Hola Barcelona - Early Days

So much happened in Barcelona that I never got around to writing about our adventures before Hospital del Mar. During short comfortable three hour train ride from Valencia I got some great graffiti shots especially as we pulled into Barcelona. A taxi took us to the same hotel John and I stayed in three years ago. The Hotel Principal is in the El Ravel district of Barcelona. It is historically and still today the roughest section of Barcelona, on the wrong side of La Rambla, so to speak. The area is populated by lots of young people, drug users and drunks. The streets smell of urine and are dark and somewhat scary. But we felt right at home somehow.

After we got settled in our room, we went out to explore our the city. We strolled down the Rambla toward the harbor and Port Vell, stopping to have some café con leche. As we continued our stroll the Columbus monument came into view. We walked around the mall at Port Vell. We didn’t walk in the mall, but literally walked around it, enjoying the breeze off the water. We continued walking along the harbor to Baceloneta Beach enjoying the early evening and vendors of crafts along the paseo. We decided to take the metro back to the hotel so we walked inland a few blocks. Before we jumped on the metro we went into a very confusing cafeteria to get a bite to eat. We couldn’t quite figure out where the line started or how we were supposed to order food. But we did manage to get some food on our trays and in eventually in our mouths. It was not the best meal we ever had.

For some reason, the first thing Leea wanted to see was the Monastery at Montserrat. The Monastery is built near the site where the Black Virgin was discovered. According to Catholic tradition, the statue of the Black Virgin of Montserrat was carved by St. Luke around 50 AD and brought to Spain. It was later hidden from the Moors in a cave (Santa Cova, the Holy Grotto), where it was rediscovered in 880 AD. According to the legend of the discovery, which was first recorded in the 13th century, the statue was discovered by shepherds. They saw a bright light and heard heavenly music that eventually led them to the grotto and the statue.

The Bishop of Manresa, present at the discovery, suggested that it be moved to Manresa, but the small statue was discovered to be so heavy it could not be lifted. Thus the Virgin had indicated her will to stay on Montserrat to be venerated there.

According to historians, it was then, in the 12th century, that the larger statue of the Madonna and Child, which now resides in the Basilica, was made. The Madonna statue soon earned widespread fame as numerous miracles were associated with the intercession of the Black Virgin of Montserrat.

So on Thursday we strolled up the Rambla to Placa de Catalunya and purchased tickets for the train and the funicular to get to the monastery. Once we were on the train we met a new friend. Her name was Iris and she was from Argentina and teaches Spanish and English at the secondary level. One of her daughters lived in Barcelona and she was visiting her. Iris is a traveler and we told travel stories and compared notes and gave each other recommendations for places to see. She has another grown daughter at home in Argentina. She was really a hoot and I’m sure she would have been a kick to party with. On the trip back in the funicular she was videotaping herself for her daughter, singing and making faces and videoing the view from the funicular. We were cracking up. Of course she had to video the woman with the purple hair for her daughter.

After we got off the train we boarded a small funicular which waved in the breeze as it took us across a deep valley and up the side of a very steep mountain.

Iris went directly to the Monastery and Basilica while Leea and I hit the walking trails, or I should say hiking trails. We hiked to the Santa Cova to see the original Black Virgin. All along the trail were religious sculptures and altars. It was a physically challenging hike. In the chapel of the Santa Cova there was a room with all sorts of items attached to prayers to the Black Virgin. We sat and reflected on the items and prayers, on the Black Virgin and on the long hike back. By the time we finished our hike back there was not time to see the interior of the monastery before the last train left for Barcelona.

After we rested and cleaned up, we went to the sushi restaurant near our hotel and had a quiet dinner.

The next morning we ate breakfast at the hotel and then wandered along the Rambla to the Mercat de Sant Josep/ La Boqueria which is huge and sells everything from fresh fruits to raw meats and fish. Then we decided to go to the beach and soak up some sun.

Again we jumped on the metro and got off at what we thought would be the closest spot to a nice beach. Barcelona has miles of beach starting at the beach and going on forever. There are at least five metro stops parallel to the beaches. Well we walked through an industrial area, a cemetery and a McDonalds before reaching the beach. It was very windy, but we set down our towels and laid out. Then a group of young men, with a couple of kids, came and stood right in front of where we were lying on our towels. They had just come from McDonalds. They stood there eating their burgers and fries, shaking out towels and generally kicking up the sand. We finally gave up and decided this was not a beach day. We stopped for some yummy tapas as we walked along the paseo on our way back to the metro. A good day all in all.

By ten that night I was in the emergency room of Hospital Del Mar not more than fifty feet from where we ate tapas. Oh well, another adventure.

Last Day in Paris

On Wednesday slept in, went to the little café up the street for a late breakfast, packed up our suitcases and prepared to leave the hotel. We left our bags in the hotel luggage room because our train did not leave for Madrid until seven that evening.

We stopped by the Pantheon which was just a couple of blocks from our hotel. It is an impressive buildings and I was able to see Emile Zola’s tomb. He is not exactly a popular hero in France because of his political activities, so entry to his tomb was blocked.

After the Pantheon we walked through the Luxemburg Garden to Saint-Sulpice, one of the locations featured in Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code. However we were unable to crack the code in the short time we had at the church.

We spent our last afternoon in the Bastille. This is the neighborhood surrounding the ruins of the prison made famous by a revolt on July 14, 1789, to begin the French Revolution. Now it is the center of Parisian nightlife and is home to an array of popular restaurants, clubs and cafés. It also is an artsy center with studios and stores. Unfortunately we were there during the afternoon siesta time, so the stores were all closed.

We did find a little café run by two ditzy gay women with a poster in French for the Vagina Monologues. When we arrived they were running to the store because they had run out of bread. They explained that they were closing the next day and going on holiday. So I suppose they were trying to keep supplies low and not waste food. We were told we could order whatever they had left and they were willing to special build our lunch with a little of this and a little of that. I had escargot again and a salad with a mixture of whatever they had in the kitchen. It was quite good. Escargot is served with these pincers to hold the snail shell and a little fork with two long prongs to pull the meat out of the shell. I hope all my vegetarian friends are enjoying this description. Worse yet is that with the sauce they are sort of a bright forest green color. As we were about to leave the restaurant a friend of the owner’s came in. She explained that he was an opera singer and had just performed at the opera house. She asked him to sing for us and so we were treated to an impromptu opera performance. Though I know next to nothing about opera, I could appreciate his fine voice.

After our meal we went back Pick up luggage and go to train station. They did not have a special lounge at this train station either. However the wait was not bad and we were soon ensconced in our train cabin. We settled in and went to the dining car for dinner, then to bed. I love traveling on trains. In the morning we went to the dining car for breakfast and met a young couple from Oregon who were at the beginning of a two month journey around Europe. After breakfast we got our things together and watched out the window as the train pulled into the Madrid train station. We took a taxi to the airport and while waiting for our plane we did a little shopping in the duty free shops and exchanged our remaining euros for dollars.

