we move to canada

We have seen many happy, well-cared-for dogs on this trip, dogs of all shapes and sizes, all obviously loved. We have seen no street dogs. There are some feral cats living in the Alhambra. That is always sad to see. But the street dogs that have broken our hearts in Mexico and Peru and elsewhere do not seem to be in Spain, at least not where we have been.

* * * *

On the drive from Barcelona to Granada, I realized that we brought no music with us. We never even thought of it. I blipped through radio stations, even though I knew it would be useless. Radio sounds exactly the same, regardless of language. Top-40 hits, classic rock, sports talk, the scourge of "lite FM" - all of it sounds exactly the same. On one station, I heard the words "Yustin Beiber". I looked at Allan. "Did I just hear the name Justin Beiber?" Yes, he heard it, too. There is no escape. (Non-Canadians: you have no idea.)

* * * *

Everyone says hola here. That may seem ridiculously obvious, as "hola" means "hello," and we are in Spain. But in Latin America, you rarely hear the word. People say "Buenas dias" in the morning and "Buenas noches" in the evening. Kids say "Que tal", like "hey" or "what's up". Hola, in my experience, is how you answer the phone. But so far in Spain, everyone says "Hola," very brightly and clearly. "Buen dia" - without the s - is used occasionally, but sounds more formal and less friendly.

* * * *

The coffee is not very strong here. I don't know how Latin America learned to make such rich and delicious coffee, but it wasn't from Spain. I get a cafe con leche in the morning, and it barely registers on my caffeine scale. I need at least two of them to scratch the surface, but I'm definitely lowering my threshold, getting by with less.

* * * *

More Arabic on the highway signs on route from Granada! There is a ferry from Tarifa to Tangier, Morocco, and the highway signs in that direction are in Spanish and Arabic. The Alhambra and upcoming Cordoba have me dreaming of Morocco.

* * * *

We hear good things about Tala and Diego. They seem to be having a good time with Essie, and not driving her too crazy. The Red Sox have remembered how to win. Allan's writing partner is doing interviews and keeping him posted. Thanks for reading my blather.

We changed our plans, then changed them again. Originally, we had pencilled in a drive to the very southern tip of Spain, where on a clear day you can see Morocco, and where there is a supposedly wonderfully intact set of Roman ruins, Baelo Claudio.

From the start, I was skeptical that we could do this and still do everything else on our wish-list. I think Allan had forgotten how everything takes longer than you think it's going to, and how sleeping in a different town every night can mean not seeing anything very well. In Granada, it was time to firm up the flexible spots in our itinerary.

We love seeing Roman ruins. But we've seen a fair number of them. On our big trip in 1993 - we spent a month in France and Italy - we drove through Provence and saw a huge number of amazing Roman ruins. And of course, we've been to Rome. On the other hand, this current trip includes something we've never seen and may never see again: neolithic cave paintings. I have wanted to see cave paintings since I first read about the caves in Lescaux and Altamira (now both closed to the public). As soon as the Bilbao Guggenheim opened, and I saw its proximity to caves where there are paintings, I started thinking about going to Spain.

So cave paintings are a major incentive for this trip, and we have planned them for the very end. I was concerned that if we went to Baelo Claudia, we would never make it up to Basque Country in the north, and we'd end up seeing more Roman ruins, but no caves.

So we reconfigured the remaining part of the trip for less time in the south and more time in the north. Our plans for today were to drive to Ronda, walk around the town, then continue on to Zuhero, about an hour away from Cordoba - not spend the night in Ronda, but stay two nights in Zuhero.

* * * *

We woke up in Grenada to the sound of cannon fire, or maybe kettle drums, or maybe fireworks. It was 8:00 a.m. and we have no idea what that was about.

After breakfast, we bought a few things at a small supermarket across from the hotel, then went to a tiny panderia (bakery) - so tiny that customers queue up in the street, because only one customer at a time can fit in the shop. We bought a wonderful fresh baguette, two pastries, and two cookies for 2.50 euros.

The lovely woman at our hotel, plus a gentleman who helped direct Allan out of our tiny parking spot, both assured us it was much easier to get out of town than it was to get in. Armed with great directions, we nervously hit the road, but had no problem finding the highway. We did stop once for directions, just to confirm. A man said "...go to the left," while motioning right. I said, "A la derecha?" ("To the right?") And he said, "Si, derecha" which tells you something about miscommunication! But we found the highway easily and soon I was navigating us to Ronda.

* * * *

We stopped once to eat some of our ham, cheese, and bread, but otherwise were driving through beautiful, hilly orchards, with steep mountains in the distance. We could have taken fairly fast roads all the way to Ronda, but against my better judgement, wevdecided to use a tiny adjoining "cut-through" road. I knew that would be very slow and take us through mountains, and Allan said he also knew that, but... let's just say I don't think he understood how tiny and how slow that road would be. Or where he'd be driving. Allan is afraid of heights. Let it not be said I didn't warn him.

The road to Ronda turned out to be one of the more dramatic drives we've ever done, on par with the Big Sur coast in California or the Almalfi coast of Italy. (The latter we did by bus and Allan couldn't look out the window.) First we wound our way through two tiny "white towns" - the typical towns of Spain, with white-washed buildings and red-tiled roofs - called Andarle and El Burgos, then there were no towns.

The road was barely wide enough for one car. When a car approached from the other direction, Allan stopped and we held our breath. We went up and up and up, into the mountains, with a very steep drop-off on my side, and so close to the side of the road that I didn't want to look down. On all sides of us, there were dramatic rock outcroppings, and in the valleys there were pastures, with the occasional hacienda and pick-up truck visible. It looked a lot like scenery I've seen in the western US, with the same huge sky and dramatic peaks.

At one point, we found ourselves behind a herd of goats. A man and two dogs were working them down the road, then off the road and down the cliffs to the right. I scrambled for the camera and we drove slowly behind them until all the animals were safely off the road. I waved and yelled to the shepherd.

Another time we saw a nice dog sitting in the road. Allan looked very upset and was determined to continue driving. We have rescued some strays while traveling, and other times staggered away, heartbroken, from dogs we could not help. I thought we could at least take this dog to a town. I made Allan stop and ran back to the dog, but when I found it, I realized it was fine, just a country dog out for the day. She wasn't skinny, her coat looked good, and the last thing we want to do is abscond with somebody's dog. So I ran back to the car and tried to assure Allan, and we continued on.

This drive went on for hours, real white-knuckle driving, no more than 20 or 30 kms/hour. At the highest point, we stopped at a lookout with some information about the Seirra de las Nieves range. After that, the drop-off was on the driver's side, not ideal for our man behind the wheel! I'm pretty sure Allan was forcing himself not to look out his window.

When I noticed that it was 3:00 and the road was just beginning to flatten out towards Ronda, I suggested we spend the night there. Zuheros has to be three hours away. Did we really want to do that tonight?

* * * *

We entered Ronda from the ordinary, non-historic part of town and put the car in an underground parking lot. We very quickly saw the train station and a hotel right across the street, and figured, what the hell, let's give it a go. At the Hotel Analucia, the man said he had a vacancy... for 35 euros. Allan thought I heard wrong but no, it was 35 euros. I asked to see the room. It's a simple, clean room with a spotless bathroom, and a closet nearly as big as our hotel room in Paris. The hotel has a parking deal with the lot where our car is already parked, so overnight parking will cost 6 euros. Wifi is free and in all the rooms. Wow.

Next we had to change our reservation in Zuheros. I couldn't get it done through Hotels.com, so I called the hotel directly. They were very accommodating, allowing us to cancel one night on such short notice, but they said they did need to receive something from whatever internet site we booked with, or else they would be charged a commission for an unused room.

