Goodbye Granada, Hello Rota!

As promised, here are our photos from a tour of the Alhambra as well as a few initial pics in a gallery we'll be updating of interesting, though less famous Barcelona architecture. Oh, and I had to re-load the Mt.Juic/Olympic Pool Fiasco Gallery - the new address is here.

We left Granada this morning on our way to spend time with the Casey-Minchin household on their home turf in Rota (David serves in the US Navy and they live on the US/Spanish base there). Granada was a fantastic visit for us - it is the sort of city that I imagine when I think of visiting something typically Spanish. It's sunny and hot, filled with Moorish influences (above and beyond the Alhambra, which is nothing short of breathtaking itself), most of the old buildings are painted in white, and the place just feels even more infused with Spanish culture than Barcelona: the city really does shut down almost entirely between 2 and 4 PM (and sometimes longer), the streets are actually covered in parts with tarps to provide shade, and the sidewalks are tiled and have ornate lamps and iron rails. Hopefully our photo gallery does it some justice.

Like Barcelona, we got to know the city by walking around almost the whole time. This meant walking down a sharp hill (and up it later, of course) from our hotel, which was perched over the city right next to the Alhambra itself. The top of the hill is effectively forested and is shady and cool, and the apparently ancient roads on it are bordered by streams fed by melt from the Sierra Nevada range even higher above. It's an odd sensation to go from that to what feels like almost a desert city just a few thousand feet away. As it happens, the best playground in town was a 30-40 minute walk from our hotel through the city, so we got to see a lot on our commutes over there to entertain the kids. The playground itself is within a formal-looking park (with an enormous rose garden) named after the famous Spanish poet, Frederic Garcial Lorca, who was executed by Franco's regime. It is bordered on all sides by enormous, bland, apparently Franco-era generic 7-8 story apartment blocks. I can imagine the neighbors love having the open space there and probably more than a few grasp the apparent appropriate symbolic contrast between their gray buildings and Lorca's park.

On our last day in Granada, we went to the annual Feria (Fair) on the outskirts of town. The pics below don't really do it justice, but suffice to say if I were Spanish, I would probably see it as one of the cheesier things out there, the sort of place where you'd find fried Snickers bars. But as an outsider it was of course nothing short of fascinating. The most noteworthy thing about it, and also what I suspect separates it most from the American equivalent, is the noise. Every restaurant, food booth, and ride is blaring their own very loud music, and there are dozens of bingo stands (which are effectively lotteries for merchandise) with announcers screaming into microphones warning passers by that they are missing a chance to win a 60 inch flat screen TV set that no doubt everyone knows will never be given away. Another startling difference is the way food is treated, which is to say much more seriously. In the US, everything is served from little stands where one buys a paper plate and walks away with some greasy selection or other. And while the Spanish equivalent offers a few "to go" alternatives, most of the fair is taken up by one sit down temporary restaurant/bar after another. Dozens and dozens and dozens of them. As Jean put it, the Spanish seem to spend the same money dining for hours with others that Americans spend on granite counter-tops. I like the Spanish option, thank you very much.

A final difference, and another quintessentially Spanish attribute, is the fact that each of the myriad rides on offer has its own unique ticket booth. We of course failed to realize this at first, and thus ended up with 6 tickets to the kiddie ferris wheel at a Euro fifty a pop. Now I know why the crusty old lady selling them bothered to yell at me three times over the ride's blaring music to triple check that I actually wanted six tickets. Such is life - I just think of it as feeding the local economy. Oh yeah, and did I mention that there really are no formal lines for the rides? You just fight your way to the front - which Rob did with Gregson-like aplomb in the case of the kiddie ferris wheel.

We are now hanging out at our cute resort hotel right near the Rota base and spent the day ransacking the Casey-Minchin house - there will of course be a separate tribute-entry to said family in the not too distant future. Being on the US base was cool and sort of surreal - it clearly represents an attempt to recreate a bit of US suburbia in South Spain. As Jean said, their residential neighborhood looks like it could be in Southern California somewhere - a far cry from the ancient white and red stucco buildings we just drove away from this morning. We're loving it here - the Casey-Minchin house and our hotel could not be more kid friendly, and we're going to relish 2-3 days of pure pool, beach, sun, and pizza for the kiddos. Feels like we need it.

