Until Next Time

On the same weekend that the Spanish government granted “personhood” status to a saltwater lagoon so that it could sue for environmental harm to itself, we saw more music in two hours than we’d seen in three weeks, as shown below.

This is because it’s the weekend of the Mercé, the annual massive festival in Barcelona that, like many European festivals, started off as something “church” religious and turned into something that is mostly “music, dancing and beer” religious. 

After one last drum line, fire-breathing dragon, concert and walk around the park, it was time to go to sleep before heading to the airport.

And with that one more trip to Spain is in the books. When I first got here more than three weeks ago, I needed to get through a security gate at the Barcelona airport to catch my flight to Mallorca, and the scanner couldn’t read the bar code on my boarding pass. I was stuck behind the gate and there was no one around except for a very large, heavily-armed serious-looking security guard. I explained my problem and he took my boarding pass and scanned it successfully on a different machine. When I thanked him, he said “Everything works better with a little love.” Lesson learned.

Begur

The four of us headed to the coast to have some beach time before returning to the big city. We’re staying in Begur, which has a population of 3,900 in the winter and 40,000 in the summer. The town is very small, very cute, has very nice restaurants and is very expensive compared to Barcelona, but it’s right on the Mediterranean and many beaches are very accessible.

Like Sa Tuna

And Aiguafreda

And Aigua Blava

It also has towers that were built in the 16th and 17th centuries. Begur was, for some reason, a favorite target for pirate attacks. So the townspeople built towers that they could climb up and then use to drop big rocks on the pirates. We went up one and didn’t drop anything on anyone.

After a nice dinner at one of those nice restaurants, Martha and I sat in the central plaza overlooking some of those nice restaurants, drank wine out of a water bottle that Martha’s been dragging around with us for several days and ate dessert out of a paper bag from an assortment of things I picked up at the bakery. “You do you and we’ll do us,” is what I say to Spain.

Girona

Sometimes you think you know a place and then one day you realize that you really don’t know anything about it at all.

Like Girona. I’ve been here several times. The Onyar river runs though it, separating the old city from the new. It's generally a genteel, wealthy town with reasonable, well-educated people.

It has an old wall dating back to the 9th century, which was meant to keep invaders away. But as we know, walls don’t really work and the invaders came anyway. Including from France, which you can see in the distance.

I thought I had a handle on the place. But then on this trip I noticed this baffling sign. Something climbing something involving something that is prohibited. What could it possibly mean?

Zoom out and there’s an actual figure of something climbing something. What could that second thing mean? Turns out the “thing” is a lion climbing a pole and that people would kiss the ass of the lion to ensure that they would come back to Girona some day. Almost nothing could diminish the tourists’ desire to kiss the lion’s ass, including the fact that someone died a few years ago after falling off the ladder he climbed to get his face close enough to the ass (a writing “first” for me). But COVID finally made a difference. After determining that multiple strangers putting their mouths on the same ass (sorry) could spread the virus, kissing the ass was outlawed. Thus the puzzling sign.

Then this, which just seemed wrong in so many ways. 

Zoom out again, and it turns out that it’s not only a product; it’s the name of the entire business. What are people here thinking?

Then we had a delightful dinner at a restaurant that had menus only in Catalan, a language none of us spoke or could even guess at. And the bill was written in a secret code. That’s when I realized I really don’t know Girona at all. 

Barcelona Day 6

Our apartment is about 100 feet from the Santa Maria del Mar, a church built in the 1300s that rings out the time every 15 minutes. Fortunately our apartment has soundproof windows.

The church is famous because unlike almost every other church, which was built by royalty, this one was built by fishermen and shop owners who voluntarily dragged the stones one by one on their backs from the port. Back then there wasn’t room for working class people in the established churches so they decided to build their own damn church. And it is quite a church.

Also, judging from the Netflix series Cathedral of the Sea, which is a dramatic account of some happenings here around the time the church was built, the people were really good looking and fell in love a lot.

Speaking of love, you can get married here if you remember to make a reservation years in advance, meaning that women (men around here generally don’t do this) reserve a date before they even have a boyfriend, hoping that the timing will work out. Being a male, I can imagine the pressure this puts on the poor guys who are dating the women who have already reserved a wedding date at the church. 

We had a little potluck dinner at our rooftop overlooking the Santa Maria del Mar and bade it farewell since tonight is our last night here. Nothing now stands between us and Girona, our next stop, other than . . . 

