Finally got around to putting up some of my photos from Spain.

They showed us Madrid like only locals can, and it was truly awesome! After meeting up, we walked through Retiro Park on the final day of the annual national book fair, which stretched farther than my eye could see. To give our legs a rest, we were then treated to a chaufered personal tour down the main vein of the modern center, Paseo de la Castellana. We passed Spain’s Stock Exchange, the Treasury, Tax Collection headquarters, and major banks.

Even though it was raining, we detoured to have a look at the Temple de Debod, and caught sight of a rainbow near sunset for our troubles.

Next came the Fiesta de San Antonio de la Florida. Afterall, what could be better than a look in at one of Madrid’s annual festivals, and it was great. We started in toward a food spot well known to locals (we were told) and neighboring the Chapel where El Greco rests his painterly bones. On our way there, I got talked into sharing what I was told is a specialty of Madrid, fried pork intestine.

Do you care to know what I thought of breaded & fried poop shoot, as Anthony Bordain puts it? Well I’ll tell you. Having grown up in Arkasas, I think I can testify that anything breaded and fried pretty much shares that breaded-and-fried flavor profile. It was quite rich and salty with crunch, not unlike fried chicken skin, but with added chew. Bread was a good accompaniment, and—as Jośe pointed out—some wine (acidity) would help to cut the richness of it. Did I like it? Sure. I enjoyed it. Though I’m probably not in need of getting it again all too soon, it was fun to give it a try. (I’m still saving blood sausage for another time, however.)

Back to our preordained tapas stop: as I said, it was right next to the Chapel of San Antonio de la Florida—a big wooden tavern of a place that reminded us of a Munich beer hall—where we all enjoyed chiorzo braised in hard cider, washing it down with—what else?—hard cider. Others of us (Ken wasn’t up for trying the pork bowel sandwiches, either) enjoyed tuna-laced ensalada pimentoes and empanadas to share, as well. With the slightest shred of appetite still remaining, we headed out toward the festival.

The festival was much like you might imagine. It featured various food stalls, carnival rides, a rock band performance, and a few folks in traditional costume. At Marisol’s prompting, we got our picture taken with the traditionally clad folks, and they were most obliging. Super fun! O! And I should mention that we tried soaked chuffa nuts (such as are used to make horchata) and pickled eggplant (which was something I would definately eat all the time if I could find them like this at home).

For one last tapas stop, we were back in the car toward our hotel and Puerto del Sol. Jose told us how the place was part of a chain, but that the food is good. It was. It was Las Bravas at the intersection of Calle de Alvarez Gato and Calle de la Cruz, just a few blocks past Puerto del Sol. They ordered for us some croquets, a tortilla, and (damn, I can’t remember what else, but it was good).

Thanks so much to this group for showing is a memoriable and authentic night. It was a blast. We hope for the chance to return the favor sometime

Last night after rolling in on the AVE from Segovia we wasted little time in heading to the Prado as it was free after 16:00 and closed at 20:00. The book warned of massive crowds any time the museum was free but it was very manageable.

Seeing that time was short we headed for the important stuff first. The Goya, the Velázquez, the El Greco, with a few Titians and Ruebens thrown in for good measure.

Today we hit the Thyssen-Bornemisza for the more modern art. A very enjoyable museum which held a few discoveries for me.

Tomorrow we will go to the Reina Sofía. And the the day after that we head home.

As sad as it is to end our time in Spain, it will be good to get back home to familiar things. Plus I’m sure the kitties will be glad to see us.

Here we are in Segovia and the rain has started to play an on and off game with us. The three hour bus from Salamanca, not a drop of rain. As soon as we were settled and heading out to see the town a serious downpour started.

So we had a little vino tinto while it blew over. Then as we strolled down towards the aquaduct started again. Now we are in a bar for a caña (small beer) while the latest bout blows over. Irene keeps trying to order something other than beer and is utterly failing to communicate her desires. She will say the word to be greeted with a blank stare. She will then write it down and they will say “ah!” and repeat it back to her almost exactly as she said it. Sometimes in think they are just messing with us.

