Calcotadas and a Hike

It seems walking long distances and overeating is my new way of life. Yesterday, along with half of the other business program students, I took a very long up-hill walk to a restaurant hidden in the mountain.

It was a very long walk up to our destination. Mostly on a dusty trail surrounded by forest, it was the closest to nature that one can get to in Barcelona, I believe. We were constantly being passed by joggers and cyclists, who made us all feel very much out of shape.

 The restaurant where we stopped, "Can Marti," was made up by a pair of buildings and the patio between them.

 The wine was served in these oddly shaped pitchers, that remind me of tea kettles. They are meant to be drank from in the manner demonstrated here. It is a messy process that can lead to a sticky face and messy shirt if you're not careful.

Here I do my best to drink without spilling. But, like flying, the "landing" is the hardest part. But the friend taking the video seems to think I did well.

 In addition to the wine, we had a lot of delicious foods to try. Including, of course, the Calcotadas. Barbecued green onion. It is a challenge to eat them without getting messy, too.

 We also had following course of salads and meat. Tuna salad is quite common in Barcelona. And always ornately colorful in contrast to the meat and potato dishes served along with it.

 Our meal was concluded with tiramisu dessert and coffee or tea. All and all, the lunch was quite delectable and worth the hike up.

 After lunch, we parted from the others and continued up the mountain to Tibidabo by way of fernicular. The sights were amazing on the way up. We caught a bus to the top, where we enjoyed a magnificent view and the beauty of a church.

 As they say, "a picture is worth a thousand words," and these views speak for themselves. Barcelona, just before sunset, on the top of a mountain, is a lot like a giant mosaic, with every building and tree in the distance being a chip of tile embedded in the picture.

 Inside the small Cathedral, the sunset light gave an eerie line of light through stained glass windows.

 The ceilings of churches and other places of worship forever fascinate me. Perhaps it is the simple shapes with complex adornments, or the great distance that they manage to achieve with arches. Whatever it is, it keeps me contemplating quite a while when I am inside of one.

It is a peaceful thing to visit a Cathedral every couple of weeks. The beautiful structures and quiet atmosphere give me a chance to think in ways I don't normally take the time to. Much like staring up in a forest, the canopy of a church is a very positive and uplifting experience.

My Neighborhood

Being in a homestay often means living on the farther reaches of the city.The center of Barcelona is focused on a port. If you walk away from the port towards the mountains, you will find the most dense area of Barcelona. From the tiny winding streets of the Gothic district to La Rambla and El Raval, there are tourists and citizens filling the streets. But go a bit further towards the river called Llobregat, and you'll find, still in city blocks, a much calmer area of town. The innocent rows of three and four story buildings make up a Spanish equivalent of suburbs. 

 From our dining room window, this tiled roof is my constant reminder that I am not in the US.

 It is not something seen from the street, but between buildings are spaces like this, where laundry is hung out to dry, and people set on verandas in the summertime. These sides of the buildings are unkempt, and rarely repainted. It is a little like the unseen under reaches of a queen sized bed. It is harder to reach, and no one really sees it, so you don't bother.

 On virtually every street there is a corner like this, with a cafe and other establishments. The cafe always has fresh cressants which fill the air with a tantalizing smell when the door opens.

 The buildings in the further reaches of town are, in general, much smaller than those in the city center. These buildings serve as housing and places of business. The ground floor serves as a shop or restaurant, and the stories above are apartment flats, owned or rented by the people who dwell within them.

 The animal life in Barcelona consists of pigeons, house cats, and dogs. You can't go for a walk anywhere in the city without seeing one tied up, or on a leash being walked.

The building I live in is particularly old. Having five above ground stories would merit an elevator in modern times, but this building has none. The set of keys used to get in and out show the best how ancient the place is. The smaller key opens the door at the ground floor, and the large key (which stretches longer than my palm) is for the door of E's flat. The flat itself has been retro-fitted to a more modern look, but has no central heating.

In all, it is a peaceful place to live, less than three blocks to the nearest Metro stop, less than a block from the nearest coffee shop, and tucked away from any large street that would bring night noise. It is amazing to me to be able to live so close to everything, but still have a quiet home. This is again in the construction of the buildings. Spanish apartments are generally laid with bricks, whereas American homes are made of wood. Hmmm, I guess the story of the three pigs and the wolf may be true, if the wolf's howl is what worries you.