On the plane from Madrid to Newark we had our own little TV screens in front of our seats and we could pick which movies or TV shows we wanted to watch and when. It was much nicer than having the one screen where everyone watches the same thing at the same time and the time flew by. We met a young man from San Francisco who was in the window seat in our row. Then we landed in Newark. I think Newark is not our lucky airport. Because it was our first stop in the US we had to collect our luggage and go through customs. Well there was something wrong with the baggage carousel because it took an hour for the luggage to come out and they kept changing the number of the carousel. We finally collected our luggage and went through customs. But, then we traveled all over the airport trying to recheck our baggage. What we eventually found out was that all of the baggage conveyor belts were not functioning, so no one knew what to do with the luggage. We finally found an employee willing to accept the luggage since it already had tags to take it through to Los Angeles. We dropped the luggage and prayed we would see our luggage again. Leea was convinced it would be lost in the ether. But when we landed in Los Angeles our luggage came off the conveyor belt. Yea!!! We were home!

The Eiffel Tower, Perspectives and Views

After our late night at The Crazy Horse Saloon burlesque show we slept in on Tuesday morning, went down the street to a little café for a late breakfast then back to the hotel to do a little computer work. Around noon we headed out for the Eiffel Tower. We did not intend to go up in the lift, just view it from the ground. It is enormous and we got some good shots under it. At one point I had the bear under my arm and was taking a picture straight up in the air. Leea told me that while I was doing this, some fellow stepped out of line and took a picture of me with my purple hair and bear taking a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Funny.

We stopped for lunch on our way back to the metro. Leea had a delicious pizza which I helped her eat and I had a yummy omelet. While we were eating we watched the police chase and arrest one of what we called the “lookey, lookey” guys. These are refuges from the Canary Islands who have come to Europe to try to survive. They sell trinkets along the beaches and at tourist stops. John and I saw them three years ago when we were in Spain. It is hard for them to make a living, but they seem a lot more organized now than they did three years earlier, and they seem to have spread out over Europe. With the economy in Europe in bad shape, they are probably a little more of an irritant.

In Spain the “lookey, lookey guys” seem to coexist with the established businesses. In Barcelona we saw the police come upon a bevy of these fellows set up by the beach. The police just slowly moved toward them so they picked up their goods and scattered. The police were clearly not trying to arrest anyone. In Paris, though the police on bicycles chased two guys, caught one and called a car to take him away. In Spain these fellows come in restaurants and sell their goods. In Paris I never saw any of them approach a restaurant.

In Spain we also saw a lot of graffiti. I love graffiti. It’s not the scribbly tags that are like dogs marking their territory with urine, but the graffiti that is colorful and well executed. To me, like roadside memorials it is a free expression. These artists are not thinking of selling their work or showing in galleries, though some artists who began as graffiti artists are doing just that now. Anyway, in Spain graffiti is not wiped out or worried about as it is here and I think it actually makes the country more colorful. It is just a different kind of public art. I didn’t see any graffiti in Paris, so I don’t know what their attitude is about this art form.

After lunch we jumped on the metro and went to see the famous Moulin Rouge. We took pictures of the famous windmill and jumped back on the metro. Our destination was the Sacre-Coeur. There is some controversy as to why it was built. Some say it was to atone for the sins of the communards during the French Revolution, but the more accepted reason given now is that it is dedicated to the 58,000 who lost their lives in the Franco Prussian War. Masses are still said daily for those soldiers. It sits at the highest point in Paris on the hill of Montmartre and is visible from almost any place in Paris. Since it sits at the very top of the hill, you can get great views of Paris and even better when you climb the dome of the basilica. When we arrived there were crowds and a party atmosphere. It is one of the places in Paris where crowds gather to see street artists and listen to musicians. We took the tram up about 50 feet to the base of the basilica, only to find out there was no lift up to the dome. We stood at the entrance and Leea asked, “Do you really want to do this?” What response did she expect? Of course, I want to do this insane thing. I didn’t know at the time that what she was actually saying is that she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it. Anyway up we went. It was very narrow, barely big enough for each of us to get through. It definitely would not have allowed even a slightly heavy person to get through. And it was like straight up. Like everyone else, we had to stop a couple of times and catch our breath. But once we reached the top, the views were extraordinary. We walked around the dome and all of Paris lay at our feet.

Well the trip down was a little less strenuous.

We were both surprised the next day that we were not sore. I guess all the walking we had done this summer had left us in better shape than we imagined. We didn’t see many obese or even fat people in Spain or Paris. I believe it is because they walk and use public transportation. Even taking the metro you have to walk to the metro station then up and down stairs to get to the correct platform or connecting train. There is a great deal of exercise involved in getting around. It would be very difficult to do if you were seriously overweight. It’s not like driving you want to go and walking twenty feet to your destination.

On the way back to the hotel we stopped by The Crazy Horse Saloon because Leea wanted to get a tee shirt like mine. Then we went home planning to have our last dinner in Paris at our favorite sushi restaurant only to discover that they were closed for vacation. I guess that happens a lot in Paris in August. We were so disappointed. But we found a little café on the corner and had a delicious dinner.

Cemeteries and Snails, Light My Fire

Well it’s been a while since I have written. I was so sick when I returned and then as soon as I started feeling human again, we had a big party in the park and my grandkids came to visit for a few days. When you are dealing with the cutest little three year old who is full of energy and wants to play all the time, you can’t really write. So now I have some time and I want to get my thoughts and reflections down before I forget the details. I know I will never forget the general sense and joy of the trip, but the details may slip away.

We are in Paris, it is Monday. Yesterday we decided not to try to see Notre Dame because there were long lines and Leea thought that even if we got in it would be like a sardine can on the inside. She is a wise woman. We got up early Monday ate breakfast at the hotel and arrived just after Notre Dame opened. We sailed in and got to enjoy the cathedral in relative quiet. It is beautiful and historic, but after seeing the cathedral in Seville, it is hard to get too excited by any other cathedral. We sat and contemplated for a while, enjoyed the stained glass window and took in the sense of the place. Then we headed for the cemetery.

The Pere Lachaise Cemetery is in eastern Paris and is home to Jim Morrison, Chopin, Sara Bernhardt and many other notables. I just love cemeteries. They are just so strange and funny and sometimes sad. They help me remember or reflect on what is important. And they are a stunning reminder of how much we think we matter. The monumental structures that we erect to try to make note of our existence on this earth are remarkable. In this cemetery there are structures that could easily house a small living family. There is something, not sad, but wistful about this need to stake a claim to the earth. It seems diametrically opposed to the concept of letting go or detaching.