Here are some random observations about Spain:

•The bread is mostly terrible.
•Everything comes with a side of fries.
•If it doesn’t come with fries it has canned tuna in it.
•Vegetables are sold at the markets but this is just for show. You can’t actually get any at a restaurant.

Tonight we feasted on suckling pig (a speciality in the region). We have discovered it is shockingly easy to polish off a bottle of wine with dinner.

I slept. Ken seems not so lucky. He looks tired. A 24-hour coffee shop inside the train station is our salvation. The weather turned during our daytrip to San Jean de Luz yesterday. We got caught in the rain, and thus kicked off our waiting time earlier than expected. Whereas now we’re waiting for a reasonable hour when other businesses will be open, last night we were waiting out the rain and waiting for transport back across the Spanish-French border to San Sebastian earlier than we otherwise would have been. As we arrived here this morning, we saw that we brought the rain with us.

So, I’m glad to be at least partially-rested, warm, dry, safe, and caffeinated. I’ll take this moment to extol the utter fantastic-ness of traveling with a smart phone. Ken and I tend to compose these little ditties during the inevitable wait times that accompany travel and upload them when a wifi opportunity presents itself. This is the first trip of its kind where I’ve had my own snazzy gadgetry, and I’ve really enjoyed keeping up with the news, writing emails (without hunting down any Internet cafés or navigating funny keyboards), uploading pictures to Facebook, and posting my few entries to this blog. Being this connected changes the way it feels to travel.

Speaking of the news, Spain is in the headlines in the US because public workers here are threatening to strike over wage cuts due to take effect this month. We’ve heard a lot of protests in many of the places we’ve visited. I assume they’re all focused on the economic situation, which I only vaguely understand. Other than the seemingly frequent protests (and the increasingly favorable—for us—exchange rate converting dollars to euros) our personal experience as foreign tourists has not called real attention to Spain’s economic hardship. I personally hope it stays that way for us and that we continue to avoid inconveniences (such as a strike by public workers) for the remainder of our stay. That the country and its people are struggling is clear. Reading about concerns that the EU and/or its currency could fail bother me a lot. I’d always thought the whole notion of the EU was/is lofty. I wish I knew more about the situation here (in Spain particularly) but much more than that, I wish it fixed, rapido.

That about taps my tired brain for this early morning. We’re going to try for a bus into town where we’ll occupy more wait time getting breakfast. Hola from Salamanca!

The triumphant return of gelato flavors of the day: for me it was a bit of a departure from my cafe safe-zone. I tried a queso, which I would compare favorably to cheesecake only more tangy, and a rice pudding, which was very good. Irene had cocunt and whiskey which she reports as bieng “tasty”.

Our time in Bilbao was brief but sufficient. We rolled into town in the afternoon and, after a brief respite at our hotel, set out for a stroll around the old town. We stopped into a bar for pintxos and a caña (small beer) and then more strolling. We came across an unexpected bagpipe band which had the whole street singing. We had dinner at a local bar and then to bed.

The next morning found us early at the Guggenheim, Gehry’s architectual masterpiece, in what was clearly Seattle weather sent here to cool us off and remind us of what we’ve missing back home. The current exhibits were a Rosseau collection, which demonstrated that he is known despite his lack of skill as a draftsman, and Rauschenberg who is known for reasons that entirely escape me.

We did both, however, enjoy the works of Anish Kapur. Creator of the Magic Bean in Chicago (or as it is officially known, Cloud Gate). One installation that was a lot of fun was a big air cannon that would shoot buckets of red wax against the corner. Every so often a man would enter the room, load up the cannon and, with a loud bang, fire. He would then exit the room where he would joke with the guards about his aim.

We bused it from Bilbao to San Sebastian in the afternoon. Not much to say about San Seb. It’s a pretty little city on the Bay of Biscane and we spent a pretty lazy day there hanging out by the beach and generally just resting. Oh yeah, we did have some ice cream (see above).

Today we hopped the commuter train to French Basque country in the guise of St-Jean-de-Luz. I tried to make the switch to French seamlessly but outed with a few “si”s and “dos”s and “gracias”s. The woman behind the ticket counter laughed at me.