. . . a James Taylor concert tonight at the Palau de la Musica, the theatre that you really have to see to appreciate. A UNESCO World Heritage site, the theatre looks like some wild fantasy designed by a committee. But a committee of what is the question.

Barcelona Day 5

I see it as a good sign that whereas during my first trip to Spain there was no president here,  nor had there been one for over a year, and during my second trip to Spain the Spanish government arrested the whole cabinet of northern Spain and charged them with treason while northern Spain’s president fled to Belgium where he still is today, the huge scandal today is that the New York Times grossly mispresented the process of making tomato bread.

Tomato bread is something that accompanies most meals here, and at the risk of incurring the wrath of every Catalonian Spaniard, I’ll say that it’s more or less tomato slurry on toasted bread. But just this weekend, the New York Times posted a recipe that suggested you could use cherry tomatoes, cut lengthwise and rubbed on toasted bread. Catalonia exploded – “You got it all wrong,” “You deserve extinction,” “Stop using Spanish for Catalan dishes,” and “Where can I file a complaint,” were some of the milder comments posted from Spanish readers.

Along those lines, I say that if Catalonians want to focus on these types of frustrations, then why not:

• The fact that in my neighborhood here there are two bakeries very close to each other. One is called “Funky Bakers” and the other is called “Fucking Bakery” (no kidding). These names are not only confusing, but they’re pretty bad names.
  
  
  
• Duck Stores 

  

  
  
  
  
• A tattoo parlor that allows the word “oops” to remain in its marketing message. 

• Terrifying mannequins
  
  
  

As for us, we ignored all of that and went for a bike ride through Barcelona today.  

Barcelona Day 4

Not being satisfied with my tour of Barcelona, which consisted only of photo opportunities and amusing anecdotes about my prior trips here, the girls decided to go on a more traditional tour today, which probably involved learning things about Barcelona. That gave me a couple of hours to recuperate from last night, during which we had a wild party on our roof terrace until 8:00 and then went to bed.

Post tour, we hopped down to the park and then to the Mediterranean for a quick dip. Between you and me, it wasn’t Mallorca good, but it was pretty good.

Then, energized by a fresh supply of wine and cheese, we had another party on the roof terrace this evening. Unlike last night, we didn’t have a roomful of Europeans for Carolyn to entertain by explaining that not all Americans fit the stereotype they have come to understand from watching CSI reruns and reading Yahoo! News, so she explained it to us instead.

After which we went out for dinner. Tonight, the girls managed to stay up until 11:00 and I figure tomorrow we can really let loose.

On an unrelated note, northern Spain has an old tradition that reflects a very thoughtful, sensitive and contemporary understanding of the natural cycles of growth, harvest, consumption and returning nutrients to the soil that make an agricultural society prosper. Unfortunately, northern Spain has adopted this physical manifestation of that complex understanding, which means that no one outside of Spain ever takes it seriously. Honestly, these statues are everywhere, and people hang smaller versions of them in their Christmas trees, and when anyone makes fun of them, Spain says “what’s so funny? This is just how we express our desire for healthy crops next year.” In some ways, Spain is so misunderstood.

Barcelona Day 3

Today involved being tired, saying things that didn’t make sense, getting a little lost and having trouble finding doors. Not for me; for Martha and our two friends Monica and Carolyn, who all joined me today in Barcelona after an overnight flight.

I was intent on meeting them at the airport. Knowing how flaky the Spanish train system is, I got up extra early to take the 7:02 a.m. airport train, figuring that even if it was late I would still get to the arrival gate on time. But it wasn’t late. It just never came at all. The people on the platform, many of whom had planes to catch, ended up waiting an extra 45 minutes for the next train. Which was itself overfilled because it had picked up everyone at the earlier stations who also intended to catch the train that never came. So I started my morning in an overcrowded train filled with super stressed-out people who were all preparing to sprint to their flights as soon as the train stopped. I felt like telling Spain I was just going to start taking taxis, but I know Spain wouldn’t really care so I didn’t bother.

Everything worked out in the end, and within three hours I was able to lead Monica and Carolyn through everything you need to see in Barcelona. My tours skip a lot of the history, context and other unnecessary materials and pretty much encourage the participants to get a good look at everything, take a few pictures and move on.

I don’t believe in requiring walking sticks and doing pre-tour stretching, as many of the more expensive tour companies do.

Then we had bread and cheese for dinner and everyone but me was passed out by 7:00.

A good time was had by all.

