Returning to Spain–Day 21–Que calor!

7-7–There’s no doubt about it–weather can greatly influence your travel experiences. Unforunately the ola de calor (heatwave) is not letting up anytime soon. As soon as I woke up at 10 this morning I was hot–and not looking forward to doing anything in the heat. Even going to the beach sounded almost unbearable. In the end we all opted to take the train into Barcelona where Miguel hoped to meet a few California friends who were also traveling. We struck out with the first friend–we never found her–and had five hours to kill before meeting the second friend, his high school Spanish teacher. What do you do with five hours to kill in Spain? First off, we had a long lunch in an air-conditioned restaurant. It was overpriced, since it was right off Las Ramblas, the main thoroughfare in the old quarter of Barcelona. Also, the drinks weren’t included in the menu of the day and Peter had a few words with the waiter about that. The paella was mediocre; not our best Spanish dining experiennce. After lunch we walked up and down Las Ramblas, observing other tourists and the schlocky keychains, name plates and caricatures for sale. I felt like I was at Fisherman’s Wharf. Pretty soon it was time for a drink and I ordered a glass of cava, which gave me a little boost of energy. Then we were off to another neighborhood to meet Miguel’s Spanish teacher. We walked through the Exiample section of town, and it was just as beautiful as ever, with elegant 19th century apartment buildings and wide boulevards. Poor Peter was just about dying from heat stroke at this point though, so we rested a bit in a park. Seeing Beatriz, the Spanish teacher, was a lot of fun for Miguel. She grew up in Venezuela but is spending the summer in Barcelona learning Catalan. I could tell she really liked Miguel and was happy to see him. He told me earlier this year that she would always call on him to read things in class because she liked his Spanish accent–acquired during the year in Madrid. Que guay!

The end of our day made up for the overheated beginning. We arrived back at Esther’s house in Premia around 7:30 and she had already prepared a big spread of dinner for later on–plates of jamon, sliced salami, sausage, cheese, bread, etc. Always a bundle of energy, Esther suggested we take a swim before dinner. We headed out to the beach, only two blocks away and took a quick dip in the Mediterranean. It was still hot and sunny at 8 pm! Refreshed, we came home and showered, then enjoyed a late-night dinner with Esther, her husband Frank and three of their children on their charming back patio. 

The Catalans are quite proud of their heritage and have strong opinions on many topics. Yesterday, while talking with Esther about Miguel’s college plans, I mentioned that Miguel might like to go to a Spanish-speaking country for a semester during university, maybe Spain or somewhere in South America. Esther responded with surprise. “Europe would be much better, don’t you think? The culture is much more similar for you. When we think of South America we just think of drugs and violence.” I told Esther that we’ve known many people who’ve had good experiences in South America, but she didn’t seem convinced. Probably it depends in large part on where you go. Today Beatriz, the Spanish teacher, said she no longer travels home to Venezuela because she is afraid of kidnappings. Her daughter is blond and fair-skinned, she said, and kidnappers might spot her and think she comes from a family with money. But Venezuela is one of the more problematic places, I think. Other countries, like Argentina and Peru, and more peaceful. It’s too bad that a few (well, maybe many) drug dealers have changed the image of a whole continent.  

On the subject of Catalan nationalism, Esther and Frank had a lot to say. Like many of their neighbors, they have a Catalan flag flying on their house. They support Catalan independence and plan to vote in support of it in a regional election this September. They are quite adamant that the Catalans, the most economically well-off people of Spain, unfairly “support” the rest of Spain. They explained that their tax dollars go to help poorer regions, like Extremadura, while the central government in Spain rarely invests in the infrastructure of Catalunya. Case in point is the fact that the first fast train in Spain was built to connect Madrid with Sevilla in the south, instead of the much more traveled route from Madrid to Barcelona. Peter tried to play devil’s advocate a bit and argued that some states of the U.S., like Texas and California, sometimes play with the idea of becoming an independent nation, but this is really a joke. Sure, Texas and California are big economies, but would they really support their own armies, currency, etc.? The beauty of the United States is that it is a union of very different cultures and places. Spain is the same, said Peter. Esther and Frank didn’t buy this argument. They said Catalunya was once an independent nation and it has a long history of its own apart from the rest of Spain, not to mention a different language. And the central government does not treat it fairly. In the end, Frank conceeded, the vote this September won’t be successful. Now there are many people from other parts of Spain living in Catalunya and they won’t support independence. 