Trying to work with Hotels.com was awful. One, their phone number - which says, "A free call from anywhere, 24/7!" - is only free within the United States. Two, their number is listed as 1-800-CA-HOTELS, with no actual number given beside it. Does anyone have a phone with letters on it anymore?? There are millions of people traveling today who have never even seen a rotary phone with letters! After waiting on hold, and being transferred, the person who actually helped me wanted to keep me on hold while he called the hotel in Zuhero. I don't think so.

So that was awful, but we got it done, then headed off into Ronda.

* * * *

We walked through the commercial area of town, a pedestrian-only mall, past a bullfighting ring, and down to the edge of town. Literally, the edge. There is a wall, beyond which the town drops off a cliff. You can see towns in the valley, then huge mountains in the distance. From the cliffs on this side of town, you can walk around a walkway to a bridge.

The bridge passes over a dramatic gorge, a huge steep drop, with giant stone finger-like projections on all sides, on top of which the town seems to be growing. On the other side of the bridge is the old, historic part of town, with narrow cobblestone streets, white houses with red roofs and wrought-iron gates, and a zillion schlocky touristy stores. Tacky, but beneath that, beautiful.

In between the two sides of town, upstream from the bridge, you can see the gorge, the rushing water, people walking up and down a scenic walkway, and in the distance, farms. It is very dramatic, very beautiful. From the old-city side, looking back on the bridge, you see the full height and impressive arches of the bridge. Allan couldn't get too close to the rail, so I took all the photos. Some view of Ronda, the gorge, and the bridge are here.

This town is supposedly a magnet for fans of Ernest Hemingway. Ronda's Wikipedia page mentions something about a bit of For Whom The Bell Tolls being based on Ronda. I re-read that novel only a month or so ago (I loved it), and I don't remember anything remotely like this town being in it.There are also pictures of Charlie Chaplin in several places, but I don't know why.

After our walk, we were ready for dinner, but it was still too early. The whole town appeared to be having coffee, ice cream, and dessert. Hundreds of families with children, older folks in groups, teenagers on dates, absolutely everyone, were gathered in dozens of cafes, gelaterias, and confiterias. After all, it was "only" 7:00 p.m.!

We reluctantly stopped for coffee and tea, at a cafe selling all manner of baked goodies and "bombs" (bonbons). When I ordered Allan's "the con leche", they made the tea with steamed milk, instead of water. That was new for us. We used the time to further reconfigure the rest of the trip. We're both concerned that things may take a long time in the north - that it may take time to get there or to find a cave tour. As I've said, it's a focal point of the trip, and we don't want it to be cut short. So we actually cut a day out of our planned three days in Madrid.

I only wanted to do one thing in Madrid: see painting at the three big museums. We are also meeting up with our friend David Heap! But I'm not particularly interested in running around Madrid seeing El Escorial and other famous sites, given the time and priorities of this trip. (Of course I'd see any city for any reason, and I'm sure Madrid has many things to recommend it, but in context of this trip: art only.) So now I will have two full days to see the greatest highlights from all three museums. It should work.

After planning over coffee, we found a simple place for dinner. We were clearly the "early bird special" at 7:30. We are both a bit tired of tapas. (Who knew such a thing could happen?) I want to have some great paella somewhere, but this is not paella country. The menus here favour game, stews (including bull-tail stew), and grilled fish. I had a version of huevos rancheros - scrambled eggs with potatoes and chorizos - and Allan had fried calmari that looked like fishsticks. We also had some kind of yummy white bean soup that was made with sausage. We drank vino verano and I had yet more coffee, and the bill barely scraped 20 euros.

This doesn't seem to be a big foodie area. Basque Country, in the north, is supposed to have some of the best food in Spain (or anywhere). I don't know if we'll find any, or perhaps it's impossible to miss. But somewhere, somewhere on this trip, will I get a big bowl of really good paella?

Our little hotel was super easy to find, because it's across from the train station. We were happy to see it again; it has been a long day. I called my mother, who was thrilled to hear from me. I called her two or three times on our long drive from Barcelona to Granada, but she wasn't in, and I knew she'd be massively disappointed to miss my call. She is reading this blog, and she has been to Ronda, among many other places in Spain. It was great to hear her voice!

The previous night, when we finally found the hotel, I asked about tickets to the Alhambra. We had read in the guidebook that only a certain number of tickets are issued for every entrance time, and going up there without tickets is not advised. As it turns out, every hotel in town has a certain number of tickets they can sell to guests. The hotel's computer showed how many tickets were available for each hour. We purposely booked late in the day, both to avoid massive crowds and to give ourselves a break. Our friend at the desk also gave us detailed instructions on how to collect our tickets - very necessary.

We had breakfast at the hotel's little cafe area. There's only wireless internet in the lobby and cafe, not in the rooms (often the case in this country, we see from listings), so we took my netbook and spent some time trying to book a hotel room in Cordoba, our next stop. There was nothing. Absolutely no rooms available, except in very high-end places, well beyond our budget and our desires. Completely stumped, we asked at our hotel desk and learned there is a huge festival in Cordoba this weekend and all through next week.

We decided we'd rather stay in another town and drive into Cordoba than spend a lot of money for an expensive room that we don't even want. We found some towns to try, but we had already spent more time at the computer than we wanted, and we quit for the time being. I realized we hadn't eaten anything but bread or cookies in way too long, so we found a place in the neighbourhood to have a nice lunch.

The area where we're staying is beautiful (as long as you're not driving!) - narrow winding cobblestone streets, white-washed buildings with red roofs climbing hills, many streets with steps, for foot-traffic only. There are a few touristy places but mostly it's a local neighbourhood. After a time, we took a local bus to the Alhambra. It's only 10 minutes by bus or taxi, but all uphill - steep hills that afford beautiful views.

At the Alhambra, we had to queue up to present our documents in order to get our tickets. Many tourists were incensed that, even though they had booked ahead, they still had to wait. From our experience on this trip, I will say that the stereotype of "the ugly American" is alive and well in France, Italy, Germany, Australia, Japan, and the UK. We have seen almost no Americans, but have seen a lot of ugly-acting tourists.

In any case, the wait was very brief, but the system at La Alhambra is a bit bizarre. To get your tickets, you must present your passport, plus a letter that the hotel prints out verifying that they booked for you, plus the credit card you used to pay for the tickets. I understand using the credit card, but why the passport and why the hotel letter? They scrutinized and double-checked everything before issuing the tickets, and they check the tickets with scanners at several access points along the way. No idea what's up with that.

The Alhambra sits on a large hill with commanding views of the valleys below, and consists of several different buildings. The Generalife (pronounced "hen-er-ahl-lee-fay") was like a hangout and pleasure spot for the ruling Islamic dynasty. It has beautiful views and nice gardens. I'm not much for gardens, and these were added in the 20th century anyway, so it was a bit underwhelming in my opinion. The views of the valleys - all the houses with the red-tiled rooves, churches and cathedrals - was really nice.

We walked around and saw the grounds until it was time for our admittance to the Nasrid Palace. That's the main attraction, and the area for which you buy your tickets. This is an elaborately decorated Islamic palace. I love the Islamic decorative style - the repetition of interlocking geometric designs - and this was the first time I had seen any in person, outside of a museum. As you walk through the palace, the decoration in the rooms become increasingly elaborate, patterns forming horizontal bands around the room - tile on the bottom, stonework above, inlaid woodwork on the ceilings. Much of it is very intricate, surrounding you on all sides and above, creating an almost dizzying effect. There's a courtyard with a fountain that's very famous, and some other courtyards where with orange trees - currently loaded with oranges.

