How to Interpret the Graph

The above graph is a fun little comparison of the overall happiness of us kids over the course of a day in the trip (August 3^rd). Technology was stubborn, and prevented us from being able to upload the graph until we got home. Each point corresponds to an event during the day.

A. Wake Up.

B. Morning Grumpies (we all get them).

C. Breakfast at the Hotel.

D. Take the Bus to the Parc Güell.

E. Attempting to enjoy the Parc Güell despite the sea of humanity that has descended upon it.

F. Walking along the beach at Barceloneta.

G. More walking….so tired…..

H. We finally arrive at a lunch place, exhausted and hungry.

I. Dad yells at me for failing to get the exact table he wanted, although he never gave me clear instructions. It’s his fault.

J. Great seafood lunch makes kids very happy.

K. We walk to Picasso Museum, wait in line.

L. Dad leaves the Picasso Museum to deal with work.

M. Mom begins moving at her museum pace, which is about 10X too slow for us.

N. We get back to the hotel after the museum.

O. Hotel Pool!

P. Nice hot showers and relaxing in the room.

Q. Watching TV (kids love Disney Channel, especially when it’s in English!).

R. Walk to the Ramblas to scope out a dinner place.

S. Another instance of the recurring theme of the unilateral debate over where we should eat dinner.

T. We sit down at the Spanish equivalent of a TGIF’s.

U. After a miserable first 10 minutes in the restaurant, Dad declares an executive order commanding our family’s evacuation of the restaurant.

V. A much better dinner at a café out on the Ramblas

W. We return to the hotel after another long day

5 bulkhead seats

Pros: legroom

Cons: 5 of us across in the middle, aisle-to-aisle, so we get to be part of 2 lavatory lines for the next 6 hrs.

An annoying American (one of those) just asked if the line is shorter on the other side. Listen, lady, I'm not playing lavatory line arbitrage with you. And don't cut between the bulkhead and me again or I will tell K to walk back to your seat and use your row for some playing/goof-off space. If you can use our row, we can use yours. Got it?

I hope they have good British ale on this flight.

...but we wanted McDonalds!!

All day, BMK has been craving good old American food. However when we landed at Heathrow--bumpily--we had to go thru many new checkins. The security man frisked B. Dad was temporarily bumped off the flight. When we reached the food court, bmk had one thing on our mind: McDonalds. We saw a sushi place, and I recommend never eating airport sushi before a 6 hour ride, btw. We ended up guzzling some Italian food and Mom bought gross rutabaga chips. We are heading to jfk now, and can't wait to see Tuffy have a heart attack when beloved Mommy comes home. Its been a great trip, even during the TGI Fridays fiasco and obese SpiderMans.

....The Costa del Magnifico, the cost of living's so low..

Rental car to the Costa Brava. Until last summer, the only Costa that I knew was featured in a Dire Straits song (quoted above).

Last year, Costa Brava. Rental car for my beloved and me to Palamos, the Best Beach Town Ever.

Can we recreate the magic. With 5 of us this year?

To start - I yell at K through 10 Barcelona city blocks this morning. "Hurry up - we gotta get the rental car." Magic gone by 9:15 am. Then, I yell at my trusty navigator wife, who swears she has her Dad's "bloodhound nose." Now, I love my wife with all my heart. She makes me a better person. I would be a mere shell without her. But, if she's the bloodhound, then Paul Newman gets away in "Cool Hand Luke." That's all I'm saying.

So, it's a bit of a zoo in our car as we careen 1.5 hrs outside BCN, with the rented GPS falling off the rented windshield every 6 minutes and a Costa Brava station playing US Top 40 Pop - Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber, much to M's delight.