Hola from Granada

You'd think that after the harried 2-3 weeks of being on the “road” at the beginning of our trip, from the QMII to the UK and Amsterdam, we would be so relishing putting down roots in Barcelona that we would refuse travel for some time. But then that would mean you don’t know us. Never ones to take the easy – let alone logical road – no sooner did we gain sea legs in one city than we set off for a week or so in another couple. To be fair, we made these plans long ago, and we actually couldn’t be happier to see what we’re seeing.

Before I dive into Granada, first some photography (and blog) housekeeping. Yes, we finally have the camera thing back under control. Being the now frugal and practical people that we both are, Rob and I decided that we simply had to try to repair one of the broken digital cameras before purchasing yet another. Like any rational person, I took the camera to a camera store, asking what amount of time and money would be required to repair our not so trusty Fuji model. In classic Barcelona style, the amiable woman behind the counter said “Ah, you want to REPAIR a camera??? This is more complicated” and proceeded to give me the address to what turned out to be Fuji’s corporate headquarters in Barcelona. Now picture me showing up at these chic digs, two sloppy little toddlers in hand, to tell the very fashionably dressed and corporate looking receptionist in my halting Spanish that I have come to get a camera repaired. To my great shock and relief, she said “Oh, of course! And proceeded to hand me a lengthy form (all in Spanish, what else?) that I was to fill out on the spot. I did my best, telling her I was not sure it was right, and she simply shrugged, proceeded to take the camera, strip it of batteries and chip, hand those items to me, smile, and say, I think, “we’ll call you and tell you what can be done.” Not knowing how to ask for a receipt, and being generally dumbfounded, I sort of looked around said "um, ok" and walked out.

Needless to say, two weeks and about a zillion disposable cameras later, having heard nothing from Fuji HQ, I decided that rather than fighting a Barcelona bureaucracy I would break down and buy another (not Fuji) model. I did this with full knowledge, that in so doing I would dramatically increase the odds that Fuji would call back immediately following my shopping trip with news of my repaired camera, but no matter. Throwing Murphy's Law to the wind, new camera in hand, and lots of disposable film now developed onto CDs, I am can now begin showing photos of our adventures again. I’ll be following up the Fuji story with a bunch of other classic Spain experiences (including one about the three salespeople that disappeared one by one to “look” for the camera I had chosen from the El Corte Ingles department store display case) in a blog entry soon. Some of the galleries now ready for your viewing pleasure:

- Our first walk (about 20 mins) to go see the Sagrada Familia, where we discovered to everyone’s delight, that there is a lovely playground across the street. See adjacent photo of children on rides AND cathedral in the background (as usual, you can click on the photo to see the whole gallery if you like). The cathedral is currently stripped of most of its scaffolding, leading me to believe initially that much of the major structural work might be done. But I soon found out that the four now iconic bell towers that have been finished are to be followed by no fewer than 14 more. The thing’s no more than ~40% done. Oh yes, and most important of all, the kids discovered the joys of pigeon chasing at this playground – hours and hours of entertainment there!

- Long overdue photos from our first trip to Mount Juic, Barcelona's Olympic Park and the now infamous trip we took to the glamerous and apparently "more beautiful than you" sunbathing community at the former olympic pool there.




- A cable car outing to cross Barcelona's inner harbor and ride up to an infamous old fort at the top of Mount Juic (Franco apparently used it to shell Barcelonans during the civil war). The scenery and history involved were of course spectacular, but what really mattered was the two sets of rides (one of which is actually a part of Barcelona's public transport system) that Cory and Addy thoroughly enjoyed. I've also provided a couple of pics from tapas Rob and I ate at a lovely public market on our own before taking the kids on the outing in the afternoon.





- A brief trip to Joan Miro park, at which Cory and Addy identified a famous Joan Miro sculpture as “that big thing with the banana on top!”






- A consolidation of pics from a few trips to Sitges, a magical (and very gay, by European standards) beach that can be reached from Barcelona via a 30 minute (and importantly, DOUBLE DECKER) train ride. The beach is great, and we’ve hooked up with an ex-pat group there full of lovely people. In one of our few truly unhappy experiences there, Eryn had her bag stolen while there by some slimy guys who actually distracted us by playing with our kids. We felt naïve and stupid, but such is life. Let em just try it again!