All day I would revert to Spanish. After two and a half weeks of “gracias” I’m running on autopilot. When we get back to Spain I’ll probably say “merci”. Oy.

When we arrived St-Jean was a quiet, sleepy little town but by late in the afternoon it was alive with tourists.

Tuesday is market day, and for my money French markets are the best in Europe by a wide margin. We were seduced right away by a stinky cheese vendor and picked up a wedge of soft Brie-like goat cheese. And once we had that we had to pick up some meat (chorizo), bread (some kind of corn bread with sunflower seeds), fruit (strawberries) and dessert (gâteau de basque with a cream center). Picnic by the beach? Yes!

There’s not a whole lot to see of St-Jean so we spent a good deal of time hanging out in cafés drinking wine (or in Irene’s case, Kir and wine). During our second café stop we were driven inside when the sky that had been threatening all day finally opened up.

Due to a slight mix up about the bus schedule, no need to apportion blame, we were darting from awning to overhang on a soppy dash to the bus station. Fortunately we could take a bus to Hendaye and from there catch a train back to San Sebastian. Where it was also drizzling.

We catch a late night train to Salamanca tonight were we will get in way too early for anything to actually be open. Not sure what we are going to do when we get there. No baggage check in the train station, only in the bus station which is nowhere near by. Should be fun. I’ll let you know what happens.

Today marks our last morning in Barcelona before we hop a flight to Bilbao.

This morning’s meanderings led us to two markets. The markets here are truly wonderful affairs that fill me with jealousy. A lot of the stalls repeat what’s around them. You find the usual suspects—butchers, fruit & veggy stands, cheese stalls, nuts, & the like. It’s not so much the variety but the specialization and preparation of what’s available that blows me away.

Let’s talk specialization. What I’d never seen until this trip is all the market stalls devoted to just eggs. Eggs in every variety (chicken, duck, phesant, ostritch, or emu; speckled, white, yellow, blue, or brown; dirty or clean; hard boiled or fresh) stacked up in numerous stalls in each of the large markets we’ve visited.

Wandering the neighborhoods, it seems the shops frequently follow a model of specialization. We’ve passed many stores in the neighborhood devoted to fresh fruits and vegetables, something I’ve never seen in the states. There are, of course, a lot of butchers around everywhere, too—Spanish being the carniverois cuisine that it is. Supermarkets are few. Folks wheel tall totes to the various neighborhood specialty shops and market stalls to check everything off their grocery lists. Supermarkets are harder to come by than in the states and are far less expansive where they do appear.

Back to the market and its meat stalls. They make no attempt to cover up the source from whence their wares come. The animals on display are recognizable. We passed by many suckling piggies and the disembodied heads of their parents. Offal is on offer. Skinned rabbits abound. The chickens have not lost their heads. I love to browse the meat stalls, and clearly there are not too many to support demand. While I remain abivalent about my own willingness to process the animals I eat, I’ve long found our own grocery store meat counters conspicuously sterile. I have to remind myself that beef and pork come from cows and pigs. In the states, conscious eating is making a comeback. In Spain (and, I’d wager, much of Europe) it would seem no one needs reminding what real or slow food is.

One final word about the markets on what makes me covet them: the fruit stalls offer prepared fruit and juices. Why aren’t the produce stalls in Pike Market hip to this brilliance?! Confronting you as you approach is a wall of grab-and-go containers filled with differing, delectable mellanges: coconut pieces, cactus flower slices, papaya, strawberry, pineapple, cheeries. We ate them all this morning pre-breakfast, arranged in one container with a little fork—a cornicopia of fresh fruit for 2 euros. Later we sprung a couple euro more for fresh juice made from one fruit stall’s inventory. (I had coconut pineapple, and I’m ruined forever from enjoying the bottled stuff!) Usually, I can’t buy fresh market foods on these trips because I lack the means to prepare it myself. We did buy this morning because the stall had prepared it. Even cured meat stalls and cheese stalls have this notion, some of them arranging little paper jackets of sliced sausages or cheese curds.

To sum up, I will not tire of these markets and look forward to comparing these Catelonian markets to their Basque brethren when we arrive in Bilbao and San Sebastian for more drinking and eating.

Today was the day we were going to take it easy. After hitting four museums yesterday along with the castle atop Montjuïc we were due a slow day.

We started it out with our second round of churros and chocolate of the trip. The first time the churros were hit and fresh and made-to-order but the chocate was not what I was lead to believe Spanish chocolate should be. This time the churros were lack luster but the chocolate was the thick, pudding like consistency it should be. Between the two we have had one satisfying chocolate con churro experience.

Our major tourist attraction for the day was La Pedera (Casa Mila) an apartment building designed by, you guessed it, Gaudi. We bee-lined for the roof again and then slowly worked our way down.

After we did the block of discord (as Rick Steves calls it) and then walked up the Rambla de Catalunya. Paying an expensive call on Muji (google it).

We spent the afternoon strolling down by the beach. A lot of strolling. It was hot and the beaches were full of sunbathers in various states of undress. Not that I was looking at the topless women mind you…

We made it as far down as the clothing optional section (oddly, and dissapointingly, it was mostly men who opted out) before turning around.

Irene has poured the last of the very strong sangria and I’m less than sober (I won’t say how much less) and so I will end here. Tomorrow afternoon we fly to Bilbao and then on to Basque country. See you there.

We have an Art Pass. Like gluttons at an all-you-can-eat buffet, we are out to get our money’s worth. This afternoon’s cerveca was tapped at the Joan Miró museum, at which (even before the beer) I gained a modicum of respect for him and his work.

Yesterday was spent in the company of Gaudi (Sagrada Familia and the Park Güell) and Picasso (Picasso Museum). I’d like to think everyone appreciates the work of these artists. Visiting Barcelona feels a little like a pilgrimage, for Gaudi’s sake! But visiting these places reminded me how true artistry can come off as obvious and easy-looking while it is based on a profound mastery of one’s craft. Miró, it seemed, never excelled at representational art before turning his visual language into play. I don’t know if this has anything to do with how I’m just not into him. But this is what I think—of those who respond to practical questions about their work, their health, their relationships, “…you just don’t understand! I’m an ARTIST!”—they’re full of shite. You got to know your craft. Artists are craftsmen. And craft means discipline. That said…It’s their whimsey that moves. And, after our lineup with the Art Pass, I’m inspired to play.

But right now, I’m inspired to sit. Still composing this little ditty of a blog entry, I’m sitting with Ken now in the evening waiting for the Font Màgica to do its Thing. We walked (till our legs nearly mutinied) to land at the only indoor eatery within blocks and blocks and blocks to offer a bright and inviting, nonsmoking space in which the waitstaff looks at us funny when we even attempt Spanish. In the cool of the evening in this air condiditioned place, we order Rioja, and it comes ice cold. After the show at the Magic Fountain, we’ll take the metro back to our hyper cool neighborhood (The Born) to our hovel of a hostel, check in with the world via wifi, and pass out in our unairconditioned room while the locals start their evening meals. Viva la Barcelona! We love you. Sincerely, me.

We got there about a half hour before it’s opening time of 9am and all ready a small line had formed out front. Upon entering we immedietaly headed for the elevator on the Nativity Facade side of the cathedral. It whiskes you up one of the completed bell towers from where you can get an impressive view of Barcelona and a pretty up close look at some of Gaudi’s actual work.

The inside of the cathedral is very impressive in it’s incomplete state. It’s chaotic and noisy and a hive of workmen in active construction. What is complete is amazing. They hope to complete it in a couple of more decades.

We ate some mediocre vegie payala in the shadow of the cathedral and then took the bus up to Parc Guall, another Gaudi construction. It was packed with people and tacky crap vendors all congregating at the entrance and on the terrace overlooking the city. We didn’t linger long as it was getting late in the afternoon and we wanted to squeeze in the Picaso Museum as well.

I enjoyed this Picaso Museum much more than the one in Paris. The progression from his early representational works through to his early forays in to cubisim is very well laid out.

The weather here remains slightly overcast and in the low 80s. Very pleasent.

For dinner we took a little break from Spanish food at Udon which promised noodles & fun.