On Sunday, 21 June 2020, Spain reopened with all health regions at a safety level 3. For the first time since the borders were closed on 16 March 2020, citizens are now able to travel domestically to almost* any location within Spain. The external border is also opened now to some few international travelers but with restrictions and a fair amount of controls. For us, this newly restored freedom is an opportunity to stretch our legs, spread our wings and head out on a new adventure! After 100 days of confinement, not only to Barcelona but to Pedrables, as lovely as it is, we are thrilled to finally be headed back on the road again.

To be honest, since late April, Mom and I have been tentatively exploring the idea of a quick trip somewhere. Brainstorming some ideas. Wishfully thinking aloud without putting too much hope into it or making any real commitment, emotional or financial. You see, we had such a lovely adventure planned for Spring break. Just in time for the Easter processions, we would fly to Seville and drive to Cádiz to see the Cathedral then on to Tarifa, the southern-most point of Europe. From Gibraltar, Allita and I would take a hovercraft to Cueta (an autonomous Spanish city in Africa!), return to the mainland and spend some time in a resort in Malagá, then on to the magnificent Alhambra in Granada and through the Sierra Nevadas to Almería. Finally, we would return to Barcelona by way of Alicante and Valencia, driving up the eastern coastline through Tarragona and Sitges. The grand tour of Spain! We were so excited. We had planned it for months and were ready to go. Flights booked, car and hotel reserved and suitcases packed! Then, BANG! The reality of the pandemic hit us with a slap in the face. Spain implemented the most draconian quarantine measures in all of Europe. We were grounded. Literally. Therefore, until recently we just weren’t emotionally ready to make new plans and start seriously thinking about traveling again. We were still licking our wounds from our last quashed adventure dreams. And, there was still a degree of fear pervasive in the atmosphere in Spain, in Barcelona and also, here, in Pedrables. No, we weren’t really planning – we were just “what-if-ing” and “suppose-ing”. Just enough musing to keep us sane, until we started to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometime in May, Mom and I realized that the quarantine situation here would eventually come to an end. The daily new case numbers in Spain were slowly but steadily decreasing and hospitals were becoming less burdened. We were getting this thing under control, so to speak, and there was a plan put forth by the government on how we might ease our way out of our lockdown. A plan for how we might begin to attempt to restore some freedom and get back to a different level of living. Maybe even travel again. So, after much discussion and consideration, Mom and I decided that the best, first, post-virus adventure for us would be a camping trip.

We are seasoned campers. In fact, we excel at camping. When Mom was injured in 2013, camping was our respite – it was a treat for Mom, Allita and I to pack up and go camping for a weekend. Granted, I had to do most of the work as Mom was still in a full leg brace and barely walked with the help of a hemi, and Allita had just turned 5. Still, the peace of Madera Canyon called to us and we relished our time outdoors, watching the birds, sitting in the cool shade, and just breathing the fresh, clean air.

We were starting to feel that same pull again – that same call from the outdoors. As it turns out, we came to Spain with a decent amount of camping supplies. Not that we ever planned to camp in a campground per se. We had actually been concerned that whatever apartment we rented would not be furnished, so we brought (and shipped) all the items we felt we might need to live, temporarily in an unfurnished apartment. Inflatable mattresses, collapsable bowls and cups, camping chairs, camping tables, linens, etc. Except for a tent, we had all we needed. Amazingly enough. It’s almost like this camping trip was fated – if you believe in that sort of thing.

So, we ordered a massive tent online on Amazon.es. We didn’t exactly know how big it would be when we bought it – that’s part of the adventure included in shopping in a foreign language – nor that it would come sans floor. But who needs a floor when you’re camping? Just another thing to try to keep clean. Now we didn’t have to worry about “tracking in” dirt and debris or taking our shoes off and putting them on again each time we can and went. Four walls and a roof and we were ready.

We started making lists and packing things into boxes for “when the time comes”. As more time passed and this day drew nearer, we looked into rental vehicles. Yes, you can rent an RV. Actually, there are lots of rental trailer and RV options. But did we actually need a traveling home? We have a tent (of sorts) and we have furniture. We only really need a car. Right? But, what if it rained? We should rent a van. Does CostCo rent vans? Yes indeed. Check that box.

The next part of the process was to plan the actual trip. Where would we go? Mom and I have been reading about Costa Brava for years. It’s literally just up the road. So, since we are driving and school is officially over (19 June was the last day of online classes), why shouldn’t we go up the coast? Let’s just drive. I did some research and found a fun place to spend a couple days and then messaged them for some details on when they will reopen. 25 June was their first day back in business. Ok, so our trip needed to start after 25 June. We could handle that.

Allita has also been learning about Salvador Dalí, the famous Catalan artist with the wild mustache. A bizarre little man who lived in Cadaqués near his family’s beach house but also owned property (now his official museum and where he is buried!) in Figueres (where he was born) about an hour west and inland. Cadaqués is very near the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula. That would be in keeping with our previous trip across the Iberian peninsula (western-most in Portugal, see Our View of Portugal) and future plans (southern-most in Tarifa, northern-most in Galicia). Mom wants to see the house in Cadaqués but I want to see the Dalí museum in Figures. So that is where we plan to depart from the coast and start inland and eventually our return.

Allita is a huge fan of all things ocean. It’s because of her love of the beach that we are taking the scenic coastal route. I am not a fan of sand and surf and Mom is ambivalent. But, because I want Allita to enjoy as much of this adventure as possible, I have agreed that the first three days will be seaside. We will wind our way along the coastal highway – keeping in mind that Costa Brava literally means wild or rough coast. The distance we travel the first day is quite short and should only take about an hour but will likely require 5-6 hours or longer given the curvaceous pathways and the tendency of my passengers to want to stop and “look”. Possibly we will also pause a bit now and again to play in the sand or check out a castle or two.

The last three days, however, will be in the mountains. I love the mountains and Mom was born in the mountains of North Carolina so she is also partial to that landscape. Thus, from Figueres, we will head to a little mountain campground I have discovered, where the owner is willing to hold a site for us without any deposit and only an email as our commitment (how refreshing!). Its located very near the river, El Fluvià, in the mountains and promises to be cool and lovely with fresh air and lots of outdoor activities. The route has us passing very near the Parc Natural de la Zona Volcànica de la Garrotxa (volcanic cones, lava flows, etc.) and the Santa Margarida Volcano, which is sadly extinct. Then, we will wander our way through more of the mountains and finally into Manresa to walk along the medieval street excavated under the city. How fun! Finally, we will drive through Sabadell and the mountain tunnel back to Pedrables.

So, now we have a plan and, once again, we are packed and ready to roll. I am literally counting down the hours until Monday 29 June. In true Willie Nelson style, “I can’t wait to be on the road again”!