And then, we turn a corner, and there's the town of Begur, gleaming in the sun. Begur beats out Palamos like the Yankees beat out the Sox right now (six + games ahead of the Sox and not looking back). Like Angelina vs. Jennifer. You get the picture. http://begur.org/turisme/cat/index.php

Beach after beach. Cove after cove. Sand and surf. Germans diving off cliffs into 10 feet of water (just to show they can). Great waves. Great sun. Homemade salcichon and manchego sandwiches on crusty bread. Quite simply, one of the chillest days ever. Even if the kids wouldn't walk with us up the cliff pathway (and therefore didn't get to see the nude beach when we turned a corner one km up the path, overlooking the coast). And even if the strawberry ice cream was briefly melon ice cream as a crafty vendor sought to move some slow-moving melon ice cream inventory (until I put my foot down and declared, in Castillian, that we prefer our strawberry helado to be made from *strawberries* not melon, gracias). And even if the family wouldn't let me stay forever in the biggest wine store ever, Grau, on the outskirts of the Costa Brava (they carry at least 50 Spanish rosado wines, for starters, and a bunch of offerings from our cava guys, Raventos i Blanc, out in Penedes ... http://www.raventos.com/ ).

And on the way home, Catalan Public Radio - who knew there was such a thing? http://www.icatfm.cat/ - playing Wilco and the Specials ("Message to you Rudy") for a salty family inside the Avis rental car. No navigation fights. No fights in the back seat. A sweet day. Even if I still don't get Lady Gaga.

Go to Begur. Someday. It's great, and is the "Best Place Ever", right now, this summer, just like Chatham, Nantucket, Chilmark and 100 other beach towns...

:)

The KD Theory

So last night, we encountered quite a fiasco while choosing a dinner restaurant. First, our reservation was cancelled because the restaurant is closed for the entire month of August (the Spaniards take all of August off in some places, and that includes the “best wine bar in Barcelona" that my Dad wanted to go to... http://www.monvinic.com/ )

So, we started wandering around looking for a restaurant. I saw the first one, liked the menu, and said “Hey! Let’s eat here!” Mom, however, had a different opinion. “We’ll keep walking.”

So we walked 4 or 5 blocks down the road, and there it was. A place that wasn’t packed to the roof with people. The hostess woman spoke into a walkie talkie and suddenly we all got the feeling we were in some sort of Spanish T. G .I. Fridays or Chilly’s. We sat down at a table right next to a man smoking a cigar, and there was some sort of high pitched beep, like a dog whistle. The menu appeared as if everything on there was freeze dried and pre cooked, and the restaurant seemed to scream “CHEAP!”

We dashed and walked back to the beginning of the trail of restaurants we had visited. We wound up eating at the first one we had seen. This brings up the K D Theory. It basically is “One of the first few restaurants you see will be the one you will wind up eating at, and you’ll probably walk back and forth between a bunch of them before you realize that the first was the best choice.”

Adios! - K

Tidbits of the Day-Barcelona

Today we walked, rode buses, and took metros to our various destinations. Here are the places that outshone the rest.

• the Parc Guell, where Dad took pics of B and me with buildings growing out of our heads
• the breakfast buffet at the hotel, which included mango mousse, tasty tortilla, and—hold your applause—FLAN!
  
• a little Spanish boutique, where I finally found a top: a ruffly turquoise one to match my jeans
• the Picasso Museum, where they exhibit Picasso's interpretations of Velasquez's "Las Meninas" from the Prado - he sat for months in the Prado and did, like, 30 different Las Meninas interpretations (google it.)
  
• the seaside restaurant for lunch, where we ate delightful paellas and even more delightful tomato spread on bread
  
• the beach near Barceloneta where K took some time to frolic about
• Mom panicking as she realized the maids had taken the towels that she had carefully hijacked for our trip tomorrow to the Costa Brava
• me making 2 euros for scarfing down a NASTY black olive in, like, 4 seconds

Overall, a good day, and we head out to dinner now. Tomorrow is Costa Brava Day!!! We’re wicked psyched. Adios! xo M

Matadores 3, Toros 0

Great trip to the Plaza de Toros in Madrid, a few days after the legislature down in Catalunya voted to abolish bullfighting in a few years.

