The Blog I Started to Avoid “Unsubscribe” Responses to My Mass E-mails

As promised, I’ve begun to form deep, passionate political opinions on matters of international relevance.

Thus far, they can be summed up in the following bumper stickers: “Catalunya is NOT Spain” and “Keep Gibraltar British.”

That’s right. Based on our ten days in Spain, I feel fully qualified to support Barcelona and the entire region of Catalonia in their fervent wish to secede from the rest of the nation and lisp their “s”-es in peace. I’ve even vowed to back their “football” team as an inextinguishable symbol of my solidarity. As long as I don’t actually have to watch any games.

As for Gibraltar, those crazy Brits have done up a right charming town smack in the middle of Spain – fully animated exhibits on the rock’s intriguing military history, cave and tunnel tours, monkeys that jump on your head, bobbies on patrol, fish and chips in pubs. What’s not to love? Even when the townspeople were mocking us and our silly American questions, we couldn’t help blushing and giggling at their accents like school girls.

But back to our previously scheduled travelogue. As you’ll remember, my best friend Christine flew over to meet up with me in Spain and spend the next couple of weeks working down into Africa.

The first portion of tour — “Spain 2006: They’re Not As Friendly As You Hear, Even When You Try Really Hard to Speak Their Language” – kicked off in Barcelona. It was a fantastic, warm and lively town…the kind you wouldn’t mind getting lost in for a few months or years. We spent our days wandering the main boulevard (Las Ramplas), visiting Gaudi’s acid trip of a cathedral (the enormous La Sigrada Familia – still under construction after 100 years. Not unlike a Minnesota highway project.), and trampling around the lovely Olympic gardens and castle on Mont Juic – the enigmatic mountain that hulks over the city. We also had the good fortune to meet up with a friend of my little brother’s who is studying at the University of Barcelona for a night of steamed mussels, sausage, Sangria and girl talk at a great “locals” restaurant. I still dream of that meal - thanks Jenna!

After Barcelona, we high-tailed it to Madrid - by which I mean we spent two days desperately, slowly trying to find available seats on a bus, train or plane after discovering it was the end of a holiday weekend and all Spaniards were embarking on the pilgrimage home en masse. With the help of gummy bears and a handsome young salesman, I even talked Chris into renting a car at one point – we got so far as paying and sitting down in the matchbox sized mobile before realizing neither of us knows how to drive a stick shift.

Foiled again.

Eventually we made it to Madrid, which was also beautiful, but much more reserved, responsible and formal than Barcelona. Kind of a Successful Accountant Greying at the Temples in contrast to Barcelona’s Bohemian Kindergarten Teacher in Batik Skirts. We mastered the subway system, visited the Royal Palace (fantastic fodder for our fantasies – watching Princess Di’s wedding obviously played a more formative role in our lives than we previously realized), spent hours in an amazing art museum and swooned in the tranquil Parque del Retiro where I rowed us around an adorable pond like honeymooners.

We did a few day trips from Madrid – the first to Segovia, which is an absolute highlight of the whole trip for me. It’s a tiny, fairy tale kind of town complete with a gorgeous castle, an amazing arched aqueduct system, rolling cobblestone streets and an incredible view of wooded valleys and snow capped mountains. Unfortunately, it does not believe in dinner before 9 pm and so we ate a lovely meal at the “Telepizza” delivery service counter and watched the sun go down on the village.

The next stop was Toledo and as I exclaimed multiple times throughout the day with growing indignation – “Toledo Sucks.” Maybe it was the freezing weather or the fog that left us merely imagining the allegedly glorious medieval scenery. Or the closed castle. That we searched for for hours. Or the stupid tourist train that flew around town on two wheels, like an audition for Fox’s “When Tours Go Deadly.”

Sigh.

Anyway, we spent the next few days in Seville, loving the moorish inspired palace, the tropical air of orange tree-lined streets and the tempo of a university town. We visited Roman ruins, spent a couple hours taking in one of the largest cathedrals in the world and ate at the same adorable restaurant five times in three days. It was that good.

The last stop in Spain was Gibraltar, whose praises I have already sung. It really was a beautiful, cozy coastal town that made you want to settle down and pretend to be British for life. I highly recommend a visit if you happen to be in the neighborhood.

In all, we had a fantastic time in a country I had vastly underestimated. Christine’s Spanish language skills were invaluable, as was her sense of humor…..to the dismay of the locals, who never seemed to find us quite as funny as we found ourselves. Their loss.

Next Stop: “Morocco Doesn’t Find Us So Funny Either” And, photos to follow this weekend before the Great Ghana Extravaganza begins…

Tags: Spain, Travel

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 26th, 2006 at 12:54 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.