Jim Morrison’s grave is a simple one and has a colored history. Apparently he was in Paris when he died and so that is where they buried him. The grave had no official marker until French officials placed a shield over it, which was stolen in 1973. In 1981, Croatian sculptor Mladen Mikulin placed a bust of Morrison and the new gravestone with Morrison's name at the grave to commemorate the 10th anniversary of his death; the bust was defaced through the years by cemetery vandals and later stolen in 1988. In the 1990s Morrison's father placed a flat stone on the grave. The stone bears the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ, literally meaning "according to his own daimōn" and usually interpreted as "true to his own spirit" but I suppose it could also mean according to his demon. Mikulin later made two more Morrison portraits in bronze but is awaiting the license to place a new sculpture on the tomb. So even his death, as was his life, is unmanageable.

I also love roadside memorials because they are such a direct spontaneous outpouring of feeling, loss and celebration. We saw several of these in Spain, but they went by so quickly I didn’t get any pictures of them. Sheila will remember our hunts for roadside memorials in the OC a few years ago. We would go out and find them and photograph them. In the process we realized how powerful they are.

We saw some funny sites in the cemetery, like recycle bins that caused me to reflect on the ultimate recycle and graves that looked as though someone had escaped. Other graves had warning tapes on them, like warning, “Do Not Enter.” Duh!! But after a few hours, our stomachs were demanding attention. We went in search of food.

We found a little café near the cemetery and had a lovely lunch. I had escargot and a fresh salad with everything imaginable thrown in and a delicious dressing. The French salad dressings are to die for. Perhaps I shouldn’t say that after just visiting the cemetery, but they are scrumptious, if that is a word. Leea thought the escargot was disgusting, though she stared in rapt amazement as I ate it. They were very good.

Well off we went to the metro. This was not so pleasant. I put my ticket in the slot and a very drunk young man came up behind me to sneak on the metro. I didn’t see him and in the process of squeezing in close behind me his shoe scraped down my bare heel and he stepped on the back of my flip flop causing me to stumble out of the swinging doors and saying ow!!! He had a large can of lager in his hand and he started making fun of me yelling, “ohhhh, owwww!” Well that was the final blow; I was annoyed and did not think before I spoke. I said, “F*** you!!” He was very drunk and started getting confrontational. I didn’t really think he would do anything, but Leea started pulling me out of the metro station. I thought she was afraid of him, but she told me once we got out, that she was afraid she was going to punch him out. He was so drunk I think we could have taken him. Grin. Anyway we left the metro station and went to the next station and hopped a train home.

It must have been my day to get annoyed, because as we were walking toward our hotel this woman drives toward me on a motorcycle. I was not in the street. I was on the sidewalk, but in Europe driving on the sidewalk appears to be accepted. Anyway, so I threw up my hands, because I didn’t think she saw me, and she started swearing at me in French. At least it sounded like swearing. So Leea accused me of being a trouble maker all day starting fights in the metro and on the streets of Paris.

We went back to our hotel and Leea took a nap. I decided to go investigate the Luxemburg Garden which was right down the street from our hotel. It was very relaxing and I managed not to get into any fracases. The first thing that struck me when I walked into the Garden is that Parisians actually use their parks. There weren’t just a bunch of homeless people or drunks in the park. There were hundreds of ordinary citizens sunbathing, sitting in chairs reading books, picnicking, playing chess, cards, bocce ball, tennis, basketball and football (soccer.) Kids were playing on a playground. My first stop was the huge fountain near the entrance. Children were sailing boats in this large water element. The boats were made of wood with cloth sails and the children pushed them out into the water with wooden sticks. The wind carried them where it would and the children ran to meet the boat when it touched the edge again. No motors, no remote controls, just wood and wind. It was so relaxing to watch. I sat on the edge with my feet soaking in the water and daydreamed. Or is it daydreamt?

That night we had reservations at The Crazy Horse Saloon for a burlesque show. We had decided not to eat dinner at the theatre because the dinners at the dinner shows are not known for their quality. So we left early hopped the metro. We had read the directions and maps wrong and took the long way to the area of the theatre. But we eventually got there and found a restaurant near the theatre and had a delicious dinner. I had the little lobsters grilled. I was concerned when they delivered surgical instruments again, but these were easy to extract. Leea had a pasta dish that contained a lot of mussels, so I ate a bunch of those too and they were very good. I don’t know why we don’t eat them here. They tasted a lot like clams. Maybe ours don’t taste that good.

After dinner we went to the show. Our ticket included a bottle of champagne, which we declined in favor of water and coke. The show was amazing. It was not the big chorus line burlesque show, but an intimate show that used lighting and stage setting to produce a show that was so much more overtly sensual and sexual than the large shows. And, we had front row seats! Leea wondered whether this was a normal mother daughter outing. Who cares? It was great, but by the time it was over we were exhausted and decided to take a taxi back to the hotel. We both slept like babies.

Van Gogh, Louvre and Sant Chapelle

We got up early on Sunday morning to have Van Gogh to ourselves. We had breakfast at the hotel and then jumped on the metro to go back to the Museo de Orsay. We got there at 9 am and the museum opens at 9:30. We were like fourth in the museum pass line. When the doors opened we were like the fifth and sixth people to enter the museum. We went straight to the fifth floor to the Van Gogh room. We were the only ones there! We were so thrilled it was like a dream come true. We looked at all the works, took pictures and discussed the work. It was fifteen or more minutes before anyone else arrived.

After the Orsay, we walked down the Seine to the Louvre. I wasn’t that excited about going to the Louvre, but Leea wanted to see it and it seemed like something one should do when one is in Paris. It was still fairly early when we got there and we decided to take our outdoor pictures after we had been in the museum. When we entered the Louvre it wasn’t that crowded and we already knew what we wanted to see. Wait, you mean you thought we were going to spend 12 hours trying to see everything? You get a big W for Wrooooong. We saw the things we wanted to see. We got in the Mona Lisa room and the crowd was fairly loose and only about three deep so we were able to squeezy our way up front, take a quick picture and slide out. In the process of leaving Leea got shoved by some woman, who looked harmless. While we were there we saw the DaVinci’s, Caravaggio, Venus and Winged Victory.

By the time we left the Louvre the tour groups had packed the place and there was a long line outside. For some reason, even though all the tourist books say to go to popular sights early to avoid lines, people still sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and don’t get out until 11 am or so. And by 11 or 12 the lines are like blocks long and worse than that, once you get in the place is packed like a sardine can.

After the Louvre we walked down the Seine and had the worst and most expensive lunch we had had on the entire trip. I’m not a quiche lorraine connoisseur, however I am relatively certain that the crust is not supposed to be as hard as and taste like shoe leather, nor is the filling supposed to require a steak knife to cut it. One bad meal out of two and a half months, not bad.

After lunch we walked across the bridge to see Sant Chapelle. It is a beautiful little chapel with stunning stained glass windows, but the crowds were not conducive to quiet reflection. After a little contemplation, we left to see Notre Dame. On the way we visited the Flower Market and wandered around looking at all the plants and flowers, wonderfully smelling soaps and sachets. I bought four lavender sachets for Mr. Burple, whose lavender has lost its pleasant smell.