The crowd at Sunday’s corrida del toros was feisty (ie, angry). A manifesto of solidarity with Catalunyan aficionados of bullfighting was read out loud, and there was a moment of silence. But, we were most surprised by the fact that the Madrilenos view this move as a cynical, political move by the Catalunyan legislature, and not an animal rights move. In the view of the central Spaniards (based on some polls in the newspapers here), the Catalunyans actually adopted this legislation to spite the rest of Spain by abolishing a central part of Spanish culture. (The best analogy I can come up with is this - what if Ohio abolished baseball, effective 2012?).

Moreover, the bullfight fans view this as a personal liberties/personal choice issue – fans were chanting “libertad” at the bullfight Sunday night, to our surprise. Lastly, the news papers view this as a ploy to distract the public from the real problems facing Spain, like 20% unemployment.
As for the bullfight – it’s the summer, and rookie bullfighters fight in the summer, just like preseason football. The hotshots seem to be on the beach in Mallorca and points south, leaving the newbies to fight to bulls. Our bullfighters won, of course, but weren’t the most graceful or athletic doing so.

As far as I can tell, the spectrum of judging goes like this, from “worst” to best.
· Silencio
· Applauso
· Ovacion
· Forte ovacion
· Oreja (the matador gets the ear of the bull, by order of the president of the evening)

The night we were at the plaza del toros, most of the matadors got silencio because they needed more than one try to plunge the sword in. The most promising guy, who initially got the crowd roaring by kneeling as he swept his cape around, flailed at the last minute and needed 3 tries with the sword. Silencio indeed for him. Of course, silence for the bull, too, in the end.

And so, we ended our stay in Madrid – on to Barcelona….

Poor Conejo...

Hola, muchachos! It is a beautiful (HOT) day in Madrid, and the air is filled with--air conditioning.

Today, we visited the flea market, where purchases included: jewelry for me, a tablecloth for Mom and Dad, a fedora for K, and a Toro t-shirt for B. After depositing our purchases at the hotel, we visited Spanish fast-food-eria VIPS. We went for a stroll in the park, then returned back to the hotel for some much needed siesta from the heat. We are now prepping to see a BULLFIGHT!--more details soon--and eat some tasty dinner in the Plaza Mayor where yesterday we saw the Spiderman who needed liposuction.

However, last night's dinner was very interesting and blog-worthy. The server was a very nice old man who spoke excellent Spanish and who I SWEAR is the father of a famous bullfighter we watched a movie about at home. First, they served us some bread and breadsticks-yum!-some sausage-yummier!-and some salad including DELICIOUS avocadoes-yummiest! We ordered 2 paellas: The first was conejo (bunny) paella that I boycotted for my fluffy little woodland friends. Typical American paella doesn't have these next ingredients--the second paella was pork ribs and veggie-filled. MMMM. :)
Dad got instructions on how to make these tasty paellas with our paella instruments at home, and we ordered dessert, but sadly, the menu did not include my beloved flan. Perhaps tonight?

We will fill you in on bullfight details tomorrow or Tuesday, as we leave for Barcelona tomorrow.

Until then, adios, amigos! xo, M

Spain: Home of Ham and Quite a Few Characters

Hola Beautiful World!

Spain has been truckfulls of fun, not to mention the cool new comidas we can try. Today was sweltering. At the beginning of the day I felt like a juicy grape, but, because of the near 100 degree weather, I feel like a raisin.

Because of the heat today, we were surprised to see Spiderman walking around the Plaza Mayor. But this was no ordinary Spiderman. This one was about 200 pounds heavier, his costume was too small, and he smoked cigarettes. What happened to good old Toby McGuire? Also, I don't remember Spiderman asking people to pay him for a photo with him. I think the only tips he got today were to lay off on the smoke and to eat some weight watchers.

Well, we're off for a paella (pie-ay-yuh) dinner that we all are super-psyched to go to! Adios muchachos! -K

One Giant Asador

Hola Mundo!
It's B, writing for the first time this vacation.
One of our faithful readers has kindfully advised me that I have been one of the members of the family absent from the blog to this point. It's not that I haven't enjoyed myself, it's that I simply lack the effort and mental capacity to write on a daily basis. I felt it was time I made an appearance.