Much of the decoration is restored to its original splendor, after first being allowed to fall into disrepair, then "re-discovered" by the American writer Washington Irving, and subsequently being badly restored by clumsy 19th century efforts. The intricate stonework is incredible. I find the repetition of the geometric shapes so satisfying. It feels related to my love of cubism and many modernists. Walking through the Nasrid Palace in the Alhambra, I started thinking, hmmm, we should go to
Istambul... The Alhambra's wikipedia page has a good overview and some key photographs of the royal complex.

After the palace, we walked through and around the giant fortress that sits on the highest point of the hill. It's impressive in its size and sheer mass. The Alhambra site also contains the Palacio de Carlos V (Palace of Charles V), built in the 1490s, celebrating Catholic Spain's takeover of the site. It's an imperial monstrosity, completely incongruous with the graceful beauty of the rest of the architecture. It does make its point, though.

All in all, the whole site is very impressive and totally unique in my own experience. It's also a UNESCO World Heritage site, our third or maybe fourth of the trip. We both enjoyed it a lot. And one bonus of our long driving day - our feet were well rested! This helped make the day even more enjoyable.

The weather was changeable all day, alternating between bright blue skies and cold drizzle. (It's supposed to be much warmer this time of year, usually around 19 or 20 C, but now around 15 C. Fine with me!) From the fortress, we could see very dark storm clouds rolling in. We had just finished our walk and entered the gift shop when it started to pour. Excellent timing! We waited out the storm in the gift shop, then jumped in a cab for a quick ride to the hotel. Allan is collecting bookmarks at most of our stops. I love the idea of these inexpensive little mementos that will follow him around in his books.

Back at the hotel, we did more hotel research, finally booking a room in a town called Zuheros, about an hour outside Cordoba. It sounds like a little rural spot.

Looking for a place for dinner, we noticed a joint a few doors down called... La Tala! Yay! A restaurant named after my little girl. Of course we had to go there. As I asked for a table, the host said, "Ah, you want to watch the football?" Sure, why not?! Allan and I have a fine tradition of watching local sporting events in pubs and cafes. In Ireland, I fell in love with rugby. I'm not much for football (soccer), but that's hardly the point. Real Madrid was playing Madrid Atletico, I gather a Goliath vs David match-up. A huge group in matching t-shirts ("Bienvenido al lado oscuro" - Darth Vader meets soccer?) was getting ready to watch the game together.

Our guidebook tells us that Granada is one of the few places that keeps the old Spanish tradition of serving a free tapa with a drink. At La Tala, you choose your free tapa or pincho (spelled in Spanish here, not the basque pintxo) from a long list. They didn't have sangria, but served something called vino verano - summer wine - which tasted like sangria without the fruit. With our second drink, another round of free tapa. We also ordered some tapas, which you are strongly encouraged to do, but with every drink came more freebies. There was actually too much food! We had: marinated mussels - big meaty mussels marinated like herring or sardines, served dry, and you put them on bread or toasts, potato croquettes, mini hamburgers, and some serrano ham. The score was tied 1-1 when we left, but back in our room we saw ATM score for the 2-1 win.

Next we are off for the town of Ronda. We've tweaked our itinerary event, which I'll explain in my next post. Thank you for reading!

We are relaxing recuperating in our room in the Hotel Molinas in Granada, in the south of Spain. File this day under all's well that ends well.

Our last night in Barcelona, we had a tapas dinner at El Bixto, where we had gone two nights earlier. We got caught in the pouring rain on the way home, the first bad weather we've seen on the whole trip.

In the morning we took the metro to pick up our rental car, then braved a minor nightmare making it back to the hotel, what with poorly signed roundabouts, one-way streets, no parking, and Allan re-learning how to drive a stick shift. (It now seems amusing to call this a nightmare, given the major driving nightmare that would bookend the day.) We packed up the car and I navigated us out of Barcelona and onto the highway. I don't drive a stick shift, so on any of our European trips, all the driving falls to Allan.

Barcelona to Grenada is about 860 kilometres (535 miles). It's the longest drive of the trip, the only one of this kind of distance. Once we were on the highway, it was very easy going. There were vistas of the Mediterranean, rolling farmland, some foothills and mountain tunnels. Easy, pleasant driving. But, I think, a lot for one person. So as the day wears on, Allan is getting tired. We are both ready to get into town.

We had a bit of a surprise when the toll road turned out to be 30 euros! We stopped at a rest stop for lunch, serving all manner of freshly prepared food, and picked up some cookies and chips... which turned out to be dinner.

The last few hours of the drive wound through dramatic country. First we drove through thousands of acres of vineyards, an area of Spain that produces standard table wine, and lots of it. Eventually this gave way to orchards on both sides of the highway, more orchards than I have ever seen, including in California. We were driving through a valley, and the orchards went up steep hills, into the foothills of mountains. It seemed like every bit of land that was not completely mountainous rock was planted, including on dramatic steep hillsides. The orchards didn't stop until the mountain went straight up. We were both amazed at such steeply hilly country being completely planted. I don't know what was growing, although we also passed a processing plant of some type and the air was rich with the smell of olives.

By the time we reached Granada it was growing dark. There's a huge amount of suburban sprawl, which surprised us. We had no idea the area was so populous. We turned off the highway, following directions to the hotel... which quickly did not correspond to reality. Before we knew it, we were driving on tiny, narrow streets, pedestrians overflowing from the sidewalks, intersections not marked, and absolutely no idea where we were or what direction to go.

This is absolutely not a town to drive in - and in fact the streets in the oldest part of town are closed to traffic (except taxis and buses) until 10:00 pm - but many tourists have no choice. We were hopelessly lost. I couldn't even call the hotel, because we lacked any point of reference to tell them where we were. At one point we found ourselves on a ring road heading up into the hills, out of town, in the pitch dark.

Poor Allan was exhausted. He had already driven 9 hours, and now he's bumping down impossibly narrow streets, motorcycles cutting us off, taxis honking behind us, people walking in front of the car with no warning. It was a nightmare. I was debating whether we should just stop at any hotel and try to get a room, but it was after 10:00 pm and that can be an even more frustrating experience. We had booked our Granada room online while in Barcelona. It was a great deal, they were holding the room for us, but I was starting to wonder if we'd ever find them, and if we did, would the room still be available.

Allan spotted a large hotel with a brightly lit sign, and we pulled into their check-in/unloading area. I took a chance, called our hotel and said we were lost. A very nice young man gave me verbal directions, which I wrote down, but they were like gibberish. We needed a map.

Then I went inside, and another very nice young man saved the day. He knew the hotel we were looking for, and said it was all but impossible to find. I felt a bit vindicated when he said that folks with GPS get especially lost! He took out a map, and gave me detailed directions, both written and verbal, then went over the whole thing again. While there, I also asked if his hotel had a vacancy... it did not.

It worked. The directions were perfect and we found the hotel. The young man at the desk (who I had spoken to earlier) could not have been nicer. He showed us to our room in an adjacent building, met us at the parking garage around the corner, and booked our tickets for the Alhambra for the next day. We were so tired we could have cried.

The hotel itself is hip and stylish, the room bright and roomy - and crazy cheap. Our room in Paris was 200 euros per night, much more than we usually spend, but I wanted to stay in a nice neighbourhood, and many of the better discount hotels were fully booked. Our room in Barcelona was 80 euros a night, a terrific deal in a nice neighbourhood. And this room in Granada is 55 euros a night! And it's really nice. It will be interesting to see what transpires from now on.

On the way here, I was fascinated to see highway signs in both Spanish and Arabic. Is there still an Arabic community in southern Spain, or do Muslims make pilgrimages to see these ancient holy sites? Either way, it's wonderful. We're seeing the Alhambra late in the day, just relaxing and hanging out until then. We'll also book our next couple of nights, and maybe book ahead in Madrid.