- A gallery of pictures from our every day life, including some photos of our street and apartment building in Barcelona. The one next to this paragraph is of Eryn reading to Cory on one of our mini-balconies. The apparently peaceful scene conceals the not so dull and constant roar of cars on the street below, which echoes through the canyon of buildings that line all streets in the Eixample. We understand now why Barcelona is called one of the noisiest cities in the world.



- Some photos of a puppet show the kids put on in our kitchen using puppets we had just brought back from a crafts market. Said puppets are likely to be a big source of entertainment going forward if our initial show was any indication.





- Photos from our current trip to Granada, a gorgeous city in Spain’s south. We flew there a few days ago, and have met up with one of Rob’s best friends from college – Jean Casey – and her wonderful family (husband David Minchin and son Sean). David is posted at the US naval base in Rota and we are off to see their home there, as well as take a side trip to Sevilla, the next few days. Granada is home to the Alhambra, the former seat of Muslin rule on the Iberian Peninsula for oh, say, 600-700 years. I will post pics of our group tour of the Alhambra in a separate gallery later because there are so many of them and because they have no photos of the kids (who were being kindly watched after by Santa Eryn).

- Finally, I am reluctantly posting the inaugural edition of my galleries of photos of doors/knockers. These first pics are just a start, and I will be adding stuff regularly, so please check back if you find the topic even slightly interesting! I'll also soon post a gallery of pics of interesting, but less famous, buildings in Barcelona.

More On Settling into Our First City

Sorry folks, for the belated entry. The main source of delay has been a lack of photographs – we have been using a disposable camera since the apparently fatal injuries to our two digital cameras, and coordinating blog writing with photo development has been a challenge. And as my sister likes to remind me – a blog entry is not a real blog entry unless there are photos involved. Never fear, our au pair Eryn (see reference in next paragraph) has generally provided me with a few digital images from her camera to placate all of you photo-lovers, and I promise there are many more on the way. I have also felt a bit at sea – trying to settle in, feeling like I don’t have nearly as much time to myself as I want, and finding myself just plain tired at the end of the day. OK, enough with excuses, onto the entry.

First, the big news: Santa (as in Catalan for Saint) Eryn arrived approximately a week ago. Eryn, as many of you already know, is the poor soul who has agreed to help take care of the kids. Thus the Santa designation. Eryn, in short, is a wonderful person, and not just because she’s helping take care of Cory and Addy. She hails from Seattle – from which I believe I mentioned previously I believe all good things come – and has what I think she would describe herself as a varied background, from babysitting to managing a band and working at a radio station. Most important, of course, is that she is fantastic with kids, and kind, compassionate, and obviously curious about the world around her to boot. She was even understanding when we forgot her birthday on her second day in Barcelona - see pic of belated cake to the left. We are thrilled to have her as a member of the family.

Eryn’s arrival, and a couple of weeks of familiarity with Barcelona is allowing us to develop a bit of routine, which is good for everyone. What, you might ask, does a typical day look like for our lucky family? Here’s my best shot:

7am-ish: Matt or Rob, woken by Cory climbing into bed, wakes up and begins the morning ritual of preparing that typical Spanish childrens’ breakfast: PANCAKES. Yes folks, that’s right, we found a grocer that sells little packets of pancake mix and we promptly cleared out his entire stock. It’s pancakes every morning at our house! Only maple syrup is nowhere to be found in this town, so (Jill Gregson, mother of the soak ‘em in butter and douse them in syrup methodology, steel yourself) we sprinkle a little sugar. It actually tastes better in my not so humble opinion. Kiddie bellies full, we get some clothes on and do Addy’s hair. Eryn joins us around 8am to help out – thanks Santa Eryn!

9-10am-ish: Matt and Rob leave for some welcome alone time. This should of course mean sitting in some quaint café sipping delicious coffee and eating some pastry, but it has involved a surprising amount of errand running, emailing, trip organizing, etc. Turns out errand running is pretty much the same regardless of what side of the Atlantic it is conducted on. Net, net, there has been much less time for relaxing than we had both hoped. Oh well, cry me a river, right?

1-1:30: Matt and Rob arrive back home to meet the kids. One or both of us then goes out with the kids – to whom Eryn has fed lunch (grilled Spanish cheese sandwich, Spanish version of mini-pizza’s, BP&J – another grocery store find - or toast). The afternoon expeditions have so far generally been to seek out cool area parks/playgrounds in an attempt to further exhaust the children. We try, as we did today by visiting the famous modernist Palau Hospital complex or as we did recently in a visit to Sagrada Familia, to combine some sightseeing with the playground stuff, but let's be honest - it’s mainly about the playgrounds.