Just as we wrapped up our talk about Catalunya, we heard fireworks overhead. It was midnight and the start of a five-day town celebration in honor of a long-ago battle with pirates. It seems every town in Spain has some kind of local celebration and we just happened to be here to see the beginning of this one. We wandered out on the streets to the local plaza, where we saw people dressed as giants (much like we had seen before in Tolosa) and a band of drummers. Tomorrow there will be a giant water battle in the streets, with children shooting water guns and others pouring buckets out of second-story windows. 
Viva Premia!

Returning to Spain–Days 19 and 20–Spain again!

7-5 – 7-6
We made it in one day from Switzerland all the way across southern France and then across the border to Spain! It feels so good to be back in Spain, where things feel familiar, we understand the menus and culture, and we can speak the language. We got very lucky on our hotel choice for tonight. We simply did a search of hotels in Figueres, where we wanted to stop, and picked one at random that had good ratings. When we arrived at 10:30 they still had rooms and the place was clean and with good A/C. At 11 we went out in search of a place still open for dinner and after striking out at two places we found one that was still open. Apparently 11 is even a bit late by Spanish standards. We had a typical Spanish dinner of jamon, patatas bravas, and croquetas.

This morning’s adventure was a visit to the Dali Museum, which was conveniently located a block from our hotel. Dali might be one of the only artists in the world with an ego big enough to design his own museum. It’s quirky and irreverant, just like his art. The central courtyard features a shiny black 1950s American car, on which a very large nude woman is standing. All the windows facing this courtyard have gold life-size sculptures of women, somewhat resembling the oscar awards. Many of Dali’s famous pieces are here, from paintings of melting clocks to the Mona Lisa with a mustache drawn on to take-offs of Velazquez’s Las Meninas. There were plenty of somewhat vulgar images of bodies doing things I don’t want to describe. You’ll have to visit yourself to find out.

As I write this we are now staying in the house of our good friend Esther, in a little town called Premia del Mar, 20 minutes north of Barcelona on the coast. We met Esther over 20 years ago when we spent a semester in Barcelona. Esther needed to practice English and we needed to practice Spanish, so we paired up and helped each other. We got to know Esther’s family and were graciously invited to their house several times for delicious meals, usually of paella cooked on their outside barbeque. Her dad, the principal of a school, was the paella chef, and he really enjoyed his food. After dinner he plied us with many “copas,” after-dinner drinks. Esther’s mother taught me to make a few Spanish dishes, including crema catalana, a dessert that is a lot like flan. Over the years we’ve kept in touch with Esther and we’ve seen here a few times in San Francisco and four years ago in Barcelona. Travel is doubly good when you can make personal connections. 

Getting to Esther’s was quite complicated. It’s only an hour or so from the Dali Museum in Figueres but her town is very compact, made up of narrow, one-way streets. Our GPS showed us where her house was, but it told us to go down a street that is for pedestrians only. We ended up circling through the city’s maze of streets many times, even backing up one time when we got stuck on a street that suddenly ended. We eventually found her house, which is a tall, narrow house of three stories built maybe 100 years ago when this was a fishing village. It has nice touches, like beautiful tile floors and a wooden staircase. There’s a pretty patio in back with an orange tree and several hydrangeas. 

Esther is now principal of the school where he father was principal. It is a beautiful school in one of Barcelona’s nicest neighborhoods. Four years ago when we lived in Spain we considered living in Barcelona and sending our kids to her school. The only problem was that all of the instruction is in Catalan. Esther told us this was not a big deal and our kids would learn both Catalan and Spanish. But we weren’t so sure a couple of monolingual Americans would be that adept. So we went to Madrid instead. It turned out to be a good decision, though it would have been fun to live in Barcelona. 

