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…..

Today, we awoke to a gentle but persistent rain.  I interpreted this as divine intervention into our sleep depravation.  All three of us slept until 8am, in part due to the lulling effect of the weather.  It also helped that the sky was overcast making the bedroom darker and there was almost no noise from the nearby street.  All-in-all, we were refreshed and ready for Day 3 of the big party.  

The most electrifying event we witnessed in the day-long celebration was the correfoc that occurred on the evening of 16 August 2019.  

The plaza was just as decorous and populated as any other evening.  The dampness appeared not to be a deterrent to anyone or anything as the party was in full swing when we arrived at 8pm.  There were tables and chairs set up all along the sidewalks giving the appearance of a massive neighborhood potluck dinner.  The aroma of the various tapas and bocadillos available to share was almost too much to endure.  On a related note, I should mention that Mom’s opinion of the cobla music is that it is better when she removes her hearing aids.  For anyone who is familiar with the quality of her hearing sans aids, I’m sure you understand what she means.  I am delighted with the skills and artistry of the musicians although, I also wish their range was lower by an octave or two.  

Back to the correfoc.  What is it, you ask?  It’s a fire run.  Literally and directly translated from Catalan.  We had no idea what to expect other than fireworks.  Man were we surprised at our gross underestimation of this fantastic event.

Apparently, there are several different formats but, in general, the basic idea is that many vibrant fireworks and other pyrotechnics capable, in some instances, of shooting jets of fire(!), are fastened to long sticks and held overhead while the colles of costumed devils progresses down a parade route through the city with colles of drums beating a lively march.  A tune that is now permanently stuck in my brain.

The whole business started with the Carretillada or, as I like to call it, the Dance of the Devils, which involved a group of costumed dancers ranging in age from kid to adult who performed on a stage in the center of the plaza. Periodically, they would bang their drums and dance around with carretilles shaped like pitchforks shooting fireworks.

Eventually a procession of more devils, dancers, witches, fire breathers and three fearsome costumed performers – a huge Diablessa (she-devil), a tall black cat with claws bared, and of course, the Dragon of Castelldefels – blasted their way through the fiery skull curtain to start the correfoc.

The effect was a stupendous display of fire, noise and light.  It was awesome.  Particularly since the event included the active participation of the crowd of spectators.  Here we were again, dancing and yelling and laughing as we followed the progression through the streets and back to our hotel.  Our ears are ringing even now, nearly 1/2 hour later.  I suppose, I’m finally ready to listen to some cobla music with Mom.  Olé, Olé, Olé 

On 15 August, 2019, we sat down to dinner at 5 minutes before 7pm and suddenly Allita remembered the Castelleres!  Holy smokes!  We forgot!!  We jumped up, scared the crap out of the cat sleeping on the floor nearby, left our dinner cooling on the table and dashed out the door to the church plaza.  We were afraid we were too late because the itinerary showed that these particular festivities started at 6:30pm.  Fortunately, we arrived just in time to witness the Castellers de Castelldefels as they built a 6-layered human tower.  

These castells, the Catalan word for castle, are world famous and I had been anxiously awaiting this awesome event since I first started studying Barcelona some years ago.  However, I did not expect to see them so soon!  Lucky me – YAY!  The castellers wear white pants, a black sash and a bandana (around the sash).  Each colles (group) has a different color and the castellers shirts are the corresponding color for their colles.  In our case, the castellers of Castelldefels wear yellow-gold.  

As with the Cercavila, another group of performers from a nearby city joined in this portion of the festival.  The Castellers of Vilafranca.  These castellers became even more famous in 2015 when along with the Minyons of Terrassa, they constructed the tallest castell in history – it was 10 layers high!!  However, that evening in the city center, the castells were only 5-6 layers high. 

Many were constructed in the traditional manner, from base (pinya) to top where the enxaneta raises his/her hand and waves that the castell is completed.  The crowd cheered and the band played and the castellers slowly decended back to Earth.  Each time, we watched with baited breath as the colles piled hands together and big, strapping men worked to build the beginning of the tower.  There was clearly a leader who communicated each step of the building process.  He would signal the next group of castellers and they would slowly start to climb the pile of people to make the next layer.  Eventually, women joined the castell.  I learned later that women are advantageous in building castells because they are lighter and allow for taller construction.  Obviously, they are not referring to Allita and I.  We are more like base material.  

