Hola!
Barcelona was lovely.
The highlights:
A "hopeful" cod (English menu translation) swimming in ink. ("Please! Come rescue me! I can not see my fate through this squid's pee! Are you heeeee....") One plate of buttery garlic cockles, served at a cramped bar with a bottle of vino rioja. (Says David, glumly: "I know something is really good when you forget to share it...") One plate of pulpo and fried papas, i.e. octopus and potatoes.
And a fabulous dinner, start to finish, of things I could not possibly describe because I was pretending to speak Spanish to the waitress and didn't understand a single word. A tiny glass with an anchovy anchor, a layer of pear paste, and a sea of frothy cream? A slice of corazon with blah-blah, blah-blah? (I nod, as if to say, "Of course! Delightful!" David pauses. "Um, corazon? Like heart?" The waitress nods and says, "Is... uh? Goat cheese??" Hm.)
We took an elevator to the top of La Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi's great unfinished cathedral, and walked down through sickening spiral staircases, in front of a Spanish family. For 400 feet and fifteen minutes, all I heard was, "Fernando! Aie! Fernaaaando!" I told David, "Never would we take our girls up here." Lucy would insist that she be carried the whole way (crying) and the babies would gambol away. (Did I use that word right? It sounds right.)
One day, in Montserrat, I rode in a cable car! Eeeeeee!
Every other store is a chocolate store, a shoe store, or a women's underwear store. The first two were incredible. The third? Eh. Really? That much? For something my friends at work can't see??
The markets! Eight kinds of clams, still waving their wet feet in the air. ("Save me! Save me!") Next to big bloody fish, their skin stripped back and eyes glistening. Next to a school of gaping sardines. Next to a long row of beautiful cheese! David and I bought some Manchego and a crumbly fresca, and then a leg of dried salami and a bunch of pears, to picnic at Parc Guell.
Of course, I missed the girlies. (Need it be said?) I ducked into every Imaginarium in the city... But it also was nice to travel exclusively in the company of adults. Don't people say the test of a relationship is travel? Hm. I would say my honey and I do okay. First, he lets me pick all the restaurants. Second, I don't particularly mind trekking around neighborhoods and ogling such thing as "bicycle lanes." (He does drive me crazy with picture after picture of intersections!!)
Here, my kind of photo essay instead:
The highlights:
A "hopeful" cod (English menu translation) swimming in ink. ("Please! Come rescue me! I can not see my fate through this squid's pee! Are you heeeee....") One plate of buttery garlic cockles, served at a cramped bar with a bottle of vino rioja. (Says David, glumly: "I know something is really good when you forget to share it...") One plate of pulpo and fried papas, i.e. octopus and potatoes.
And a fabulous dinner, start to finish, of things I could not possibly describe because I was pretending to speak Spanish to the waitress and didn't understand a single word. A tiny glass with an anchovy anchor, a layer of pear paste, and a sea of frothy cream? A slice of corazon with blah-blah, blah-blah? (I nod, as if to say, "Of course! Delightful!" David pauses. "Um, corazon? Like heart?" The waitress nods and says, "Is... uh? Goat cheese??" Hm.)
We took an elevator to the top of La Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi's great unfinished cathedral, and walked down through sickening spiral staircases, in front of a Spanish family. For 400 feet and fifteen minutes, all I heard was, "Fernando! Aie! Fernaaaando!" I told David, "Never would we take our girls up here." Lucy would insist that she be carried the whole way (crying) and the babies would gambol away. (Did I use that word right? It sounds right.)
One day, in Montserrat, I rode in a cable car! Eeeeeee!
Every other store is a chocolate store, a shoe store, or a women's underwear store. The first two were incredible. The third? Eh. Really? That much? For something my friends at work can't see??
The markets! Eight kinds of clams, still waving their wet feet in the air. ("Save me! Save me!") Next to big bloody fish, their skin stripped back and eyes glistening. Next to a school of gaping sardines. Next to a long row of beautiful cheese! David and I bought some Manchego and a crumbly fresca, and then a leg of dried salami and a bunch of pears, to picnic at Parc Guell.
Of course, I missed the girlies. (Need it be said?) I ducked into every Imaginarium in the city... But it also was nice to travel exclusively in the company of adults. Don't people say the test of a relationship is travel? Hm. I would say my honey and I do okay. First, he lets me pick all the restaurants. Second, I don't particularly mind trekking around neighborhoods and ogling such thing as "bicycle lanes." (He does drive me crazy with picture after picture of intersections!!)
Here, my kind of photo essay instead:
posted by Mary Ellen at
11:31 AM
8 Comments:
"Fernando! Aiyeee!!!" made me laugh so hard. I want to travel with you.
Sounds like an excellent adventure, to channel Bill and Ted for a moment :)
Glad you had fun!
And where are the photos of you?
You reminded me of just how much I enjoyed Barcelona. Thanks.
Her photos are on MY camera! Mixed in with the architecture and infrastructure pics.
This makes me so hungry. Sounds like you had a great time!
That sounds so fabulous. Barcelona is a great town - albeit heavy on the Gaudi thing.
Jealous, jealous, jealous.
With big bloody, tortured fish staring at you, I'm surprised you were able to eat anything!
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