It’s just our luck that Europe is experiencing a big heat wave. Temperatures in Barcelona today were in the high 90s and it was impossible to do anything during the middle of the day. After a nice, leisurely lunch at a local restuarant, we relaxed at home with Esther’s kids and waited for her to come home from work. When she got home we went for a walk on the beach, a few blocks from her house, and saw Barcelona’s skyline in the distance. We noticed many Catalan independence flags flying in her neighborhood and wondered about the different designs. She told us it’s hard to explain…her husband Frank will tell us about it. Around 9:30 we ate dinner, a cold vichychoise soup and a stew of chicken and rabbit. The only other time I’ve eaten rabbit was in a paella in Valencia four years ago. Since we once had a pet rabbit, it is not easy for me to eat! At 11:00 we went out again for an icecream. Many other people were also still out, finally able to enjoy some lower, though not cool, temperatures.

Kids everywhere are the same. Esther’s kids are just as fond of their electronics as ours are. When we weren’t eating or strolling, all the kids had either an Ipad or phone in hand. By dinner they had all followed each other on Instagram. The world is so small! Our other common touchpoint was sports and Peter talked with them a bit about Barca and some of their players. Now it’s time to sleep. Thankfully Esther has given us one of the two rooms that have air conditioning.

Returning to Spain–Day 13–A French feast!

6-29–It’s hard to believe we’ve been traveling for 13 days now. Writing the blog has been enjoyable but also challenging in the last few days as we haven’t had very good wifi. I’ve had to post every two days instead of every day. But keeping the blog has been a great way to record our activities and thoughts. I recommend it to every traveler!

Today we pulled up stakes (literally), dismantled our campsite and headed for France. Our destination was Poitiers, a mid-size city about two hours south of Paris. Our goal was to visit Peter’s cousin Andy, who has lived in Poitiers for 25 years, since he was an exchange student here in college. He is married to a French woman and has two children, one in college in Paris and one who is Thomas’s age. He is an artist and also does translation work. 

The drive from Spain to Poitiers took us about five hours. Fortunately our exchange family’s car has a GPS, but it is 10 years old. We can’t always trust it. When we got into Poitiers it had us going down some one-way streets the wrong way. Eventually, we figured out how to get to our hotel and were pleasantly surprised at the size of the room and the fact that we had free wifi and A/C. This is the first hotel we’ve stayed in thus far and after sleeping on the ground for three days, the bed, with its puffy white down comforters, looked inviting.

Our hotel is only about a five-minute walk to Andy’s apartment. We strolled through the little cobblestone streets to join him for dinner. He treated us to a real French feast: first, some sardines and some bread with an olive tapenade spread and a pimiento spread. Then an assortment of brie, goat and hard cheeses. Next, two types of pate with pork. Normally I don’t like pate but both were very tasty. Finally we had a dessert of raspberry sorbet. All was enjoyed with liberal amounts of white and red wine. 

Andy’s apartment is tiny by American standards, but quite comfortable and cozy, filled with lots of art, books, CDs and cassette tapes. The best part is the little terrace overlooking the city park. The terrace is just big enough for a table for four and the kids sat out there while the adults sat around the dining room table. The whole family speaks English, which is a good thing as our French consists of about five words maximum! Peter and Andy enjoyed reminiscing on their past times growing up in California and we heard a little about French life, including the big exam Andy’s daughter just completed at the end of 9th grade. 

Returning to Spain–4 years later

It’s not often in life you get to go backwards and relive a certain moment in time. Usually when you are done with one phase, like living in a certain apartment or house, you are done and move on and never return. This week marks a special week for our family because we do get to relive (at least partially) an experience we had four years ago. Today we returned to the house in Madrid where we did a house exchange with another family. They have moved out of their house for a week so we can stay in it. We’ll do the same for them when they come to California later this summer. Needless to say, being back in the same place four years later is a bit surreal.