* As of 28 June 2020, a few health regions have re-implemented lockdown status because of small outbreaks. Four regions in Aragon near the Catalonian border closed on 22 June due to an outbreak related to seasonal fruit pickers that resulted in 18 cases, some of which were in Catalonia. (news article)

Today is the summer solstice celebration, Sant Joan, in Barcelona.  According to the locals, this marks the longest day of the year.  The period of the most light, which is one of the reasons why they celebrate this occasion with fire.  They call Sant Joan’s eve (23 June) “Nit del Foc” or Fire Night. There are fireworks (petards), bonfires (fogueres) and occasionally a correfoc (see Festa Major- Day 3).  The locals drink Cava (sparkling wine) and eat Pan de Coca (sweet bread with cream or sweet dried fruits).  There is music, dancing and a variety of merriment all through the night.  Everyone warns us that we will not be sleeping much this evening.  For me personally, this is usually the time of year when I take a moment to reflect on the progress of the year to date and the status of my life.  It happens that my birthday is also around the time of the estival solstice.  Thus, the process of aging another year generally gives me pause and motivation to pontificate.   This year is no exception.  

I have to say that 2020 started off exceptionally well for us.  You will remember that we celebrated New Year’s Day with the start of our Greek adventure (See a Greek New Year).  It was colder and wetter than we expected, but we still managed to enjoy all the sights we wanted to see in Athens and every moment of our time there together.  The weather in Barcelona in January was chilly but sunny with only periodic rain and we were frequently able to stroll around outdoors and explore the neighborhood.  One trip through Pedrables, we stopped at a nursery and purchased many plants, including lettuce, that would become a vital part of our patio garden in the coming months.  On the same trip, we shared a picnic lunch near the lovely local monastery and enjoyed ice cream treats on the walk back home.  Allita and I discovered a Mr. Park playground with trampolines just around the corner from the house.  She practiced several times until she managed to repeatedly perform a complete flip and land on her feet.  Ta Da! We spent one entire Saturday visiting the Hospital of Saint Paul (Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau) and then walked on to the Sagrada Familia and had another picnic lunch.  Another Saturday, we spent hours at Montjuic completing an exciting scavenger hunt that took us all over the hilltop fortress and through the gardens. We took a weekend trip to Lisbon in late February (see Our View of Portugal).  A few days later, we celebrated Sant Medir with the locals and Allita followed the parade, collecting as much candy as her bag could hold.  In another few days, Allita and I took a ski trip to Andorra (see Let’s Go Skiing).  Looking back, I suppose that’s about the time our year started to go a little off-track.  

13 March 2020 started like any other day.  We ate breakfast.  Allita and I walked together to school.  At 4pm, Mom left the apartment to collect Allita from school and walk together back home – a process that normally takes about an hour.  By all appearances, it was a “normal” Thursday.  Around 4:15pm, I received an email from the school that all students needed to collect their books and personal items and prepare for the school to shut down for an undetermined period.  That was the day when we first became aware of the immediate impact of SARS-CoV-2.  We had been following the spread of the virus and were aware of its presence on the planet, but it still felt surreal. Something we could hear about but not directly associated. Like the creature from the 1958 movie, “The Blob”, the virus was this growing, destructive and evil presence that was spreading, out-of-control all over the world. Suddenly it was here.  In our town.  I, of course, was unaware of the last-minute email from the school and poor Mom and Allita had to lug home 50 pounds of books and chattel that Allita had acquired and stored in her desk and locker.  Thankfully most of their 2km walk was downhill; although I did start to worry after a couple hours.   

The next day, we were somewhat more informed, now having read and translated most of the local and national newspapers.  While Spain wasn’t formally initiating their official quarantine measures until Monday, 17 March, Catalonia was not to be outdone by the government and had decided to immediately and completely close all businesses, restaurants, bars, hotels, banks, etc. except pharmacies, grocery stores and hospitals effective Friday, 14 March.  Although, businesses open that day were allowed to remain so until midnight.  No wonder our mid-day play date with a school friend at Jardins de ca n’Altimira, a local hilly park with lots of fun bridges, was crowd-free and our choices for afternoon tea were so incredibly limited!  We walked home down Mejor de Sarriá and saw lines of masked customers standing 2 meters apart outside the pharmacy.  We tapped on the window of our favorite local German restaurant, BestWurst, to see if they were open and if we could purchase some dinner.  Little did we realize that this would be our last time eating restaurant food until 7 May!  Nor could we have guessed that this day would be our last day OUTSIDE as a family strolling around on terra firma until 26 May!  

So, if first quarter 2020 started off with a bang and ended with a fizzle, then second quarter 2020 started off with a moan and ended with a sigh.  There were some highlights worth mentioning from the second quarter: Allita’s school did an AMAZING job with online education.  Classes were held daily from 10am until 5pm with a brief morning break and an hour off for lunch.  Looking back, we all believe she processed more work and probably learned more during this remote educational period than she did while on campus.  Every night, at 8pm, our entire family listened for the church bells and made our way to our little balcony where we joined all of our neighbors in applauding the healthcare and essential workers who were tirelessly and selflessly fighting the brave fight against this invisible foe.  We clapped, cheered and waved.  We sang and chatted – leaning over our balustrade to see their happy faces and “visit” from the required social distance.  We learned to be creative in finding ways to be physically active indoors without bothering the neighbors with our boisterousness and heavy-stepping feet.  For example, I re-discovered how to successfully hula hoop and, eventually, became the family champion of Twister.  Not to mention all the mini-golf we played!  My Castellano improved enough that I could successfully order an entire meal from the nearby burger restaurant and, after some initial surprises (“ummm, what is this?”), I became accomplished at online grocery ordering and delivery.  So proficient, in fact, that I doubt I will utilize any other method for the near future.  Lugging heavy carts of food home over cobblestone sidewalks after spending an hour social-distanced grocery shopping while wearing PPE is not a desirable task, I promise you.  We practiced our art skills, our music skills, our gardening skills, our lingual skills, our gaming skills, our teamwork skills, our communication skills, and so much more.  Finally, and perhaps, most importantly, we discovered that we have the strength, patience, kindness and love to be able to live together in a confident space with only one tiny balcony for weeks on end without any serious drama or emotional damage.  That actually came as a bit of a surprise.  

All-in-all, 2020 has not precisely been the year I had envisioned.  The country is reopening now.  Life is beginning anew.  There are changes, yes.  Differences in how we behave (2 meters apart) and how we dress (masks and gloves), but we are slowly, gradually coming out of our shells, stretching our legs and rediscovering the world around us.  I have hope that the remainder of 2020 will be better than the first half.  We ate at an outdoor restaurant this week.  I went shopping in the mall yesterday morning.  We are making travel plans again.  So, we had a bump in the road.  More like a middle-of-the-intersection pileup actually.  But we all survived.  Why spend valuable time looking backwards and pointing fingers or lamenting over what could have or should have been?  Life is far to short and precious to focus on the negative.  As my grandmother used to say “there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk”.  

What do my mid-year reflections tell me? Every day has something good about it.  Even the worst day you’ve had all year.  Even in a year filled with global death and multiple disasters (fires, famines, plagues, earthquakes, etc.)  Even in a year when many of your plans were quashed and your entire life was turned upside-down and inside-out. There is always happiness somewhere to be found and always something for which you should be grateful. 

