We left early and, of course, our luggage did not easily fit into the Jetta. There were several rearrangements before we left the curb. We made friends with the Spanish ticket agent, Leslie, who was kind enough to not charge Jill and me for our luggage being over the 50 pound limit. She also managed to block out the middle seats which virtually gave each of us no neighbors. The three of us spread out with our neck pillows, blankets, sleeping aids, snacks and iPods. Before passing out, we realized by going through Miami on the way home, we added two hours to our flight from Spain. This was not good news as we had a connection to catch to LAX.
Im sure you can guess what happened....
Yes, we are now sitting at the Mojito bar in Miami International airport waiting to catch the flight we were bumped to ....and each one of us is looking forward to a middle seat with a neighbor on each side for the 6 hour flight to LA.
Despite this minor set-back and the very, very long road home, we are still laughing about the many adventures of the past week.
The opportunity to travel with your girlfriends is definitely an experience to not be passed up. The challenge of going anywhere at length is definitely a group effort and we so appreciate all the assistance given and all the well wishes. It was the time of our lives!
Adios...See you on our next adventure!
-Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born. -Anais Nin
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Day 06 - Fast & Furious - 23 hours in Madrid
We hit the ground running this morning, bidding "adios" to Barcelona and saying "hola" to Madrid. Many told us that Madrid is not as charming as Barcelona and that we wouldn't enjoy it as much. It could be the wine. It could be the limited time. But we LOVE the capital. It is fast and furious, alive, beautiful, historic with amazing museums, stunning architecture, scenic parks, gardens and bubbling fountains.
We galloped into town and found ourselves with an upgraded room (as Heather has been reminding us the whole trip, "It never hurts to ask!"), although we are paying 19 euros in order to write this with wi fi service in our room. Bags dropped, hair brushed, make-up applied and a plan in hand, we set out on the streets of Madrid. Tapas in Plaza de Santa Ana were delicious until the chicken came to the table. Jill had the good sense to pass and Heather and I dug in despite the gray hue and pool of oil it was back stroking through. I don't know what possessed me to eat this, as I just lectured the girls about how I never go off the grid, meal wise, the day before a long plane ride.
Meal finished, we walked to the famous Museo Del Prado where Jill allotted us an hour for the masterpieces. Thanks to Jill's ability to trim the art fat, we managed to see the masterpieces by Goya, Velazquez, Rembrandt, Millon and many others. Heather enjoyed the religious artwork, especially the Madonnas. Jill like Goya's painting of the Spanish royal family. And I can only continue to wonder about the piece depicting a cherub squeezing mountains of milk from a woman's breast which was apparently the origination of the Milky Way.
Needing a pick me up, we went to The Ritz Madrid for afternoon coffee where we had the usual - cappuccino, black coffee and Heather's 15th chocolate caliente of the trip which we discovered has 800 calories a serving (yesterday she had three and has now had to narrow her wardrobe down to stretch pants for the plane ride home).
We rushed across town in a taxi to tour the Palacio Royal only to find we missed the last call by 15 minutes (FYI: the Royal Palace closes at 1800 hours but you have to be there by 1700 hours. I know this because besides the Metro system and city maps, Jill has also mastered general military time).
We proceeded to walk around and take pictures. At one point, Heather asked Jill to take a picture when Jill realized her "wristlet" was wide open and hanging upside down. She dropped to her knees and rifled through her things. Who knew one little wristlet could hold so much sh@#! When Jill noticed her credit card was missing, Heather crouched down next to Her as if consoling a small child and posed a question in a very sensitive tone delivered with a very slow cadence, "Jill, do you think you were pick pocketed?" and Jill responded "ABSOLUTELY (5 second pause)... I know WAS pick pocketed!" As we decided to retrace our steps, and got up from kneeling on the ground, Jill's credit card magically appeared beneath her tush. We all breathed a sigh of relief and were most proud of the fact that we had maintained our perfect record of not being pick pocketed as many warned us we would be (although Jill is still claiming it was an alleged pick pocket attempt).
We decided to go big on our last night- getting all dressed up for a special dinner. Jill did Heather's make-up just like high school. Heather's eyes have never looked bluer or photographed better. We arrived at restaurante El Botin, the world's oldest restaurant. (We stole the menus to prove it). As we strutted in, pashminas and leather flying in the breeze, Jill turned to us in a panicked voice and said, "Oh My God, we are totally overdressed. Why didn't the Concierge tell us???" I say better to be over than under! Dinner was delicious and we were among the last table out because as you can imagine, there is no shortage of conversation in this group.