We knew we were really heading back to Spain before we even arrived. The Iberian ticket counter at LAX had about 10 people staffing it but only one actually checking in passengers. Typical Spanish efficiency. After a lengthy wait, we were off to our 9-hour flight. The flight was uneventful except that when we arrived we discovered one of our bags hadn’t made it. More efficiency at work! We happened to run into another Berkeley family we know on the flight and they also lost luggage. We’ll be lucky to get it tomorrow between siesta time and closing time.

On the plus side, the Spanish are extremely hospitable and just like before, our exchange family graciously picked us up from the airport in their large SUV. Driving from Barajas Airport to the house, on the other side of the city, we saw things looked very much the same. We circled the M-40 highway and saw the dry brown fields, like California, on one side, and the industrial buildings lining the edge of the city on the other. We passed Playa de Madrid, a large public swimming pool where we spent some time four years ago to get relief from the intense summer heat. We also noted that the city had finally finished a public park in front of our old building and had somehow managed to evict the squatters who had erected temporary houses there. The neighborhood is a nice middle-class area on the city Metro line with lots of parks, restaurants and stores so the squatters definitely did not fit in. What is still around is the graffiti, lots of it. But this seems to be standard in large European cities. 

Back in our old building our exchange family gave us a quick tour and explanation of the myriad keys, applicances and car. When we arrived four years ago we were completely overwhelmed by the systems of the house. At the time the family had just completed a remodel of their apartment and every appliance was a sleek European high-tech model with many buttons (such as a touchscreen-controlled stove), plus there was a security system (which we don’t have), a system for entering and exiting the garage (we just park in our driveway), and a radiant heating/cooling system controlled via a touchpad (we don’t even have an air conditioner in California). We spent about 45 minutes learning the ins and outs of the house. This time the lessons were quicker and hopefully everything will come back. I successfully turned on the stovetop the first time today whereas last time I had to practice for about a week! Last time we also learned that Spanish construction isn’t that great. Just in the first few months of our stay the heater went out, the upstairs shower leaked and some tiles cracked. By the end of our year we just laughed when something went wrong. It seemed apropos today when an overhead pipe in the garage suddenly started spurting water right over their car. Who knows what kind of water was in that pipe. In any case, our exchange family said “no pasa nada,” they know the building superintendent personally so it will get fixed. 

The most important item we were looking for on our arrival was the jamon serrano. Many Spanish families buy a whole leg of jamon and slowly carve off thin pieces nightly for small tapas. We went through two whole legs while we were here for the year and it’s a delicacy that is only available in the U.S. for a very steep price ($1,000 or more), so we were eager for our fix. Fortunately our exchange family anticipated our desires and had a jamon leg waiting for us!

After getting settled in at the apartment, the exchange family left to go to their family’s apartment and although it was only 6:30 our boys promptly fell asleep. It had been a long day with little sleep. Peter and I decided to venture out and take a stroll around the neighbhorhood. Much to our surprise given the economic crisis here, we spotted three new stores, a gorgeous meat market (lined with jamon legs), a fresh fish market, and a stationary store. Sadly, one favorite restaurant had closed. Lots of Spanish families were strolling around and many were enjoying cañas (beers) and tapas at sidewalk cafes. This is one of my favorite parts of Madrid–the street life. My hypothesis is that people socialize more in bars and cafes because they live in small apartments and want to get out. Or perhaps it’s because the weather is warm, even at night (so unlike Berkeley). Whatever the case, there’s always a lively street scene in the evenings, with all ages, from toddlers to teens to grandparents enjoying life together. Peter and I enjoyed some of our favorites tapas, patatas bravas (fried potatoes with a tomato sauce) and croquetas (little fried footballs filled with cheese) as we watched a toddler learning to walk and a variety of dogs come and go. 

As the day ends, I listen to the quiet hum of the apartment building–the sound of the elevator going up and down, a TV in a distant apartment, and the neighbor’s cuckoo clock. Although it’s after 12 there is much life still going on here. We are really back in España!