Barcelona Observations

Kay:

Two couples my age walking down La Rambla. One tenderly holding hands. The other facing each other, smiling, then kissing. I wonder if love lasts forever in Spain - not just an ephemeral art form. My buddy in the Supermerkat across the street (I would be his best water customer) asks me if I'm French. Traveling incognito.

Blackheart:

My main observation - the beautiful people and the equally beautiful fashion. Everyone, male and female, sporting sun-kissed skin (and not the rawhide leather you find in the French Riviera - Emily O., I know you remember this well), dark thick hair tossed wildly or puled in a loose braid, sun dresses or brightly hued cigarette pants, wayfarer sunglasses in every color imaginable, bike to match their outfit, straw fedoras, a glimmer in their eyes that says, "You Americans have so much to learn about natural sex appeal." Yup, I'm in awe and am especially embarrassed having only my largely unfashionable pilgrim clothes to wear. I went into H&M today on the ritzy Passeig de Gracia just to get my fix. Can't buy anything but looking at myself in the flowered maxi dress put me at ease. If fashion is an art, then Barcelona is a master painter. I would say 'the Picasso of fashion', but I've yet to meet anyone with an ear on their chin.

Some more snapshots of Barcelona life...


The central stairwell at Gaudi's Casa Batllo.


Ceiling at Gaudi's Parc Guell.


Lunch - Warm goat cheese salad & cerveza.


Parc Guell madness. Notice the players bottom right.


Casa Batllo.


Dinner - Pizza Siciliana para llevar!

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Location:Carrer del Carme,Barcelona,Spain

Let's Go Barcelona!

"Bringazingzing!...Bringazazzlering!" Why is it that European phones make the oddest and most inconsistent ringing sounds? This particular songstress woke me up with a start at 11:45pm last night. I flung off my eye mask and picked up the receiver, dazed and half asleep. "Hola?" I answered; at least I remembered my Spanish. A flurry of words from the man on the other end followed, none of which my tired mind understood other than the magical phrase, "Your bag is here. I bring it up now". Hurriedly I pulled on my pants since, the airport having lost my bag, I had no pjs. A loud knock later, and I was reunited with my Precious.

What was hard to explain to the man at the baggage counter and the receptionist at the hotel is the value of this backpack. "Don't worry señorita; it will come mañana". Now, if this were a week's vacation, sure, de nada. This happened to me in Mexico. I complained for a few hours, and then bought myself an all-purpose sarong and headed to the pool. But a bag that I packed over the course of 6 months, weighing each piece ounce-by-ounce? A whole 'nother ballpark. Losing THAT bag is worthy of a jump out the window down the elevator shaft in last night's sardine can hotel room. That's right. The only window in the room opened into the heavily trafficked elevator shaft. (Needless to say, we have since upgraded...)

After waiting 2 hours on the Tarmac for the last leg of our flight, then watching with pitiful eyes and a sinking heart as the baggage conveyer refused to puke out my backpack, then getting into a room that looked fit for padded walls, then realizing I forgot to activate international calling on my phone so the airport couldn't reach me, then eating paella that looked as if it might get up and walk out the room, all the while suffering from an ill-timed cold, and I was just about at my wits end.

Then I remembered our trip motto. Sauce, Taste, Toss. So I curled up in a fetal position on the miniature mattress in our room, had myself a good 5 minute cry, picked myself back up and called out the battle cry, "Let's go Barcelona!" Here's what I figure: better to start at your lowest point, because it's only up from there,baby. And after hugging my backpack in the night like it were my prodigal son, a day of touring the city in the sunshine, finding an amazing vegetarian restaurant to call home and sucking down chocolatey pastries, I'd say things are looking way up.




































Catedral.








Dolce de Leche.







Watermelon Summer drinks at Teresa Carles Cocina Vegetariana www.teresacarles.com.















I title this shot "Church and State."








Saint James and the scallop shell of the Santiago pilgrimage.








The view from Montjuic.








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Location:Carrer del Carme,Barcelona,Spain

4 Words

And those 4 words are...

1.) They
2.) Lost
3.) My
4.) Baggage


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Carrer del Carme,Barcelona,Spain

And They're Off!

It's 7:00am, and we're comfortably seated at our gate, Starbucks in hand and a tired smile on our faces. I woke up with a start at 3:45am to loud sounds emanating from the garage. Sleepily I opened the door to find mom busily working away, her eyes half-mast. She looked up at me like a possum caught in headlights - her eyes red from lack of sleep, her lips in a semi snarl - and uttered a weary "things are going wrong." What a terrible blanket statement! Fear surged through my veins. Had our flight been canceled? Had she sprained her ankle on the stairs? No, none of these disastrous monkey wrenches. Apparently she had woken up to discover that one of the cats had puked on her bedspread in the middle of the night. No doubt their way of saying, 'Bon voyage and thanks for ditching
us, folks!'

Later at the American Airlines ticket counter another glitch. An attendant with a heavy German accent informs us that we can't have our backpacks in black garbage bags. It takes her nearly 10 minutes to decide to be helpful and tell us we can get clear bags from the United counter. Minutes later as we approach our gate we meet a guy in camo who recommends next time we use duffel bags to protect our backpacks. The interesting part of that encounter is that his mother-in-law hiked the Camino! That, coupled with the fact that our Camino theme song came on the radio this morning (who doesn't want to listen to Scottish twin singers at 4 in the morning?) and I think we got ourselves a good omen!


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Location:SMF

A Little Inspiration

Mom & I on the AT

A friend sent me this link about a hiker, Kevin Gallagher, who condensed 4,000 pictures into a four-minute time lapse video of his nearly 2200 mile trek on the Appalachian Trail.  Just hit the link below and enjoy!  Although, the scenery changes only by subtle degrees - unlike the diverse tapestry mom and I will be experiencing - it's pretty breath-taking, inspiring stuff.

Mom, you want to give it a try ourselves?  As long as the time lapse doesn't involve my backside slogging endlessly up hills, I'm all for it!

"Green Tunnel" Video

A New Fear

As if I didn't have enough fears to contend with, I turned on the TV last night to my new obsession "Criminal Minds" (a show about serial killer profilers) and low and behold, it was an episode about the pilgrims of Santiago de Compostela.  Apparently, a serial killer posing as a priest for the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela church (the church marking the end of our pilgrimage) was convincing people their loved ones and fellow pilgrims were possessed by the devil, and then would kill them in ritualistic exorcisms to fight the evil and set their souls free.

Okay...  Really?!!!  Are you kidding me?!!  Yes, I know it's fiction, but for the love of the Camino, why?!!  Of my long list of fears and trepidations - being robbed by roving gypsies, falling off a cliff, Norman Bates-like hotel proprietors, dog attacks, un-bathed hippies who want to hug you, co-ed refugio showers, Euro-trash stalkers - never did I factor in homicidal sociopaths disguised as priests hellbent on talking my mother into believing I'm possessed by demons and in need of a deadly exorcism.  Needless to say, it's going on my list.  And, mom, whatever you do, don't believe them.  I may seem scary at times, but I'm simply cranky and tired, alright.   And my eyes... they're just red from lack of sleep, I swear.

A Motto Is Born

Just as every adventure needs a theme song (if you don't know what ours is, see the last post), it also needs a motto.  You know, that little mantra to repeat to yourself to lift the spirits when things take a turn for the worse or when motivation is needed to get one's tired, aching feet up the next hill.  "Eat Pray Love" was an admirable attempt, sure, but it's no "Sauce Taste Toss."  You heard me right.  "Sauce Taste Toss." 

So right now you're wondering: a.) Has Blackheart lost her mind?; b.) How can those three words have anything remotely to do with one another; and most importantly, c.) What in the name of Camino does it all mean?  Okay, so bear with me as we plunge head first into a convoluted, yet insightful and poignant metaphor...

As I walked into my yoga class this evening, I came in with an Gregory Deva Backpack full of emotions and anxiety.  Not literally, of course.  I don't even want to look at my backpack until we leave on Saturday.  I have it sitting in the corner of the vacant upstairs bedroom like a naughty child in a dunce cap.  No, I mean, I walked into yoga feeling weighed down by everything I'm feeling as we draw closer to our grand departure.  Every morning it's a new sensation.  A new fear.  A new apprehension to greet the dawn with.  I honestly had no clue I could be such a pit of emotions.  Who knew the well ran that deep?! 

Miss Jade

Today was particularly difficult, having just driven home from my San Diego road trip to drop Jade off at the kitty sitter for three months.  I was doing alright until I walked into my room with all of her stuff gone.  The place looked barren.  Sad.  Lonely.  And, BAM!  Tears.  I felt like a mother whose child had left for college.  Will she write?  Send the occasional email?  Did I buy her enough mousies to last the quarter?  Enough spending cash for salmon-flavored Greenies?  That overwhelming sensation compacted with my unending workload and growing list of To-Dos and, suddenly, I thought my head would explode.  My stomach cramped.  My heart hurt.  I started popping Tums and aspirin like Tic-Tacs before a first date kiss. 

Then, yoga...  Finally, some quiet.  Some relief.  But as I was trying desperately to focus on the two-minute mediation, an odd vision popped into my head (and if you're worried this blog is taking a turn for the 'Shirley MacLaine', don't fret.  The vision is a one-time deal.  Promise.)  And the vision was?  An artichoke. 

It was somehow clear as day what it meant; although I'm certain you're currently scratching your head.  All these emotions and distresses were simply leaves of a steamed (or roasted, why not) artichoke.  And all I needed to do was sauce, taste and toss.  In other words, look each anxiety straight in the eye, deal with it and then let it go forever.  Take that first leaf of my guilt over ditching my kitty, dip it in Special Sauce (a mix of mayo and soy sauce which, believe me, makes melted butter look practically archaic), scrape it off with my teeth and then toss the damn leaf in the bowl.  Take the worry over not having a career when I get home, sauce it, taste it, toss it.  Rip off that leaf of fear about not having a place to sleep each night on the trail, sauce it, taste it, toss it.  Take the anxiety over my recent bout of knee pain, sauce it, taste it, toss it!

Sounds awfully repetitive and, yes, it's an odd motto for a trip.  But you know what happens when you keep saucing and tasting and tossing an artichoke?  You finally, finally get to that delicious, mouth watering, much coveted, artichoke heart center.  With all the bitter leaves tossed aside, you find yourself gloriously face-to-face with the joy and excitement of adventure that is the heart of this journey. 

Now sauce it, taste it and savor the goodness...