Here in Castille y Leon, the central province in Spain, the most popular restaurants are asadores. An asador is a roast house, usually specializing in jamon, the national food. You order the vegetarian meal, and they throw some jamon on it. The jamon is great, but it is used so frequently in meals that it loses its specialty. It is no longer a special kind of ham, and is a staple of all meals.

And let me tell you, Castille y Leon is an asador by itself, hence the title. The temperatures here are roasting (no pun intended), and it's almost 100 degrees. But we're lucky it's a dry heat, and there is a 15 degree temperature difference between the sun and the shade. But, we have to walk to all corners of Madrid, so it's still hot even in the shade.

At yesterday's lunch, we experienced a moment of Spanish failure from Dad. Dad was lacking a spoon, and right after we received our food dad attempted to ask for one:
D: "Necesito un otro sopapillo, por favor"
M: "It's a good thing you were waving the spoon."
Dad, thinking he knows spanish best (he doesnt. that's my job), unintentionally asked for a fried Mexican pastry. Whoops. As M astutely noted, thank god he was waving the spoon. The waiter did understand, and dad did receive his spoon nonetheless. As someone who knew exactly what was happening, it was extremely comical, and I'm certain dad will ask for a cuchara (the real spanish word for spoon) the next time he finds himself in need of one.
Hasta la vista!
-B

Los pajaritos de Segovia

Segovia at nightfall. A light, dry wind from the northwest.

Dinner outdoors at 9-11 pm, under the 2,000 year old Roman Aqueduct. Roasted baby pig, lamb and veal, at Meson Candido, with a bit of Navarran rose wine and some salad.

M rhapsodic about her white jeans from the local store. K angling for ice cream (helado) afterwards. B using his Spanish to maximum effect.

And everyone laughing at the bird dropping on my shirt. Que lastima.

Dad

Some Thoughts from the Day

Today we drove all over the place. Here are some of the shining moments we had.

1. This conversation

K: What are we doing?

Dad: Driving up a hill.

B: Are we getting out?

M: Will there be a mall?

K: Is this the beach?

Mom: Be quiet!

B: Oh no...it's a winery!!!

BMK: AAAAAAAAHHHH!! NOOOOO!

2. I was using the restroom in the restaurant at dinner and didn't realize the lightswitch was outside the bathroom. I went inside, closed the door, and fumbled around for a switch in the dark. I found the light switch string hanging from the ceiling. "Aha!" I said, and pulled it. The toilet flushed.

3. K goes, "Awwww! That is such a cute dog!!!". He goes to pet it until B pushes him out of the way: "Dude. That's a stray." (Side note: dog was light brown but dirt caused it to be black.)

4. BMK getting hypothermia at the beach because we didn't have towels, I dried myself off with TP. Yes. It was that bad.

We head to Segovia tomorrow, and now I have to go to bed. Grr. Buenas noches, amigos!

-M.

You say Txakoli, I say Cha-Kol-ee

A great day in Basque Country.

Swerving at breakneck speeds over narrow 18th century lanes, feeling like a Spanish version of "The Dukes of Hazzard", with Mom playing the role of Daisy Duke.

One of our country lane excursions was to the top of a mountain in Mendaxa, perched over the Bay of Biscay, to pop in to a winery, Bodegas Gurrutxaga. Our trip to the bodega only required 2 stops for directions, one over-shoot of the driveway, and a slightly carsick family. We sauntered in, and Jose, the winemaker/owner was completely cool.

He welcomed us into the tank room, popped open a bottle of their Rose Txakoli (a mix of Basque grape varities), and poured glasses for us, while chatting in Castillian about alcohol levels, the number of botellas that he sells to the States every year, etc. Band I fumbled about in Spanish for about 1/2 an hour with Jose, loosely translating for Mom, when we understood enough of what Jose was saying. He mentioned that the wine writer for the NY Times had visited 2 days ago. We told him that if he gets a good review, he better start making more wine to address the increased demand. He shrugged and said he'd make do, and that he would not increase his prices. His prices, by the way - we bought 2 whites and a rose - 15 euros total. Awesome!!!! And, in my view, the white is even better than the rose.