The castellers would take a short break after each tower was completed and then they would start again.  There was one castell called aixecat per sota which means “raised from below”.  I couldn’t figure out why this particular one got so much interest from the crowd.  When it was announced, a surge of spectators pressed forward toward the colles.  Turns out, instead of building the base and then each successive layer, in this case, the top was built and then raised by boosting the person on to the shoulders of the next casteller!  The first person was the tiny child who typically stands atop these castells.  We watched, part in terror and part in fascination (kind of like watching a vehicular accident occur in front of you), as the person supporting the child was suddenly raised up to stand on the shoulder of another casteller.  This happened again and again until it was 5 layers high!  The crowd went nuts when the child, enxaneta, raise her hand high in the air to signal the tower was built.  They cheered even more for the man who supported the base and I gaped and grinned as someone ran a giant bottle of water over to him from a nearby market.

We observed tower after tower until the lack of food, heat and humidity finally took their toll and we trudged, thrilled but tired, back to the hotel to eat our belated, now very cold meal.  I just hope the cat didn’t lick anything.

In my life, I can recall certain times when I existed on only a few hours of sleep every night for days on end.  In college (the first time), when I lived in Albuquerque and I discovered all-night casinos (Barb!), when Allita was born and as a caregiver for invalid family members.  Remember how I said Festa Major is a “big party”?  Well, now I can add “when I moved to Barcelona” to my mental list.  

One particular event we attended on 14 August was called Cercavila.  Various groups perform along an established route in a parade style that circles through town (thus “circle” and “village”).  The party started in a central area in the plaza in front of the church.  This is where the celebration is mainly centered with two stage platforms set up in opposition across the vast brick paved square.  There are stacks of gigantic speakers and, although most of the other businesses in town close for the afternoon festivities, those shops on the square or streets immediately nearby are hosting the lively horde as they eat, drink and be merry.  The square is decorated with various tapestries and flags hanging suspended from the church and other nearby buildings. These people really know how to throw a party.

On this occasion, we waited down the block, a short distance away from the masses, and watched as the procession approached.  Many of the spectators slowly followed the performers as they made their way through the streets.  They sang and clapped and shouted as each group passed by.  At first, we saw the Capgrossos, also known as Big Heads.  

The Capgrossos were able to look through their giant masks via a tiny window built into the mouth of the head.  Their costumes made them look like normal-sized people with gigantic heads.  They acted like clowns and waved and danced in the streets.  

Then we saw the Gigants, which translates as “giants”.  These costumes were much larger and more complicated.  Their internal structure was made of a wooden framework that was worn by the performer who crawled inside a fold in the long dress and hoisted the contraption onto his shoulders.  They twisted and turned around the street as they progressed down the street.  Allita discovered a small mesh window built into the front of the long dress that was used by the person inside in order to see outside. 

We watched a lovely costumed group perform the Sardana dance.   Several groups performed various ball de bastons or dances with sticks.  A group of girls performed the ball de cintes or dance with ribbons and a darling group of tiny girls and boys performed the ball de cercolets or dance with hoops. 

My favorite was the ball de gitanes which is a dance similar to the maypole dance in the U.S.  The colors of the costumes were vibrant and nearly as lively and beautiful as the dancers.  Each group of performers included a small musical ensemble called a cobla playing flabiols, tibles, dolçaines gralles and/or tenoras.  In one case, there was a bagpipe!  

It was clear they had dedicated a significant amount of time preparing for this event – practicing and exercising – so that they performed their very best.  We were so inspired by them that we frequently joined in with the clapping, singing, and laughing of the other spectators. The streets were full of joyous energy and communal bonding. 