There's been no shortage of things to do in Barcelona, we very easily filled 4-1/2 days, and we've skipped entire days of tourist destinations - Montjuic and Dali's Figuerres. This is a wonderful city, full of history, art, architecture, urban villages, great food, shopping - everything that makes a city great. Almost every sign is posted in three languages, and a huge percentage of people speak excellent English.

Today we went to La Boqueria, the main market. It is said that there has been a market on this site since the year 1210. The present one dates back to the late 19th century.

We love markets, and this one is huge and beautiful. The seafood stalls were especially amazing, offering an enormous variety of shellfish and fish. We must have seen a dozen different kinds of shrimp alone, along with giant, dark chunks of tuna, gleaming white salt cod, every manner of herring, sardine, and eel, calamari, snails, and on and on.

There were stalls selling 20 or 30 varieties of mushrooms, stalls with a dizzying array of dried fruit, cut-up fruit and batidas (fruit shakes), acres of ham. We were going to eat at one of the many food stalls, but ended up picking up tidbits as walked - empanadas, grilled shrimp piled on a wooden skewer, little dishes of calamari, spring rolls, figs.

The market runs off La Rambla, a long, crowded thoroughfare that used to be the city's main drag and is now a giant tourist trap. Time Out aptly says La Rambla exists only to separate tourists from their money, by any means possible, legal and illegal. It's extremely crowded and not very pleasant. We did negotiate it for a few blocks, to get to La Palau Guell, a mansion designed by Gaudi for the benefactors of Park Guell.

I went to this one by myself, and it's a good thing, as the 12 euro admission fee is overpriced. There are very few things to see inside. The main attraction is a roof terrace with a dozen or more chimneys covered in mosaics and topped with fanciful modernist fruit (See here.) I took a lot of pictures, and was glad I went, but it wasn't really worth 12 euros.

We then hopped back on the metro and got suitably lost trying to find the Palau Musica Catalana, the crazy modernist music hall, where we had an English-language tour booked for 3:00. We found the tour just before it started.

The construction of the Palau Musica Catalana was a point of great Catalan pride. It was paid for by public donations, featured all forms of music from classical to folk to popular, and has been (and still is) the home of the Catalan choral group, called an orfeo. It was the first choral group in Spain to admit women.

The hall is designed in a style that could be called modernisme on steriods - a dizzying array of mosaics and stained glass. But as the tour guide pointed out details, I saw a unity and a plan that I hadn't seen at first. The building was designed to let in a maximum amount of light in a very closed-in space, and features a giant, bell-shaped, stained-glass skylight. It was a good tour, worth doing if you want to see more interiors of modernist buildings.

We booked a table for dinner at El Bixto, the tiny place we enjoyed so much two nights ago, then went to pick up our laundry. It turned out the lavanderia was a very short walk from our hotel. D'oh! After dinner, perhaps we'll try again to see La Sagrada at night.

Tomorrow morning we pick up the rental car and head south to Granada. Adios, Barcelona.

PS, something I keep forgetting to say: would it kill the Red Sox to win a game while we're gone??? FFS.

After breakfast in our room with our own goodies, we went into the old city - Ciutat Vella in Catalan - to the Museu Picasso. There are Picasso museums in many cities and I'd love to see them all. He is among my very favourite artists. The Barcelona Picasso museum was planned by the man himself, a gift to the city of his birth, and focuses on his earliest work - when he was a child, and then an unknown artist developing his own styles - and on a collection of later works he left to his friend and secretary, Jaume Sabartés.

Seeing the young Pablo's work was so interesting. He was clearly very talented at a very young age, winning admission to prestigious art academies, then quickly realizing that formal art training had nothing left to teach him. He spent time copying the styles of famous painters to understand their techniques... and then he went to Paris. It was also cool to see him toying with different signatures, until he developed what would become one of the most famous signatures in art.

The best part of this collection, for me, was the small cubist section - maybe 6 or 7 wonderful cubist paintings - and Picasso's Las Meninas cycle. Picasso took Las Meninas, a very famous painting by the Spanish master Velasquez (see here), and riffed on it, creating 45 new versions, many focusing on one or two details, and none of them looking anything like the original. You can see some of them here.

This was really a marvel. However, the museum gets huge points off for not having a single reproduction of the original Velasquez painting for reference. Could it be that The Prado (the museum in Madrid where Las Meninas lives) won't let them? It was a terrible omission. But a terrific small museum.

After leaving the Picasso museum, we wandered a big more in the Barri Gotic, and found a tiny cafe for lunch. I think I now understand the difference between pintxos and tapas. Traditional tapas is a small plate of something - sausages, cheeses, fish, olives, whatever. The tall creations of combinations of food, on a piece of bread with a toothpick through the whole thing, displayed at the bar or on counters, is pintxos. But when the host or server is adding up your bill, they will say "tres tapas" for the three pintxos you ordered, using the terms interchangeably.

Pintxos look very appealing, all piled up the counter. The server will point and explain each one. You can't necessarily tell what they are, as the combinations are unusual, and some things are made into croquets or otherwise disguised. We had these: a croquette of octopus and shrimp, a piece of breaded chicken cutlet with a fried egg on top, and smoked salmon topped with brie. Plus a cafe con leche for me and a vino tinto for A.

After lunch we walked around the old area looking for Roman remains, both through our guidebook and historic markers posted around town. There is a section of Roman wall, some arches now built into the cathedral but originally part of an aqueduct, and some amazing intact columns, now hidden in an alley, but once incorporated into the meeting room of a local hiking club! A huge Roman excavation is now part of the museum of the history of Barcelona - a giant room of pieces of columns and arches and such. We didn't go in, but it looks very nice.

We also passed a small but spirited demo, in front of a bank. The demonstrators were all middle aged or older, and they looked very organized and very angry. The object of their anger: the ladrones banqueros - bank thieves.

We then walked further down into the Born district, adjacent to the Barri Gotic. It's a very old part of town that's been gentrified and upscaled. Allan wanted to see Santa Maria del Mar, a church from the 1300s. (I just peeked in, then rested on the entrance steps.) The neighbourhood is full of very upscaled tapas and pintxos bars, with huge plates of inventive pintxos piled up on the bars. We did go into this very clever and silly candy store: Happy Pills.

We walked across town to the Palau de La Musica Catalana, a crazy modernist concert hall, right near El Bixto, the wonderful place where we had dinner the other night. I took a lot of pictures of the exterior, but we had missed the last interior tour for the day.

Then it was back to the room to rest, then back to the Barri Gotic for dinner. First, we ducked into a store we had seen in our first hour here, Vaho, which sells all sorts of bags, backpacks, wallets, totes, and such, made from recycled vinyl posters that were hung in Barcelona. I absolutely loved them, and we had a mental note to come back and shop. For a cute visual story of how these "trashion" bags are made, go here.

The restaurant we picked out for dinner was - of course - not there, but the search for it took us down many tiny, narrow, out-of-the-way streets in the Barri Gotic. And by narrow, I mean pedestrian or cycle only. Historic markers said we were in the Jewish Quarter from the 12th and 13th centuries, near the central synagogue. That can only be up to the 13th century, before Jews were expelled from Spain, one way or another.

We finally gave up on our restaurant search and chose another place we had seen in the book, La Vinateria del Call. (The Call was the old Jewish quarter.) This one served traditional tapas, where you choose plates from a menu. We had a plate of incredibly delicious smoked fish (salmon, cod, herring, eel), jamon de pavo (ham made of duck), traditional catalan sausage called bull, and a potato fritata, and of course plenty of wine. Then we made a mistake: we ordered dessert paired with more wine. I only tasted the Catalan creme caramel - somewhere between creme brulee and flan - but I did drink the sweet vino de naraja (oranges). Remind me not to do that again!