Barcelona Day 2

Today was my last day of travelling alone. I’m delighted that Martha and two of our friends will be joining me tomorrow, but I have mixed feelings about having to look and smell acceptable for eight consecutive days. I prepared for the occasion by taking a shower, which I hope they notice and appreciate. 

I swung by the big Barcelona market, the Boqueria, to pick up some supplies for the chicas. As a place that is not for the squeamish, I thought I’d spare our vegetarian, animal-loving friends who are visiting here for the first time from having to witness the carnage that is Spanish food.

Depending on who you are, this could look like dinner or the makings of nightmares.

This one, pretty much just nightmares.

Sometimes a nice, fresh ham cone just calls out to you. Myself, I just had a cup of cut-up fresh fruit.

There’s a Barceloneta beach club down by the ocean, which seems to attract primarily middle-aged and elderly men. I see them out by the clubhouse door every day playing dominoes. Some of them look kind of frail, but others look like extras from The Sopranos.

We’re going to spend a few days here together and then leave for the Mediterranean coast, but we’ll be back in time for the biggest night of the Mercé, Barcelona’s annual festival celebrating music, performing arts and bad judgment, including the Carrefoc, where people gather at one of Barcelona’s main avenues to get sprayed with huge spark shooters held (actually “aimed”) by people dressed up as devils. As the program says, “make sure to bring long-sleeved clothing, head protection and goggles or glasses. Make sure your clothing is made with a non-flammable material. Sparkers are often deliberately sprayed into the crowd and you will need this protection to prevent any possible burns.” Quoting from the first entry on the FAQ page for the Carrefoc, “Q: It looks an exciting event but is it safe to have fireworks sprayed into the crowds of spectators? A: You have raised a good point. . . “

And that’s only the beginning. I can’t wait.

Back in Barcelona

Back in Barcelona, I went for a run through the park today and managed not to squash any parrots.

I’m settled into an apartment, where I’ll be for six days. This is pretty much the first time in almost two weeks that I haven’t stayed in a different place every night, so I’ve been able to hang my t-shirts in the closet, giving them the dignified environment they deserve.

My apartment is on the “second” floor, meaning you get in the elevator, press “2” and then go up four floors to the second floor. This is because I start at floor "O," then pass through floors "E" and “P.” As if speaking a different language weren’t confusing enough.

But nothing was confusing about tonight; I headed off to spend a few hours in a bar with two women I met online. Please get your mind out of the gutter. It’s the teacher from the Spanish classes I’ve been taking and one of my fellow students who came down from Denmark to take a week-long in-person class this week. 

In keeping with the normal behavior of everyone in the world except Americans, the teacher speaks Spanish, Catalan and English, and the student speaks Danish, German, English and Spanish. That means tonight’s gathering was hosted by Spanish with a smattering of English. Although to be honest, once the teacher left, the Danish student and I agreed that speaking Spanish in a bar for 2 ½ hours was kind of exhausting, so we switched back to English for the rest of the evening.

All in all, it was just so terrific to have some real-life time with two people I have spent many, many hours with online across continents. It's experiences like this that make you feel like maybe the whole world isn't going to shit after all. Although they're both baffled by the things they read about the United States. Join the club.

Jerez 2

I really enjoy towns’ central markets. They’re a combination deli, farm-to-table and biology lab. The Jerez market was hopping today.

It always puzzles me why people congregate around one fruit stand, one seafood stand, etc. To an untrained eye like mine, they all look pretty much the same.

Next time you have a nice grilled tuna steak marinated in soy sauce and ginger, take a moment to appreciate the relatives of guys like him (or her) who made it possible.

Post market visit I wandered around town a little and stumbled on to Calle Ciego, which I’d read was named one of the most beautiful streets in the world. If you have 19€, you can see it too. Turns out it’s on the Tio Pepe property and you’re not supposed to just wander around there unless you’re part of a tour, which I didn’t know. But that made me slightly suspicious of the award status of that street. I looked it up further and found that the “beauty” assessment was determined by some artificial intelligence software. I also looked at the rest of the streets in the top 10 and one of them was Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I’ve been to Bourbon Street and I can tell you that people do gravitate there and look around a lot, but it’s not to appreciate the beauty of the street. And that one is free.

In all of these old Spanish cities, people take their dogs out to pee in the street, as I guess they have been doing for hundreds of years. Municipal staff wash them every day, but hundreds of years of this takes a toll. I realized today that the faint smell of old urine is actually kind of comforting to me because I associate it with all of these great trips to Spain. But it does pretty much obliterate the five-second rule.

I don’t think Trip Advisor has a concept of rating a whole city, but that won’t stop me from giving Jerez a solid three stars out of five unless you’re into dancing horses and sherry, in which case you should find a different reviewer. It’s a fine place to visit, but I wouldn’t plan a 7-day extravaganza in Jerez. All in all, it has history, the people are nice, the coffee is fresh and the sheets are clean.

And now, off to Barcelona – where the restaurants never close, the sun always shines and the streets smell faintly of dog urine.

Jerez

After a run around the tip of Cadíz in the fog and drizzle, which I will not call “frozzle,” and which included going through the Dr. Seuss park, I packed up my stuff and got on a train to Jerez.

I expected this place, the city of dancing horses and sherry drinking, to have a little more, I don’t know, pizazz. It is very low key, a lot of the businesses are closed and the buildings for rent, and some of the top “things to do” in Jerez on Trip Advisor involve taking day trips to other places.

To be fair, the unemployment rate in southern Spain is more than double what it is in the north, agriculture in the south is suffering from what is being called a 500-year drought, and there is more poverty in the south. So when the woman at the hotel desk said my room was ready even though I showed up at noon, I thought to myself that it had probably been ready for at least a week.

Nonetheless, the centro of Jerez is lively and it’s easy to find young hipsters drinking beer while sitting in front of this famous Plaza de Arenal statue (which I shall call "Dictator with Pigeon Shoulder") celebrating the rise to power of Miguel Primo de Rivera, Spain’s first dictator, who overthrew the democratically-elected government in the late 1920’s and who historians credit with creating the disastrous conditions that allowed Francisco Franco to start a civil war and take over as the next dictator for decades.

It’s also a very old place so there are things to see. Like the Royal Alcázar, which dates back to the 12th century, not counting the multiple times it was destroyed and rebuilt. The original version, which had Moorish influences that still appear, was built to house the royal family, some army guys and the literati of the time. It has two main watchtowers – one facing away from the city and one facing in. Why? Because the people who lived inside figured it was as likely that they’d be invaded by outsiders as it was that they’d be invaded by angry townspeople. As the tour narrator said “it was a dangerous time.”

There is, of course, also a massive cathedral. If you’re going to build a church, here’s how you do it. And it was built with ramps so that people who want to pray for healing don’t have to walk up 200 steps to get to the alter. 

The big story in town is the story of Tío Pepe. Sherry is everywhere and has been for a long time. Back in the1800’s, the Tío Pepe winery got electricity before the city of Jerez did. Not making any judgments at all about religion and alcohol, but the largest statue I could see on the cathedral grounds was one of Tío Pepe, standing next to a keg of sherry. 

 

Cadíz 2

With the benefit of both hindsight and a borderline illegal amount of caffeine this morning, I learned why I got so lost last night. I was looking for a particular restaurant in the old town. The “old town” of any European city is specifically laid out to be confusing so that invaders would just keep invading in endless circles and loops, continually running into each other while they tried to find whatever it was they were looking for (perhaps the reason England kept invading Cadíz). 

Anyway, just before my phone died I took a last glance at Google maps, which told me to walk to the water and turn right. Since I was on an island with water in every direction and also in the old town, heading toward the water and turning right meant that there was more or less a zero percent chance I would ever know where I was or where I was going.

Having discovered this morning that learning something once in a while does have a potential benefit, I doubled down and went on an educational walking tour of the city. Who knew learning could actually be useful? For example:

One “gift” the British left behind after all of their invasions was the terrific idea of taxing people based on how many square feet of windows they had. Thus, everyone either reduced the size of their windows or just removed them. Spain no longer taxes windows, but they do tax the use of ozone-harming fluorocarbons in air conditioners.

If you ever find yourself involved in Napoleonic Wars, once they’re over and you don’t need cannons anymore, you can just throw them in the ocean. Or . . . you can embed them in buildings where people use them for hundreds of years as ashtrays, beer holders, dog-peeing spots, whatever. You’ll notice that the one in the bottom right corner is on a street that vehicles can’t enter except for ambulances. Since the streets here are about 8 inches wider than a car and they are full of cars, motorcycles and pedestrians dodging each other all day, it definitely makes sense to provide good access to ambulances.

Speaking of dogs, they are apparently not allowed in stores. But they are SO good.

And this is how this happens.