5-6pm-ish: Return home in a heap. Serve dinner to kiddos, watch a little video with them (they have been obsessed of late with the “Old Bamboo” sequence from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang as well as the same tired two Dora the Explorer DVDs we've been watching since we left South Orange).

8-9pm: Kiddos in bed, adult evening begins. Usually make dinner (90% of ingredients for which come from this FANTASTIC local market about which I will soon write a stand alone blog entry), invariably involving sliced up local cheese, Serrano ham, and olives to start, and then usually some kind of more typical US entrée. This is, of course, a good excuse to talk more about the food here, which is we love. Baked goods are fantastic – the local generic grocery store has better baguettes than I have ever had in the US, and delicious croissants are ubiquitous at breakfast time. A funny side note - all cafes but Starbucks appear to have great difficulty and angst when asked for coffee "para llevar" (to go). They just don't get the whole concept, and give you this sigh as well as an exasperated look like "why can't you people just settle down and drink coffee for an hour the way the rest of us normal people do?" Then there are the tapas, ahhhh the tapas – they are basically awesome everywhere, but we have also rediscovered a famous little tapas place at which we ate during our first visit right of Passeig de Gracia called Tapas 24. My favorite dish so far is a tripe stew involving some sort of tomato and maybe cayenne soup combined with garbonzo beans, bacon, and sausage. Not exactly healthy. And then there was the fancy place – cinc sentis – that Rob and I decided to visit a few nights ago at the last minute for a 10pm dinner. Definitely out of the Ferran Adria school (his restaurant El Boulli was recently voted the best in the world, apparently)– foams and all – and easily one of the best meals we’ve had in quite some time. Food for the kids has also been pretty easy, especially given the general availability of sweets, from churros con chocolate to donuts and, dramatic pause here please, Spanish Chocolate drink, which is a bit like drinking chocolate pudding before it's cooled (see pic below of Cory and Addy enjoying their first cup).


Hardly a bad life, right? Some other revelations:

- Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise, but man is this childcare thing a tough slog! I had of course fantasized that the main thing I would enjoy in life would be “spending time with my family,” and it is of course gratifying, but dealing with two toddlers is some kind of mixture of patience, bribery, extortion, and intimidation. And then they say something really cute that makes it feel worthwhile.

- Cory and Addy are digging into the Spanish thing, also not a surprise, but really wonderful all the same. Eryn heard Cory ask a kid today, unprompted, “Como te llamas?” (What’s your name?). They are both now just as often saying ola and adios as hello and goodbye. Awesome. They haven’t quite gotten the rolling R thing yet and continue to call dogs Pedro as a result. We have decided to enroll them in a 1pm-6pm playgroup 3-4 times a week that is conducted completely in Spanish. Unbeknownst to them, they will also be dining on organic food of much greater variety than they accept at home - revenge is so very sweet!! The program is in a small two story building in a cute alley near the Poblenou subway stop, run by a woman steeped in some sort of Montessori and empowerment ideology. They have teeny little back yard with two chickens, two rabbits, and some play equipment. We think they’ll pick up a bunch of Spanish and, more importantly, get to hang out with more kids, something they clearly miss. Cory was unbelievably jazzed up after the first class, going back to singing his preschool songs, and dancing around.

- We continue to enjoy trying to understand the culture better, and appreciate the people more every day. Reading modern Catalonian and Spanish history certainly brings to light the moral and political complexity (a generous word, no doubt) of a society that tolerated a fascist leader into the 1970s (and then saw its fledgling democracy almost overthrown by a coup shortly thereafter). Barcelona, I am glad to report, was on the vanguard of the doomed socialist movement, and well known for its long resitance to Franco. Of course you can’t tell any of this when interacting day to day. What we see is a strange mixture of big city coolness, women constantly handing the kids lollypops and cookies out of their handbags (they walk around with a stock of this stuff for just this purpose!), people getting impatient with us at the grocery store while others ask expectantly if we are enjoying the city. Mainly we feel welcome and comfortable.