After dinner, which began around 10:30 p.m., Allan whisked us to the subway and up to La Sagrada Familia, as he wanted to see it at night, lit up. (This is amusing, as I usually eat dinner very early and am getting ready for bed at 10:00 or 10:30.) When we exited the metro, part of La Sagrada was lit. Allan took a couple of pictures and... the lights turned out. Damn, too late! While we were there, a group of young men arrived by taxi, jumped out, took their picture in front of the dark church, and jumped back into the cab and sped away.

Then we had a bit of a mad race home, as the subways were about to close for the night. We took the very last train. The station master was waiting til we left to close the Tetuan station. Whew.

What a day we've had. We had two incredible architecture experiences today, one of them among the most astounding buildings we have ever seen. It was also a long day. We are currently recuperating in our hotel room. Allan's blisters have blisters.

* * * *

We took off early today, heading for La Sagrada Familia. We booked our tickets online the night before. If you ever go, this is a must, and a tip we discovered by accident. There's no service charge or extra fees, and you avoid hours of queueing up in the hot sun. We booked the first entrance time, between 9 and 10 a.m., and entered with almost no waiting.

To say Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia is unusual is an understatement. Anything I can say about it will seem like hyperbole, but is not. It is breathtaking. Yesterday I mentioned that when the church is completed, some 10 to 20 years from now, it will have 12 towers. I was wrong: it will have 18. Twelve towers represent the apostles, four even taller towers will represent the four evangelists, one distinct tower will represent Mary, and one massive 170-metre centre tower will represent Christ.

Inside, you are in a forest of columns, and not only because there are so many. The columns actually resemble trees - they branch out, and they are not completely straight, but curve slightly like trees. Everything in the temple, as it is called, is modeled after natural forms. Everything around you recalls trees, flowers, plants, frogs, turtles, snails, grasses, leaves, roots.

I love Gothic cathedrals, and have never tired of visiting them. This, though, is a completely new experience. It's the Gothic cathedral as seen through a thoroughly modernist lens. It redefines the form. Decoration is everywhere, yet the overall effect is clean and restrained, light and airy. It doesn't feel at all ornate. Some of it is downright playful.

I decided not to try to post photos during this trip - too much work - so I can only link to images online for now. We simply could not stop taking photos. I feel as if I could return to this building every day for a week and never stop finding new details.

There was an excellent exhibit about Gaudi's use of natural forms. I knew the standard buzzword for art nouveau or modernism: forms from nature. Think of the famous Paris metro sign, the way it resembles vines or the branches of a tree. This exhibit brought me a much greater understanding of the "forms from nature" theme. Gaudi studied crystals, honeycombs, trees, flowers, the tops of grasses. He studied nature's curves and arches - parabolas and hyperbolas. He studied the scars that form when a tree is cut, and how the new branches form and don't grow in a straight line. He studied the reptiles and amphibians and mollusks and birds from his native Catalan. And in nature he found the expression of his own faith, and of the family of all humankind. He was deeply religious, and Catholic to his core, but his spirituality seems to have been very broad and encompassing.

The exhibit showed each natural form - the beehive or the snail or the tree scar - juxtaposed with details from La Sagrada Familia that echo that form, as well as the challenges Gaudi and his engineers faced in bringing the vision to reality.

The exhibit also included several quotes that revealed Gaudi's humility and his doubt. No one had ever tried using not-straight columns before, and he needed them to work somewhere else, in another building, before he would dare bring them to "the temple". He was afraid of taking a misstep, but he was also driven to see his vision realized.

Allan and I wandered in and around the basilica for a long time. It was designed to hold 13,000 worshippers, so there is plenty to see. There is also a small studio, an amazing building with a wavy, curved roof set over a wavy, curved body. Gaudi originally designed it as a school for the children of the labourers who worked on La Sagrada. It was also his own studio, and he ended up living there during what turned out to be the final years of his life. (Gaudi was killed in a tram accident in 1926, at the age of 73.)

I feel like I could write about this La Sagrada all day and never touch the heart of its power and astonishing beauty. At one point, Allan said to me, "This is definitely one of the most amazing buildings we have ever seen." That's it.

* * * *

Eventually we dragged ourselves away, took the metro back to the neighbourhood of our hotel, and went to a supermarket. In the entranceway, shoppers park their own carts like bicycles, locked to poles. There are also lockers where you can leave items before you shop.

We bought yogurts, bananas, bread, two kinds of cheese, two kinds of meat, and 4 litres of water, and were shocked to pay only 12 euros, about $16. Why is food so much cheaper here?

After eating in our room, we took our dirty clothes, which were already packed in reuseable shopping bags from home, and set out to find the lavanderia. First to the mystery address where no lavanderia existed... then to the lavanderia that wanted 36 euros (about $50) to clean our clothes... then to the place the first laundry said another laundry would be... then into a hotel to ask for directions... all the while lugging these bags of dirty clothes, walking, walking... and finally, there it is! And it is not 36 euros to clean our clothes, but 18. And we are happy. But we are tired.

So we rest on a bench, and we almost quit for the day, but we somehow gather ourselves and continue.

* * * *

The next part of our day was a walking tour of some modernisme houses of Barcelona. They are all located in the district called The Eixample, a tony area of broad avenues, beautiful old apartment buildings in the European tradition, gleaming shop windows, inviting tapas cafes. It's a big area, though, and this took a lot of walking!

The exteriors of these houses were very impressive, full of curved and wavy lines, stained glass, strange turrets and cupolas, mosaics, wrought iron that resembled vines or tree roots. We saw the interior of a pharmacy with incredible woodwork - apparently the modernisme crowd designed pharmacies (see here), and this one's original interior is intact.

We used a walking tour in our Time Out Barcelona guide, and we saw about half the buildings listed, plus at least two we stumbled on. The weather was perfect - sunny, breezy, a little cool. We stopped for a late-afternoon caffeine break, and although our feet were very unhappy by this time, we decided to push on ahead.

* * * *

Finally, we arrived at Casa Batllo (pronounced "bahy-yo"), one of the great Gaudi residences that you can enter. It's easy to find the building - there's a huge crowd outside, photographing their friends in front of it. Admission is expensive at 20 euros for an adult, but well worth it if you love architecture. Casa Batllo is a UNESCO world heritage site.

As it turns out, the exhibit we saw at La Sagrada Familia - about Gaudi's use of natural forms - was the perfect introduction to Casa Batllo. The entire house reflects this vision. It is all wavy lines and bright mosaics, woodwork that almost appears alive - very ornate, but also playful, and suffused with natural light, which Gaudi regarded as part of architecture. You can see images of Casa Batllo here.

The tour allows you to walk throughout the entire building, including an inner patio courtyard on the third floor, and the roof, which affords terrific views of other modernist roof ornamentation. This building - which is still owned by the Batllo family and maintained through admission fees and the family's own resources - does not share the simple, restrained majesty of La Sagrada. It's a cacophony of colour and light and shapes and textures.

One nice thing about the tour: everyone gets an audio guide. I turned mine off and enjoyed the building in peace, but the audioguides keep everyone quiet! Both here and at the Gaudi Home and Museum in Park Guell, the admissions people ask each visitor what country they are from. From the people in front and behind us, we heard Germany, Russia, and South Korea.

More things I learned about Gaudi. He liked to use materials from demolished buildings, prefiguring our own emphasis on recycling and sustainability. He also designed buildings and furniture to be as ergonomic as possible - for example, a banister that fits the curve of a human hand. Building a school for the children of labourers also speaks to a social responsibility well ahead of his contemporaries.

* * * *

We emerged from Casa Batllo with sore, aching, tired feet. We both agreed there was little chance of going out at night, especially given that dinner begins at 8 or 9:00. And we knew that once we got in and took our shoes off, there was no way we were going out again. So we forced ourselves to go back to Mercadona, the supermarket a few blocks from our hotel. This time our purchase included two bottles of wine, baby wipes (great for road trips), cookies, and more cured meat. Total price: 10 euros. WTF??

