning to visit Scotland in a few months and they are planning a honeymoon next year to the US, we exchanged opinions on locales and destinations.  Sadly, Alabama was not on their itinerary, but we didn’t blame them.

A good time was had by all.  They were wonderful, pleasant people and were fine representatives for Scotland. Hopefully we were fine representatives of the States. The Scotsman said that he felt like he was in an American movie. We’re not sure if that means we did a good or bad job as ambassadors.  We arrived home a little later than planned and slept in later too.  Luckily, we had nothing schedule for the next day so we didn’t mind.