When we got to Notre Dame there were massive lines. Even if we could have gotten in, Leea suggested that it would be way too crowded to see anything. So we headed back to the hotel and got ready for dinner at our favorite sushi restaurant.

On the way home we had an interesting experience when we went to the metro. We had a pass which you just slip in the slot, it pops out another slot and then you go through a turnstile and then push through swinging doors. Well as I put my pass into the slot a guy came up close behind me and when I pulled the ticket out he got real close and went through the turnstile and doors with me in a tiny little space. It was very startling and I felt slightly violated after it happened. His friend did the same thing to Leea, but she was expecting it. This is how young guys get on the metro free. Oh well.

Historic Show and Long View

On Saturday we slept in, had breakfast at the hotel. Our plans were to go to the Pompidou Center to see an historic show, elles@centrepompidou. For the first time in the world, a museum is displaying the feminine side of its own collections. This exhibit is entirely works of women artists from the 20th century to the present day. These artists were instrumental in the effort to have women’s art work taken seriously and to establish a female voice different from the traditional male voice, but not less than the traditional male voice. I studied this body of work while in graduate school and needless to say these women are my heroes. I was so excited to see this historic exhibit.

It seemed an easy task to get to the Pompidou center when we looked at the metro map, but what seemed so simple in two dimensions turned into a traumatic adventure in reality. In two dimensions all we had to do was go up the B line to the Chatelet des Halles metro stop. The diagram did show several train connections at this point. What it didn’t show was that the stop was below a three or four story mall which from the out side looked very much like the Pompidou Center. We emerged from the train and wandered for what seemed like forever to find our way out of the labyrinth. The words of an old Kingston Trio song started running through my mind with new words

“Well, did they ever return? No, they never

returned and their fate is still unknown.

They may ride forever 'neath the streets of

Paris. They’re the folks who never returned.”

We finally emerged like ground hogs from beneath the earth, only to find ourselves in a huge park which apparently ran connected the mall and the Pompidou Center. Our problems were not over. There were no street signs that showed up on our street maps, only names of paths, but we didn’t know where they went. We finally found a street, oriented ourselves and found the Pompidou Center. It was worth the effort. We were surprised at the size of the show. It took up most of one whole floor. I was in heaven. It was like visiting old friends, including the Gorilla Girls, who are known for dressing in Gorilla costumes and performing comical yet serious protests at museums over the lack of inclusion of works by women. There were some works and artists I was not familiar with so I got to make new friends. We both thoroughly enjoyed the show.

In front of the Pompidou center is a large sloping cement plaza where people gather to rest and take refreshment while watching all manner of street artists. We wandered through the plaza, and as though we were both reluctant to tackle the underground maze we did some window shopping. I found a wonderful multi striped colorful sweatshirt. I never shop when traveling, but this had to be an exception. When we ran out of excuses we returned to the dark underground. And of course we got lost again and it took us some time to find our train, but we were eventually successful. After this trauma we had to go back to the hotel and rest.

That evening we had decided to go to the Tour (Tower) in Montparnasse, which was recommended by the couple we met on the river cruise. It’s on the top, like the seventieth floor of an office building. We were advised to be there at dusk because it has a tremendous view of Paris, including the Eiffel Tower, without the long lines. So we left our hotel about 19:30 (7:30 pm) figuring dusk is at 22:00 (10 pm) and went in search of a restaurant, La Coupole Restaurant Brasserie that was recommended by our travel book. It was wonderful, a large room decorated colorfully with columns throughout the room all decorated differently. Seating is close and we were seated at a table for two between two tables with families of four. One family had two boys and one with a boy and a girl. They were very concerned about their children bothering us, but all the children were well behaved and were delighted with the Burly Bear who had accompanied us to dinner.

The dinner was wonderful with real French waiters all dressed up in black jackets, white shirts and black ties hustling around to make our meal as peasant as possible. I had chateaubriand and it was delicious. I was so sad I could only eat half of it due to doctor’s orders to eat small amounts. The dinner took longer than we expected and by the time we got out of the restaurant it was dark. We went to the Tower anyway, took the elevator to the top, climbed a few stairs and came out on the roof top to a chilly wind, but an absolutely breath taking view of Paris lights, including a lighted Eiffel Tower and Champs de Elysees. We only stayed out for a little bit, and then went down the stairs to an enclosed viewing area with maps and descriptions of what we were viewing.

Then we headed down and out to search for a metro station to return to the hotel where we called it a night.

Art, Gourmet Food and Nasty Smells

Well on Friday morning the warden decides I can go out for a while, if I promise to go home and rest if I get tired. I agree. Though at this point the anesthesia from the surgery is messing with my sleep patterns and I’m only sleeping three hours a night and thirty minutes if I nap. So rest is hard to come by for a while. We started with breakfast at the hotel, at which point we begin to suspect that French coffee au lait may not measure up to café con leche in Spain. Over the next few days this suspicion was confirmed. Neither on of us can understand why neither the States, nor France can make coffee as good as that in Spain. They all use espresso machines. The only variables are the milk, the water and maybe the coffee beans.

Friday morning we head out early in the morning to go to the Rodin Museum to visit John and Paul’s friend, The Thinker. We decide to do it on Friday in honor of John’s birthday which was Thursday. I think it was still Thursday in the States when we arrived at the Rodin Museum. Anyway, we went first to The Thinker and thought with him a while. After all that thinking, which quite frankly gave me a headache, we headed indoors to see the rest of the collection. In addition to the works of Rodin, the collection included works by Camille Claudel, Rodin’s lover. Personally I liked the works of Camille better than that of Rodin. Both artists were extremely talented, but Camille’s work had more human emotion, whereas to me Rodin’s work was more about capturing body movement.

We were also amazed at the beauty of the former hotel in which the collections were housed. The fireplaces themselves were works of marble beauty. I fell down a couple of times trying to get down to photograph the fireplaces. It was not graceful I assure you. I’m glad Leea didn’t have a video camera but she probably wouldn’t have captured very good images because she was laughing so hard she almost fell over.

After the Rodin Museum we moved on to the Museo de Orsay. By this time I am getting really excited. The last time I was in Paris, about ten years ago, all of the major museums were closed due to a strike. So I didn’t get to go to the Louvre or the de Orsay. We had bought a museum pass, which not only let us into all the museums and many other sights for free, it also let us go in the museums and sights without standing in lines. It was wonderful.

Before we went to the Orsay we had figured out which artists we wanted to see and most of them were on the fifth floor, so we went there as soon as we got to the museum. There was already a long line out front which we got to skip and the museum was getting crowded. We wandered through Manet and Monet, Matisse and Gauguin, Van Gogh and all the various artists of the impressionists and post impressionists. It was an afternoon delight. By the time we got to the Van Gogh room, a whole room of Van Gogh’s paintings, it was crowded and we could not savor each work. We did get a pretty good view of each work and that was a joy. We both decided immediately that we would come back another day early when the museum first opened and spend some time in the Van Gogh room. So we left in the late afternoon saturated with the glorious works of art we had been privileged to see.