The most expensive wines at the store grazed 10 euros a bottle. Many "vino tinto" table wines were priced at 1 euro per bottle or less. We also saw five-litre containers of wine! That is new to me. The wine we bought was 2.50 euros and quite drinkable, comparable to the Pelee Island pinot noir I drink at home.

Once at the room, there was quite a lot of groaning and sighing and inspection of blisters. Over dinner, we planned out our next few days, and booked a hotel for our next stop, Granada. But first, more Barcelona!

* * * *

Two more notes about the great metro system here. Many stations have vending machines with cold drinks, and at least one we saw had a vending machine as large as the refrigerator section in a supermarket, stocked with all kinds of juices, yogurts, water, and drinks. There are also vending machines with electronic accessories - cell phone chargers, USB drives, memory cards, cell phone cards.

In the large exchanges between subway lines, it's not unusual to see tiny cafes and bars - bright, smart-looking places serving cappuccinos, or atmospheric, cave-type places, where men are eating tapas and drinking wine.

Barcelona is amazing. Some people suggested that five days here were too many, but we can barely fit in all the things we want to do - even though we are omitting one major tourist attraction and the most popular day-trip in Spain. (More on that later.)

I managed to sleep a little more than usual today, a rare gift, and we purposely got a later start than usual. After breakfast, we took the metro to our first views of La Sagrada Familia. This building, Gaudi's great masterpiece, is truly unique in all the world. It is also famously unfinished, under near-permanent construction, with a projected completion "date" of 2020-2040. (What's a decade or two, mas or menos.)

We weren't going to try to get in today - if you don't purchase tickets in advance, you can wait for hours for admittance - but I wanted to at least see the exterior as soon as possible. It did not disappoint.

What can I say that can possibly describe this strange structure? It is both an homage to the great Gothic cathedrals of France, and an homage to modernisme, and to human imagination, and nature, and according to many people, to Christianity, writ large. It may be most recognizable by its spires, topped with bright orange pinwheels (there will be 12 in all, one for each apostle, when the building is complete), but what really knocks you out is all the crazy detail. The crucifixion, the pieta - all the stories are told - in gigantic form, with great emotion and intensity. There's so much to look at, it feels as if you could come back every day and discover more details you had never seen before. Here's a Google image search of the basilica and here's another of exterior detail. The searches are not very precise but it might give you some idea.

After taking a huge number of photos, we found a charcuterie kind of place doing a brisk take-out business with locals. (Supermarkets are closed on Sundays, so we're still without provisions.) We got some salad and an assortment of croquetas, and were about to leave... when I did one of the stupidest things ever. I'm such a klutz, I don't even want to tell you what I did.

One moment I was walking out of the store, and the next moment I was holding my head and seeing stars. The very nice man from the deli came out with a bottle of cold water and a paper towel, and then returned with a chair. My head hurt. A lot. But it was also totally ridiculous and funny, and we both had to laugh.

We ate our lunch on a bench in the park in front of La Sagrada. Amazingly, my glasses were undamaged, and I don't seem to have a lump on my forehead - only a headache.

* * * *

Next we took the metro to the neighbourhood of Park Guell, another Gaudi gift to Barcelona. It's a long walk from the metro to the park, with increasing crowds and touristy shops the closer you get.

Park Guell is a modernisme paradise. There are crazy wavy buildings and parapets, everything adorned with mosaics. One building resembles a Roman temple that the modernists pulled apart and reassembled. Another one recalls the Islamic-Moorish influence. Everything resembles plants and waves and animals and other forms of nature. From a balcony, you can see La Sagrada Familia in the distance, and beyond that, the Mediterranean.

There's a small museum in what was Gaudi's home. On display there is some furniture he designed in the art nouveau / modernisme tradition, incredibly simple, naturalistic designs that I find stunningly beautiful.

I was thoroughly taken with the whole park, and took a zillion photos. The only drawback was the crowds. As soon as you leave the most famous area - from the entrance gate up the steps and into the Roman temple-like building - the crowds thin out to nothing. But when we were among the park's most famous structures, it was packed. Some details were almost impossible to see. People took each other's pictures with a famous mosaic lizard - a steady stream of posing and shooting, often three or four people at a time, so there was no moment the lizard was left alone for his own photo. The crowds were a little hard to take.

In one of the gatehouses, I waited my turn to shoot from a window at the other gate house across the entrance way. As I began to shoot, I felt someone touch my head and stepped back, startled. A man was extending his arms over my head to take pictures. I stepped aside, glaring at him, but he avoided my gaze. It is a tribute to how I have mellowed with age, and how Canadian I have become, that I stood quietly until he was finished, then went back to the window to continue shooting. A younger, more hot-headed Laura would not have borne that quietly.

So the crowds were trying, but the park is magnificent.

On the way back to the metro, we shared a small plate of paella - the fast-food version, in a quickie cafe - and a couple of glasses of sangria, before heading back to our room. I was making notes for this post when Allan called me to the window. An enormous crowd was marching down the Gran Via! We went out on our little balcony to watch. Although the signs and chants were mostly in Catalan, I could make out that it was an anti-austerity, anti-eviction demonstration. (Allan took lots of photos.) There were drums beating, horns blaring, chants, shouts, and songs, thousands of people taking up the very wide street, completely packed for many blocks. Honestly, I was in tears. The people here are suffering but they are vocal and organized and they are not giving up.

Eventually we went out again, and hunted down El Bixto, a little tapas joint Allan found in our guidebook. It was beautiful - a tiny wooden room with seating for maybe 20 people, including the bar. The menu - tapas offerings, drinks, desserts - are written on separate papers and taped on an overhang. The host (who might have been the owner) seemed to know a lot of the clientele, or else all her friends happened to stop by.

We had a plate of assorted Spanish sausages and cheeses, a potato fritata with smoked salmon, and some other crazy potato dish that we couldn't even finish. The house red wine was 3 euros a glass. I'd like to return tomorrow night - it's more fun when the hosts remember you - but Allan has his eye on another place.

* * * *

The Barcelona metro is fantastic. The stations are clean, the trains are quiet, the signage is perfect. They are all disability accessible. Trains come every three minutes (or six minutes late at night), with a digital countdown to the next two arrivals. On the train, a vertical pole divides in three, so more people can hold on without having to avoid each other's hands, one of the most clever little design touches I've ever seen on public transit. A card buys you 10 trips at less than half price.

Most signage in this city is in three languages: Catalan first, then Spanish, then English. We see Catalan flags hanging from many balconies and windows. Gaudi is described everywhere as "the great Catalan architect," never as Spanish.I don't know anything about the Catalan independence movement, but I wonder if the language primacy is a great concession, meant to placate (or neuter?) the separatist movement. Canadians know how that goes.

* * * *

Random notes:

I called my mom today from Park Guell, to say hi and wish her a Happy Mother's Day. She was so happy to hear from me! I was really glad I called. Happy Mother's Day to all! Hope you had a great day.

Miss Essie Ash tells me that she and the pups go to the dogpark every day! Allan usually takes them once a week. At this rate, Tala and Diego will be sad to see us come home!

We see so many lovely dogs here, as we did in Paris. Many people walk their dogs without leashes.

Motorcycles are very popular. There are far fewer bicycles than you see, say, in Toronto. But motorcycles are always zipping by, and you see dozens of them parked everywhere you go.

We did some work on our feet - I'll spare you the gory details - and they are feeling better now.

I checked Canadian news today for the first time, and read about houses in Manitoba being destroyed by waves of lake ice. While eating paella later in the day, we saw that story on the news.

I am totally loving our new camera and lens. We also have our nice little point-and-shoot with us, but I'm not sure it will see daylight.

