ESPANA

Just returned from a ten day vacation in Spain with my family. I had never been there before and finally my girlfriend (who lives in Geneva) and I worked out a place where we would like to vacation together. I diligently did my research before the trip, reading horror stories of the local transportation system. Considering my limited Spanish, we were arriving in Barcelona, had to get to another station downtown to buy tickets for a five hour train south to Alicante, I had my reservations about how smoothly things would go. Then my husband made it worse by buying three books on Spain to find out Alicante had it’s very own dialect that was not exactly Catalan. Oh brother.
From the airport, it was easy to ask about the taxis and public transportation. We only needed five words for the cab driver. “Barcelona Sants, por favor, gracias.” Twenty minutes later we were at a ticket counter where the customer service representative stiffly replied “Thomos en Barthalona” to the question of if he habla ingles. We met one other person like that. Everyone else spoke English enough. We were grateful everyone understood ‘bano’ because around the train station and in town, the bathrooms were referred to as lavabos or servicios. ‘Bale’ meant ok, got it, but ‘dale’ according to Cubans means, let’s go or c’mon. After a while I found myself saying grathias (gracias-thank you) and therca (for cerca-close to) because when in Rome...

Reservations with the train system Renfe was simpler in person than online as blogs suggested, but the trains were efficient and comfortable in both first and second class. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we stayed in a hostel, a two star local hotel and high end American chain hotel. I still wouldn’t recommend a hostel unless you were single, hanging with college friends or some other group. Those places are as bare as one could imagine. Bed. Soap.
The charm of the quaint local hotel in Alicante with free wi-fi, no elevator, paella made from scratch, and morning hugs for my daughter by the staff far surpassed the all glass elevator, concierge directed, American fare, ten euros per half an hour for internet edifice in Barcelona. I was pleased to see the paella pan I recently bought was the same when they served lunch poolside. I was surprised to see that chorizo was never added. Who came up with the chorizo idea? We tried all kinds of paella-Negro, mixto, etc., and never did they include chorizo! That is where my recipe differs. The arroz Negro paella made with octopus ink, was jet black and far too salty for my taste. It is said that when food is too salty, the chef is in love, and crying of a broken heart. An Italian told us that.
Traveling with a young one makes enjoying the sites somewhat challenging. However, I did notice the concrete sidewalks had patterns like decorative tiles as we walked along the streets to visit the Nou Stadium. Barcelona had a calm easiness to it. It resembled a bit of New York, but quieter. A bit like downtown Stockholm, but with unexpected corridors with narrow stairways, or bright green doors with oversized door knockers. Public transportation we found was relatively easy to follow. My friend’s brother in law was that guy that gave directions like, “Go to the red building down la Rambla and turn left,” or “ask for such and such building, everyone knows it.” We quickly revoked him as a tour guide. La Rambla is equivalent to Front or Main Street USA and colors can be debated.
Alicante had a wave pattern along the main street in tricolor marble. In Alicante we hung out in Playa del Postiguet way across to Playa San Juan. The beaches were not as gorgeous as the ones in Florida, but more entertaining. Guys were playing soccer, every other person was playing some type of racquet sport and women of all ages were topless. I was apprehensive about the beach. It was murky, the sands were dark, waves were hard, and when local suntan lotion doubles as an octopus sting soother as pictured next to the SPF, I took to hanging close to the shoreline.

We visited an impressive Castille Santa Barbara with failed attacks leaving pockmarks and cannons balls embedded in the walls. There was a large central market with rows of fresh meats, Manchega cheeses, chorizo and butchers taking orders. Stacked in neat triangles, there was a whole animal we couldn’t figure out. It was too small to be a piglet or calf. From what I understood, the man behind the counter said I could cook it with tomato sauce or in a paella. “Muy bueno,” he said. We walked away and luckily for us an acquaintance told us, when my daughter was looking away clutching her bunny blanket, sucking her thumb, that it was indeed a little rabbit. We had to scoot her along quickly at the zoo in Miami as well, when we saw the gutted white bunny the bald eagle proudly stood over. I didn’t need the visual either.
Heladerias-ice cream shops, were on every block. I couldn’t adjust to the tostada con aceite o mantega in the morning. A toasted baguette the length of my forearm with butter or oil and a cup of coffee. Enjoy. Lunch? Restaurants could serve at 2, but really they were comfortable with 3 or 4pm. Dinner? Well, nothing kicks off until after 9. Comfortable at 10. It was normal to see toddlers having ice cream at midnight. We were all discombobulated, but it was all good.



Would I recommend? Sure! There is so much to see even if you just stay in Barcelona. The local wine, tapas, and thin crust pizza (too thin to do the NY fold even) will make you want to finesse that Catalan. Just the old town alone with all its Gothic style architecture, museums and sites can fill up that 8GB camera chip. Dale!