- One of the best things about living here to me remains the architecture, and I feel that rather than beginning to get used to it and taking it for granted, I am becoming more sensitized to it. When we decided to try to move abroad for six months, we decided to stay in only two places in the hopes of getting to sink into the culture more. Rob always spoke about wanting to be able to get to know the owner and staff of a local café at which he would drink coffee every morning. I loved this idea too. What I’m discovering for myself, though, is that getting to know the physical makeup of the place is just as gratifying. The buildings here are beautiful, and I’m coming to appreciate and enjoy them more each day. I’ve gone from focusing on their grandeur the first week or so to noticing the myriad little details, from ornamentation on bay windows to door knockers (yes, stay tuned for upcoming knocker blog entry). The influence of modernism (from steel to art nouveau in general) is clear and impressive, but it's the mixture in so many buildings of old and new style (European Baroque, Moorish, Nouveau, etc.) – a sort of design on the cusp – that I like best. I still know little about this stuff, but am learning, and generally just trying to soak up the variety. Some travel guides have said that the Eixample (the grid-like part of the city we live in) can be monotonous to walk through (one even called it a sort of urban waffle iron) but I find it the opposite - the diversity is there if you just stop to notice it.

On the architecture theme, we visited the famous Palau de Musica this morning on a guided tour that we both found very moving. Visit the link - it’s such a gorgeous place that I knew so little about before I got here.

- Rob is to be awarded the Ostrower-Gregson Medal of Honor for choosing an absolutely perfect location for our apartment. We have a subway (with a rare elevator, no less) less than a block away, and are a few blocks from both the old Gothic city as well as some of Gaudi’s most famous buildings (we literally walk past them every day). Central, central, central, and beautiful. We walk absolutely everywhere.

Getting our Bearings in Barcelona

OK, most importantly (as my sister has so generously pointed out), my blog entries are basically irrelevant without photos. So we have posted some new pics, most of them unfortunately from lousy disposable cameras that basically just barely get the job done. Click on any photo to be transported to the web gallery with which it is associated.

New pictures include the Queen's Day Orange in Amsterdam as well as our trip to Keukenhof, the largest (and easily most beautiful) tulip garden in the world. I'm sad to say the pics of Queens Day don't do it justice. The good photos are trapped on my malfunctioning digital - will try to retrieve them ASAP.



















I didn't mention much about Keukenhof before, but it bears more comment. First, as any of you who knows Rob will surely know, visiting what is effectively a bulb museum of epic proportions is way up there on the list of cool things for him. Indeed, I don't think he'll mind me saying that he actually shed some some sincere tears when it's scale and beauty first became apparent. In truth, given that I was mainly in charge of the Netherlands part of the trip, I don't think Rob was expecting to see what he saw - unless you know a lot of people who have been, it would be easy to imagine the Keukenhof as being a cheesy touristy trip. Indeed it is not, it is pretty darned close to pure beauty in my humble opinion. That Rob was a bit overwhelmed by the beauty, and that it was in the form of something so near and dear to his heart makes me very happy. I'm so glad I got to see it with him.

The Keukenhof for me was something different. We actually had a picture of it hanging in our dining room, or rather a picture of it and my folks' young looking faces with a huge swath of tulips behind them. I have always wanted to see it. He may not remember it today, but my dad's stories of his own trip to Amsterdam and the things he saw there are undoubtedly a part of whatever wanderlust I have today and have had in the past. My folks steeped our family in travel - from crammed station wagon trips between San Antonio to New York City to snowmobile riding in Yellowstone. They never took us to Europe - that's complaint! - and because I went to Asia in my year abroad, I have felt this need to see what "the West" has on offer. Plus, it's supposed to have really good food and fancy hotels!

Finally, I've posted some of our first pics of Barcelona, which we continue to thoroughly enjoy. These are of an excursion we took to the lovely, but dusty, Parc Guell and the Gaudi attractions it offers. Not a great spot for kids, but a lovely view of the city and a great vertical workout for dads. The better pics would have been of the Barcelonetta beach (the one described below, with an adjacent famous fish designed by Frank Ghery), but the disposable camera we were to use to take these pictures disappeared with our diaper bag on the way there. We are on our way to resolving the camera issue, and will have more show soon. Suffice to say, this city is just beautiful.

Now for some parting anecdotes:

First, the kids are beginning to finally understand that Spanish is not just some strange thing imposed on them by Dora the Explorer, and that it has some real use here. As a result, they are starting to experiment with it. At least, that's what I'm calling it when Cory says "Delicioso!" every time he wants to say goodbye. Shawney, I assume you can provide some sage comments on new language development for young kids.