As we thanked him profusely, and wandered back to the car, where M and K had been glowering for 1/2 an hour, we thanked him for being so patient with our Spanish. He responded that he could have spoken English with us, because his father in law lived in the US for 20 years. We gaped at him, shook his hand, and moved on down the road. Probably the only unexpected visitors that he will have this week - if not this month - until the Times writes that Jose is making some kick-butt Txakoli up there in Mendexa, in the misty, mountainous Basque outback. Then, the crowds will show up...

If you want some of this great Basque wine, go to the website of 56 Degrees in Bernardsville, NJ - they have some in stock, I think.

Dad

Victory in Hearts

So here I am, in a hotel room, perched on a cliff with a majestic view of the Bay of Biscay on the Basque Coast in Spain.

I am muy estatic (I am speaking Spanglish, which M may have described in one of her earlier posts) after my victory in a family round of the card game hearts that followed an amazing dinner at the Chateau that we stayed in in Bordeaux (bored- oh) last night. As I like to say, I wasn't BORED EAUXT of my mind. Haha. Anyway. Hearts. Victory. Right.

The reason I won is because I "shot the moon." In other words, I got every single point, and when that happens, you can subtract 26 points from your score or-- you know what? Anyone who is reading this must have possesion of a computer, so look it up and save the time of typing, because I type about 6-8 words a minute. In other words, a snail could finish a marathon before I can finish typing a school paper. The point is, I won for the first time.

I was in an especially good mood before playing Hearts because of the fabulous outdoors dinner we had just eaten. It started off with a tiny mug of canteloupe soup with 3 little "amuse bouches" (things you can eat in one bite.) One was literally a slice of a pig in a blanket on a stick. There was one that was a little spinach and white bean tartlet. The final one was something that resembled a mini pie shell filled with tomato cous cous. It was delicious. The rest of the dishes consisted of tomatoes and mozzarella, roast chicken, vegetable clafouti (a tart full of zucchini, cheese, and tomatoes, an awesome cheese course, and some mango tiramisu. I arrived feeling as if I could eat a cow, and left feeling like if I ate another bite I would spontaneously combust.

It's a good thing we had a light lunch today that M described earlier.

Well, my work here is done. Now that we're in Spain, I get to say "ADIOS!" -K

Pinxtos' FAQs: What are they? How do I pronounce them?

Today while traveling to our hotel in the city Mutriku, we took a several-hour stop in San Sebastian. Between gelato, watching people go boating, and visiting the aquarium, it was a fun trip. However, my favorite part was lunch: pinxtos. "Pinxtos?" you ask. "What are they?" Well, for those of you who don't know, pinxtos (peench-tohs) are tasty little snacks that the Spanish eat many of for lunch. We stopped at three pinxto spots including the Iberian-ham loving La Cepa (Google it). At these places we ate tortillas with potatoes, artichoke hearts, mushrooms, mariscos--aka seafood, salmon pizza, and Iberian ham sandwiches. Iberian hams are happy little pigs who are fed only acorns so that they are tastier than the usual happy little pig.These were quite a lunch, making me sigh with delight and inspiring me to repeat one of my favorite sayings: "My stomach is a happy stomach." I'm sure you would have found these delicious as well. We are resting at the hotel to make room for our late-night Spanish-style dinner. (Hopefully Mom will let us go to the spa tomorrow!!) Hasta luego! xo, M

AU REVOIR, PARIS

Off to Bordeaux this am by car (gulp) after a terrific night on the Eiffel Tower at 9-10 last night.

Highlights of yesterday:

- the Eiffel Tower lit by fllodlights (see pic above)

- K slyly photobombing some tourists who were insistent on taking their photo in front of us. We are not digging some of these obsessive people.

- awesome ice cream late at night for M, K and Mom; the place makes you buy two scoops because they shape the cone into a flower shape, with the first scoop flattened out like the petals of the flower and the second scoop in the middle.

- even better lunch of Poulet Provencal with out of this world fried potato slices, and a glass of Chinon Rose, on the Isle St Louis - 16 euros. In a restaurant run by a gray haired chef-owner and her cats. Not so much on the cats, but terrific food at half the price of the night before at some chic place.

- the chilled out park, Place Des Vosges, in the Marais district, followwed by Mom and M buying jewelry from a nice little shop

- getting out of Paris without renting one of the funky public rental bikes which are everywhere as part of Paris' public bike rental program. K has been looking at them yearningly for 2 days, every time we pass a vending site. The bikes are cool and alluring, yes, but there's no doubt we'd have ended up in a Parisian hospital learning the French phrase for "massive head trauma"

- the Parisians are nice - from the grandmother who made us lunch to the pharmacist who gingerly cleaned M's skinned knee...we've liked almost all of them. BUT, we may have a different perspective after we get the rental car in 2 hrs and start driving.

Dad

Is B a cat lady? Only time will tell...

What a long travel day. The plane was pretty empty, so we all laid down across rows. The airplane food, was, of course, delicious. We settled on a boulangerie for breakfast---yum! ---, visited two museums, bought K’s beret, and my knees almost broke from all the walking. Back at the hotel, all three of us collapsed in pain on our beds. The end of the Tour de France was wicked cool, and dinner was delicious.

This morning, we ate breakfast at the hotel then headed to the Louvre. We did a quick Top 10 visit, including the Mona Lisa of course. We also saw large compulsive tourist groups who insisted on taking their unsmiling photo in front of every. Single. Thing. In. the. Museum.

After that, we went to Notre Dame after K and I bought sunglasses—faux Raybans for him, aviators for me. We ate lunch at a place with kitty-cats where the cats spent most of the meal snuggled under B’s feet, leading me to the conclusion that he is a cat lady. While Dad enjoyed his espresso—and the check—we bought lollipops, bought me a ring, then took a tour bus.

I tripped and skinned my knees, and that will definitely leave a scar! I looked for white skinny jeans on my never-ending search, but no dice, but we did see someone who goes to school with B, and bizarrely, we had mentioned her at breakfast. We’re going out to dinner now, have a 9 pm appointment with the Eiffel Tower, and then we’re getting ice cream. Adios! –M.

Twas the Night Before the Plane Flight... (Copyright M)

Hey there, blog-o-sphere! (Haven't you always wanted to say that?) Well, it's the night before our plane flight to Paris (pronounced Pah-wee, if you ask my brothers) and everything is packed, from retainers to raincoats. Tuffy's caretakers have been informed about his sometimes-diva behavior, and our backpacks are stuffed. K and I plan to buy berets, fake RayBan sunglasses, and a hearty baguette to tote around in Paris and Bordeaux. We may post photos of that, so keep reading! France will be fun, but, unfortunately, we cannot blog in French, because, heck, we don't even know how to order a croissant in French. As soon as we cross into Spain, our blog entries will become a mix of Spanish and English commonly known as Spanglish. Last night, C told us we needed to get sleep on tomorrow's flight. Because she doesn't speak Spanish, I said to D, "Vamos a festejar todo el vuelo!" translating into "We're going to party the entire flight!" I was super-pumped to go to a Spanish airport because I took an entire airport unit in Spanish this year, but just as I started explaining in Spanish how we planned to go to the baggage claim and then pass through Customs, B cut me off--"They'll have signs in English."--otherwise putting an end to my airport anticipation. In other words, everyone is psyched and packed for the trip and we'll give you frequent updates. Au revoir! -M.

What's up fellow blogheads! It's July 23, the night before our plane flight to France, B's listening to music nobody likes but him, I'm typing, and M is reading over my shoulder with her faux RayBans on trying to act French. (So can you stop doing that?) I was finished packing first, so I've been sitting on the couch like a lazy blob, not contributing to society, or double checking my bag to be sure I have everything. M made a joke about partying on "el avion," (the plane) and C thinks we're joking (we are dead serious.) C has been speaking Italian and it's kind of funny to watch B & M yell at her about the correct way to say it. Well, I'm off to drive C & D crazy by doing nothing at all! Adios amigos! - K