And what will I be celebrating during our Sant Joan holiday festivities?  The joy of living, of course.  Every single day.  Every single minute.  Because, as 2020 has reminded us, the alternative is so much worse.  

Hidden deep in the Pyrenees is the sixth-smallest nation in Europe and the 16th smallest in the world, the tiny principality of Andorra. Andorra is a lovely realm snuggled between France and Spain, who both share its diarchy and control access to this Disney-like world. Famous for ski resorts, which take up nearly a quarter of the entire country, shopping, hiking and financing (tax haven), Andorra is a favorite destination for Barcelonans. Thus it came as no surprise, when I stopped at the Sarrià travel agency one morning on the way home from dropping Allita at school, that the friendly agent recommended Grandvalira as the best destination for our ski trip. Allita had never gone snow skiing, although I am an old hand at the sport, having learned as a child in Vernon (yes, with the Bunnies as Dad was a member!) and honed my skills in the Alps during my high school years. So, this was going to be a grand adventure for the two of us. Mom agreed to stay home and cat-sit while we road the ski bus with a variety of other tourists (Americans, Canadians, Russians, Japanese) and locals for nearly 4 hours, stopping only once for dinner along the route.

Once we finally located our bus, which the chipper travel agent assured me would be much easier to find than it actually was, we met our energetic and optimistic guide and settled in for the long haul. The trip up on Friday evening was mostly uneventful until it started to snow. Just as we entered Andorra, the bus driver was forced to pull over to the side of the road and put chains on the massive tires. Fortunately, many of the male passengers volunteered to assist him and after what felt like eternity but was likely only a half hour, we were finally on our way again. At this juncture, Allita and I were barely hanging on to wakefulness. We are not routinely active after 11pm, so we were both a great deal less than mentally alert. Suffice it to say, this situation presented us with our first disaster: we departed the bus with our luggage at the WRONG hotel. From the paperwork, I knew our hotel was in Andorra la Vella. However, unbeknownst to me, the bus had plans to stop at 3 hotels, all in Andorra la Vella. So, when the announcement came, we assumed this was our stop and groggily departed. We only realized our colossal error when we tried to check in to the hotel only to discover we didn’t have a reservation. To make matters worse, with the heavy snowfall in progress, taxis were not available and the bus driver was unable to return and retrieve us. Allita and I were resigned to sleeping in the front lobby when the most fabulous miracle occurred: a hotel employee working the front desk volunteered to walk to her house, retrieve her car and drive us across the snow-covered village to our correct hotel. The only catch was, we had to wait until well past midnight, when her shift was ended. I nearly cried in relief. Time passed fairly quickly and before you know it, we were trudging through the snow and slush, me dragging our suitcase and Allita chatting freely and incessantly with the poor, kind-hearted receptionist who was surely having second thoughts. I helped her use her navigation system and we finally made our way to our actual hotel, checked in and crashed, face-first into our beds. The guide had waited for us in the hotel lobby so she could remind us, ever cheerfully, that the bus would depart at 8am for Grandvalira.

The next morning dawned bright and early. After a continental hotel breakfast with plenty of java, we joined our compadres at the bus stop and waited and waited and waited for the ski bus. Turns out, the driver overslept and he was an hour late to retrieve us. This adventure was not to be the smooth, organized experience I had envisioned. In the interim, Allita and I made a ball from snow and ice and played soccer (football) with our new friends. Then, she and a nice Russian couple used the snow on the back of some nearby motorcycles to construct snow men, snow birds, and a variety of other snow creatures until the belated bus rolled up. We collected other enthusiasts from the remaining hotels and made our way from Andorra la Vella to the massive ski resort of Grandvalira. The guide got us suited up with rental gear and handed us our ski lift tickets. Then, she escorted us to the ski school where Allita’s class started in 15 minutes! As anticipated, we were the last to arrive but the instructor, who only spoke Spanish and Catalan (yikes!), was patient and welcomed Allita helpfully to class. While she learned all about skiing, I took some time to remind my body and brain how to coordinate and “warmed up” on the slopes gradually until I was finally in my comfort zone.

We met at 1pm and shared a late lunch, which was a massive array of food because we were both starving and, at that point, willing and excited to eat everything in our view. Then, Allita, who has the amazing skill of finding a playground at any location in the world, played outside in the snow for about an hour while I enjoyed more coffee (vital caffeine!). We skied together for another few hours until we both got tired and decided to return to the main village. Allita is a natural skier and really enjoys racing downhill, giggling as she flies over hill and vale. She didn’t fall even once! Although she later admitted that she had fallen several times during ski school. I was so proud of her, and secretly delighted that she was having as much fun as I was. This was sure to be a fantastic weekend after all!

We both slept on the bus ride back to Andorra la Vella. I think I passed exhausted somewhere on the last slope downhill. We slept more when we got back to the room because dinner wasn’t for another 2 hours (9 pm!). It was a welcome nap and we both rose feeling refreshed and hungry. Dinner was a community affair. Apparently, all the hotel guests were skiers in our group and we were sufficient in number to fill half the restaurant. We ate like royalty with plates served directly from the kitchen, one multi-course meal, no menu. Soup, salad, roasted chicken, veggies, bread, custard and coffee. Allita, being the youngest and probably cutest, was offered the best selections of each of the courses and made the most of this culinary opportunity. We waddled back to our rooms after a brief post-dinner walk around the hotel and neighborhood and fell into a deep sleep.

The plan for day two was very similar to day one. Rise early, meet the bus, ski all day, ride the bus back to Barcelona. The main difference being that we would check out of the hotel after breakfast and store our luggage in the bus while we skied all day. Allita and I diligently hung our wet ski clothes strategically around the room so they would be dry and warm the next morning. I laid out everything we would need and we were prepared for an early start. Little did I know how early our start would be. Around 1am, I heard the noise that every mother can hear even when in a deep sleep, rooms away from the source. It’s not a pleasant sound and it warns of an equally unpleasant bodily function that is either in process or imminent. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that Allita woke with violently ill and did not recover until nearly 5am. I spent my evening cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Then, finally, packing. It was obvious to me that we were not going to be spending the following day skiing as planned. In fact, I was worried just how we would be spending the following day since our options were considerably limited. No car rental agencies are open on Sundays. In fact, most businesses are not open on Sundays. Hotels and ski resorts not withstanding. I connected with the guide at breakfast (I went for coffee and left Allita sleeping in the room) and we discussed options. Thankfully this was not her first rodeo and she arranged for us to return our rental gear and spend the rest of the day hanging around the little ski village and sleeping on the bus as needed until our return trip home.

Sunday ended up being a fairly decent day – although it started horribly. We rested for a long time on the bus, after we made our returns and I got more coffee, and, just after noon, we decided to wander around the town. Allita played in the snow, made a snow angel and threw snowballs into the river. We found a nice outdoor cafe with comfortable chairs where I could nurse coffee and water long enough for us to make the most of their wifi and soak up some sunshine. She remained sick all day but not unpleasantly so. The ride home was not without a little drama but thankfully the bus driver was able to make some accommodations and we were afforded the very front row seats which apparently are less sensitive to the twisting and turning of the tiny mountain roads. Also, it put us closer to the giant tv screen (movie) and the front windshield which were equally distracting. All-in-all, we accomplished our goal of skiing. Not as frequently as we might have liked but we did it. Will we go back? I’m not certain we will revisit Andorra but we will absolutely give skiing a second go next winter if we have the opportunity. After all, if at first you don’t succeed…..

I’ve got two places I like to be. Portugal is one. – Sir Cliff Richard

On 20 February, 2020, we decided to take a quick weekend get-away trip to Lisbon, Portugal. I’ve always wanted to visit Portugal and Mom and Allita were game, so off we flew. We had a nice, albeit short, flight and, since we gained an hour, we had some time to walk around and explore the area near our hotel before calling it a night.

As usual, I had researched the neighborhood and plotted a path, of sorts, that we could take to explore Parque Eduardo VII, where Allita was able to play in the grass and join other visitors rolling down the hills! We visited the Estufa Fria and saw the Pavilhão Carlos Lopes. Lisbon is a very hilly berg and our perch, atop one such hill, afforded us a lovely view of the city from the park where we ambled around stretching our legs and enjoying some sunshine and fresh air.

The next morning, bright and early, we walked to a prearranged location to meet a tour bus, which turned out to be more van than bus, and started our whirlwind day-tour of three nearby cities. This was our first time ever taking such an excursion so it was quite the adventure and we were all three filled with a variety of emotions from apprehension to excitement.

We rode in our van with five other tourists, guided by a local lady who was also the van driver. We left Lisbon early and drove straight to the Portuguese Riviera to the municipality of Sintra. Home of the famous, Pena Palace, located on the very tip top of the Sintra mountains. The palace was abandoned by Queen Amélia, the last queen of Portugal, who left it with all the original furnishings intact. It’s constructed in a mixture of styles: Gothic, Moorish and Renaissance and is considered one of the 7 wonders of Portugal.

From there, we traveled to Cape Roca, the western-most point of Europe! That was fun and it was very exciting to see the Atlantic Ocean again after so many years. The point was quite windy but there was a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts so we rejoined our tour guide / driver and shared a warm snack before moving on to the next stop.

Finally, we ended up in Cascais – an absolutely lovely little beach town with many private beaches hidden among winding streets full of little shops and hotels. We enjoyed the sand and surf, as well as some much-deserved hand-made ice cream before we returned to Lisbon, exhausted but highly satisfied.

The next morning, we slept late and enjoyed breakfast at the hotel. It was our last full day in Lisbon so, once again, I planned out a long, hearty tour route that included as many sights and different modes of transportation as possible! We started the day with a walk down the Avenida da Liberdade to the Foz Palace, the Praça Dom Pedro IV in Rossio Square, and then to the Elevador de Santa Justa. Remember how I said Lisbon is a hilly berg? Yeah, well, they have a ton of stairs and more than one elevator to get you from one level to another as you traverse the city. At the top of the elevator is the BellaVista restaurant (aptly named) and we enjoyed a fabulous view of the city all around us from the platform on top of the lift.

Next, we took the famous 28E yellow tram car around the Castelo de Sâo Jorge and then we walked to the Praça de Comérico. We had the opportunity to enjoy some free, African-inspired dancing and singing while we wandered the plaza. Then, we took the 15E yellow tram car to Belém. We saw the Praça de Império and the famous Torre de Belém. Somehow, I let Mom and Allita talk me into riding a Tuk-Tuk back to the metro station. What an adventure!

We took the subway back to the airport the following morning and caught our return flight to Barcelona. One interesting observation we made in both Lisbon and Belém were the Harry Potter-themed statues that appear to be doing their own tour of Europe this year. Who knew? Portugal is a magical place indeed!

Why not start of the new year with a trip on the very first day?  And why not go to Greece?  Mom researched our destination and determined it would be sunnier and, possibly, warmer than Barcelona.  So off we flew to spend a week in the Hellenic Republic before the end of Allita’s winter break.  The flight was uneventful but our arrival in Greece was instantly fantastic.  First came the amazing views from our airplane window and then a friendly lady met us at the departure point, greeted us to Greece in multiple languages and presented us with a 2020 token attached to a small candy!  What a fantastic welcome that was!

We reserved a driver who met us just inside the airport and introduced himself very politely and in perfect English.  Most Greeks, as it turns out, speak at least 3 if not 4, 5, or more languages.  Tourism is a major part of their economy and it’s common for a grade-school education to include instruction in at least one foreign language.  Our driver chatted incessantly, another Greek trait apparently, and took the long and winding route to our hotel so that he could show off his lovely city, Athens.  He was delightful.  Honestly, I enjoyed the ride from the airport almost as much as I have enjoyed paid city-tours and far more so than the average taxi trip.  Therefore, I was delighted to learn that he would also be our driver at the end of the week when it was time to return home.

Hotel Attalos was our destination.  A quaint establishment with a lovely view of the Acropolis from the roof top bar and also from our wide balcony.  We were very fortunate to find such fantastic accommodation on Athena Street and only a short walk from the metro station, the outdoor market and even the Acropolis itself, as we later discovered!  We kept things low key the first night as we were a bit weary from travel and we explored the hotel and a few blocks up and down the street in the surrounding neighborhood.  Since we arrived on a national holiday, everything was closed but all the decorations from Christmas were still up and active.  We found this interesting as we had already removed ours and stored them away for next December.  Turns out, the Greeks, like the Spanish, continue to celebrate the nativity until after the arrival of the three Kings (Epiphany).  In fact, the entire first week of the new year is often considered an extension of the holiday with many stores and shops remaining closed in recognition of the celebration.  

Although it was rainy, the next day, we decided to explore Old Town Athens.  Remember the nearby market I mentioned?  The Flea Market, as the locals call it.  It’s really just a spiderweb of tiny twisting streets filled with shops crammed full of bric-a-brac and every kitschy, touristy collectible you can possibly imagine.  You want to dress like Athena?  No problem.  They even have the olive-leaf headgear and sandals.  How about a Greek soldier?  There is a helmet, sword and chest plate to be worn over what is surely a dress.  Greek oils, spices, soaps, marble statues, beads, masks, tiles, clothing, shoes and even the unimaginable – such as Yoda-Zeus or the Greek Gods in rubber duck form.  Although it was wet and chilly most of the day, we enjoyed several hours walking around, sampling and engaging in friendly bargaining that sometimes led to actual purchasing!  Best of all, we had plenty of opportunity to practice the Greek phrases we learned on the plane.  Every single time we attempted their language, their faces would light up, they would smile and encourage us and then they would respond appropriately.  It was such a rewarding experience that we continued to speak Greek every chance we got.

Dinner was a simple take-away meal from the Just Pita across the street which we ate at the hotel rooftop bar while we watched the sun set and were absolutely amazed at the beauty and elegance of the city stretched before us.  So much history all in one place!  How incredible!  

The next day, bright and early, (actually we woke at 10am, like good Spaniards) we left the hotel after a simple breakfast (at noon) and made our way through the winding city streets and up, up, uphill to the Acropolis (around 1pm or so).  It was an amazing day.  We explored the entire area at the base of the hill and then bought tickets to enter the actual Acropolis “city”.  We skipped the tour and guided ourselves using the abundant material kindly provided by the museum personnel.  It was slow going because the marble steps were slick and Mom was walking with sticks, not to mention the whole thing sits on a giant hill so the walk is somewhat challenging.  Allita flitted from here to there counting the many stray cats she saw as we made our way from bottom to top and back down the other side.  A friend of mine from Tucson had recommended an amazing local restaurant, Strofi Athenian Restaurant, with an excellent view of the Acropolis hill.  We took plenty of time to savor a delicious meal and enjoy the atmosphere.  Then we trudged back all around the base until we arrived at our hotel.  The entire day was an amazing adventure packed full of memories that won’t soon be forgotten.  One in particular was Allita saying that she was “sitting where ancient butts sat”.  

4 January was another lovely, sunny day and we decided to get a slightly earlier start (9am) and explore Monastiraki past Hadrian’s library to Syntagma wandering on through the National Garden to the Zappeion Center and ultimately the Panathenaic Stadium (Kallimarmaro).  By the time we arrived at the actual stadium, Mom was exhausted from so much walking so she sat outside and waited for us to complete the tour, which included an audio guide.  Allita and I wandered all around the stadium and even went underneath to the museum area, which was at one time the locker rooms and royal entrance.  We were able to see all of the Olympic torches and flags on display as well as one of the many fire cauldrons from where the torch was lit after the sun’s rays sparked a flame through a magnifying lens operated by the female guardians of the flame.  Allita took a quick jog around the stadium pretending to be an Olympian and we both posed on the podiums for our invisible metals.  Finally, we reunited with Mom and wrapped up our 9-hour walking tour of Athens by wandering through Plaka on the way back to our lovely hotel. Then we all had a nap! 

The plan for Sunday was made long before we arrived in Athens.  Once I discovered that this was the day of the week when the changing of the guard ceremony included a parade of soldiers and a marching band, thus a great deal of pomp and circumstance, I knew that’s where we would be at 11am.  So Allita and I trudged across town to the Hellenic Parliment building to join in the festivities.  There was quite a crowd, even early on, but we settled into a good viewing point and enthusiastically waited.  We were not disappointed! The Greek guards were dressed in their Sunday best, marching with high step in unison down the barricaded road (stopping even the street car!) and keeping time to the tune of the band leading the entire ensemble.  They settled into position in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and went through the complicated machinations of exchanging the guards.  The ceremony was well worth the long walk and the wait, even though it was over fairly quickly.  We were delighted with their fanfare.  From there, we rode the metro to the Acropolis museum where we spent most of the day exploring treasures and relics and enjoyed lunch with another view of….you guessed it…the Acropolis!!  

We flew back home on Monday, after another long and winding guided tour of the city, around Dromeas, the famous glass running man sculpture and the past Temple of Olympian Zeus, before hitting the highway.  It was a rainy morning so the view from the car wasn’t excellent but it was still a pleasure to see more of this lovely city before we departed.  What a fantastic way to start the new year.  Opa!  

Today is Valentine’s day (El Día de San Valentín or in some places Día de los Enamorados).  Not to be confused with La Diada de Sant Jordi, the day in April when all of Catalonia celebrates their patron saint, Saint George, who supposedly vanquished a dragon in order to save his true love.  Valentine’s day is celebrated in Spain much like it is everywhere else in the world.  Lovers exchange gifts of sweets and flowers, and romantic dinners are shared in fine restaurants or dressed-up dining rooms.  Because Catalonians are so deeply connected to their families, the children often receive small toys or treats and a child might surprise his mother or grandmother with a bouquet of lovely flowers or a blooming plant.  Much like in the U.S.

However, this is only a small holiday here.  A day to recognize the Roman bishop, Valentine, who is said to have performed marriages forbidden by the Catholic church and was ultimately executed on the 14th of February in some year B.C.  One version of his story tells that he left behind a note for his own sweetheart and signed it “from your Valentine” thus starting the trend of love letters and romance on this date.   In fact, the Catholic Church gave up celebrating this holiday in 1969 but the Spanish are romantics and they cherish their legends so, even though they are mostly Catholic, this holiday is still celebrated by the masses.  

In the U.S., holiday-related decorations and goods begin appearing in the stores as early as January 1 while shelves are being cleared of Christmas and New Year paraphernalia.  Out with the old holiday and in with the new one.  Malls offer sales events around Valentine’s Day.  Jewelry stores especially broadcast advertisements telling you to show your love by way of an expensive purchase a.k.a. “timeliness gift” that someone will hopefully treasure.  Everywhere you look for nearly six weeks, there are hearts, roses, and various pink and red-colored odds and ends in shop windows, grocery stores, pharmacies, and even gas stations.  Valentine’s Day is a big deal.  It’s part of the “romance trifecta” (Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s) often referenced by Hollywood and magazines.  It’s a big part of our culture and we have lots of traditions celebrating this day.  One year, my boyfriend bought me heart-shaped earrings and a similar pendant made of “pink ice”.   I pretended they were diamonds and felt like a princess. For as long as I can remember, my father sent roses to my mother and I every Valentine’s Day. 

In the U.S., children frequently bring cards and sometimes candies to school to give their classmates as part of this holiday celebration.  In fact, Allita has done this every year that she attended U.S. school and the pressure to “out do” the previous year’s contributions seems to escalate in the days before the actual event.  Last year, the school sent home a letter encouraging parents not to send candy or sweets but instead to consider a small gift or healthy snack alternative.  As if.  I get what they were trying to accomplish but that’s like asking your neighborhood to hand out toothbrushes on Halloween instead of candy.  It’s a nice enough idea but the practical reality is, healthy treats are more expensive and time consuming to purchase and prepare.  Also, the kids would hate it.  I mean, it takes forever to get twinkle lights off a cactus so I would not want to even consider how difficult removing rolls of toilet paper would be.  (There is little doubt my AZ house would be “tricked” if I were to suggest healthy alternatives as Halloween “treats”. There are too many teenagers in that neighborhood.)

In Barcelona, the celebration of the arrival of the Three Kings on January 5th was the conclusion of the Christmas holidays. Stores and streets began removing all remaining associated holiday items so that everything was returned to “normal” around 10 January.  Some places where a profusion of decorations were strung across several streets by the various shopkeeper’s associations took a little longer to dismantle and store. However, by mid-January the only advertisements I saw were those about winter sales events and clearances.  There was no indication that Valentine’s Day was coming.  No-one even mentioned it.  In fact, until just recently, I was beginning to get a little concerned that it might not even be celebrated here.    

One day, about a week ago, Allita and I were walking down the main street of Sarriá and she noticed a sign posted on the wall of a nearby building.  We investigated and discovered it was an advertisement for the national lottery drawing that would be held on 15 February and was thus titled “Sant Valentin”.  We were both highly amused at the blatant suggestion that this holiday is associated with windfalls of money – what a “lovely gift” indeed – and thus ensued a long discussion about holidays and commercialism. 

Almost the next day, we saw the first signs of Valentine’s day in the bazaars.  Remember, the bazaars are the outcome of a cross between “Dollar Tree” and “Family Dollar” so they frequently are the initial source for cards, wrapping paper and other seasonal supplies.  Next, one nearby grocery store erected a stand of candies and treats.  Then another grocery store introduced stuffed animal toys.  Eventually, we noticed store window displays at the paper store (cards, stationary, games) and the confectionary (specialized sweets) all advertising the upcoming holiday.  Finally, yesterday, literally one day before the holiday, the bakeries and flower stands started decorating and displaying their heart-shapes and bouquets.  Gradually, and with little fanfare, the holiday was upon us.  

Valentine’s Day in Barcelona is celebrated between lovers and those who share a deep loving bond, like parents, grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles.  Young children are not encouraged to give cards expressing love and affection to other children in their class. In fact, this is not a holiday that the school celebrates at all.  This actually makes sense to me.  Allita isn’t enamored of any of her classmates or teachers so a Minnie mouse card gushing “My #1 Love” would not work for her.  They don’t even sell those tiny little packages of cards and candies here.   In fact, the stationary store had only the few tiny gifts and custom cards shown in their window display!

According to Mercedes, my local baker, the purpose of Valentine’s day is to honor a holy man who valued kindness and love so much he was willing to sacrifice his life so that others could share these feelings.  For most Catalans, this means a special sweet and a bunch of flowers for someone they love. In her shop, most of the holiday treats are made with fruits in addition to chocolate and cream so that people have less guilt in eating them.  In fact, she reminds me, Saint Jordi day in April is the biggest day to celebrate love in Catalonia and, for that reason, only a few stores offer goods to celebrate Saint Valentine’s Day.  It’s really just a small holiday.  Just another “Saint-someone” day on a Catholic calendar already dotted with such days.

We celebrated Valentine’s Day this morning.  We enjoyed breakfast together and exchanged homemade cards.  Allita and Mom had a few sweet treats.  We talked about how much we love each other and how much we love and miss those who have helped us celebrate this holiday in the past.  We all agreed that we hope everyone enjoys a wonderful and lovely Valentine’s Day today.  No matter how you celebrate it – big or small. 

In the summer of 1984, my parents and I moved our cat and a fair amount of our personal belongings to Germany where we lived for the next four years.  At that particular time, it was called “West Germany” because there was a massive wall dividing the country in two parts: east and west.  Some of the many mental souvenirs I treasure from my childhood in Europe involve the various festivals or, as they are known in Germany, “die feste”.  Today, I see similar events of this type all over Spain (festa major) and I am delighted to be able to share them with my daughter and create more memories we can both enjoy.  

Another traditional European experience is the market.  There are flower markets, fruit and vegetable markets, meat and cheese markets, bread markets and markets that combine various wares across a multitude of stalls.  Some markets are like the U.S. flea markets where people sell books, jewelry, handmade crafts, vintage items, clothing and a variety of knick knacks using tables or temporary stalls to display their wares in a large, open plaza at a pre-determined date and time.  The most well-known of all these markets is probably the German Christmas market (Weihnachtsmarkt or  Christkindlmarkt).  They are so popular that now, nearly 600 years after their inception, these holiday markets can be found in almost every European country offering their own local cultural influence on the experience.

In December, Allita and I had the opportunity to visit a very good friend who periodically finds herself in southern Germany near Switzerland and France.  She picked us up from the Zurich airport on a Friday evening and we drove to the small town of Neuenburg, Germany for a long weekend visit.  Although, we had recently seen her during a layover at the same airport some months prior, our giggling, girlish chatter was incessant on the drive and even well into the evening at the hotel.  We had so much fun, my face was sore the next morning from all the laughter we had shared the prior night.  Isn’t it wonderful having joyful, fun and loving people in your life?  How lucky we are.  

The plan was to spend the weekend together.  Which is exactly what we did.  However, we also took the time to visit several of the different Christmas markets in the nearby region.  Our first morning, we went to the market in Basel, Switzerland.  Crossing the border from Germany into Switzerland was easier than finding a parking spot in heart of the old city.  Although Basel is a large and busy place on a normal day, it was clear that much of this traffic was due to the popularity of the Christmas market spread across the old burgh.  In fact, we later discovered this to be true for every city and market we visited with the exception of the tiny market in Neuenberg, which we walked to from our nearby hotel.  

In Basel, little wooden stalls were lined up on the cozy streets and filled with beautiful, yet pricey, wares.  We were already aware that our shopping experience in Switzerland would be limited primarily to “window” as the other markets in Germany and France would be much more affordable.  Still, we did plenty of looking.  It was so lovely and there was a lot to see.  Because it was Switzerland, there was a large array of the most intricately crafted chocolates.  These candies were small works of beautiful yet delicious art.  Just stepping up to a stall filled with chocolate works was enough to take your breath away.  Even Allita, who is renown for her resounding vocals, whispered reverently “wow!” as her head rotated in all directions trying to see every possible sight.  We decided that some of the candies were too pretty to even eat.  

Next, we visited Freiburg Im Breisgau.  Back across the friendly border and back into the line for the parking garage, we drove.  This time, it was much easier to find a stall selling the delicious Glühwein I was craving.  Glühwein is a winter beverage that is very popular in this region.  As a youth, we were allowed to drink it when we went skiing in the Alps.  It’s alcoholic, so there was some pleasure taken in the perceived naughtiness of consuming such beverages as a teen.  More importantly, it is warm whereas everything else is quite cold and, in some cases, numb.  From the first sip, the warmth of the rich, tasty beverage permeates every chilly corner of your body and restores some of your vigor. Glühwein is a mulled wine served almost hot that can be purchased red or white (I prefer red) and, at these markets, is generally distributed in a collectable cup with a lovely little holiday or local, traditional decoration on the sides.  Some cups are simple plastic versions while others are glass mugs with handles.  Each vendor has a different style container for their very similar beverage.  My friend and I enjoyed a bit of it as we strolled along in the chilly weather.   Allita preferred the “cacau” or hot chocolate beverage served in a similar mug but decidedly non-alcoholic and much sweeter.   

The following day, we were joined by another local friend and drove into France to visit the Christmas market in Colmar.  The border is a river, so crossing it was as easy as driving over a bridge. As with the markets in Freiburg Im Breisgau and Basel, this too was a sprawling affair with many tiny temporary stalls set up to sell various wares, including freshly prepared foods and beverages. Similar to Frieburg Im Breisgau, the Colmar market also housed a small festival area for children with rides and games.  The French market had some slight differences such as, some of the more expensive and precious goods were sold inside a warehouse-type building that offered more crowd control and security as well as protection from the elements.   Additionally, the market in Colmar was massive and stretched all over the entire town.  In fact, we were offered a map so that we could be sure not to miss any buildings or less conspicuous areas inside where the market was hidden.  Further, the food was typical French, with crepes instead of brötchen, many different types of cheeses and, rather than streusel, there was plenty of pâte feuilletée (puff pastry) filled with various cremes, jams and other delights.  We walked, shopped and ate until we were exhausted. It was a whole-body holiday experience for certain!

We were sad to leave Zurich that Monday, even though Allita was arriving late for school, which is always a treat.  We had so much fun visiting the Christmas markets but enjoyed even more the time spent with our lovely friend.  All-in-all, it was the perfect experience creating the very type of memories I cherish.  Exactly what everyone should be doing during the holiday season, right?

Attention to detail is an important skill I thought I had learned many years ago.  As a scientist working in a manufacturing environment, as a female walking alone in the late evening down familiar or even foreign streets, as a caregiver for a senior with ambulatory difficulties, as a single mother of an active, curious child, and in many of my other various roles, I know that paying careful attention to “the little things” can make a world of difference.  Mindfulness is even more important now that we are living in a country where signs and labeling are written in a non-native tongue.  

Although I will admit, the longer I am immersed in this language, the more it begins to mesh with English in my mind.  There are so many commonalities between Spanish and English that I frequently wonder if I am even still thinking in English or if I am instead using a mix of both languages to record memories on my mental blackboard.  For example, sweater is suéter, pants are pantalones and pajamas are pijamas.  

Our favorite flavors for gelato are limón (lemon – for me), chocolate (for Allita) and vainilla (vanilla – for mom).  In fact, the similarities between English and Spanish are too numerous to list.  At times, these cognates can be a real benefit for the novice linguist.  Still, one has to be careful with assuming that something that “sounds like” a familiar word has the same meaning.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  For example, this tintoreria is a dry cleaner and not a paint store or anything remotely related to “tint”.  

Another thing to point out is that you can really dig yourself a big hole if you are relying on your “gut instinct” as your translator.  For example, I once told someone Allita was embarazada because she was too shy (or embarrassed) to speak to in Spanish.  Embarazada means pregnant in Spanish – not embarrassed.   Since at that time, Allita was only 7 years old, I’m sure you can imagine the surprised look on that poor woman’s face.  

A similar incident happened more recently at school with Allita.  As we sat together at the dinner table discussing her thoughts and impressions from her first day of Spanish school last year, Allita shared with us that her teacher, Mr. David, had described himself as “bizarro”.  She told him that was ok because she often thinks of herself as goofy and different.  He gave her a really strange look.  Later, she discovered that “bizarro” in Spanish means gallant.  Not bizarre.  

What you might consider “logical” doesn’t seem to apply globally.  Just because you think something “makes sense” or perhaps that’s what you’re familiar with from your home, doesn’t mean that’s how it works elsewhere.  Sounds straight-forward enough, but consider this:  this papelaria sells paper (as you might expect from the word papel which means paper), cards and stationary as well as school and office supplies (including ink and pens) and even some toys, however, it does not sell the paper you need for your printer.  To find printer paper, and even printer ink, you need to go to a store advertising “impresoras” (printers).  

The Pictum in Sarria is actually a papelaria that also offers a printer, copier, fax and scanner service for a very low price.  However, they do not print any images or pictures. Only documents. Although the name of the store includes the common abbreviation “pic”. In order to have a picture printed, copied, scanned or faxed, you need to go to a fotografía store.  They will also take photographs for you in case you need them for a passport or visa.  

Here is another tip:  just because the name of this store is Quality does not mean that everything inside is a quality item.  This is basically a Spanish Dollar Tree or discount store so you’re getting low-priced items manufactured in bulk and likely from China.  Not the hand-made, 100% inspected, detailed craftsmanship that the name implies.  Really, the store should be called “Quantity”.  

Although some places, like Re-Read (a used book store), el Periódico (sells periodicals) and Polleria (chicken store) are exactly what they claim to be.  

Because I am gluten-sensitive, I learned long ago to completely and thoroughly read all labeling before purchasing goods to consume. This rule applies even more so now that we are living in Spain. Thankfully, most manufacturers are excellent at including “sin gluten” (Spanish) or “sense gluten” (Catalan) to indicate the product’s gluten free status. So, it’s not the trigo (wheat) that concerns me as much as it is all the other “atypical” ingredients about which I am ignorant. It can be really challenging to determine what those ingredients are because the print on the label is so small or the image doesn’t clearly show every ingredient. Unless you read the can carefully, it’s somewhat difficult to tell that these olives are “rellenas de anchoa” or stuffed with anchovies.  

In fact, this is such a popular ingredient that all but one of this entire shelf of olives is either flavored or stuffed with anchovies.  So if you’re interested in making a dirty, but not fishy, martini, you had better read the label carefully.

We discovered last summer in Casteldefels the importance of reading all labels.  Allita and I were very excited to find what appeared to be a favorite snack, only to discover that instead of cheese, we had purchased ketchup and mustard flavor.  Not what you expect when you pop “Cheetos” into your mouth.  In fact, the two words “sabor de” (flavor of) might be the most important you will need when grocery shopping in Spain.  So, if you are in a hurry and just grab a bag of chips, you might get home with Ruffles that taste like ham and cheese or bacon-flavored Bugles.  Or, you can buy something that says it is “natural” and it is so completely natural that it has no flavor at all!  Just salt.  

Finally, it pays to be mindful of the world around you in other ways than just food and false cognates.  In the photo below, there is a building with two doors.  Over one door is the number 3.  Over the other door is the number 3.  How do you know which door leads to the correct address since they are both labeled 3 and in the same building?  You can barely see the white buzzer and speaker on the frame of the door on the right.  If you walk up to it and look closely, you can see that this door leads to the main building entrance.  If you want to go to the 1st floor (not the ground floor but the one up the first flight of stairs) or the 2nd floor apartment in building #3, you need to buzz yourself in or use your key.  If you live in the ground floor apartment of building #3, you use the door on the left.  Makes you feel sorry for the Amazon delivery guy, doesn’t it?

Taxis are not allowed to just pull over and pick up a ride off the side of the street.  In many places, you can’t even flag one down.  If you want a taxi, you need to find where they are parked.  In every few streets, there is a specific section of the sidewalk parking that is dedicated to taxis.  They will line up there, like they do at the airport, and wait for someone to walk over and climb in.  If you are walking around town, it’s a good idea to pay attention to the little blue taxi signs in case you need a cab at a future point.  

Interestingly, the yellow recycle bin for plastic also allows aluminum cans and milk/juice boxes but not CDs and DVDs or, apparently, toys (such as rubber ducks).  You have to pay close attention even when you are taking out the rubbish!

And, last but not least, be sure to read restaurant signs!  Almost all stores accept cash, but some of them do not accept credit cards unless they have the little wifi symbol indicating they are contactless.  In fact, this was an issue for an American passenger trying to purchase lunch on a recent British Airlines flight I took from London to Barcelona. Many U.S. issued credit cards don’t have a chip inside them that allows for contactless payment (not inserting or swiping the card into a machine).  Does yours?  

Hello again! December was a full month for us – as I am sure it was for you. We started our month with the lighting of the lights in Barcelona. It all began the weekend before Thanksgiving when some trucks appeared on the street outside our building. They were hanging holiday street lights all along the sidewalk, around the corner and down the next street. In fact, we soon discovered that colonies of these little construction crews were crawling all over Barcelona dispensing holiday lighting across every area of the city but particularly those areas where commerce can easily be found. Soon, there were posted signs touting the “el bendinguadador” or the welcomer who is in charge of welcoming in all the magic, traditions and characters of Christmas. He arrives at the ceremony when all the lights in the city are first turned on to signal the arrival of the “light in the darkness” or the coming birth of Christ. Interestingly, the holiday lights are provided by the commercial district organizations (various shops and stores located across the city join together in regional groups to promote commerce). So, in a way, it’s a bit like “turn on the lights and let’s go shopping!”. Still, they were lovely to see and spread a little holiday cheer around the city.

Above, the shopkeepers association of Sarrià, provided superb and delightful lighting that graced the main streets of the little suburb. Below, the famous Passeig de Gracià, with it’s plethora of famous designer shops and high-end boutiques, the Rodeo Drive of Barcelona, decorated this year with beautiful, graceful butterflies suspended among tiny rows of twinkling lights spread across the entire street.

Then, we noticed more and more of our local shops in Pedrables and those in nearby Sarrià were adding their own seasonal decorations both inside and out. In fact, many of the stores were literally bursting with holiday ornamentation! There were knick-knacks and spangle scattered all around the stores in our neighborhood. Everywhere we looked it appeared as though Christmas was bursting at the seams and would explode all around us at any moment. All of these little changes made us appreciate the season so much more and we would frequently sing carols on our walk to school in the chilly, dark mornings.

We did not purchase a tree this year. Instead, we used cardboard from our shipping boxes to manufacture our own tree. We thought we were being really creative and clever – chanting “reduce, reuse, recycle” as we painted the sides green and hot-glued green ribbon to the edges. We even made a cardboard star for the topper! Then, we spent some time exploring some of the many local shops and discovered that cardboard trees are very popular here in Spain. So, unbeknownst to us, we were just being trendy locals. Go figure.

We also traveled a little in December. I flew back to Tucson for a fast and furious week to get some year-end business done and also to retrieve our winter apparel that we were unwilling to ship and unable to lug with us in our many suitcases. Allita and I visited a friend in Germany for a long weekend and, while we were there, the three of us explored some of the famous German Weihnachtsmarkt or Christkindlmarkt. More details on that trip will be available in a future post.

All in all, Diciembre was a busy yet productive month, as it usually is, and we concluded it with wonderful Christmas and fantastic year-end celebrations. Spending our holiday together in Spain was an unexpectedly delightful pleasure for all of us. Cheers!

So much has happened over the last two months that we need to spend some time “catching up”, as my mother likes to say.  First, I hope you all enjoyed a lovely holiday season and that your new year is off to a fantastic start!  Let’s see….where to begin….Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving was unusual for us this year.  It’s interesting to note that the Spanish, among many other Europeans apparently, also enjoy turkey this time of year.  Many local holidays, including Christmas, are celebrated with this particular fowl on the table.  I was surprised but also delighted to discover this fact as I had been somewhat concerned with the execution of our traditional Thanksgiving meal without the main dish.  Problem solved!  In fact, the biggest challenge I had for Thanksgiving was the pecan pie.  Turns out, the Spanish do not eat pecans as much as Americans do.  Nor do they use heavy syrups like we do (especially, for example, that which is a necessary ingredient in pecan pie).  It’s a little like peanut butter.  Online consumer goods data shows Americans eat over a billion pounds of peanut butter in a year.  Slightly more than 3 pounds per person per year.  But, according to NPR, the average Spaniard eats less than a tablespoon per year.  That’s a pretty big difference!  It also explains the peanut butter isle in the grocery store.  There isn’t one.  There isn’t even a peanut butter shelf.  If the store sells it, the peanut butter is usually hiding somewhere among the many shelves of jams and Nutella.  

We purchased our sweet potatoes from an older gentleman who roasts them, along with chestnuts, in a large black metal grill / smoker (ahumador) at his roadside stand that is semi-permanently located on the street corner we pass every day on the way home from school.  He is such a friendly and jaunty little man.  He folds long pieces of newspaper into neatly-shaped cones into which he pours his warm, roasted chestnuts and hands them with a flourish to his customers (often children).  When the children hand him some coins in payment, he gives them a neat little bow and then he wishes them a lovely snack and encourages them to return again tomorrow.  If, like us, you purchase his sweet potatoes, he lets you pick the potato of your choice directly from the grill and then he wraps it in newspaper secured with a thin strand of hemp rope tied in a simple bow.  He does not offer any bags or beverages.  Neither does his establishment provide an eating area.  However, he is located very close to a small playground with benches nearby and a water fountain for both people and pets.  So, if you want to savor your purchases immediately, as many of the locals do, you are able to procure the amenities you need easily.  

What made Thanksgiving unusual wasn’t the absence of the bird, instead it was the absence of the holiday.  There were no days of school missed.  No time spent in front of a television watching football.  No parades.  No stuffing ourselves with delicious dishes until even the slightest idea of food was nauseating and we could barely keep our eyelids open.  None of those lovely traditions at all.  Instead, we spent the day cooking, as we sometimes do, and then when Allita came home from school, we all sat down to a lovely dinner together, as we usually do.  It was the most non-celebrated holiday we have ever experienced.  We did make some table decorations but they were minimal because we anticipated a minimalist celebration.  We did, however, manage to maintain almost all of our “after Thanksgiving” traditions.  We spent the weekend decorating the house for Christmas, including erecting the tree and organizing all associated lighting, which is my primary responsibility and also my most dreaded annual chore.  We also did lots of shopping – in person and online.

I will note at this point that “Black Friday” is celebrated here in Spain although not quite as fervently as in the U.S..  I found it highly interesting.  They do not yet appear to have a Cyber Monday or any other similar sales events.  Also, “Black Friday” sales apparently extend well into the Christmas shopping season.  Go figure.  Amazon is very active here in Spain with drivers frequently lugging their deliveries up and down the sidewalks as they look diligently for recipient addresses.  The concierge in our building was extremely busy the week following Thanksgiving as he first cleaned the entire lobby – top to bottom – and then he installed all of the holiday decor for the building while at the same time receiving a variety of packages and deliveries for the residents and, at one point, babysitting a stroller-encased child while the mother dashed away on a quick errand.  He’s a lovely man – I will have to tell you more about him in a future blog.  

Well, that wraps up November and Thanksgiving. On to December and Christmas…..