Second, our trip to the famous Olympic Park and its Olympic sized swimming pool cannot go without mention. I was very proud of Rob for having learned about this pool - water and toddlers go very very well together - and for helping us locate it and get in (for a mere $25!). Unfortunately, what all Rob's research failed to mention is that 1) the pool, while enormous, is at no point shallow enough to stand in (I'm serious), 2) has water that might be called refreshing by Barcelonans, but was just plain FREEZING to me, and, most important, 3) is
frequented only by serious, beautiful swimmers, who when not swimming laps, are bathing in the sun in ABSOLUTE silence. Please now imagine Matt and Rob (both chunky in their very handsome way), appearing with two decidedly not silent toddlers, beach blankets and plastic pails in tow, then wandering around the pool with this puzzled look, wondering where we are supposed to swim with the kids. I saw the one staff member (not a lifeguard, mind you) grinning and shaking his head at us. Never fear, we were not deterred - Rob and I jumped in and began to tread water while the kids played on the edge. No fewer than 10 people moved from their sunning spot in the general location of where we were swimming.

Three, we are learning that our gorgeous children will indeed be a ticket to ride here. While many people have been characteristically cool, the huge exception has been those who approach us because of the kiddos. We made, for example a trip to the local (FANTASTIC) market (about half a block from our house) where the kids were provided with free bread sticks, donuts, and peonies just for being cute. They are given lollypops everywhere they go, and all these gifts come with a requirement to kiss the woman who is providing it on the cheek. People randomly approach them and pinch their cheeks or pat their heads everywhere we go. Cory is called guapo constantly, and both kids are really enjoying the attention, and responding appropriately with their limited Spanish.

Fourth, my Spanish is proving reasonably strong. The two things I have been most proud of have been interpreting a Chinese menu and then handling all logistics over the phone for delivery (no one delivers Tapas, or we would have done that, I swear!). The nice woman on the other end of the phone even said I spoke great Castilian - obviously she could see a loyal Chinese food eater a mile away. Second, I believe I handled my first altercation here with decent grace. Some sour couple in front of us at the grocery store got mad at us for using the conveyor belt at the register before they were finished - we had not seen their remaining items - and said loudly to each other that we were being too pushy. I apologized in spanish, to which the woman sort of turned her nose up, and continued muttering about us audibly. I replied to her that we had not seen her remaining belongings, and that we had apologized, was that sufficient or not? She then tried to say something in English but failed miserably. Go Matt!

OK, it's late here, ciao!

An Ode to Some Heroes of Our Trip: The Molenaar Family and Emily Abbott

As you will have gathered from reading my previous posts, traveling Europe with two little ones is not easy. Yes, I know, cry me a river and all that, but it's pretty easy to start feeling isolated, somewhat helpless, and really exhausted. It is in this context that two shining beacons, two givers of care to weary travelers, two heroes if you will (or rather, one hero and one group of heroes) bear mention.

Dirk Molenaar and his family (wife Marina and children David (5) and Noa (3) - forgive me for any misspellings), who live near Rotterdam, did an almost unthinkable, profoundly generous deed: they invited a scruffy family with two cranky toddlers over to invade their home for an afternoon of entertainment. What, you might wonder, does an afternoon of fun consist of in the Molenaar family? Upon arrival, the kids were lavished with gifts and plates of unregulated candy/cookies (we brought a couple of lame bottles of wine). After Cory and Addy had been given enough time to ransack David and Noa's gorgeous pretend food store (hand crafted, I might add, by their Grandfather) like an American Midwest-style tornado, we hopped onto bikes for a trip to the lovely local beach. The Molenaars had not only kindly borrowed two bikes from neighbors on our behalf, but also then provided all of us with appropriate clothes (when we were told we might go to the beach, we thought warm/bathingsuits, somehow forgetting our North Atlantic locale). And in just one more act of good will among many, Dirk rode the bike with the two bike seats containing Cory (in back) and Addy (in front - mom, i hear your hear heart palpitations all the way around the world) because neither Rob nor I was brave enough to do it. After the beach, we took a short bike ride to see ships entering the opening of the port of Rotterdam, an awesome sight. We were then treated to a really wonderful and touching Dutch dinner, the most memorable part of which (aside from great company, of course) was a stack of about 5 million pancakes prepared ahead of time by the food stand-crafting grandpa, whom we sadly never met. On our way out the door, Marina handed Cory the book on airplanes and airports he had been reading, and which Rob and I have now been attempting to translate for many nights - foreign language or no, he loves it! We took numerous photos on our trip to Southern Holland, but we sadly lost them today when we left our diaper bag and disposable camera within on the subway (I'm saying someone swiped it, but I fear I just left it). However, a lack of photos should not be confused with a lack of gratitude. Thank you Dirk, Marina, David, and Noa - you gave us a day to remember, and your kindness is moving beyond words.