Santander y Los Pueblos

This weekend I took an airplane to Santander for a visit with my sister and her family.
Santander is a small city on the Northern coast of the Cantabrian region of Spain. The city itself sets on a small peninsula, giving it massive amounts of beaches. Unfortunately, being just about at the 45th parallel and on the cold Atlantic coast,  this time of year is not a good time to visit Cantabrian beaches. Instead, Rana and O took me out to see the construction on their new home.

 A plot of land out in a small town has been setting with nothing but dirt and grass for years. This December, after much paperwork and waiting, the contractors broke ground and began the building process for an uncharacteristically large house in the North of Spain.

 This is a nice view from the construction site. There are rolling hills and unique houses all around the place.

 As you can see, it was very cold there. But that isn't snow, it is hail. O said that this is not a typical Cantabrian winter, but it certainly made me feel right at home.

 After looking at the construction, we went to a Mexican restaurant in another little town named Lierganes. We met up with O's brother, Tiki, and Tiki's friend, Mo. Rana goes to this restaurant when she is feeling homesick, as it is a more authentic place to dine. The owners are from Mexico, and therefore make the food a little more spicy than the Spanish would were they running the joint.
This sweet little town is known for its older architecture, including a small bridge, and for a view of a very interestingly shaped hill. It is best known to me for a whiskey pub near the center of town.

 The buildings have designs that are borderline Basque style, a style I adore greatly, and tiny curvy streets that tell you this is a very old location. And yet, you can see just how modern it has become, with the yellow trash container and all.

The hill seen here is one of the favored attractions of the town, and can be hiked up to by travelers who choose to. It was too cold this weekend, but perhaps this summer I'll head to the top of the peaks.

Now I am back in Barcelona, working hard in my classes and awaiting the next big adventure.

Montserrat

This weekend I took a trip out of town to visit a beautiful scenic spot known as Montserrat. The location is a small mountain, adorned by tall, gray, rocks. We arrived in the morning, while a set of low clouds were still present, creating a mystical illusion. 

 The river that runs below the mountain seemed peaceful from so far up. As can be seen by reference of the trees and road, Spanish rivers tend to be on a smaller side than those in the states. Still, the snaking body of water was a lovely contrast against the foliage of the countryside.

 Midway up the mountain is a small, touristy town. It was so filled with fog, we could not see up a flight of stairs!

 Inside of the town is a small cathedral. The courtyard was elegant and full of shivering tourists waiting to go into the building.

 This mural was on a wall in the courtyard. It was very eye-catchingly dark compared to the other imagery in this particular place of worship.

 Gothic-style mantles like this were placed in several ante-chambers and chapels to the side of the main room of the cathedral. This is normal in cathedrals, and each mantle is often dedicated to a particular saint or important priest of the past.

 Stained-glass windows are an absolute given in older churches. And are always appreciable to onlookers. They are most appreciated when the sunlight shines through and creates a glorious spectrum of light.

 Above doorways there are often these delicate sculptures of flowers. The masons must have worked so long and hard to make each one identical to the next.

 These gorgeous stone mosaics lined a flight of stairs that lead from the chapels to the back of the cathedral. Every single person depicted in these intricate designs was a woman of biblical importance. Never have I seen so many female depictions in a church without men among them. 

 I must say that I have taken a liking to the art form of mosaics. When I return to the states, I hope to take it up and create some pieces of my own.

 This is a view of the cathedral from the back, in a small chamber above the preacher's podium. They are vast places, cathedrals. The acoustics within them are astounding and resounding. It marvels me when I look at the amazing things that are accomplished when a group of people set out to do something with a common belief. Great things are formed with unity.

 A mosaic of angels was inlaid on the ceiling of the spot where we looked out at the vastness of the cathedral.

 In the alcove where we stood was this statue. This is the symbol of this particular cathedral, and is its most important piece of art. She is La Maroneta. (The Black Virgin). A version of the Virgin Mary with a young Jesus in her lap.

 On the way out of the cathedral, there were rows of candles placed in silent shimmering prayer of visitors who made small donations in exchange for lighting one. This is quite common among cathedrals. Most will have candles and lighters available for the faithful who wish to leave something in the name of the Holy Spirit. In more commercialized cathedrals, I have even seen battery operated lamps that looked like candles being sold for the same purpose. But, just the same, it is an illuminating and lovely effect.

 As I mentioned before, the fog was incredibly thick during the hours of the morning.

 The journey up the mountain was expectedly long, and unexpectedly steep!

 Deep crevices, like wrinkles of a elderly man, brought severity and the feeling of spiritual power to the mountain hike.

 The mountain itself was topped with these odd formations of rock. I imagine that were there a wise man of the mountain, he would be found among these.

 The mystic feeling that fog brings to a natural setting is wondrous. I spent the majority of the hike expecting a small fairy-creature to pop out from behind a rock, or to smell smoke and stumble upon a dragon's cave. A walk through nature does wonders for the imagination, not to mention the body.

 As the day wore on, and we made our way back down the mountain side, the fog lifted and cleared. We were able to see some of the most spectacular sites of my life. I must say that back home our mountains are quite different. Covered from bottom to top with evergreens, they are hardly gray at all. But Montserrat is sprinkled delicately with sprigs of deciduous trees that stand below gorgeous gray stone.

 On our way down, we were astounded to finally be able to see the whole of the mountain town. The bright tiled roofs showed their cheery orange and the sky competed with a warm blue, while the mountain itself burst to life in vibrant shades of green and gray.

 Riding the fenicular down from the halfway point, we had quite a view. The distant hills reminded me of long car rides to my grandfather's house. Simple curvy shapes that pass in the background.

 While we awaited the train to take us back to Barcelona, we spotted signs that lead to a bar. Feeling the chill of winter, we decided to check it out and have something warm to drink.

The staff, family members from a local farm, were friendly and worked quickly to serve the strangers passing through. Having a small establishment next to a train station, for whom the passengers' only destination is a mountain for hiking, seems a good little niche for a family to fill.

The trip was overall a positive one, despite the cold and the fog. We have decided to go back near the end of our trip to try and finish the hike, which could have lasted another three hours one way, were our legs strong enough.

Until next time, dear readers.

Bailar

Dancing is an art form, a way to meet new people, and one of the most enjoyable ways to exercise. It is a spectacular rhythm of movement set to music and the expression of every dancer's soul.

During my first week here in Barcelona, Rana and O took me to a Flamenco show. The flurry of skirts, stamping of feet, and fluid music were incredible to behold. It was a mix of the senses. As the dancers swirled across the stage, dramatic music seeming to illustrate the importance of every step, it was as if sorcery was taking over the theatre. One dancer had a dress train that was as long as she was tall, but it seldom touched the floor as she twisted and pulled it like an elegant whip. The dancers went on for what seemed like an eternity, and yet no time at all, of beautiful movements. Along with the music came a most terrifying song from the voices of the performers. They sang like sirens. A disturbing scream with such beauty you cannot help but hang on every note. I did not understand a word of their songs, but the emotion in the singers' voices explained all that I did not understand. It was a night to remember.

Last week I took the chance at attending a dance club. The particular one I went to was a Salsa club. Last year, I took a Salsa dance class, just for fun and exercise. Being able to dance in a room full of strangers is a great deal of fun. Most dance clubs with a specific dance style begin the evening with lessons for different levels of dancers. Then, around midnight, the real dancing begins. The greatest thing about Salsa is that anyone with two feet can do it. It is incredibly simple, has many forms, and with a partner who knows what he is doing, it is like soaring over clouds. I danced, sometimes with one of the girls I went with and sometimes with a gentleman who asked me, and felt my energy come alive. I always wear high heeled shoes when dancing. The amazing thing is, my feet only hurt if I am standing still. I believe there is a fairytale about a girl who could not stop dancing because of her shoes... But I digress.
After an hour or so, the random couples dappled across the dance floor turned into circles of dancers as a mic weilding DJ announced steps and partner changes to do. This went on for several songs and many brilliant line dance moves. Then the crowd dispersed back into chaos as dancers went their own ways once more.

Dancing is not something that requires complete passion, but is well worth a few hours a week. My Salsa instructor would say "It is good for the spirit and body." And it is true. There is nothing more incredible than the feeling of dancing for hours upon hours, not a care in the world but who your next partner will be.