We are in our jams laughing about stories from the past week. We leave for the airport in 6 hours. It is 1:30 am (actually one of our earlier nights). All of our stomachs hurt from overindulgence and laughs. We are hoping we can get our bags closed in the morning (Jill just now shouted from the bathroom that she finally found her jewelry and hair care products). And to quote the Italian chiropractor from The 4 Cats, "What happens in Espana, stays in Espana."
And being the overachievers that we are, we are already planning for a new adventure next November. All suggestions welcome!
"Oh! Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.". -Jane Austen
NOTE: all blog entries have been a group effort and one of the best parts of every day.
We galloped into town and found ourselves with an upgraded room (as Heather has been reminding us the whole trip, "It never hurts to ask!"), although we are paying 19 euros in order to write this with wi fi service in our room. Bags dropped, hair brushed, make-up applied and a plan in hand, we set out on the streets of Madrid. Tapas in Plaza de Santa Ana were delicious until the chicken came to the table. Jill had the good sense to pass and Heather and I dug in despite the gray hue and pool of oil it was back stroking through. I don't know what possessed me to eat this, as I just lectured the girls about how I never go off the grid, meal wise, the day before a long plane ride.
Meal finished, we walked to the famous Museo Del Prado where Jill allotted us an hour for the masterpieces. Thanks to Jill's ability to trim the art fat, we managed to see the masterpieces by Goya, Velazquez, Rembrandt, Millon and many others. Heather enjoyed the religious artwork, especially the Madonnas. Jill like Goya's painting of the Spanish royal family. And I can only continue to wonder about the piece depicting a cherub squeezing mountains of milk from a woman's breast which was apparently the origination of the Milky Way.
Needing a pick me up, we went to The Ritz Madrid for afternoon coffee where we had the usual - cappuccino, black coffee and Heather's 15th chocolate caliente of the trip which we discovered has 800 calories a serving (yesterday she had three and has now had to narrow her wardrobe down to stretch pants for the plane ride home).
We rushed across town in a taxi to tour the Palacio Royal only to find we missed the last call by 15 minutes (FYI: the Royal Palace closes at 1800 hours but you have to be there by 1700 hours. I know this because besides the Metro system and city maps, Jill has also mastered general military time).
We proceeded to walk around and take pictures. At one point, Heather asked Jill to take a picture when Jill realized her "wristlet" was wide open and hanging upside down. She dropped to her knees and rifled through her things. Who knew one little wristlet could hold so much sh@#! When Jill noticed her credit card was missing, Heather crouched down next to Her as if consoling a small child and posed a question in a very sensitive tone delivered with a very slow cadence, "Jill, do you think you were pick pocketed?" and Jill responded "ABSOLUTELY (5 second pause)... I know WAS pick pocketed!" As we decided to retrace our steps, and got up from kneeling on the ground, Jill's credit card magically appeared beneath her tush. We all breathed a sigh of relief and were most proud of the fact that we had maintained our perfect record of not being pick pocketed as many warned us we would be (although Jill is still claiming it was an alleged pick pocket attempt).
We decided to go big on our last night- getting all dressed up for a special dinner. Jill did Heather's make-up just like high school. Heather's eyes have never looked bluer or photographed better. We arrived at restaurante El Botin, the world's oldest restaurant. (We stole the menus to prove it). As we strutted in, pashminas and leather flying in the breeze, Jill turned to us in a panicked voice and said, "Oh My God, we are totally overdressed. Why didn't the Concierge tell us???" I say better to be over than under! Dinner was delicious and we were among the last table out because as you can imagine, there is no shortage of conversation in this group.
We are in our jams laughing about stories from the past week. We leave for the airport in 6 hours. It is 1:30 am (actually one of our earlier nights). All of our stomachs hurt from overindulgence and laughs. We are hoping we can get our bags closed in the morning (Jill just now shouted from the bathroom that she finally found her jewelry and hair care products). And to quote the Italian chiropractor from The 4 Cats, "What happens in Espana, stays in Espana."
And being the overachievers that we are, we are already planning for a new adventure next November. All suggestions welcome!
"Oh! Do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.". -Jane Austen
NOTE: all blog entries have been a group effort and one of the best parts of every day.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Day 05 - European Vacation, Part Dos
We decided to venture north out of the city, to the resort towns of Costa Brava. Somehow, the car rental agency moved locations from our walk home the previous night. Having hoofed blocks as big as the Mediterranean out of our way, with no car rental agency in sight, Jill quickly activated her cellular data as if she was a contestant on "Minute to Win It." I was still confident the car rental agency was around the next corner. As Heather says, "I am often wrong but NEVER in doubt!" Address downloaded, we hailed a taxi. Car rented and GPS in hand, we piled into our clown car. Good news - Jill never had to show her International Driving Permit to the Policia. Jill drove ("Ohhhhhh, it's a stick shift") and I was co-pilot ("Yes Jill, I'm certain I can find our way out of the city"). Heather, of course, was there to provide comic relief.
Jill burned rubber into busy traffic, trying to refresh her stick shift skills "on the job." Before we could even input the destination, the GPS unit started to sound its alarm ("The Hunt For Red October" flashback). GPS alarm blaring, we had no directions and circled Plaza Espanya multiple times (think Chevy Chase in European Vacation). After avoiding turning into Parliament, Terry activating her cellualr data for directions, almost hitting "Spanish Betty" in an obscured crosswalk, soliciting street side directions from a familiar face in yellow (the DHL guy) and reassuring Jill all of her U-turns were completely legal, we managed to point the car in the correct direction.
We made it through two toll plazas, speaking Spanish to any attendant who would listen, "Buenos Dias, Buenos Noches, Muchas Gracias, Mucho Gusto, Cuanto Euros..." Heather and I were so exhausted by our limited contributions that we half-heartedly asked Jill if she minded us taking a quick cat nap. Before she could respond, Heather was completely flat in the back seat covered by the Anaheim Angels blanket she brought from home, and my head apparently bobbing side to side with such fervor that Jill thought I was a having a seizure. Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a the most beautiful virtual ghost town, Llafranch, where only one restaurant was open. I guess a Monday in November is not considered high season on the Med. We literally saw more wild cats than people and the staff to client ration was 3:1.
We had great conversation with the owner of Hotel Llafranch, whose uncle was a close personal friend of Salvador Dali. We were ready to get back on the road with France in our line of vision, when our "host" said to all three of us, "Do you like shoes?????" as he gestured excitedly to his own (shoes that is). We all stopped in our tracks which he took as a YES. Our "professional" driver Jill asked for a map. Our host whipped out his highlighter as if he was making a AAA Trip Kit and a map of Spain that appeared to originate in the 1978 edition of Rand McNally.
Jetting toward Figueres, the top-secret shoe outlet capital of the world, our discussion ranged from "Do you think they take American Express?" to "Where are we going to pack all the shoes?" to imagining the smell of the Spanish leather. We counted out many roundabouts, our GPS now engaged in our journey, passed 100 goats and two herders, one Bull sign, and a lot of flat scenery when we arrived in Figueres. Driving through the cobble-stone streets, we saw no shoes in sight, nor did we see anything resembling an outlet. As we stopped at a red light, Heather rolled down her window with the archaic hand-crank and called a man to come over with her finger. Let us point out that Heather, who has never taken a lick of Spanish, says to the man in a quiet voice, "Z-A-P-A-T-A-S????????" as if whispering this magic word would make shoes come down on a conveyor belt from the secret factory. The truth is, it appears sending someone to Figueres for shoes was the equivalent of telling someone visiting us to drive an hour for the fabulous selection of shoes at Payless. We parked anyway and scurried around the town, having to prove to ourselves that there were no shoes worthy of our bags or Am Ex cards. There were, however, Ugg Boots and Crocs aplenty.
We made a mad dash back to Barcelona to turn in our rental car by 7:00 p.m. The dark skies, heavy rain, and of course, our shoe shopping extravaganza put Heather and I at the edge. We had to beg of Jill, "One more cat nap please..." We woke up just as we were entering Barcelona and I probably don't need to tell you that we missed the car drop-off by 15 minutes. We parked our little Ford half on the sidewalk and half in the street and shoved the key through the door. (We are hoping the car is there in the morning.)
On to Madrid manana!!!
"Have no fear of perfection- you'll never reach it". -Salvador Dali
Jill burned rubber into busy traffic, trying to refresh her stick shift skills "on the job." Before we could even input the destination, the GPS unit started to sound its alarm ("The Hunt For Red October" flashback). GPS alarm blaring, we had no directions and circled Plaza Espanya multiple times (think Chevy Chase in European Vacation). After avoiding turning into Parliament, Terry activating her cellualr data for directions, almost hitting "Spanish Betty" in an obscured crosswalk, soliciting street side directions from a familiar face in yellow (the DHL guy) and reassuring Jill all of her U-turns were completely legal, we managed to point the car in the correct direction.
We made it through two toll plazas, speaking Spanish to any attendant who would listen, "Buenos Dias, Buenos Noches, Muchas Gracias, Mucho Gusto, Cuanto Euros..." Heather and I were so exhausted by our limited contributions that we half-heartedly asked Jill if she minded us taking a quick cat nap. Before she could respond, Heather was completely flat in the back seat covered by the Anaheim Angels blanket she brought from home, and my head apparently bobbing side to side with such fervor that Jill thought I was a having a seizure. Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a the most beautiful virtual ghost town, Llafranch, where only one restaurant was open. I guess a Monday in November is not considered high season on the Med. We literally saw more wild cats than people and the staff to client ration was 3:1.
We had great conversation with the owner of Hotel Llafranch, whose uncle was a close personal friend of Salvador Dali. We were ready to get back on the road with France in our line of vision, when our "host" said to all three of us, "Do you like shoes?????" as he gestured excitedly to his own (shoes that is). We all stopped in our tracks which he took as a YES. Our "professional" driver Jill asked for a map. Our host whipped out his highlighter as if he was making a AAA Trip Kit and a map of Spain that appeared to originate in the 1978 edition of Rand McNally.
Jetting toward Figueres, the top-secret shoe outlet capital of the world, our discussion ranged from "Do you think they take American Express?" to "Where are we going to pack all the shoes?" to imagining the smell of the Spanish leather. We counted out many roundabouts, our GPS now engaged in our journey, passed 100 goats and two herders, one Bull sign, and a lot of flat scenery when we arrived in Figueres. Driving through the cobble-stone streets, we saw no shoes in sight, nor did we see anything resembling an outlet. As we stopped at a red light, Heather rolled down her window with the archaic hand-crank and called a man to come over with her finger. Let us point out that Heather, who has never taken a lick of Spanish, says to the man in a quiet voice, "Z-A-P-A-T-A-S????????" as if whispering this magic word would make shoes come down on a conveyor belt from the secret factory. The truth is, it appears sending someone to Figueres for shoes was the equivalent of telling someone visiting us to drive an hour for the fabulous selection of shoes at Payless. We parked anyway and scurried around the town, having to prove to ourselves that there were no shoes worthy of our bags or Am Ex cards. There were, however, Ugg Boots and Crocs aplenty.
We made a mad dash back to Barcelona to turn in our rental car by 7:00 p.m. The dark skies, heavy rain, and of course, our shoe shopping extravaganza put Heather and I at the edge. We had to beg of Jill, "One more cat nap please..." We woke up just as we were entering Barcelona and I probably don't need to tell you that we missed the car drop-off by 15 minutes. We parked our little Ford half on the sidewalk and half in the street and shoved the key through the door. (We are hoping the car is there in the morning.)
On to Madrid manana!!!
"Have no fear of perfection- you'll never reach it". -Salvador Dali
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Day 04 - In a Spanish Nutshell
In a Spanish nut shell....
We started off the day searching for culture, the Picasso Museum, the inspirational Quatre Gats, and flamenco dancing.....
We ended the day on stage, giving directions to the Japanese, buying art and enjoying the culinary delight of Siete Puertes....
Tomorrow, we rent a car and tour the coast (Jill had the foresight to attain her International Driver's License so if you know anyone on the road on the coast of Spain tomorrow, tell them the "three Amigas" are also gunning for pavement and to steer clear.)
"Give me a museum and I will fill it.". -Pablo Picasso
*For your viewing pleasure, pictures are on Facebook titled "Day 04."
We started off the day searching for culture, the Picasso Museum, the inspirational Quatre Gats, and flamenco dancing.....
We ended the day on stage, giving directions to the Japanese, buying art and enjoying the culinary delight of Siete Puertes....
Tomorrow, we rent a car and tour the coast (Jill had the foresight to attain her International Driver's License so if you know anyone on the road on the coast of Spain tomorrow, tell them the "three Amigas" are also gunning for pavement and to steer clear.)
"Give me a museum and I will fill it.". -Pablo Picasso
*For your viewing pleasure, pictures are on Facebook titled "Day 04."
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Day 03 - Make New Friends But Keep The Old...
We started the day at our corner cafe, where our darling waiter has our orders down pat (J = cappuccino, H = hot chocolate, T = cafe americano). Of course, we proceeded to ask him to take pictures of us. We sat outdoors, enjoying the unseasonably warm and sunny Barcelona weather and mapped out our day. Our first order of business was to visit the tourism office to see if some honest soul had returned the lost jerseys I purchased at the Barca Futbol stadium the day before. The tourism lady barely lifted her pencil and made a vain attempt to "call" the Lost and Found office six steps away to see if someone had turned in the bag. Shockingly, all we got in return was a cold and distant shaking of the head "no". The stadium mega store would have to be re-visited.
We used our second day pass to get back on the "hop on hop off bus." Our first stop...Gaudi's living masterpiece, Parc Guell (www.barcelona-tourist-guide.com/en/gaudi/park-guell.http). An interesting turn of events occurred as usual... We naturally toured, taking picture after picture as if we were subjects on Top Model - straddling posts, climbing pillars, lying across benches - anything for a great photo. We finally made it to the top of the park and sat down with a sweet pitcher of Sangria. Of course we asked the table next to us to take a photo of the three of us. Heather launches into her extremely limited Spanish...unfortunately, they were from France. Jill and I expected Heather to be able to communicate after her 1.5 years of high school French with Madame Bettendorf. She was totally blank...Thankfully, Jill and I pulled out a few words in French. The American-French relations are vastly improved. we made four new friends and got in another fabulous photo shoot (ironically, we ran into our French neighbors randomly on the Metro and Heather gave a booming shout out through the crowds "Bon Soir!")
We hopped back on the bus and made friends with Xavier, the 18 year old ticket taker. Looking for a fabulous Tapas restaurant we asked for some recommendations. When they say "Lost in Translation," they really mean it. Xavier, thought we were asking for "the top of something" because that makes perfect sense. We were reminded of our first week of Spanish class where the accent goes on the first syllable- ta'pas. Apparently, that made all the difference and we were rewarded with a bevy of ta'pas restaurants to visit- none of which we were ultimately able to locate. Just so you know on your next visit to Spain, do not look for tapas on Passeig de Gracia! However, Chanel, Escada and Cartier are waiting for you.
Blood sugars were dropping on Passeig de Garcia. Terry was eager to eat and open to the Greek restaurant. Heather was intent on holding off for true Spanish cuisine. Jill just wanted to lay low as she felt a storm coming in, even though the skies above were clear. In our defense, we had walked 15 miles in 75 degree weather in our winter clothing all day, but to be perfectly honest the folowing are quotes:
Heather: "I did not travel thousands of miles to Spain to eat Greek food on the Rodeo Drive of Barcelona! This is a tourist trap!"
Terry: "Heather! Tourists do not eat on Rodeo, they can not afford it!"
Heather: "You don't understand Terry, I just need an authentic Spanish meal. I am not going to eat sub par tourist trap food!"
Terry: "Heather, I am not going to let this ruin my night! Let's just go back to our neighborhood to eat!"
We headed back towards the metro. Jill let twenty steps pass for us to calm down. She tried to break the ice by jokingly saying "Thanks for having a meltdown so that I am not the only one." I responded all too proudly "I did not have a meltdown!"
We went underground to the metro. Got lost just when we thought Jill had mastered the metro, but maybe it was the stress that broke her mastery. Another twenty steps and Heather said "Let me be the first one to apologize..." as she remembered the girls scout motto "Make new friends, but keep the old. Some are silver and the others gold."
We resorted to finding another quaint and authentic local restaurant in our neighborhood. We got a recommendation from a lovely couple, who spoke just a little too quickly for our limited comprehension levels. We did not get the full name of the restaurant or it's actual location so we continued to walk and walk and walk and walk until Jill activated her cellular data ($$$$$$) and found the actual name and location. We had a fabulous meal of tApas, paella, wine and traditional dessert. We walked home, again getting lost but eventually making our way home (we just considered it a way to burn a few calories after a hefty-ass meal). We keep reminding ourselves how lucky we are to be here and how lucky we are to be able to laugh at each other and ourselves.
To see our glamour shots, go to the Top Model tab on Facebook otherwise known as Barcelona Day 03.
"But man does not create...he discovers" -Antonio Gaudi
Friday, November 11, 2011
Day 02 - Hop On, Hop Off....
We started the day with Terry's tooth brush falling into the bidet from the medicine cabinet- thankfully, there was a spare...a Girl Scout is always prepared... We went to the neighborhood cafeteria for the best coffee and hot chocolate around (we must admit, the young Spaniard eye candy may be making the coffee taste better than it is). We have been starting each day with a very cheerful, "holaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
After walking no less than five miles in boots on Day 01, we decided to spend the day on the "hop on/hop off" bus. Our first "hop off" was at the world famous soccer stadium Futbol Club Barcelona. As excited as Heather and I were to be in the midst of such greatness, Jill was unfazed by the entire location and experience. Heather and I spent 45 minutes in the Barca Mega Store picking out the perfect jerseys for Heather's kids, my daughter and my daughter's bestie. Standing in line with our purchases, Jill marched up to us with sweat on her brow giving us the "wind it up" signal with a feverish pitch of her index finger. We made made our purchases and then begged for a few more photos in front of key statues and flags. Jill acquiesced but said, "This is ridiculous. Truthfully, I really don't like what you bought. This place is soooooo one dimensional. This is the last picture I am taking for the trip!"
We proceeded to quietly tiptoe behind Jill to the bus where Jill sat with a German family in an attempt to cool down. Heather and I sat in the back, talking about Jill quietly under our breath. I knew it was just low blood sugar. We let her have her time. By the time we were ready to "hop off" all was right with the world. We were in Plaza De Catalonia.
We approached at least four different groups of tourists to take our picture in exchange for taking theirs. We approached four groups because shockingly no one could quite capture the obvious beauty of all three of us at the same time. As we walked to our next destination, Heather noticed I was walking in a carefree, strutting manner (those are her words). Heather said, "Terry, where is your bag?????????" I said, "Right here," proudly patting my travel document organizer which I had safely and discretely concealed beneath my shirt. Heather exclaimed, "NO - THE STUFF YOU JUST BOUGHT at the stadium." My heart dropped as I realized I did the ultimate "hop off"" the bus leaving my bag of purchases behind. Thankfully, there is a Nike store on Las Ramblas. I hope I can replicate my purchases.
The rest of the day was spent looking for good dinner chow, shopping (Heather almost had her melt down moment as Jill and I spent two hours trying on boots), soaking in tAndrocles farmers market and having a drink along Las Ramblas. We closed the night at Escribir where our waiter told Jill as she was trying to order in Spanish, "In English please." How bad must our Spanish be....even after 8 weeks of Spanish courses.
It's 1:00 am and Jill is now ready for dinner. Technically this is day 03 but we'll get to that later. Adios!
"In Spain, attempting to order a chicken salad sandwich, you wind up with a dish whose name, when you look it up in the Spanish English dictionary, turns out to be 'An eel with a big ass.". - David Barry
After walking no less than five miles in boots on Day 01, we decided to spend the day on the "hop on/hop off" bus. Our first "hop off" was at the world famous soccer stadium Futbol Club Barcelona. As excited as Heather and I were to be in the midst of such greatness, Jill was unfazed by the entire location and experience. Heather and I spent 45 minutes in the Barca Mega Store picking out the perfect jerseys for Heather's kids, my daughter and my daughter's bestie. Standing in line with our purchases, Jill marched up to us with sweat on her brow giving us the "wind it up" signal with a feverish pitch of her index finger. We made made our purchases and then begged for a few more photos in front of key statues and flags. Jill acquiesced but said, "This is ridiculous. Truthfully, I really don't like what you bought. This place is soooooo one dimensional. This is the last picture I am taking for the trip!"
We proceeded to quietly tiptoe behind Jill to the bus where Jill sat with a German family in an attempt to cool down. Heather and I sat in the back, talking about Jill quietly under our breath. I knew it was just low blood sugar. We let her have her time. By the time we were ready to "hop off" all was right with the world. We were in Plaza De Catalonia.
We approached at least four different groups of tourists to take our picture in exchange for taking theirs. We approached four groups because shockingly no one could quite capture the obvious beauty of all three of us at the same time. As we walked to our next destination, Heather noticed I was walking in a carefree, strutting manner (those are her words). Heather said, "Terry, where is your bag?????????" I said, "Right here," proudly patting my travel document organizer which I had safely and discretely concealed beneath my shirt. Heather exclaimed, "NO - THE STUFF YOU JUST BOUGHT at the stadium." My heart dropped as I realized I did the ultimate "hop off"" the bus leaving my bag of purchases behind. Thankfully, there is a Nike store on Las Ramblas. I hope I can replicate my purchases.
The rest of the day was spent looking for good dinner chow, shopping (Heather almost had her melt down moment as Jill and I spent two hours trying on boots), soaking in tAndrocles farmers market and having a drink along Las Ramblas. We closed the night at Escribir where our waiter told Jill as she was trying to order in Spanish, "In English please." How bad must our Spanish be....even after 8 weeks of Spanish courses.
It's 1:00 am and Jill is now ready for dinner. Technically this is day 03 but we'll get to that later. Adios!
"In Spain, attempting to order a chicken salad sandwich, you wind up with a dish whose name, when you look it up in the Spanish English dictionary, turns out to be 'An eel with a big ass.". - David Barry
Day 01 - "You Asked Me What..." A taboo subject...
Checked into our darling apartment in Barcelona (thank you Jill and the magic of VRBO). We staked our claims for bedrooms and decided Heather got the living room sofa since she has to sleep with the TV on ALL night long. YES - ALL NIGHT (I know this from personal first-hand experience). After sparse sleep, we decided to simply change shirts for photo opps and hit the town.
We grocery shopped, buying a quantity of food that will most definitely never be consumed. We hit an authentic cheese and meats store where the smell of the hanging ham had a certain gag reflex on Heather. We kept reminding each other how lucky we were to be here...
We Metroed down to an area called Barceloneta which parallels the beach and the Mediterranean. Coming to Port Vell, we decided it was the perfect time to stop for tapas and wine (I was in desperate need of a nap from my Tylenol PM hangover but wine and food was a second best choice).
A Taboo Subject: Picture us sitting on the Mediteranean sipping a local Spanish white wine. A soft breeze wafting across white tablecloths. Locals and tourists alike soaking in the sun and sea. Pleasantries exchanged all around when Heather motioned excitedly for our "Spasian" waiter "Brian" to come to our table. In her limited Spanish she begins with "Perdon Brian, do you know where we can catch a bull fight?" When Brian's jaw dropped and hit the dock, Heather thinking he did not understand her English, put her two index fingers to her head to simulate "You know a bull!" Apparently bull fighting has been outlawed in Catalonia (the region of Barcelona) and is a taboo subject. Brian was shifty and basically ignored us the rest of the meal. We WILL see a bullfight. When in Spain...
The rest of the day was gorgeous. We took a skyline gondola ride, walked along the beach- taking in middle aged men sporting speedos where gravity clearly had taken hold (the only downside to the beautiful walk and weather). We hit the W Hotel for drinks, not realizing we were ONLY four hours early for the rooftop bar.
We finished the evening off at a quaint local restaurant where Jill gave us an educational seminar for two on the tipping practices in Western Europe (apparently waiters here are professionals and offended by large tips). Our waiter "A Professional" made traditional tomato bread table side (recipe attached).
Needless to say, we all passed out from exhaustion after being up for 30 hours and slept like rocks for 10 hours straight. On to Day 02.
"Every country gets the circus it deserves. Spain gets bull fights. Italy gets the Catholic Church. America gets Hollywood" -Erica Jong
We grocery shopped, buying a quantity of food that will most definitely never be consumed. We hit an authentic cheese and meats store where the smell of the hanging ham had a certain gag reflex on Heather. We kept reminding each other how lucky we were to be here...
We Metroed down to an area called Barceloneta which parallels the beach and the Mediterranean. Coming to Port Vell, we decided it was the perfect time to stop for tapas and wine (I was in desperate need of a nap from my Tylenol PM hangover but wine and food was a second best choice).
A Taboo Subject: Picture us sitting on the Mediteranean sipping a local Spanish white wine. A soft breeze wafting across white tablecloths. Locals and tourists alike soaking in the sun and sea. Pleasantries exchanged all around when Heather motioned excitedly for our "Spasian" waiter "Brian" to come to our table. In her limited Spanish she begins with "Perdon Brian, do you know where we can catch a bull fight?" When Brian's jaw dropped and hit the dock, Heather thinking he did not understand her English, put her two index fingers to her head to simulate "You know a bull!" Apparently bull fighting has been outlawed in Catalonia (the region of Barcelona) and is a taboo subject. Brian was shifty and basically ignored us the rest of the meal. We WILL see a bullfight. When in Spain...
The rest of the day was gorgeous. We took a skyline gondola ride, walked along the beach- taking in middle aged men sporting speedos where gravity clearly had taken hold (the only downside to the beautiful walk and weather). We hit the W Hotel for drinks, not realizing we were ONLY four hours early for the rooftop bar.
We finished the evening off at a quaint local restaurant where Jill gave us an educational seminar for two on the tipping practices in Western Europe (apparently waiters here are professionals and offended by large tips). Our waiter "A Professional" made traditional tomato bread table side (recipe attached).
Needless to say, we all passed out from exhaustion after being up for 30 hours and slept like rocks for 10 hours straight. On to Day 02.
"Every country gets the circus it deserves. Spain gets bull fights. Italy gets the Catholic Church. America gets Hollywood" -Erica Jong
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Day 0- Apparently we never forgot the Girl Scout Motto, "Be Prepared."
The level of preparedness to which we approached this trip is well, frightening. Between the the three of us we had every lip balm, hand cream, eye cream, facial wipe, and sanitizer that you could imagine. We had Crest White Strips, Ambien, Melatonin, Tylenol PM, Advil, Tums, Gas X and Monistat for any unforeseen feminine issues that could arise across 15 hours of global travel. We had neck pillows, blankets, iPads, iPods, books and every fashion magazine in existence. And needless to say, amongst the three of us, we could have fed a family of four for a week with the amount of snack foods we brought. All of this preparation was, YES, simply for the plane ride.
We had the Venezuelan male flight attendant giving us his phone number and hotel and telling us on numerous occasions, "You do not need to speak Spanish if you speak the language of love." We are intentionally avoiding his physical description and age. We ignored a religious zealot who was almost thrown off the plane for preaching and passing out propaganda before we were even taxiing down the runway. And then there was the Captain, making announcements over the loud speaking while simultaneously chewing his dinner aloud- we couldn't tell if he chose the mystery beef or cheese ravioli. FYI... For those of you that remember airplane food, they are still serving the same exact watered down salad dressing and hard cold roll, which we all managed to choke down. Then there was "XXX" who sat behind us with his wife. He is the backbone of the Nation's Parks & Recs Department with so much vacation time he didn't know what to do with it. So basically, in a way, you are ALL in Barcelona with the government employee who shall go unnamed for his own protection.
We ate our dinners, crammed down our personal choices of sleep aids and tried to get comfortable on a 1x1 cushion. We awoke to - what else? The breakfast cart baby! Hot croissants and butter. Next stop.... Our apartment in Barcelona and meeting the owner Jose Antonio who we can't stop calling Juan Carlos...there he is now on his scooter!
"Life is a daring journey." -Helen Keller
We had the Venezuelan male flight attendant giving us his phone number and hotel and telling us on numerous occasions, "You do not need to speak Spanish if you speak the language of love." We are intentionally avoiding his physical description and age. We ignored a religious zealot who was almost thrown off the plane for preaching and passing out propaganda before we were even taxiing down the runway. And then there was the Captain, making announcements over the loud speaking while simultaneously chewing his dinner aloud- we couldn't tell if he chose the mystery beef or cheese ravioli. FYI... For those of you that remember airplane food, they are still serving the same exact watered down salad dressing and hard cold roll, which we all managed to choke down. Then there was "XXX" who sat behind us with his wife. He is the backbone of the Nation's Parks & Recs Department with so much vacation time he didn't know what to do with it. So basically, in a way, you are ALL in Barcelona with the government employee who shall go unnamed for his own protection.
We ate our dinners, crammed down our personal choices of sleep aids and tried to get comfortable on a 1x1 cushion. We awoke to - what else? The breakfast cart baby! Hot croissants and butter. Next stop.... Our apartment in Barcelona and meeting the owner Jose Antonio who we can't stop calling Juan Carlos...there he is now on his scooter!
"Life is a daring journey." -Helen Keller
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