Now for hero number three. If you ever happen to need to ship two ginormous suitcases full of clothes to someone's WORK address in Barcelona, have someone to pester with annoying logistics questions, vet your possible apartment choices, and do it through hilarious emails all the while, please DO NOT contact Emily Abbott in Barcelona - she's OURS! It's indicative that she brought a box of delicious chocolates to her own thank you dinner. She even ate the undercookeed (once oven baked, twice microwaved) chicken with a smile on her face (no wise comments, Jill!). Emily is the sister/sister-in-law of two of Rob's fabulous ex-parishioners, Jessica and Henry Abbott, and she is, simply put, a joy. We are tickled to now be in the same city as she is, and look forward to many, many more laughter filled evenings. Thanks, Emily, for helping to make this trip happen and for keeping smiles on our faces!

There are of course many other people who bear thanking - Jill, you know we worship at your altar when we're not making fun of you! - and you'll be hearing from us on the blog as time goes by.

Matt and Rob

Hello Barcelona, Goodbye Suitcases!

So we are finally, finally here. Hard to believe it. I will chime in now, before having pictures to post, but those should be coming relatively soon (the one digital camera that was on its last legs has finally sung its swan song).

First reactions: Barcelona is gorgeous, the weather is fantastic, and the apartment/location we're is living up to our expectations and more. Rob and I had both fantasized about a being in a neighborhood full of cute outdoor cafes, beautiful 19th century streets, and a central location. It would appear we got all those things. Our area is not fashionable or trendy like the Marais is supposed to be in Paris, but it is just lovely.

Indeed we ate our first meal here outside, at a cute little hole in the wall diner right across the street from our apartment - white paper table cloth, eggs for the kids (duh, that's what tortillas are here, hello naive visitor - we told the kids they were special quesadillas and they ate at least a few bites, before saying "don't like this kind of quesadilla"), and lamb chops for dads, who were feeling in an expansive mood. There's an outdoor, but decidedly grown-up tapas bar right around the corner, which we will sample post the arrival of our fabulous au pair from Seattle (from which only good things come, I have decided).

The meal we ate was preceded by some relatively harmless, but entertaining misadventures. First, we arrived in Barcelona to find one of our bags (the one with all dads' clothes in it, of course) having been "misplaced" by Vueling, the discount airline we flew unknown to everyone we spoke with during the first two weeks of our visit to this continent). Rob saw the bag being tagged, but we failed to notice that we did not receive a claim ticket for that bag, most likely because we already had a stack of ~80 for the other checked bags. No coincidence, then, that the one bag without a claim ticket failed to make its appearance in Barcelona. The discussion at Vueling's distinctly Spanish lost luggage counter was pretty hilarious.
Matt: It would appear that one of bags has not arrived.
Random, pleasant Vueling agent: Oh, sorry, can you please show me the claim ticket?
Matt: I'm afraid that we didn't receive a claim ticket for the missing bag.
Vueling agent, with look of concern and confusion: But the claim ticket, it is very very important.
Matt: Yes, I can imagine that, but I cannot provide you something I do not have.
Vueling agent: But the ticket is how we track the bags! It is very very important!
Matt: Yes, I can imagine that too, but alas, I do not have the tag.
Vueling agent, now joined by two previously unoccupied colleagues: No response, blank, mystified, and very concerned looks on all faces.
Matt, now realizing the fate of his bag is entirely in his own hands: OK, let's talk this through. Then proceeding, with remarkable calm, I might unhumbly add, we worked together to identify how many bags we had checked, proving the existence of the missing bag, and then sorted through the claims we had to figure out which number was missing and thus which bag was missing. I guess you sort of had to be there, but the fact that this nice agent was basically ready to close the case upon hearing that we were not following perfect lost bag protocol by producing a claim check for the missing bag seems funny to me. Oh no, maybe I'm morphing into bad dad (especially my dad - sorry dad!) humor, where there's a long joke and very little punch line.

Alas, as I sit here typing now, the bag has yet to be located, let alone produced, leaving us with a single set of clothes each. Compounding the situation is the fact that FedEx is demanding a virtual affidavit, not to mention perfect memory of what we shipped, in order to produce the four boxes of clothes and kids' toys Jill kindly sent from the US. Needless to say, we made a toddler-laden visit to El Corte Ingles, one of the better European department stores (they actually have a virtual monopoly here) to buy some stop-gap clothes. Further compounding matters was the late discovery that our modern, sleek looking washing machine lacks a sleek dryer companion, meaning that laundry must be (American gasp here!) hung and thus takes virtual eons to finish. We would of course avail ourselves of one of the local laundry services (I am proud to report I was able to not only ask the location of said establishment in broken Spanish, but also basically understand the answer), but they closed early on Saturday and have failed to reopen. This, I suppose, is precisely the sort of thing I was talking about when I wrote in one of the first entries about the only certainty of the trip being its unpredictability.

The second major misadventure was comparatively minor, but also amusing. We had originally planned to meet the rental agent at the apartment about 40 mins following the arrival of the plane, a plan that the lost luggage imbroglio forced us to amend (hello confused Vueling lost bag agent, may we please borrow your cell phone for just a sec?). The change in plan resulted in our arriving at the front door of the apartment early, with veritable Mount Everest of luggage, and two sleeping toddlers in tow, about 30 minutes prior to the rental agent's rescheduled arrival. Imagine, if you will, Rob sitting next to the luggage, back up against a closed metal store shutter (with requisite graffiti to complete the surly image), holding two sleeping toddlers, while prim, proper old Spanish ladies with cashmere sweaters draped over their shoulders (are you reading this Mary Hogan?) walk by, try and failing not to look at him as if he had stolen and murdered the two poor souls in his arms. We have some photos and video which we'll soon post, don't worry!

Clothes are, in fact, a very big deal here in Spain, but our scrubby, rumpled appearance is not preventing us from being ecstatic to be here! We have already walked the city (Rob's sense of direction is truly beyond compare), had a bunch of great food, and we even made it to the local beach today (gorgeous, ex some amount of flotsam and jetsam being scooped up by a motor boat w a large net traveling about four feet from shore - I will spare you of further detail), which the locals absolutely mob on the weekend and which the kids enjoyed thoroughly.

Our neighborhood is the Eixample, or as all the tour guides helpfully inform one, "Extension," as I understand it the first major expansion of the city past the Gothic, and insanely dense, section. For those not fortunate enough to have visited our area, what's amazing about it is that it was apparently all built within 50 years, or the mid- to late-1800s, and is in a style that I understand precious little about (on my already lengthy to-do list), but which I can best characterize as a sort of Spanish interpretation of the classic European architecture of that time. This is, of course, where many of Gaudi's buildings are located, but it is clear that he was far from the only one who did some experimenting. The Eixample is also beautifully planned - a grid with wide sidewalks, pedestrian boulevards, etc. - so it is great for day to day living.

There have been some other surprises worth mentioning, the most important of which I would simply describe as the culture. Despite all of our research, we really hadn't learned quite how unusual Barcelona is cultutrally. I'm not referring to the cool, distinct history, which we both read a decent amount about, but more how people treat each other. I would describe it as cool and distant, perhaps even more so than we found in the UK. Unlike the UK, this took us by surprise, though, and we had really expected a much warmer response, especially to our gorgeous kids, whom we had been told countless times, the Spanish adore. We initially took this as a response to our untraditional family, but have been greatly relieved to find out that in fact Barcelonans (or rather, Catelans - see 800 page reference guide to very complicated NE Spain history) treat most everyone this way. It's hard to get used to walking towards people on the street, having them look clearly at you, look at your kids, and then just pretend like they saw nothing at all and just walk by. Not even a smile. Don't worry, though, Rob is in fact Jill Gregson's child, and we will somehow break through with our warm American style. God help them.

A second surprise - and also a disappointment - is just how poorly they do plagrounds here. Without belaboring the point, suffice to say that they all basically suck so far. Indeed, the large, grand Barcelona park has, as best we can tell, a single spartan measly jungle gym. The city's gorgeous, but they have a lot to learn about see saws and zip lines for kids!

OK, enough for now - there will be plenty of time to regale you with further details and amusing stories!

Matt