* * * *

We have three full days left in Barcelona, and a long list of things we want to see.

One of the main attractions here is Montjuic, a very large park that is home to museums, theatres, and various cultural attractions. There is a "magic fountain" - a sound and light show - and a castle or fortress with a dark past. It was where the fascists tortured, imprisoned, and killed people during and after the Spanish Civil War. Now it's a family playground attraction. All of  Montjuic is considered a must-see for Barcelona tourism, but we have no real interest in it. Allan is great at helping me have the courage to say no to things that is one is "supposed to" do, especially when there are plenty of things we want to do more.

I did want to go to Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown, and the place of his museum and theatre. It's a day trip from Barcelona, and it would mean giving up too much we want to do here. In addition, Lonely Planet says it is the most heavily touristed spot in Spain. People wait for hours to enter the museum-theatre, then the crowds are so thick they can't see anything. Oddly enough, the best time to go is in the high tourist season, because tour groups cannot book at that time. Between not wanting to leave Barcelona and our fear of those kinds of crowds, Figueres may not be in my future.

After our little breakfast at our local bistro, I decided I'd take a stab at the Rodin Museum. Allan was happier not to go, so he stayed in the room to pack up. The weather was beautiful and I set out with high hopes... but quickly found myself further away from the museum than when I started. I usually have a good sense of direction, but I found our map didn't always correspond with reality. And then I looked up, and there was a beautiful, full-on view of the Eiffel Tower, and I thought, Allan should see this on his last day here.

So I walked back to the room, collected Allan and the camera, and took them both to this great view, not a five-minute walk from our hotel. There was also a peace memorial or sculpture, in front of the Ecole Militaire (Military School) and framing the Tower. Some Tamil people were setting up for a vigil or a protest.

Paris, au revoir.

After checking out of the hotel, we took the metro to the RER (suburban trains), and took that straight to Orly Airport. It was easy and inexpensive - although not always accessible. There were several places where we had to get our luggage up or down stairs. But it was not a big deal. Orly was quiet and civilized. There was real food for sale. Kind of an otherworldly airport experience.

The flight to Barcelona was quick and easy. Using instructions I got from our hotel, we took a very inexpensive airport bus to the center of town, then walked for 15-20 minutes to the hotel. We could have taken a metro or a city bus, but thought that seemed like more trouble than it was worth. When we found the address of the hotel, I was a little iffy. It doesn't look like a hotel - there's no ground-floor lobby or awning. It's a regular apartment building in the European style, someone buzzes you into an old marble lobby, and you take an elevator up two storeys. You get buzzed in another door... and there is a very casual information desk. I'm thinking, this is the hotel?

Luckily I didn't give in to that little voice, because it's a great little place. Our room is larger than the one in Paris, tiled in the Spanish tradition, including the spotless bathroom, which is twice the size and generally nicer than the one in the Paris room. There's free internet (not always the case in Spain), a big fridge where guests can keep food or drinks, free coffee and tea all day and night, a 24-hour desk... and at 80 euros a night in a very nice neighbourhood, it's a great bargain: the Barcelona Center Inn, also known as the Hostal Barcelona Center.

We were completely hot and sweaty from walking with our luggage, and needed to shower and collapse a little. After that, we just wandered into Barcelona. We very quickly found ourselves in the old quarter, known as the Bari Gotic (as in, gothic barrio). Near the Cathedral, we stopped for caffeine (me) and alcohol (A) and sat and watched crowds of people streaming by. It's crowded, but so far it's cool. We walked through very narrow streets with beautiful architectural details. Most of the streets are lined with shops, and they are mostly not chains. There are a million stores and a million tapas places, some looking wonderfully inviting, others looking hideously touristy, but at the moment, it's all good.

We passed a sizeable demo in front of a government building. After a while we realized it was in support of an Catalan independence. Many of the signs here are not in Spanish, but in Catalan. In the airport, the signs are trilingual: Catalan, Spanish, English, in that order. Now that we know what the Catalan flag looks like, we spot it in windows and on balconies as we walk around.

Our guidebook made it sound like nothing gets going in Barcelona until at least 10:00, and that if you go out earlier, the streets will be empty, or only populated by tourists. I know that's the Spanish tradition, but it seems a bit exaggerated. At least on this cool Saturday evening in Barcelona it was. The streets were packed and the restaurants were all busy, and it was "only" 8:00 or so.

We went into an appealing-looking tapas joint where dishes were displayed in double-decker cases at the bar, and ham hocks were hanging from the ceiling, also a Spanish tradition. People pointed to what they wanted, either making a plate of 3 or 4 choices, or ordering just one item. Sangria was on tap from an enormous cask, and there was wine, beer, and everything else. Your tapas comes on a slice of crusty bread, and a bit of olive oil is poured over it, and it's put briefly in the microwave.

We had two glasses of vino tinto (red wine) and sampled a variety of tapas - chorizo, jamon et queso (ham and cheese, but think prosciutto and brie), a potato croquette that tasted like a knish, brie and roquefort that melted together in the microwave, and a plate of patatas bravas, which are fried potatoes drizzled with a spicy tomato sauce. We didn't know how the prices would run, but were pleased to see 2 euros per plate (about $3) and 3 euros for a glass of wine.

After the tapas, we walked around more. As the twilight came on, the streets got even busier. This town is hopping with both locals and tourists. I'm not sure how much nightlife we'll actually see, but I'll try to start our day a little later. (Allan will be very pleased with that.) At the moment I feel like I'll never get a good night's sleep again, but that's the price I pay for enjoying coffee and wine at any hour.

Around 9:30 I suddenly ran out of steam. We looked at a map and were a very long way from the hotel, so we took a cab back. My feet thought it was the best 10 euros I ever spent.

At the room, we spent some time with the guidebook to give a rough plan to the next few days. I am very excited to see La Sagrada Familia and Park Guell tomorrow.

Barcelona is apparently notorious for pickpockets, so we're taking a few extra precautions: keeping cash and a credit card in our front pockets, but leaving our passports and wallets in the room safe. Our only concern is our camera, so we are careful to wear the camera bag over the opposite shoulder so it can't be snatched.

Our only full day in Paris was mostly wonderful and a bit frustrating.

We started the day with a small breakfast in a cafe, as we like to do in Europe, as opposed to eating at the hotel. Watching local people come and go, I remembered how locals always stand at the bar for their little morning coffee, and how we did that every morning when we were in Italy. Later in the morning, after breakfast, I do the same, as one little breakfast coffee is not enough for my caffeine addiction! After breakfast, we stopped at a local store for water and fruit - another routine we want to get into - and then walked to the D'Orsay Museum. The streets were quiet and the city looked beautiful.

We arrived at the Musee D'Orsay just as the very long line to get in started to move. The D'Orsay is a converted train station, and the main hall is breathtaking - literally, one of those spaces that, when I first enter it, makes me gasp. We wandered through the sculptures along the main hall, then did a quick view of the galleries on the sides, stopping for a more thorough view of some favourites, like Van Gogh. I always find his work so moving and so sad, and the D'Orsay has several great Van Goghs. The galleries are striking, with the walls painted in rich, dark colours, paintings arranged thematically, and flooded with light. I also looked at the Art Nouveau collection, which includes furniture and other applied arts, and which has the bonus of sweeping views of the Seine.

The D'Orsay's main Impressionism collection is now housed in a new portion of the museum, behind and above the grand hall. You take a special elevator to the fifth floor, and exit into a large room with a giant clock window: you are behind the huge working clock from when the building was a train station. Through the clock window you see the Seine below, the city in front of you, Sacré-Coeur, the white basilica on the hill, in the distance. It is spectacular.