We had a rest at the hotel and then got ready to go on a dinner cruise down the Seine. We took the Metropolitan to with a block of the boat and got in line to board for dinner. We were seated next to a retired couple from Colorado, Nancy and Bob, and we struck up an entertaining conversation. Bob was the head master or principal of a school and Nancy had retired from being a high school teacher and multi media coordinator. Their educational philosophy was a lot like John’s. We chatted all the way down the Seine and back again as we looked at the lighted buildings on the shore, including the Eiffel Tower and fireworks, while munching on a very tasty dinner. We were served a variety of appetizers. I think there were five. One was a smooth and tasty pate, another was a melon mint crème that was the consistency of pudding and was just flat delicious. There was another paste made from small bell peppers. One of the appetizers was a creamy cheese concoction and the final one was chicken salad with a crispy crust. We each received a small portion of each of these. Then we had the main dish. Mine was duck l’orange and Leea had salmon. They were both five star quality. Dinner was followed by three sensational small desserts, a raspberry sorbet, cheesecake and something chocolate. My only regret was I could not eat all of everything, because doctor’s orders were to eat small amounts six times a day until I healed. Phooey! But then again I’m alive. Yea!

We strolled from the boat dock to the Metropolitan and made our way back to the hotel. The Metros in Paris, as in Spain are not scary at all, even at night. However, in Paris there were all kinds of homeless people whom you recognized through your nose before you spotted them with your eyes. Sometimes they would be sitting on the floor in their own urine. Parisians seem to take this all in stride, with not much more than a glance to avoid slipping in the urine or vomit. Lucky for me this cold started before we arrived in Paris, so I couldn’t smell much. Leea tells me that the rumor about the French not using deodorant is still true, though they do pour on perfume that remains in the room long after they have left. I couldn’t smell the ugly smells, but I almost choked on the perfume.

Well after discussing art, gourmet food, urine and vomit, I’ll sign off.

Arrival in Paris

I’m home now, but I am going to try and finish the travel notes to you. While we were in Paris we were so busy running around on the metro trying to soak up the city that there was never a time to sit down and write. Also, due to the surgery I was a little tired and spacey, though Leea claims no one would notice. Grin. Then I caught a nasty cold which has hung on for two weeks. So I am home in the US resting once again. I will try to write Paris over the next week. Grin. I will try to write Paris over the next couple of days, and then I have some memories of people and situations from the hospital I would like to share with you. And finally, I would like to go back to our first day in Barcelona and a friend we met that day.

On Thursday we arrived in Paris on the over night train from Barcelona. When I was studying art in graduate school, the art history professors would talk about the light in Paris and how it affected so many artists, especially the impressionists. I thought, oh hooey, light is light.” But on my two trips to Paris, I have discovered they were right. There is something soft about the light in Paris, almost like you are seeing the world through glasses with the slightest of blue tints. Paris light has a soft gentleness to it. And Paris is green. There are parks, gardens and trees everywhere. Truly, just being there is amazing.

Much to my surprise, my loving caretaker daughter turned into a brutal prison warden and would not let me leave my room. In an ironic turn of events, I am grounded, forced to stay in my room and twiddle my thumbs. What terrible crime or wrong doing caused this punishment? Having the incredibly bad judgment to need surgery in Barcelona? She tells me in the sternest tone that I need to rest. Indeed. I am the mother here, am I not? Apparently not. So off she went to do recognizance and see the Arc de Triumph and soldiers with AK47’s which I saw on my last visit. I am convinced that she has told the people at the desk not to let me leave, so I rest that afternoon.

When the warden finally returns, she decides that I can go to dinner. After all there are regulations about the inhumane treatment of prisoners. So we go in search of food. We found a wonderful, and I do mean wonderful, sushi restaurant down the block and around the corner from our hotel, but it wasn’t going to open until 19:00 (7pm). It was 18:50. So we decided to walk around and familiarize ourselves with our new neighborhood.

We found a store that sold goods from India, including ceramics so we went in to look around. I was meandering around the store looking at items and when I came to the ceramics I picked up a bowl. I always like to look at the foot of a bowl or cup to see if they are handmade of molded. I am startled out of my revelry by the shopkeeper’s voice. But she is speaking French and from the tone I think she is telling me I cannot touch the merchandise. We exchange a few phrases and she says in English that she was only saying that if I needed any help to please let her know. But there is the “look” which we encountered many times in Paris which roughly translated means, “What are these buffoons doing in my lovely city, they can’t even speak French.” Oh well.

We returned to the sushi restaurant to find it was just opening for dinner. We went in and sat at an open window table. We ordered a sushi tray with 18 rolls of three varieties. It came with soup and salad. We opted for two soups. It was delicious and the bill was fifteen euros. It was the cheapest dinner we had on our trip. And right around the corner from our hotel. We had to resist the temptation to eat there every lunch and dinner.

After dinner we returned to our hotel for a good night’s sleep. Well that worked for Leea, but the anesthesia they use when they do surgery, really messes with my sleep patterns and I cannot sleep more than three or four hours at a time. So I slept a little, then got up and organized pictures from the day.

Valencia: A Resting Spot

The next two blogs will be out of order time wise and geographically because I need to go back and pick up our visit to Valencia and our first two days in Barcelona before the hospital stay. So just know that we are now in Paris and read them as a little historical vignette.

After the train ride from hell to Valencia on Saturday we had to rest. So we took a little siesta. When we awoke we took a walk looking for a dinner place and trying to get our bearings. We ended up in a Chinese restaurant which had mediocre food. I don’t know why we keeping eating Asian food in Spain, maybe because Leea is vegetarian and it is easier to find things she can eat in Asian restaurants. They almost always have tofu they can substitute for meat.

The next day we took the Bus Touristico. These are double decker buses the have in most major cities to drive the tourists around all the sights you might want to see. They stop several times and you can get off and go see things then hop on the next bus. They also have audio guides on board which tell you about the various sights and the city’s history, If it is not too hot hey are usually kind of fun and more relaxing than the constant standing and walking of sight seeing. They also usually have two or more loops that go different places and your tickets are good for one or two days.

Unfortunately the day we took the bus in Valencia, it was hot. But we still had fun. The audio guide was a riot. First, most of what they told us about the architecture was that over the years they had torn town or restored the old Spanish building in a French style. And they were proud of this. How sad. Not that I have anything against French architecture. I love it, in France. Also after every description of a building they would say, “To see the interior of this structure see the DVD that is available on the bus.” Or when they gave some historical fact they said, “For more information see the DVD that is available on the bus.” It became a joke with us because you heard this every five minutes; we started laughing every time it came on.

Valencia is a nice city, but as we discovered, there is no there there. There are miles and miles of beaches. They have lots of great things like their Oceanographic center which sounded like the most amazing aquarium where the fish actually swim in tanks all around you, even overhead. And a large BioParc which is an open zoo full of animals from all over. There are no old style cages. Animals are kept from eating the visitors by topography and glass in large open spaces, and the animals are mixed together. There are miles and miles of beaches. But there is nothing really historically Spanish about any of it. There is a small circle they call Ciudad Vieja (Old City) which is about a block in diameter. This fit well into our plan because we used Valencia to take a breath and get rested before our last two weeks in Barcelona and Paris.

After our bus tour on one loop, we had a siesta. That evening we took the other loop of the tourist bus and ended our evening in Ciudad Vieja. During the ride we passed the Fería closing ceremonies and traffic was a mess. We watched from our perch on the top of the bus as motorists honked and tried to squeeze through small openings. At one point someone tapped another car and scratched it. Both drivers were out of their cars yelling at each others while their cars in a jackknifed position blocked the entire street and traffic behind them backed up even further so other motorist got out of their cars to get these guys to give it up and move on. Unfortunately, our bus was able to move at that point because we were to the front and side of this mess and we missed the rest of the action. We had dinner in a fine restaurant in Ciudad Vieja. I ordered roasted potatoes and salted fish being assured it would be deboned. It took forever to get served for some reason and when they brought out our food they set a platter in front of me that had a fish with head and tail covered in salt. I’m thinking Nemo fell in a salt pit. My little vegetarian was disgusted. I was speechless and said I would just eat the potatoes. The waitress whisked the fish, saying this was just for presentation and came back with the fish skinned and deboned. It was delicious.

The next day, at Leea’s suggestion we went to the BioParc and spent the day watching wild animals and strange people watching the wild animals. We had a lot of fun. After the bike ride we went to a pizza place and had a yummy pizza. We spent the evening in our room writing and catching up on emails and facebook.

Our last day in Valencia we rented bikes at the hotel and rode down to the beach and along the paseo. They have wonderful bike lanes in Valencia. The ride was relaxing. At one point we passed the Big Thinkers on the paseo. These are the guys you see along any warm beach in any city in the world discussing world affairs, geopolitical thought, the world economy and the state of their bursitis. They also sit in other locations depending upon the geography of the city. In cities without beaches you will most likely find this species on park benches, Anyway when we passed they stopped thinking and started throwing comments at us, like "muy bonita" and whistling. We encouraged them, of course, by smiling at them. I think they were doing this because Leea had taken her tank top off earlier and was riding in her bathing suit top. We stayed in the hotel for a light dinner. We shared three tapas, salad, patatas bravas (chunks of fried potatoes with a spick tomato sauce, and chicken croquettes. After savoring these tasty morsels we settled ourselves in to get a good night’s sleep and prepare to leave for Barcelona the next day..

Adiós Barcelona

Wednesday we get up and have breakfast. Leea leaves to see as many sites in one day as she can. I go out to find some proper band aids, books and stamps, then go back to the hotel to “rest.” That is a funny concept for me on my best days. So is “don’t overexert yourself.” “But doc I only walked five miles.” Doctors tend to look at me funny when I try to get a definition of rest or underexertion. So I puttered around the room getting things organized and packing. I basically ran errands, in a very Spanish way of course. Which is to say many stops. No Target.

Leea came home and we went to lunch, then she went back out sightseeing telling me to take it easy. Right! So I got the laundry, packed and then hopped on a bus to go down to the beach and shop. On the way back, by the time I figured out I was in the wrong part of the street to catch the bus I needed, I was half way home. The air was light and breezy and the bus was hot and stuffy, so I kept walking.

During our trip I had received an email telling me that the train was going to leave out of the Sants station not the Franc. So we leave for the station thinking we will relax in Sala Club (available to first class passengers) have some water, juice or soda and snacks and watch television or read while we wait. We get to Sants and our train is not listed on the schedule board of departing trains. So we go to the customer service to try to find out what is going on. After talking to about four or five customer service people in various offices, including the Sala Club; being given conflicting information in various languages, including Catalon, we find out the email was wrong and that we are leaving from Franc which is on the other side of town. I am thirsty by this time and can’t wait to get to the Sala Club. We hop in a taxi and go to the Franc train station. Well hop in my condition at that time is kind of an overstatement. It was more like fell into a taxi.

We arrive at the station. Sala Club? No, they didn’t even have a vending machine to buy water. So I went to a nearby restaurant and got some water. There were no available seats so we sat on the floor until they called our train. First class my booty, literally.

When they call the train we get in line. We are in coach 67. I figured they started the numbers at 50 or something, but no this is one long bleeping train. We haul our luggage for what seems like two football fields and we were only halfway down the full length of the train. We get to coach 65/66 then coach 68. There is no coach 67. I’m thinking this is a nightmare and it feels like I am in a Harry Potter movie. Finally the lady in charge of getting us all on board says that yes indeed the coach marked 65/66 is really 67. She points us to our cabin. These cabins are very small and cozy so we had to get organized. Then we went to dinner in the dining car.

When I say dining car I mean cloth table covering and napkins. They handed us our free champagne and bottle of wine. We declined, but for some reason they did not take Leea’s away, maybe because they had already set it on the table. So we decide we should give it to the family sitting across the aisle, who had the cutest daughter. This became a funny moment because he thought I wanted to toast the journey. We finally figure it out and he enjoyed the bubbly. Dinner was a three course meal with multiple choices on each course. I had two courses, an appetizer which was scrambled eggs and shrimp and then a desert of natural yogurt. Here they serve plain yogurt and you can add sugar if you want. This is nice because sweetened yogurts in the States are made with artificial sweeter, which I am trying not to use any longer. So sugar it is for me. You think I’m going to eat it plain? Are you nuts?

As we ate dinner we watched a full moon rise and try to keep up with the train. The moon was exquisite just over the rolling hills and we were exhausted. This made for a quiet dinner watching the moon and munching. After dinner we went back to our cabin and got to bed. I went to sleep with the full moon as my night light. Ahhh, how blessed I am.

The whole train thing stressed me out and I kept getting irritated. At some point I thought what a trip. I face emergency surgery in a foreign hospital and possible loss of life without much problem, then a little train screw up, which worst case scenario could cost me some bucks and a days delay, gets me all a kimble.

I had a nice nights sleep and then we had breakfast in the dining car and arrived in Paris Thursday morning at nine.

Free At Last

I realize that I have been remiss in my reporting and soooo much has been going on and I feel so behind. About this time Leea says, “Whoa Sparky.” She’s come to call me Sparky because I have a tendency to get all excited and wound up and going fast (see.) She also calls me Tilty because I sometimes look backward or to the side while walking forward which causes me to either start to fall sideways or walk sideways. But I digress. I have lots more to tell you about my trip to the HospitaldelMar and the people I met, but it will have to wait because I have other exciting stuff to share and I’m getting behind.

I got out of the Hospitaldelmar Tuesday about three and took a cab home. I had released Leea from guard duty to go enjoy herself and see some sights. I was sore and stiff, but got back to the hotel.

After catching my breath I went in search of the Farmacia to fill the prescriptions the doctor had given me, at least the one designed to help the blood circulation around the incision. I said to the Farmicist who spoke English, “You say I have to do what?!” When he told me I had to inject this medicine under the skin with this thing with a needle attached. It all looked very proper and medical, but I hate needles. I can’t even look when someone else sticks them in me. As a child I jumped off the doctors table, crawled under my mother’s legs, ran out the door of the clinic and climbed a tree. I told them I wouldn’t come down unless they promised not to give me a shot. Ironically, that same doctor pierced my ears when I was eighteen.

Anyway, I took the prescription and went back to the hotel thinking maybe Leea would do it. Her response was a gentle, “No f*ing way.” So I disowned her. I new I had a decision to make. I could chicken out or do what I needed to so to take care of myself. I had visions of me not pushing hard enough causing the needle to bounce off or shrieking and jumping up causing the needle to break off in my skin. Oh well what is one more hospital visit. I thought of all the nurses and ex junkies I knew that could do this if I was at home, not to me mention all the junkies in the neighborhood around our hotel if I was willing to risk disease, theft, or ridicule for being such a pussy. So I sucked up all the courage I could muster, squeezed the skin and jabbed the thing into my body. And, it was no big deal.

So Leea and I went across the street to Organic is Orgasmic for dinner. The doctor told me I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted, just to eat small amounts five or six times a day until it gets healed and everything starts working again. He said I am fixed which made me feel like an old cat or bitch dog. Our dinner was scrumptious. I had a crepe which had very nicely cooked vegetables inside and came with a yummy hummus and a guacamole with very little avocado. Then sleep, sweet sleep.

On Wednesday we got ready to go to Paris. We decided to continue on trip for a number of reasons. The most important is that I did not feel ready to hop on a jet and take a long flight home. Also, it would have been a pain to cancel all the arrangements and book new flights. Our trip to Paris was booked on an overnight train and we had a sleeping compartment in first class, so I could lay down in the bed and sleep. I can get some recuperation and rest in Paris before the flight home.

Public Health

Well there has been so much talk and controversy about public medicine; I did a little research here in Barcelona. Saturday night I had another bowel obstruction, the worse I have ever had. I know all of you who know my history are saying I should never have traveled with this existing risk. Probably a wise thought, but I am not always wise and seldom err on the side of caution. Also, if I hadn’t done this, I would not have had the experience of having surgery in a public hospital in Spain. Public hospitals in a country that has a public health system are not what we think of when we think of hospitals for the poor.

We had to call an ambulance because I could not move. The paramedics took my vitals and then took me to the ambulance. Nothing in Spain is large enough for a gurney so the ambulance guys held me up and more or less carried me to the elevator and then the ambulance where I thought I would get to lie down. But no, they strapped me into the seat facing backwards as we rushed thought the streets of Barcelona with things, including me sliding from side to side. Many times the ambulance had to stop because the streets are just not wide enough for the cars to pull over and there is no such thing as a shoulder on the roads. Leea can explain the ride from the front seat, which was different and very exciting.

However, we got to the hospital and they processed me and then sat me in a chair to wait with about 50 other people. At this point my lovely daughter went into her bull dog routine, got the interpreter, told them this was not acceptable that I could die from this problem and if they could treat me we needed to go to a private hospital. The interpreter called the private hospital and was about to call the taxi when the public hospital found a bed for me. So we decided to stay there and see what the medical care was like.

I’ve had a lot of experience with bowel obstructions so I was able to determine that what they were doing was all standard medical protocol. So after x-rays, contrast CT scans and several hours of waiting to see if this thing would unblock, when the surgeon said they need to do surgery, I said, “ok.”

Now if you are a citizen of the European Union all this is free, but if you are not, you have to pay for it. And then I have to submit it to my insurance company when I get home. So we had to put up a deposit on my credit cards and are waiting to see if I owe any more. If so I may have to wash bed pans to pay the bill.

But the medical care has been excellent so far, as good, if not better than I receive at Saddleback or Mission. There is gigantic language barrier because a lot of the hospital employees don’t speak Spanish (which I can speak only a little) they speak Catalan which is a mixture of Spanish, Portuguese and French. Yikes!! But despite the language problem it has still gone relatively smoothly. Now maybe for a heart transplant it may be different, I don’t know. But so far it seems good. And I would definitely think we should get this going in the US as soon as possible.

I mentioned to Leea that this was an extreme measure to get my friends to write to me even thoough they are working hard, taking care of kids and doing their busy lives. But it didn’t work. A couple of people wrote. Maybe this is a case of crying “medical emergency” too often. I will have to think of a new way to get attention.

Granda:The Final Days

On Thursday we totally kicked it at the apartment. I think all we did was visit our favorite little bar for café and tostada, and go to the store for lunch and snack stuff for the train ride on Saturday. The train ride will be eight hours on Saturday. We have to get up before the dawn to get ready to catch the train, haul our suitcases through early morning Granada, and catch the train. I love trains, but eight hours is a long time to sit.

Thursday night we went to another flamenco show. This one was in a cave in the Sacromonte. First we had dinner on the terrace with a sunset view of the Alhambra. Being the Terrace of a cave, getting to the terrace required squeezing up a small and very steep staircase. I do not think this would be a good idea for someone with vertigo. After we got seated our waiter plopped a bottle of wine on our table and began opening it. We had to explain that we don’t drink. Then came the offer of Sangria, they had already made up. No, gracias, we said. The lady said, “Can’t you have just a small amount to taste it.” I was reviewing the difficulty of explaining in Spanish that a fifty gallon drum would not be enough if I got started and decided to “just say no, gracias.”

The dinner was superb. I had gazpacho for starters, steak and potatoes and flam without alcohol for dessert. The flamenco show was great. They all have been so different. At the cave we had a singer and guitar player (they have all had a singer and guitar player,) a flautist, and four female dancers. We did not see any male dancers in Granada. I believe that is the school of flamenco that favors female dancers. The four dancers were all different. One was very dramatic and mean looking, one looked very much like a gypsy and was a small bit of a thing, one was merry and seemed to be having a very good time, and one older woman was the best pictorial of “WHATever” that either of us has ever seen. She looked like “been there done that, I’m over it” It was great. We loved her. We had dressed for dinner, so we took a cab back to our little apartment.

On Friday we spent the day wandering around the Alhambra one final time, packing and then went to the Arab Baths before dinner. I don’t know if they were authentic or not, but they had six “hot” pools and one cold pool, in a very dark stone and tile area. We were advised to alternate hot and cold. The hot was not hot as we know it in a jacuzzi, I would call it warm. The cold was definitely cold. We also had a nice massage and some yummy sweetened mint tea. By the time we left for dinner I was as relaxed as a limp noodle.

Train Ride From Hell

First a caveat. Leea and I have ridden buses and trains all over Spain, and John and I rode buses and trains for a good part of our trip three years ago. I have never had an unpleasant train or bus ride in Spain, until . . . The Train Ride From Hell:Granada to Valencia.

On Saturday we got up before the dawn for the journey from Granada to Valencia. If either of us had any glimmer of a clue of what the day would be like we may have just rolled over, gone back to sleep, and felt destined to live out our lives in Granada in the Sacromonte as gypsies. Leea actually said she could picture me living there.

It was about a fifteen or twenty minute walk to the train station with our luggage and back packs.All went well until we reached the train station and Leea went to get café. There were travelers fifty deep at the café bar. So she came back. After the next train left, she tried again, got her café only to discover that our train was boarding early. We have to board as soon as possible because luggage space is very limited on trains. So she gulped down her café, much to the chagrin of her taste buds and we ran to the train. We got our luggage stored and got to our seats. A few minutes later two women came with twin one year old boys who sat in the two seats behind us. The boys began kicking the seat backs, banging the snack tray up and down, coughing, sneezing and spraying germs. These two screamed or cried for about eight hours. Then they would reach over the top of the seat to try to pull my hair or hit me on the head. Their fingers grabbing at my hair brought memories of the terrible night with the cockroach in my hair. I was tempted to treat these lovely little boys the same way I did the cockroach.

They were quiet for about thirty minutes when they passed out. At times one or the other would let out a few sustained shrieks and people would turn and stare. What was worse is that when we got to Valencia their father met the mother and kids at the station, so the mother had already done this trip once and knew how horrible they would be, but decided to inflict them on a whole train car full of people nonetheless. I did have some sympathy for the two women, they looked frazzled, but my sympathy ran out about six hours into the trip.

For some reason the train had to stop a couple of times to change engines and add cars. For the first leg of the trip, the car was like a meat locker. Then for the rest of the trip it had little or no air conditioning in the middle of Spain, in the middle of summer. And you cannot open the windows. Think of going through Fresno in the summer with no air conditioning, all the windows rolled up, fifty people in a small space, and don't forget the screaming children.

The one saving grace was that the percussionist from the Wednesday night flamenco show was on the train across the aisle and two rows up. This was some nice eye candy for the trip. Everything about him was gorgeous. When the boys shrieked he would turn and smiled at one or the other of us. Almost made me want to poke them with a pin so they would shriek some more.

By the time we reached Valencia we were exhausted and I had a headache. We stopped at the tourist office got a map, used the servicios, and had a cup of café con leche. I went and bought tickets for our trip to Barcelona on Wednesday and the lady at the ticket counter told me in Spanish, of course, that I looked much younger than my passport picture. It was like “welcome to Valencia.”

As our cab was leaving the train station it was blocked by a police car whose officers were trying to check the pulse on a drunk who was passed out on the sidewalk, having wet himself and the sidewalk. I was thinking, I might know him. And me with out my Spanish Big Book. Oh well. We thought he was dead, because the officer shook him a couple of times and he didn’t move at all. He was alive though, at least he still had a pulse. I was thinking, there but for the Grace of a very loving God, go I; and the whole nightmare of the train trip from hell seemed somewhat less important. In fact as Mike M put it, “At least it wasn’t the train trip to hell.”

The Heart of Granada

The Heart of Granada is the Alhambra, Sacromonte and the Albázin. They are all part of the rich heritage and diversity of this city. Like most of southern Spain, Granada was occupied on and off by the Christians (some of whom were Spanish Catholics) and the Moors or Muslims. Many of today’s cathedrals were once Muslim mosques and many of the wonderful buildings like the Alhambra are a mix of Moorish and Christian architecture.

The Alhambra is huge; it was in fact a whole city and military fortress, high on a hill with dungeons, homes, markets and a royal palace. Then the Christians tossed the Moors out of Spain and the Alhambra evolved. Today it is an amazing example of exquisite Arabic carvings and renaissance ceilings and porticos., lush gardens and calming pools, all surrounded by ruins of cultures beyond our ken but within the grasp of our imagination. I cannot do this mystical place justice with words so I will be sharing pictures on facebook and flicker. I have heard a Spanish saying, “That if you die and you have not seen the Alhambra, you have not lived.”

The Sacromonte is a city of caves carved into the hillside facing the Alhambra. It was first occupied by the Moors, but as gypsies began arriving in Europe from India, it evolved into a diverse gypsy community. The dwellings were quite complete and complex with several caves used to complete an entire estate for a family, including bedrooms, living rooms, stables, kitchens and work studios for ceramics, iron work, basketry, weaving and other occupations. They have a Museo or Centre de Interpretación where they have recreated living spaces to give visitors a sense of what the inside of the caves look like. People still live in these caves and I presume it would be rude to knock on their doors and ask to see their homes. The caves were not preexisting; they were carved into the hillside according to need and even have chimneys for fireplaces. They were very cool in the summer heat. I do not know if they get really cold in the winter.

On Wednesday night we climbed through the narrow streets of the Albázin and Sacromonte. Leea claims it was a mile uphill, but me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Walking any where here is what we call a “splat’ adventure, even on the normal streets. Many Spanish drivers seem to think it is sport and speed up as the pedestrians try to cross the street. And cars as well as pedestrians use the very narrow passageways they consider streets in some areas. I mean it would be difficult to walk three abreast, but cars navigate at top speed. So when you are walking, you need always keep a sharp eye out for a doorway or crevice you can squeeze into when you hear a car coming. I’m not so concerned at getting run over as I am about getting whacked by a side mirror.

We were on our way to the Museo or Centre de Interpretación to see a flamenco show. Leea laughs at me because I keep saying and writing flamingo, like I’m expecting to see pink birds. Anyway the flamenco show was on an outdoor stage which was probably pretty authentic for this area where impromptu music would start outdoors or in the caves. The performance was enchanting and made more so by the soft summer breezes.

Flamenco is not just a dance, but a very serious art form. It is comparable to western ballet. It is often very dramatic and has a very stringent discipline of moves and steps. Flamenco refers to a certain kind of song, dance and the guitar. It developed from a combination of Arabic, Andalusian (southern Spanish), Sephardic, and Gypsy cultures. Latin American and Cuban influences have also been important in shaping the rumba and tango flamenco forms. Flamenco is the music of the gypsies and played in their social community. Andalusian people who grew up around gypsies and the life were also accepted as "flamencos." So flamenco is big in Granada. As we were walking home through the Sacromonte last night or early this morning (it was after 1 am) we could hear flamenco sounds coming from many different buildings, some performances and some practice.

We have been eating well. We are locals in our favorite breakfast place. This morning they just brought us each a café con leche and an order of tostada con mantequilla y mermalada. We didn’t even have to order. Leea is screaming in the bathroom. It seems the hair dryer attacked her, sucked in her hair and burnt it off. This is just another of our adventures. She is persisting and is determined to conquer the beast. I hope we don’t have to call the fire department when her head goes up in flames. We are getting ready to go to dinner and a flamenco show in a cave in the Sacromonte.