We discovered the lovely little seaside village of Castelldefels quite by accident.  Because we were traveling with Toby, we needed a place for short-term living that would allow pets.  Further, since this is the end of summer and our last chance at a long family vacation before school starts in September, we thought a location near the beach would be more gratifying.  Typically, we would stay at an IBIS hotel chain since they are affordable, they are pet-friendly and we’ve had good experiences with them in the past.  There is, in fact, an IBIS here in Castelldefels, although it is closer to the Olympic park area.  While researching the local IBIS, we serendipitously discovered Hotel Ginosi.  Unlike IBIS, these rooms are more similar to apartments and include a small kitchen and dining area for about the same nightly rate.  Since we intend to stay here for nearly 3 weeks, it seemed more prudent to inhabit a space that afforded us gastronomic flexibility.

Hotel Ginosi has two locations in Castelldefels.  We chose the one that is closest to the train station so that we could more easily and efficiently gain access to Barcelona while we search for a long-term residence and begin the process of familiarizing ourselves with the area.  This choice was another happy twist of fate as it also placed us much closer to the center of the city, and, as we later discovered, the Plaza de l’Esglesia and the castle itself.  

The streets are filled with tiny shops on the ground floor.  Some shops contain fresh fruits and vegetables.  Some are cobblers, cafes, tabac stores, bakeries, gelato or ice cream parlors, butchers, home repair, and bazars that my mother refers to as “Dollar Tree”.  

This community is lovely.  Every extra space contains a park of some format.  Many include playgrounds,  climbing structures or exercise equipment.  Some are for skate boarders and some for bicyclists.  It is clear that outdoor activity is encouraged and welcomed.  Every time we wander these streets, Allita is certain to make use of all available recreational equipment.

For the most part, the streets are clean, there are regular park benches and trash receptacles along the sidewalks and cross walks at frequent intervals.  Drivers are quick to stop and allow pedestrians to pass across the busy streets.  People help each other with buggies, stroller or wheelchairs as needed.  Although they are not loquacious extroverts, like me, the locals are nice, courteous and obliging.  

On our second full day in Castelldefels, we walked around the center of the city of Castelldefels.  Many of the shops were closed for siesta, however a number of street-side cafes and mercados were open and hosting a lively business.  We visited the church and various squares and parks.  The purpose of this walking tour was two-fold. First, I had already walked several miles in the process of returning the rental car and riding the train back from the airport, but Mom and Allita had done nothing much more than shop for groceries.  Therefore, the family needed more exercise.  Second, we were curious about our new temporary home.  There is clearly a castle visible from the main square and we wanted to know more about other proximal sites that might be hiding behind the high-rise apartments in our foreground.  Our goal for the day was to explore and, if we were lucky, find the tourist information office.

Mom was the first to notice the sign touting the large blue i – the international symbol for information.  There is some cosmic justice in her discovery.  When my mother was little, she allegedly knew everything.  She would answer all questions and tell everyone what to do and how best to do it.  She’s still pretty much the same way.  However, in her youth, she was evidently more enthusiastic, therefore, her siblings dubbed her “Information”.  In the course of the day, a brother or sister might ask her “Who dialed information?!” whenever she provided input.  By the way, this fabulous trait is a genetic proclivity my mother shared with my child.  Aren’t I the lucky one?  In any case, as we approached the office, I explained the history of “Information” to Allita.  It’s somewhat challenging to grasp the concept of “speaking to an operator” on the telephone when the entire planet is now nearly 100% automated. Oftentimes I can’t speak to a human being even if I want to.  But that’s another topic.  

Mom and I enjoyed the tourist office.  We asked lots of questions and perused their supply of informative materials, several items of which we decided to bring with us upon departure.  Allita mostly lounged in the chairs and studied the artwork which included a cartoon image of the city’s dragon.  Every city in Spain has it’s own dragon apparently.  The dragon for Castelldefels has two heads.  

We were invited by the lady at the information office to attend the Festa Major which runs from August 14-18, 2019. Festa Major is a Catalan expression that translates into English as “big party”.  Hello!! This sounds interesting. Apparently, these celebrations include many of the unique customs and traditions particular to Catalonia.  Even better! The local lady who explained the festival also provided us with a schedule of events and details about specific ceremonies we might like to join or at least witness.  We spent most of the rest of our day studying the map and learning about the festa.  How lovely to be included by this little community in their special celebration.  We can’t wait to party!!

Last night, the flickering of lightening bouncing around my bedroom woke me from sleep at five minutes shy of 1am.  I could not yet hear the thunder but I knew the storm was coming.  I had felt it building like itchy energy around us all day long; contaminating the normal humidity with a strange power that thickened the air and made us all a little restless and twitchy.  In a little more than one-half hour, the tempest hit with a sudden ferociousness that reminded me of an Arizona summer monsoon.  I lay in the comfort of my dry, warm abode thankful, yet again, for walls, roof, bed and blanket and listened to the torrential downpour for at least an hour.  During this same period, the power in the apartment building flickered twice and eventually set off a system alarm that rang for 15 minutes until some enterprising soul discovered the “off” button.  There was a major hubbub in the hall with doors opening and closing, muted voices muttering and footsteps ringing on the stairs.  Eventually, as with all things, the raging diminished to a gentle sputter, all returned to status-quo, and finally, utter silence at 4:27am.  At this juncture, I would like to note that neither my mother nor my child were even remotely disturbed by the early morning goings-on.  Both slept as peacefully as the dead and were surprised to hear all my news later that morning over breakfast.  

I would also like to take a moment to point out that contrary to what Frederick Loewe would have us believe, the rain in Spain is NOT mainly on the plain.  There were puddles of muddy rain water and runoff all over the sidewalks, streets, stairs, and doorways.  Rain filled each underpass and dip.  Water literally flooded the city streets and underground garages. Only a small jon boat would have safely traversed from Ferrocarrill to Constitucio along Avenue de la Pineda but the passengers would have needed to lay down completely prone in order to avoid serious bodily damage while navigating under the overpass. In some cases, the water remained perilously high well into the late afternoon even with multiple pump and tubing systems deferring water to nearby drains as quickly as possible.  It was an awesomely horrifying mess and it was clear from our train ride into the city that Castelldefels was not the only region overwhelmed with fluids.  

Our plan for today was to ride the train to Barcelona and meet the real estate agent at 9am at her office on Passig de Gracia (a relatively well-known downtown street similar to Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles), where we might also get a glimpse of the nearby landmarks.  From there, we wanted to visit at least one or two potential long term rentals and discuss our preferences, thoughts and options.  Perhaps then, we could have a nice lunch, go to the market and ride the train home.  It sounded like a lovely plan until we realized that by arriving in Barcelona at 9am, we would be throwing ourselves into rush-hour traffic with hundreds of other commuters leaving the suburbs for the city.  Thankfully we had already purchased a train card so we skipped the long lines and followed the herd to the correct platform.  We managed to squeeze onto the first train which was only slightly faster than the slow boat to China and we plugged along studying the murky countryside and our heavy-eyed co-passengers.  Now I know how they can go to dinner at 9pm.  They simply sleep on the train.  Mystery solved.  

We had some difficulty with our initial meeting this morning.  Nothing unexpected and yet it was still a surprise.  Isn’t it funny how that sometimes happens?  Our scheduled 9am meeting soon morphed into “approximately 10am, por favor?” and we were left with some time to kill before we could get started.  Eventually, we explored Passig de Gracia, taking a moment to admire the architectural art of Antoni Gaudi that is so popular in this area.  We slipped off the beaten path and discovered a lovely flower market tucked away inside what appeared to be an old warehouse.  The flower market had casino-like effect on our perception of time and we unwittingly invested nearly an hour of our lives wandering amidst the foliage and blossoms.  

At this point, we were notified by our agent that she had located a property we could visit today and would like to meet us there.  It’s only a 2 mile walk from where we were currently aimlessly meandering, so surely not a problem, yes?  However, as Americans accustomed to having a real estate agent ferry us around in a large air-conditioned, gasoline-powered vehicle, we were a little unprepared for such personal exertion.  Uphill, nonetheless.  My mother was none too pleased with this development.  I was trying to see things from a more positive perspective.  Perhaps our agent simply wanted us to observe the lovely area and give us a chance to see more of where we might be living?  Perhaps on-street parking would be an issue and she wanted to mitigate any risk of negative first impressions?  Later, we discovered the actual reason why our agent wanted to meet us at every prospective property location: she drives a Vespa.  She’s very attractive in her high heels and fashionable clothes sitting on a tiny motorized bike with matching helmet.  Given how much we walked today and the fact that we did not procure a rental contract and therefore can expect many more similar days in our near future, Mom and I are considering our own motorized options.  Allita can probably fit in a sidecar, right?  

When we finally returned to Castelldefels, we were exhausted, yet exhilarated.  We had accomplished much of our original plan, which is a satisfying discovery we seldom recognize. We did stop for lunch.  We did find a market and make many purchases.  We did see some of the popular sights in town. We also, somehow, magically boarded the commuter train so we were able to quickly return to Castelldefels from Barcelona with only the Gava stop prior to our own.  Because it was 4pm, the cars were mostly empty so we luxuriated in our tiny seats.  All-in-all, it was a productive and lovely day.  Although we didn’t find a permanent home, we did get to see much of the area where we want to live.  Up close and personal.  And, even slimy, wet and under slightly overcast skies, it was quite nice.

We have arrived.  

I feel like there should have been considerably more fanfare and jubilation.  Possibly some sort of Hawaiian-esque welcome with festive dancers and smiling men in brightly colored shirts passing out large glasses of cold sangria instead of rum in a coconut and a lei.  Although, come to think of it, that didn’t happen to us when we got off the plane in Hawaii either.  So I’m apparently having a Fantasy Island moment.  Actually, I’m not sure we would have appreciated anything other than the simple sunny welcome we received.  We were all (even the poor cat) exhausted from the journey.  We trudged through the Barcelona airport, dragging along 9 (yes, NINE!!) pieces of luggage and one feline in a Sherpa bag.  I can’t say I remember many details about the airport except that it had fantastic and exceptionally functional air-conditioning.  An amenity that I did not fully appreciate until I went outside to collect the rental car.  That experience was reminiscent of all the times I left work in Houston in August and then walked 1/2 mile to my car in the parking lot.  For the first time in six years, I actually broke a sweat just standing outside and breathing.  Ahhhh humidity.  I had forgotten about you, my nemesis.  

Many of you have asked me to provide details about the “traveling-transatlantically-with-a-cat” experience.  I will start out by saying that I have never met an animal who travels better than Toby.  Surprise, surprise.  He was amazing.  He slept 99% of the way.  We did have some disagreement about him getting into his travel bag each time I had to unload and reload him, but otherwise, he was generally quiet and calm.  I doubt he enjoyed the relocation experience, however.  He spent all day Sunday in a state of high anxiety.  He witnessed the packing of suitcases into the rental car, the disappearance of many of this own personal items, a full cleaning of the house, removal of trash and all sorts of last minute purging.  There was a fair amount of angst on his part.  He told me so in detail between midnight and 3 am Monday morning.  Then, he was forced to stay in his little red collapsable travel bag most of the 8-hour drive from Tucson to Las Vegas on Monday.  I imagine that did not set a good precedence for our international flight.  In fact, getting him into said bag was somewhat more challenging on Tuesday, even though he was drugged.  “Resistance is futile”, I heard myself telling him.  Allita did not approve of my ensuing evil laugh.  Oh well, it was an inside joke designed for my generation.  

Also, I did not wear the travel-vest, as planned.  We had a trial run at lunch with Corie in Phoenix when we passed through on Monday.  Toby was a champ until about 1/2 way through the meal.  At that juncture, he decided he was done with living in the pouch and he violently projected himself backwards out of the pocket so that he was literally half-way in and half-way out – tail swishing violently in the air.  Mom and I worked surreptitiously under the table of our corner booth to extract him from my clothes and put him into his travel bag.  There was great relief on both our parts, and the nearby customer who had stared at me during the first half of the meal appeared somewhat relieved to discover the alien in my pocket was instead a cat. In retrospect, I wish I had seen a video of the experience as I am certain it was hilarious.  

Let me take a brief moment to explain the functional fashionwear I call my “travel-vest”.  My friend, Barb, posted a video on my FB page last year showing an Asian man wearing a hoodie.  Eventually, a cat poked his head out of a tiny pocket in the front of the sweatshirt.  It all appeared to be very convenient and lovey for both man and feline.  My mother, who is an amazing seamstress, repurposed a man’s sport vest into something very similar.  Thus, I was wearing a sleeveless, silver man’s sport vest with an angry, hot cat riding joey-style in the front pocket for a portion of our goodbye meal.    Needlesstosay, I have new-found respect for doe kangaroos.  Also, I want to give a note of thanks to Corey who originally suggested the idea of a trial run.   Another genius recommendation – thank you!

The rental car we reserved was the largest vehicle I have ever driven in Europe.  Any person who has ever driven in Europe will tell you that a large SUV is not the way to go.  I counted at least 10 times that I nearly took off the side of the car due to confined driving spaces.  We had some challenge finding the apartment, but we were successful.  We have a lovely terrace and plenty of space.  Living one mile from the beach in a quaint vacation rental for the next two or so weeks (hopefully).   Of course, parking was non-existent so I paid for one night access to a microscopic spot on the bottom floor of a covert subterranean garage. Of course, there was a pole next to the driver’s door so I had to crawl out the passenger side. Thankfully, at the exit there is a well-stocked mercat with a friendly merchant who sells alcoholic beverages. His name is Juan.

We all stayed up until after 9pm so that we could immediately get on a regular sleep routine.  No jet lag for this group of troopers!  This morning was lovely.  Humid and warm but hey, we’re in Spain!  Following a lazy breakfast, we drove cautiously to the Carrefour for some groceries and apartment-living staples.  Afterwards, I double-parked like a local (i.e. without a care in the world) in front of the apartment which doesn’t even allow on-street parking (and the sidewalk is under construction!), and we unloaded our purchases.  Then I took the car back to the airport and road the train home to Castelldefels.  

Here is a funny story:  I managed to figure out the train system pretty quickly.  It’s very nice of the Spanish to present the routes in a gigantic map painted across a massive wall outside the only entrance to the airport train station.  The map is color-coded and well-maintained – thus simple and straight-forward for the average level of reading comprehension.  After I determined my route and acquired my ticket, I waited patiently at the correct platform.  This was also the ONLY platform since the airport train station is the terminus for a single train route.  In a few moments, I heard a heavily accented voice ask “Excuse me, ma’am.  Can you please tell me if this train goes to Sants?”.  I turned to look as the voice was so close.  Who would be asking me such a question?  Do I appear to be a local already?!?  Yes.  Indeed, I apparently do.  As tempted as I was to ask “What other train options do you have?”, I decided to pay-it-forward and I walked the little family over to the massive, wall-mounted metro map to explain the little colored lines and station names printed neatly in black ink.  They appeared attentive and very appreciative.  Hopefully they got off the train in the right place. 

By the way, they were not the last people to ask me about directions.  After I changed direction (had to go north in order to go south) and made my way to another track at a different station, another nice family stopped to ask me if they were on the appropriate track for the train to Villanova.  I took them to a similar transit mural and explained that multiple trains come through this small station and yes, one track is for northbound and one for southbound.  So, each track will have multiple different trains but they will all be going either north or south.  They were on the southbound track with me so they were ok.  I am more confident they arrived at their location as it is the end of the line for the train I put them on.  Mental note:  teach Allita how to read metro maps.  It is apparently a life skill. 

A fascinating and friendly Spaniard named Gusto observed my dealings with the Villanova-bound family and struck up a conversation with me on the ride home. He has lived in Castelldefels for most of his married life and his grandchildren love going to the beach here. We chatted in broken Spanish/English for what felt like only a minute but was likely a little more. Long story short, I ended up with a free cheese pizza and some coupons to his nearby cafe.

And so, we have arrived.