The Impressionism collection is impressive, and the galleries themselves are beautiful. I am very fortunate to have grown up seeing the Metropolitan Museum of Art's extensive Impressionist collection on a regular basis, with my mom. I was a big fan when I was much younger, but my tastes have changed. I still like some - Cezanne's still lifes, Monet's poplars and haystacks, some of Renoir's women - but this is no longer my go-to art. And thank goodness, as the D'Orsay's galleries were way too crowded to be enjoyable. Standing in a crush of people really detracts from my experience of art. I'm unable to block out the crowd and inhabit the experience. The rooms were so crowded, we could barely stand in them at all. Famous paintings like Manet's Le dejeuner sur l'herbe were mobbed.

If you're interested in how the D'Orsay galleries were renovated and some of the controversial changes that were made, there are many good descriptions online, such as this blog.

We left the D'Orsay with our feet aching, which I see is destined to be an ongoing issue on this trip. Allan has always had problems with his feet, and I do as well in recent years. We're both determined to deal with it and not let it become a major obstacle, but... I'm a bit concerned how this will play out.

We walked quite a ways away from the vicinity of the museum to find a non-touristy bistro for lunch. We shared more escargot, sizzling in their little compartments of garlic butter. Allan had another croque madame, and I had a cobb salad, very ordinary food, but here, unlike any salad I have ever eaten - giant strips of creamy, intense Roquefort cheese, giant slabs of smoky bacon, meltingly sweet cold chicken breast, the crispest, softest bib lettuce and obviously freshly made dijon vinaigrette. And of course with our twice-daily vin rouge.

This is what we both find so amazing and wonderful about France: the simplest of food, prepared with such attention and care, with such quality ingredients, so that a simple meal becomes a food experience. By contrast, so much food in North America is nearly tasteless. And if it seems like I spend too much time writing about food, all I can say is that my travel journals are for myself, my record of our trip, and food is an essential part of our travel.

Once we leave Paris, we won't have lunch and dinner at restaurants every day. Most likely, we'll buy provisions for lunch from local stores and snack outside, then go out for dinner. But we decided that while in Paris, we should make every meal count.

After lunch, we walked around more, in a decidedly upscale part of town, mostly looking in shop windows and at the wonderful traditional Paris architecture. We wandered through the food hall of the venerable department store Le Bon Marche, called La Grand Epicerie de Paris, a kind of foodie's heaven. We saw fuzzy, newly hatched ducklings in a little parkette, old men feeding them bread, trying to shoo away the pigeons. The ducklings' parents were unconcerned, and the little fuzzy guys were giving the pigeons what-for.

We considered going to the Rodin Museum, which is in roughly the same neighbourhood of the D'Orsay, but our feet were hurting and we decided to leave it for the next day... which turned out to be a mistake. I mis-remembered the time of our flight to Barcelona, it's earlier than I thought, and we really don't have time for Rodin. I've been to the Rodin Museums, both in Paris and in Philadelphia, several times, so I can't complain. But I do love sculpture in general and Rodin especially, so it's a bit disappointing.

We walked quite a bit, despite foot pain, then rested in the room, and set out for a restaurant Allan had picked out for dinner. From the description in Time Out, it sounded exactly like our kind of neighbourhood bistro. A quick ride on the metro with one correspondance from our hotel... and the place was closed. A handwritten sign said the brasserie is open for lunch, and the bar closes at 7:00 pm. So, our second night in Paris, and our second metro ride to not find a restaurant! Fortunately this journey was much shorter than our failed expedition to find the ghost of Au Gigot Fin the night before. And fortunately the Metro makes it as easy as possible.

The Paris Metro is absolutely amazing. Trains run so frequently that people complain if they wait more than three minutes. Like the London tube, the signboards announce the minutes until the next two trains. The trains are fast and quiet, and the system is incredibly extensive. Unlike the London Underground, which is pay-per-distance, the Paris Metro is pay-per-ride (like New York), a more democratic system.

Visiting London and Paris again, however briefly, has been such a treat. Although I live in suburbia now, and may never live in a really big city again, I am such an urban person at my core. Being in a huge city charged with energy and possibility makes me feel so alive.

After our second round-trip metro ride for nothing, we returned to the neighbourhood of our hotel, and had dinner at one of the many local brasseries. We shared two rounds of appetizers: smoked salmon, escargot, pate, frites, tomate et mozzarelle. The smoked salmon was wonderful; we ended up ordering it encore. All those small plates called for two rounds of bourdeaux, and we also stopped at our neighbourhood bistro from the day before for coffee and dessert.

My French was a little better today. I lost some of my shyness and recalled more vocabulary - just in time for Spain. The crazy thing is I'm guaranteed to speak French on my first few days in Barcelona. Luckily, I'm not shy about speaking Spanish. I enjoy it and will get much more comfortable as the trip progresses.

We were up very early this morning, which was not difficult for me, since I hardly slept all night, most likely from drinking alcohol too late at night, which keeps me up... but what are holidays for. The Eurostar train from London to Paris is twice the price later in the morning, and we'd both rather have more time in Paris than an extra hour of sleep. Although don't ask Allan to choose when the alarm rings at six.

We've taken the Eurostar once before, our last time in London and Paris (1998). It now leaves from St. Pancras Station, a beautiful new glass structure built expressly for these international trains. The station was packed, but they're super efficient and the train left right on time. We ate breakfast on the train and barely registered the time before we arrived.

We decided to shelp our stuff on the Metro from Gare du Nord to the hotel, in the 7e arrondissement, and although a bit difficult in some of the big correspondances - the exchanges between Metro lines - it was no big deal, and worth it.

We're staying in the Hotel de la Motte-Piquet, near the Ecole Militaire Metro stop. It's exactly what we want and expect in this city: a small, simple, clean room. I decided to spend more than we usually would to get a great location. We're only here for two nights and I didn't want to spend it traveling back and forth from an outlying area.

After showering and changing, we had lunch in a bistro down the street - the perfect little Paris lunch: two croque madames, a half-litre of vin rouge, and we shared a tarte au pomme for dessert. If you've never had the pleasure, a croque monsieur (rough translation: Mr. Toasty) is a toasted ham and cheese, and a croque madame is the same with an egg on top. But this description doesn't come close to describing the Paris bistro version, on thick crusty bread, with mounds of gooey Gruyere, delicate ham, and a small green salad on the side.

I had a brief moment of sticker shock from the bill, not because the prices are high, but because the dollar against the euro is not a pretty sight. We couldn't possibly afford to spend this much every day, but we both agree that Paris is not the place to start counting pennies. We will be more careful in Spain, and things also will be less expensive.

After lunch, we went for a walk, and ended up walking towards and around the Eiffel Tower. It's Spring Break week here, plus a national holiday in France, plus, well, it's the Eiffel Tower, so the crowds are enormous. But we managed to saunter around, take a bunch of photos (like we don't have enough photos of the Eiffel Tower! but this is with our new camera), and generally soak up the atmosphere.

I used to dislike the Tower itself, thinking it was a mess of exposed iron and not much else, but I just didn't get it. Now I see its grace and lyricism, so small achievement from iron. I love the exposed lattice work, the little curlicue details you see up close, the contrast of heavy powerful iron and the graceful arching curves. Imagine this was the tallest building in the world from when it was built (1899) until the Empire State Building went up in 1930.

We walked over the beautiful Pont d'Alma, where all the tour boats are lined up. We spotted what we think was a houseboat, or at least someone's private pleasure boat, decked out in house plants and comfy chairs. We made our way back to the hotel slowly, through the very tony neighbourhood. We stopped for coffee and tea, sitting side by side in the rattan chairs, facing the street.

Ahhh, Paris. It is so beautiful. Just walking around here makes you feel so good. This is now my fourth time in Paris, my third with Allan. I can't even think about it being my last... which is what I said last time, and why we're here now.

Later on, we set out to see if our favourite bistro, