Toby is our grey-haired tabby.  I suspect he’s an American short-hair but he could also easily just be a mixed breed with short hair.  Maybe that’s saying the same thing?  He is an ordinary cat and often I see images in magazines, on food or litter containers, on tv or in the vet’s office of a cat that looks almost identical to Toby.  Either he has a second life as a professional model that I know nothing about or he’s just an average Joe, common tabby cat.

Toby is four.  His birthday is July 4.  So he’s an American’s American – born the same day as his native country.  He is as picky and curious as any cat I have ever met.  However, unlike most felines, Toby has the grace of an elephant in roller skates.  He is the most accident prone animal.  I have never seen the like in a cat.  In my experience, cats are nimble, dexterous and deft.  We joke about it all the time because he is Allita’s pet and he is as clumsy and goofy as she is.  They both have perfected the I-meant-to-do-that look.    

Yesterday, during lunch, the doorbell rang.  I was excited because I was certain it was the concierge telling me that my long-awaited package from Texas had finally arrived.  So I dashed up the hall to the door and jerked it open.  It was the concierge, but his news was somewhat different.  He started speaking as soon as I opened the door.  Since he speaks no English and my Spanish is “no bueno” [no good], our conversations are usually brief and somewhat limited.  He appeared quite rattled, his eyes were enlarged, his face was flushed and he was breathing erratically as though he had run up four flights of stairs instead of simply taking the elevator.  I found out later that was exactly what he had done.  

“¡Tu gato esta abajo!” [Your cat is below!], he said to me pointing downwards to the floor.  “ABAJO” [BELOW!], he said again, only louder and clearer this time, because I had not made any motion or given any response.  I understood the meaning of all his words but they didn’t make sense to me.  I knew Toby was inside the apartment.  I had recently seen him wandering around.  I left the door open and rushed down the hall to ask Mom where Toby was.  I told her what the concierge had said, “Your cat is below!”.  She started looking for him.  I went back to the front door.  

“¡Ven!” [Come!], said the concierge.   He motioned me towards him.  I realized “ven” sounded a little like the word “vien” in French (high school French classes paying off) which means “come”.  So I left the apartment and went with him.  Inside the elevator, he started speaking to me again – using his hands and making sound effects to help explain his story.  

Cupping a hand behind one ear, he said, “Escuché un ‘POW’… (slapping hands together) y ‘MEOW! MEOW!’” [I heard a “POW”… and ‘Meow! Meow!’]  Then he showed me something diving off and landing using his hands and making the noise a small boy or cartoon show might use to mimic a bomb dropping or someone jumping off a cliff.  He went on to explain that he rushed upstairs to the noise and that’s when he saw the cat.  I heard him say “¡Dios mío!” [My God!] and then he pointed at me and said “blah blah blah… solo tu tienes un gato….blah blah blah”.  [Only you have a cat] Suddenly, I got a very bad feeling.  We were headed to find a cat that had jumped or fallen and was crying for help.  As he said, he knows I’m the only one in this entire building who has a cat so he believes this cat is Toby!  It couldn’t be Toby, I told myself.  I will not find Toby down here – it will be someone else’s cat – perhaps a white and brown cat or an orange one?  The concierge continued to speak to me but I only heard the sounds as my attention turned inward and I focused my fear on what this other cat would look like and what I might eventually discover.  

We arrived on the first floor and the concierge opened the door to “the hole”*.  I immediately heard the long tortured wail of a very scared cat.  I followed the concierge down a stepladder and walked across the floor (which isn’t really a floor), dodging laundry, clothes lines and various other items, until I got to the backdoor of the 4th apartment on floor 1.  There I saw him.  Toby.  Sitting in the kitchen windowsill of apartment 1, 4.  His tail was huge.  His whole body was huge.  I suspect all his hairs were simultaneously standing on end.  Although I called and called for him, he refused to budge.  Eventually, the concierge realized I would need access to the apartment in order to retrieve my cat. I heard him sigh “¡Dios mío!” and listened as he muttered to himself in Spanish and walked back to the entrance.

The lady in apartment 1, 4 is very nice.  I suspect we either interrupted her siesta or she works nightshift, as she was in her pajamas and seemed a little fuzzy-minded even at 1pm.  She’s young, perhaps in her 20s, and has a tiny, white pocket dog.  It’s the kind of dog that is very popular here – so small that it can fit into your pocket.  I could hear him madly barking his little high-pitched yip from one of the back rooms as I followed the lady into her kitchen.  We saw Toby through her windowpanes.  “¡Dios mío!”, she breathed.  She looked at me in surprise with her eyebrows raised (although I was fairly certain the concierge had just explained the situation to her) and I gave her a little smile, pointed at Toby and said “Mi gato” [My cat].  She opened the back door and he dashed inside.  When he realized he was not in his own actual apartment, he froze and that’s when I grabbed him.  

We left 1, 4 and I thanked everyone involved deeply and profusely – particularly the concierge who was now smiling but still concerned for Toby’s well-being (“¿Está bien?” [Is he ok?]).  Toby had buried his face in my neck and was shaking in my arms.  I headed to the elevator only to meet another of my neighbors, a nice-dressed elderly lady with perfect hair and a walker who was headed downstairs.  For no good reason, I joined her in the elevator and rode down one floor to the lobby instead of up to my fourth-floor apartment.  She politely told me that I was holding a cat in my arms. I politely nodded at her.  Then I made the same motions and noises the concierge had earlier in the same elevator and said “piso quatro a piso uno” which I hoped meant floor 4 to floor 1.  Her eyes got huge and she said “¡Dios mío!”.  Then she exited the elevator, turned to stare at me, shook her head and wandered down the hall to the concierge desk muttering out loud in Spanish.  Probably something about cats and their crazy owners.  I heard the concierge telling her about the “POW” and “MEOW! MEOW!” as the elevator doors closed.  I figured he would be recounting that story frequently in the coming days.

I took Toby back to our apartment and called the vet, who we had met for the first time only two days prior.  I eventually explained what had happened.  He said “¡Dios mío!” and that I should bring Toby in immediately.  Thus began a very expensive bill.  In the end, Toby is fine.  He has had considerable trauma (including having his entire belly shaved for an ultrasound!) and is in some pain but no broken bones, internal bleeding or organs damaged.  His spleen is enlarged but that’s expected and he has hyperextended (sprained) the “wrists” on his front two legs, which is also normal and expected.  Turns out, this happens often enough with cats that there is something called High Rise Syndrome.  As the vet explained to me, in the Spring and Fall, when the weather is cool enough, people in cities open their windows to let in the fresh air and their cats, peering through the vacant space once occupied by glass but now curiously not, will fall, often many more storeys than even poor Toby.  

We don’t know exactly how he got out the backdoor and eventually fell.  It’s possible he snuck out the door one of the many times we opened it while cooking to take a piece of recycling or trash to the correct container.  He’s done that before but we typically notice him because the space is so small.  There is a good chance he crawled out the kitchen window, which we had opened slightly after we cooked lunch because the room had gotten hot.  The window opens to the laundry room (literally over the washing machine) and ultimately “the hole”* so I never gave much thought, until now, to leaving it open for ventilation.  I suspect if Toby got onto the kitchen counter (forbidden territory!), walked on the stovetop (must have been hot), and crawled out the window, he would have ended up on top of the washing machine. Given his curious nature, he probably wandered over to the edge and peered down into “the hole”*. Given other aspects of his nature, it’s also likely this is when he slipped and fell.

Our new weekend plans include adding screens to all of the windows.  I don’t think any of us wants a repeat of this experience, much less Toby who is now down to 8 lives.

  ¡Dios mío!

* “the hole” is what we call the ventilation shaft. The area is large enough to park five or more cars side-by-side. The shaft runs the entire height of the building. The purpose of this space is to allow for exhaust. These apartment use gas to heat the hot water, for cooking and appliances, and to heat radiators. Gas is very common in Spain and so are “holes”. We call it “the hole” because it doesn’t actually go anywhere or have a view of anything outside the building. There is a door in addition to the small window that leads to this area and because we are on the fourth floor, we have what is actually a tiny patio. This patio has a half wall that is about the height of the washing machine and is where we keep recycling containers, cleaning equipment such as mop, broom and bucket, dirty clothes and the washing machine and water heater. On the backside of our half wall is our clothes line. In fact, all the apartments with doors or windows that lead to “the hole” have clothes lines mounted in this area. It is quite common to see clothes drying here because most people do not own an actual dryer

In Barcelona, Catalan is the primary language.  Spanish is secondary.  The law requires that all children between 6 and 16 attend school – no homeschooling allowed! – and that the children also learn Catalan.  In fact, public school is instructed only in Catalan at the primary level!  Private schools generally comply with this concept but also teach in Spanish.  Therefore, the school that Allita attends teaches her lessons in multiple languages.  She’s learning in Catalan and Spanish as required by law.  She’s learning in English as they are teaching the rest of the class to speak English.  She’s learning French in French because that is the foreign language she chose to learn.  One foreign language is required.  Catalan and Spanish don’t count as foreign languages since this is a Catalonian school even though they are as foreign as French is to her.  

Primary school starts at 9:30 in the morning.  ESO (7 – 10 tenth grade) and Baccalaureate (11-12 grade) start at 10am daily.  Around 10:30am, Allita has her first break for 30 mins.  This coincides with “second breakfast” (see post Meals in Spain).  The children eat a small meal of bocadillo (simple sandwich on a mini-baguette), a pastry purchased at a local bakery, or some fruit and cheese.  Whatever they eat, if they eat, it is food that is provided from home and not by the school.  They also have sufficient time during this break to enjoy some sports – such as soccer or basketball.  

Allita has math every day.  Her class is taught in Spanish and the book and workbook are written in Spanish.  This doesn’t usually present a problem since math is a language entirely its own – unless, of course, the work involves word problems.  She has art, music, drama, debate team, chess and yoga at least once per week.  These classes are provided to develop the social and interactive skills of the children.  For example, chess teaches strategic thinking and yoga teaches relaxation and stress management.  Allita already excels in debate team and anyone who knows her well is likely not surprised at this observation.   These classes are all taught in Catalan; however, the teacher allows students to respond in English or Spanish as well as Catalan.  

She has an English lesson at some point during each day; however, the level of English instruction is lower than her own level of competency so she usually spends this time practicing her Spanish or Catalan.  She has formal Catalan and French instruction 2-3 days a week -alternating weeks so that in a 2-week period, she has 5 full days of lessons.  She also has Science and Social Studies in this same manner: every other day – alternating days – so that she has 5 full days every 2 weeks.  She has a class called “reading comprehension” which is taught in both Spanish and Catalan but the written work for reading aloud is in Spanish.  This class is one day per week.  Twice per week, Allita takes individual piano lessons with a teacher from South America.  She loves this teacher and is delighted to have one-on-one instruction as she had in the U.S.  I believe this one commonality is somewhat reassuring for her since her routine is already so different and hectic.

One day per week, the 4th, 5th, and 6th level classes board a bus and head to a local gymnasium.  There they learn tennis, paddle ball, fitness, swimming and other organized sports.  They stay at this gymnasium for 3.5 hours.  Two days during the week, Allita has physical education class at the actual school – they play many sports and games and are generally very active.  This is a small school (Allita’s class is only 8 kids!) so all three grade levels are combined during sports in order for there to be sufficient players to staff a team.  

Every day around 1:15 in the afternoon, the children have a hot lunch that is cooked from scratch in the kitchen at the school by a licensed chef.  I discovered that this licensed school chef has a degree in nutrition as well as the necessary training and certification to be a Chef.  She attended school for 6 years and then apprenticed.  WOW! The meal is based on a Mediterranean diet.  Allita eats soups, salads, fish (all types!), potato omelettes, yogurt, chicken, ham, pork, rice, beef, lentils, fresh fruit and a variety of other dishes.  I’m delighted with this arrangement as she has tasted and, even eaten!, many foods that she would normally distain simply because she is hungry and surrounded by her observant peer group.  Additionally, her meals are served in courses (plate 1 then plate 2) as is common with here (Meals in Spain), so she has to finish one plate before she can have the other. If plate 2 is something she likes, then she forces herself to eat plate 1 in order to get it. Since she’s been a picky eater her whole life, the new lunch hot meal process is great for us! We have been able to add new dishes to our family meals as a result of her involuntary diet diversification. 

Soon, Allita will begin chess team and drama club after school.  Since normal classes end at 4:45 in the afternoon, the after school activities last until 5:30 pm.  We will have a 30-minute or so walk home from school, which means we will arrive around 6:15 pm or later every day.  With two hours of daily homework and dinner to eat, it makes for a long evening.  Thankfully, classes don’t start again until 9:30 the next morning, so we can shift our hours a little to be up longer but sleep later.  Now, with the influence of school, we are becoming more like the locals than ever before – awake and active late into the evenings.  Life is all about adaptation! 

As with any culture, it’s really difficult to universalize and make statements like “The Spanish do this …” or “The Spanish are ….”.  Exceptions abound to every rule and extrapolation.  The most accurate way to describe a culture is to use phrases such as “As a general rule” or “The preponderance of…”.   That said, please keep in mind that this post is a broad discussion based on my observations and opinions and not necessarily wide-spread regulation. 

Thus concludes the official disclaimer.  

At some point, Spanish children transition from eating an actual breakfast to just drinking coffee and dashing out the door for work.  I have no idea when this microevolution occurs; however, I do know that very young kids eat cereals and other classical breakfast foods in the mornings before school while their parents and older siblings do not.  Since school starts between 8 and 10am, breakfast is generally consumed fairly early in the day.  As the parents and older children have stayed awake until the late hours of the night, I imagine their desire to eat is non-existent in the very early morning.  Thus, they drink only a cuplet or two of coffee as part of their regimen.   Sometimes I will see one or two teens nibbling on a pastry while they ride the bus.

Bakeries are open in the very early morning hours to cater to these nibblers and the parents who have little time to prepare a formal morning meal or even snack.  This allows them to purchase food as they proceed to school or work, with the plan to consume it later, during their first break.  For the very young kids who have already eaten breakfast at home, I consider this food to be a “second breakfast” of sorts.  The bakeries sell items such as sandwiches, mini-pizzas and a variety of breads and pastries which are generally consumed around 10:30am.  It is not uncommon to see business professionals sitting at outdoor tables between 10:30 and 11am, drinking a coffee, eating a pastry, reading the paper or chatting and smoking a cigarette.  I assume this is their official breakfast.  It appears to be so in any case.  

Lunch, as Americans know it, is basically non-existent.  With the exception of pervading global fast food chains, such as McDonalds, Burger King, KFC and Taco Bell, most restaurants are not open to serve food until after 1pm.  Some are closed entirely until after 4pm or later.  A few don’t serve any meal except dinner and open only at 8pm.  

In the early afternoon, you have the option of eating tapas, which can be consumed individually as a light snack or in an assortment as a large meal, or eating a full meal with multiple courses from the menú del día (menu of the day), which generally has a selection of starter, main course and a pastry or coffee included in one set price.   The bakeries are still open, of course, so you can easily purchase a pastry or sandwich and make a small meal of that any time of the day.  However, in general, the Spanish have their big meal of the day in the afternoon between 1:30-2.  How they manage to last this long without eating more than a pastry or sandwich is something of a mystery to me.  I suspect it is due in part to the coffee they consume all morning  (El Café).    

Primary schools release children starting around 4pm daily.  Most of the children can be seen eating a light snack as they walk home from school.  Some make better food choices than others since the gelato shops and candy stores are now open and beckoning.  The bakeries are also quite busy during this period.  Pastries are in high demand and churrerias in food trucks parked along the streets often have long lines.  Many restaurants with outdoor seating near a park or playground are filled with parents, grandparents or nannies having a beverage while the children play and eat their goodies.  It’s pretty easy to spot the nannies as they are drinking coffee while all the others are having beer or wine.  Poor nannies.  

Dinner is not a meal that the Spanish eat out in restaurants very often.  From what I have observed, many eat on Friday and Saturday nights, but seldom on week days.  Exceptions being professionals who are obviously having a business dinner and tourists.  Also, I have noticed many meals consumed on balcony tables late in the evening and with much brouhaha.  Restaurants that do serve dinner generally open late and remain open well past midnight.  Meals can be lavish and include as many as five or six courses that take hours to consume.  Meals can also be small and light consisting only of a bowl of soup or a small salad.  The choice, I assume, is based on what has already been consumed earlier in the day.  In our building, the residents can usually be heard sharing a dinner meal around 7pm, after which they often go for a stroll around the neighborhood before retiring for the evening.  This includes the small children who are pushed in strollers or race around on scooters while Mom and Dad walk behind and discuss important parental topics, and seniors with their caps and canes walking arm-in-arm for closeness as well as physical support.  

What I can say about eating meals in Spain is that single diners are as common as groups.  Often restaurants will seat strangers together to preserve tables for more patrons and, perhaps, indirectly encourage community.  Eating is generally not a quiet activity.  Restaurants are designed to maximize their small space by including many seating arrangements.  Thus, you are often very close to the table next to you and privy to their conversations and antics. Whether you eat a little or a lot is irrelevant to the staff and you will be served with the same speed, flair and panache regardless of your food choices.  Don’t go into any restaurant in Spain expecting to eat a quick meal.  Also, don’t arrive very hungry.  Meals are prepared individually so they take time to craft and deliver.  It is expected that you will savor your dining experience – the time to relax, the drink you are imbibing, the company you keep or the people you watch, as well as the food you will eventually consume.  Eating in Spain is an experience – regardless of when, where or how you do it.  

Buen provecho!

I’ve been asked by several folks to please provide an update on our house-hunting progress, so here it is: WE FOUND THE PERFECT PLACE!

After three weeks of incessant searching and a not-so-small amount of stress and worry, we have finally procured long-term accommodations.  The apartment meets all of our requirements (see “Sunday Thoughts“) and is a happy compromise between the lavish and amazing and the “Oh My. Yikes” rentals we have visited.  We have added a few things here and there to our semi-furnished abode and we have plans to implement more decorative evolution once our shipment arrives from the port of L.A.  

We have a lovely patio – albeit a little cosy – and we have installed window boxes.  I am so excited about this tiny accomplishment.  I have always wanted window boxes.  Always.  Now I have them.  I would purr if I could express my satisfaction in such a manner without seeming utterly ridiculous.  

We have a colorful and cheery living room with plenty of light from the wall of glass doors.  This room also includes the dining area which is very spacious and suits us quite well.  

We have an office area that also includes a seating space for taking shoes off and on.  Everything is along a main hall that spreads from the front door, past the kitchen and living room and eventually ends at the master bedroom.  It’s a fairly common floor plan for Barcelona, from what we have observed.  

The kitchen is a good size with sufficient space for a table and two chairs – although we re-allocated one chair to the patio almost immediately.  When I’m there, I’m almost always doing something that does not involve sitting so I do not require a chair.  There is a small laundry room (or water room) located off the kitchen.  It opens into the “hole” as Mom calls it (ventilation shaft).  

Each of us has our own room.  I got the master bedroom.  Mom has a double room herself.  She and I share the same bathroom and we both have access to the patio from our rooms.  Allita has a twin room and her own bathroom.  Her room has a window that opens to the “hole” but she keeps it shut and the blinds drawn.  We are all very happy with our room arrangements as they allow us our own private space with or without windows as we each prefer.    

Every bedroom has a built-in wardrobe with plenty of storage space.  There are no closets in European houses – generally speaking – so we were prepared for living with wardrobes.  I actually prefer them to closets as they are easier to keep clean and organized and the cat doesn’t hide in them as often.   One experience of being shut inside the wardrobe for a while before someone “missed” him was enough for Toby.

The location of our new abode is ideal. We are near the hospital so there are lots of various shops, many bus stops and a taxi stand nearby. We are close to the Avinguda Diagonal so we have access to all forms of metro, trolley and trains and can easily reach any point in the city. Also, we are very close to a lovely park containing multiple playgrounds, including table tennis equipment, an enchanting pond and a tasty outdoor cafe surrounded by plenty of trees, grass and walking paths. We are only 2-3 blocks from the Royal Palace of Pedrables with its lovely gardens and architecture, and interestingly, a little known but fascinating gate, Portal Miralles, designed by Antoni Gaudi is just down the street.

So, we are done with the incessant searching and now, we are nesting. It’s a nice change of pace. With the exception of the “wardrobe incident”, everyone, including Toby, fell in love with our new residence immediately and settled in nicely. Now we only need our shipment to deliver so we can have all the trappings we need to make this house our home sweet home.

This has been the longest summer break since Allita started school at 3 years old.  The last day of school in Tucson was May 22.  The first day of school in Barcelona hasn’t even happened yet!!  On Monday, September 10, we interview at one of the local schools where she has applied.  Hopefully this will lead to her starting school in the next week or so.  I am ready, even if she is not.  

In the interim, we have spent considerable time getting settled and doing the typical “back to school” stuff that we would do in the U.S.  Every chance we get, we pop into one of the many little shops we pass while walking the neighborhood and see what they have that might be of use or interest.  One store, Flying Tiger, we found particularly entertaining with all their unusual office and school supplies.  For example, we had never seen fur-covered staplers or bear calculators.  Nor had we ever seen such a collection of flip-sequin covered items.  It was kid school supply nirvana – complete with a bubble machine outside the entrance.

We also, literally, stumbled upon an underground mall (L’illa Diagonal) only a couple blocks away from our house.  The discovery was quite accidental and, as such, it took us some effort and ingenuity to re-discover the entrance when we returned to explore it at a later date.  This mall is unlike any I have ever explored – even when compared to underground shopping areas in Atlanta and New York City.  First, the mall is three floors.  Floor zero is in the middle.  This is the floor you might walk into from the street, if you were walking from the subway or coming from the south side of the city.  Floor one is on top.  This is also the floor you might walk into from the street.  What?!?  Yes, indeed!  If you are walking on the sidewalk beside the major thoroughfare called Avinguda Diagonal or coming from the north of the city.   Then there is floor -1.  To reach this floor, you must either come from the parking garage up the escalator/elevator or take it down from floor 0.  Frankly, I don’t even want to know how to reach the parking garage. I couldn’t find this mall when I was walking. Driving is unimaginable.

Regardless of the confusing arrangement, the contents of this mall are uniquely fascinating and yet typical for Barcelona.  Most of floor -1 is dedicated to food.  Food in all forms.  Restaurants, open markets, delis, confectionaries, bakeries, butcher shops, fruit and vegetable stands, cafeterias, grocery stores, and boutiques that specialize in dairy-free, gluten-free, vegan, etc.  This area is my favorite of all of them because it is filled completely with so many different sights and smells. There are even some lovely flower shops – one in particular that we found right outside the mall and yet in the middle of the mall at the same time. Also, there is a massive grocery store, Caprabo, located in the middle of the lower floor. 

Floor 0 and floor 1 contain many of the typical mall stores.  There’s the LEGO store, the Disney store and a variety of other kid-oriented shops.  There are clothing, jewelry, kitchen and shoe stores galore.  There are many upscale shops such as Swarovski, Swatch, Rolex and Moschino. There is also a fascinating store called FNAC where I purchased a large toaster oven and a wifi extender.  I could also have purchased an electric scooter for Allita or a gas-powered clothes dryer for Mom.  Neither of which are needed but were interesting to explore in any case.   There are some very lovely, elegant boutique shops (tea, candles, art, music, etc.) scattered throughout these floors and there is a fun place to learn how to fly a drone through an obstacle course.  The mall has free wifi and a variety of other amenities that are somewhat atypical for us (such as very plush seating areas with leather recliners and phone or computer charging stations – all free and available for use).  

So, even as we count down to the end of summer break (hopefully), we continue to explore our new locale and all of the many lovely little markets sprinkled here and there and, apparently, even underneath.   

Spanish coffee can walk.  I’m certain of it.  In fact, it is so strong and concentrated, I suspect if you roll down your car window and whistle, a cuplet of expresso will hustle up to your outstretched hand.  Cuplets are a thing.  They have tiny handles made for people with small hands and very strong fingers.  They hold approximately 3-4 ounces of liquid.  I suspect the cuplet was created because of the concentration of the coffee.  One should only ingest a small quantity at a time. If you were to consume this beverage using a traditional American coffee mug, you might end up having a seizure.  

Every morning, Mom and I split a cuplet of expresso.  Cafe solo, according to the locals.  I have learned how to request a black cuplet of coffee along with a large cup of hot water and two empty cuplets.  Invariably, I always get a strange look from the waitstaff, but now that I have mastered the necessary verbiage, I am at least not as frequently misunderstood.   In addition to plenty of hot water, I also add sweetener to my coffee.  This is a common enough addition because I do not have to request it.  Which perhaps also tells you something about the pungent taste of this beverage. The friendly server always brings me a wide variety of sugars and sweeteners.  Interestingly, the sugar packets are approximately twice the size of those in the U.S. and the artificial sweetener comes in tiny tablet form.  I suspect these packaging differences are due more to the robust flavor and hardiness of Spanish coffee than some local preference or design.  At the risk of sounding like “Oh” from the movie “Home”, I offer this bit of caution: do not eat the mini tablets of sweetener.  Allita tasted one and her reaction was similar to Toby’s when we fed him a spoon of peanut butter.  

Mom and I have about one cuplet of coffee each per day and only in the mornings.  It takes about 12 hours for the caffeine to wear off such that we can wind down and go to sleep.  The Spanish drink it throughout the day and even after dinner.  I am astounded by this observation.  Decafinated coffee is available in the supermarket but I have never seen it nor heard of ordering it in a restaurant.  Coffee consumption, obviously, is a big part of their metabolic processing.  No wonder they are so svelte, able to walk great distances without difficulty and stay awake until midnight.  Nevermind a siesta – have a cuplet of José.

We have enjoyed our time living once again in close proximity to the beach.  We celebrated our last days in Castelldefels by spending one full day in the sand and sun before we relocated to our new residence in the metropolis of Barcelona.  I convinced Mom and Allita to rent three beach chairs and an umbrella so that we would be more comfortable during our surf-side stay.  There is a small stand, complete with a bar, restaurant and restrooms with showers, that offers just the ambiance I desired.  In addition, it has a “private” beach which really only means that vendors do not walk among the chairs and locals don’t set up towels in front, beside or behind you.  I actually missed those features but I was still able to recline and observe the activity of those around me with ease and comfort most of the day.  I do love to people watch.

As usual, Allita spent about half her time in the water and half her time in the sand.  We started the day by collecting sea shells.  This is another part of our beach routine and the biggest reason why we rush to get to the beach “early”.  She diligently searches the sand at the edge of the surf and the shallow waters for sea shells suitable for her collection.  Sometimes this process even involves snorkeling in the swash wearing her prescription goggles.  She is quite a bit less critical and selective than I am, but that is her way.  She finds beauty in the diversity, while I am searching more for perfection.  Probably that describes more about us than we even realize.  

After some time, I abandoned the shell hunt and then encouraged Allita to also take a break (“let’s leave some for others to discover”) so that we didn’t have ten pounds of calcium carbonate to lug back to the room – a mile in the distance!

Then, Allita began construction of a sand castle or fortress of some fashion.  This is also per routine.  Sometimes she will set up a restaurant filled with sand-shaped delicacies that Mom and I are requested to order and pretend to consume.  I prefer the sand castle construction because it is fully independent play that entertains her without any oversight on my part (i.e. checking to make sure she hasn’t drowned).  She’s a pretty diligent sand artist and often will use a variety of materials other than sand to complete her constructions: sea shells, pieces of wood, bits of sea grass, my shoes, etc.  I used this time to relax in the shade of the umbrella and try to read a book on my phone.  This was more challenging that it sounds because of the glare of the sunlight and my aging vision.  I require glasses to read and I generally wear sunglasses.  It is almost impossible to read an LED screen while wearing sunglasses at the beach.  

We shared tapas and tinto (Allita had water) from the little restaurant and bar.  Our server was extremely busy so we practiced our patience and learned to be more “laid back” like the locals.  It was a fun adventure and Mom and I laughed about it more than I expected.  In the end, we wrapped up our long day with another new tradition: shell and tell.  This is the period of the evening when I clean up and put away all our sand-ridden paraphernalia, including Allita’s poor white swim shirt now permanently stained from the elbow down due to prolonged exposure to sand and sea, while Mom and Allita hunker down on the bed and spread out the day’s harvest.  Allita presents each shell to Mom with a little detail about how, where or by whom it was located and Mom provides the requisite responses (oohs, ahhs and oh mys).  Then Mom, being who she is, arranges all the shells neatly according to size, color and shape, and we take a photo for posterity.  

All-in-all, it was another wonderful day.  Nobody got sunburned – which is something of an accomplishment for us – and we were able to enjoy each other’s company for a prolonged period without any real disharmony.  Another major accomplishment actually.  Huzzah!  

We attempt to journey somewhere every day. Regardless of the state of the weather or our own personal state of being, we trudge outside, suck in some air that is supposedly fresher and exercise our minds and bodies just a tad.  Actually, some days, the activity is considerably more than a tad but not every day.  Today, for example, was one of our more active days. Furthermore, random walking really isn’t our thing. We prefer to have an actual, physical destination – thus “journey” – and a plan (snacks, water, map, etc.). We discussed our plan last evening and plotted a course on our gently worn map of Castelldefels.  Then, a short time after breakfast this morning, we headed out on our mission: find the Olympic park of Catalonia. 

In 1992, while I was preparing to graduate from college for the first time, Barcelona was hosting the summer olympic games, officially known as the Games of the XXV Olympiad.  Allita and I had considerable discussion about the Olympics following dinner last evening as we planned our walking trip.  An interesting factoid about these games is that they were also the last time the summer games were held in the same year as the winter games.  In 1994, the committee decided to alternate winter and summer every two years.   Allita and I theorized that this executive decision was likely made due to the abundance of athletes and their associates who now participated in the games.

Some people may remember the U.S. basketball team from the 1992 Olympics – the infamous “Dream Team”.  They took home the gold medal.  Turns out, this was also the first Olympics in which baseball was recognized as an official sport.  Who knew? However, I remember these games because I was taking archery for my requisite P.E. credit at the time and the cauldron was lit by a flaming arrow ignited from the torch and shot by a paralympic athlete.  I was awestruck and humbled.  

In 1986, the Olympic committee picked Barcelona to host the 1992 games.  This gave Barcelona and surrounding cities around 5 years to prepare.  Looking around at the Olympic remains we have seen thus far, we are amazed at what can be designed, constructed and executed in so many different places and in so little time.  Not only is there significant evidence in Barcelona, other nearby smaller cities like Reus, Mataró, Viladecans, Sabadell, Terrassa, La Seu d’Urgell, Granollers, and even Castelldefels, have massive structures and facilities that were used specifically for these global games.  In fact, it was to the Olympic park and canal in Castelldefels (Canal Olímpic de Catalunya) that we were destined this fine sunny day.

I had already spent some time walking around the campus of the nearby Castelldefels School of Telecommunications and Aerospace Engineering.  I love to walk around college campuses.  They are usually clean, well maintained, easy to navigate and full of interesting buildings planted among grass, trees, shrubbery and brick pavers.  This college was no different from any other I have explored except that it is immediately across from the Olympic canal and park.  So I had already seen some of the park area including tennis and basketball courts, the “pitch and putt”, and the lovely grassy areas surrounding the canal itself.  From our trans-city bus ride (“By George“), we had glimpsed what appeared to be a large inflatable play area surrounded by row of canoes, kayaks, inflatable rafts and other water sport equipment.  We had also watched as skiers on wakeboards were pulled by cable over ski jumps made in the water.  We later learned that the inflatable area with the water sport equipment is called Mar Aventura Sports Park and the ski area is the OCP Olimpic Cable Park.  I was also not surprised to discover that this entire area was created for the canoeing events in the 1992 games.  Clearly, boating activities are alive and well on this canal even today.

We arrived at the park after nearly two hours of walking.  Not that it was a direct route.  We meandered around inside a mall, an IKEA-like store, and several play areas that were between our origin and our destination.  All-in-all, the round trip is a little more than 6km (around 4 miles) and does not take that long to travel on foot.  The water sport equipment I had previously observed is available for rent.  The inflatable play structure is available by the hour and you must wear a swim vest, although there are life guards nearby.  Mom and I sat in the shade while we watched Allita and the other children on the water park.  I can’t begin to describe how entertaining it is to watch your child play on one of these inflatable structures.   

Keep in mind, they are slick from constant contact with wet bodies, hands and feet.  They are constructed out of smooth, slippery rubberized synthetics. Additionally, the structure is significantly bigger than it appears in these photographs so the elevations are steep and climbing is quite challenging.  Moreover, getting into the water is much easier than getting out of it and back onto the moving, semi-rigid structure.  On several occasions, Mom and I literally held on to one-another as we laughed uncontrollably while we watched Allita attempt to navigate this play zone.  We were so entertained that afterwords my sides and face were slightly sore from overuse.  Allita had body aches too, but for different reasons.  

We walked back to the hotel with considerably less vigor than we left it but it was effort well invested for everyone.  Now we can spend the remainder of our day relaxing even as we chuckle over recent memories made at the 1992 Olympic canal of Catalonia.  

“On a bus, your eyes, ears, and pores are absorbing in the variety, the wonder, and the magic of the city. Its a wonderful way to get to know the city.” – George Takai (a.k.a. Hikaru Sulu, helmsman of the USS Enterprise)

We have made a point of trying to use a wide variety of the transportation available in order to become more familiar with Barcelona while, at the same time, arriving safely at our various destinations.  We have ridden the commuter train (Rodalies), the local metro, the city bus, taxis, and finally, yesterday, the trans-city bus (TMB) from Barcelona to Castelldefels.  There remains only the tram (streetcar), the city tour bus, the cable cars, rental bicycles and the ferry for us to try.  Allita asks about the rental bicycles every time we are hoofing it through the city.  I keep putting that experience off as we are not yet prepared for navigating these streets.  I have observed the flow of traffic and decided that we need more safety equipment than just a simple helmet before we become part of that chaos.  

Yesterday’s trans-city bus ride was completely serendipitous.  We had spent yet another long day of house-hunting.  We have been assiduous in our efforts to locate a suitable dwelling.  Spending hours each night on the computer researching and reviewing potentials.  Sending emails and text messages; using Google translate as needed to assist with effective communication. Traversing the city from one meeting to another.  Negotiating proposals and discussing conditions.  Eventually, we settled on an apartment that satisfies most of our requirements and met with a representative at the rental agency.  After an hour of activity, including a deposit of one month rent to simply apply for the apartment (!), we finally left their office – exhausted but hopeful.  We had not taken three steps away from the building door when Mom pointed out a TMB bus with the header “95 – Castelldefels, Gava, Plages”.  

Plages is the Catalan word for beaches.  An interesting side note at this juncture is that Catalan is the PRIMARY language for this region.  Not Spanish.  So on nearly every sign, label and instruction, including local maps and tourist info, the first words you read are Catalan.  The language is a combination of French and Spanish. So for me, it is easier to understand than Spanish.  However, for Mom and Allita, it is trickier because it is so different from anything we have become accustomed to seeing in Tucson or Cabo San Lucas, where we have received most of our foreign language exposure in recent years.  

Back to the bus.  It was an easy decision to climb aboard the empty bus, after a quick verbal confirmation from the driver that we were in-fact boarding an active bus destined for our hotel city.  We settled into the very back seats suspecting it would be an unusually long ride.  What we didn’t fully recognize until our trip was well underway was what we were going to finally be able to see: the arena, the towers, the art museum, the gothic center of town, the collesium, amazing architecture and statues, the massive park-and-ride lots on the outskirts of Barcelona, miles of farmland with neatly manicured fields, the tiny town of Gava and its crowded beaches, camp grounds, massive shopping malls, luxurious private homes, the north end of Castelldefels including the Olympic park and channel, and a variety of other interesting and new sights.  

The ride home was indeed longer than our normal ride, but the bus deposited us almost directly at our hotel door and we enjoyed some lovely time together discovering new places without having to move from our seats.  George is entirely correct – it was quite pleasant.

It’s Sunday.  I like to call this “quiet day” because it is a quiet day.  There are fewer busses running and people remain indoors later so there is no real activity in the streets. The hustle and bustle of weekdays and, even Saturday, is significantly diminished. In Spain, Sunday truly is a day of rest.  Most of the shops are closed.  One or two rare markets (atheists?) are open for some limited hours and sell anything – including beer, wine and liquor.  Lidl, the large low-price grocery store, displays a massive sign over their front door touting “domingos abiertos”.  Capitalism at its best.   

We are being lazy.  We had a slow morning and a late breakfast.  We are just lounging around each doing our own thing.  Probably because it is Sunday and the feeling of relaxation all around us is affecting our own state of being.   Allita is playing “Adapted Mind” on her iPad, Mom is packing and unpacking suitcases out of sheer boredom and I am online, as usual, diligently looking for a rental.

I was hopeful – no, more than hopeful, more like confident – that we could find a long-term residence that was suitable within the first two weeks of our arrival.  Even partnered with an agent and looking online ourselves at all hours of the day, we have not been successful.  Most likely it is our criteria that are limiting us.  We must have a place that:

1. accepts pets, 

2. has a terrace or garden (some place for us to go outside), 

3. has a fully furnished kitchen, 

4. has ac/heat

5. is in a location that ranges from slightly below the Avinguda Diagonal in Les Corts, Esquerra, or Eixample to slightly above the Avinguada Diagonal in Pedrables, Les Tres Torres or St. Gervasi.  It’s a large enough range in terms of location and there appear to be a significant number of rental in this area.  

6. is within our price range, and 

7. finally, is somewhat furnished.

We agree that we would prefer not to fully furnish a place.  We are willing to purchase some furniture but the issue with how to get rid of it in a year or two remains unresolved.  Also, depending on the size of the furniture, we may need assistance getting it delivered.  For example, a double mattress can’t come up via elevator as it won’t fit.  Who will lug it up 6 floors of stairs?!?  Maybe it has to be raised from outside and come in the slider on the terrace?  We have certainly witnessed the delivery of goods in this manner as we have traversed the city in recent days.  

We have presented a written (email) “proposal” to the owner of one small 2 bedroom that we like which meets nearly all of our criteria.  The only question is will he/she allow pets.  We hope to hear a response from our proposal on Monday.  In the event the response is not received or it is negative, we have continued our search through the weekend.  I have identified a place that is a little less attractive but still meets all the criteria and we have an appointment at 1730 on Monday to meet the owner.  I have also emailed our agent to remind her that we want to view alternative rentals tomorrow and all next week.  Time is running, as my German friends say.  

What’s the hurry?  Well, we have resident visas and they are good for 90 days; however, we must register within the first 30 days of our arrival with city hall.  We need a residence in order to know which city hall with whom to register.  Once we register, we will apply for NIE cards.  Those cards are required to open a bank account.  We can make the initial payment to secure the rental (deposit of 3 months and 10% of the total annual rental agreement is the initial payment!) using any form of payment we have, but subsequent rent payments must be direct draft from our bank account.  Which we can’t open without a NIE card, which we can’t get without going to city hall, which we can’t identify without a residence, which we can’t pay for beyond the deposit because we don’t have a bank account. So, you see, there is a process and a timeline (a.k.a. vicious cycle).  Thus, the push to secure a home.  

In addition to all that, I am weary of living out of suitcases.  Eventually, today, we will do laundry in actual machines (versus the bathroom sink).  We will wash the few clothes that we unpacked so that we don’t have to unpack any more.  We found a local laundromat and figured out how to use it.  Huzzah!  Now we just need to shlep all our belongings across town to the machines and get the process started.  

The best part about the “La Wash” facility is the location.  It’s not near where we are living.  It’s nearby a playground where Allita will be entertained (pictured Castelldefels) and a bar with outdoor tables that present a strategic view of the washing machines, where Mom and I will be entertained.  All while our clothes do their own thing.  For the first time in a very long time, I’m looking forward to doing chores.  

But for now, I’m going to kill a few more hours searching online for something that looks suitable and marginally attractive for long term.  It sounds a lot like online dating, actually.  You create filters and searches on various websites so you are notified of a “potential match” and in the meantime, when you are bored, you do your own web-surfing.  Then you find something and you reflect about the pros and cons.  Eventually, you work out a way to view your discovery in person.  You never know what the outcome will be and you are in combination nervous, sanguine, cautious and apprehensive.  I certainly hope my success rate in finding an apartment is superior, however.  YIKES!  Maybe I will see if the hotel can host us for another week or so…..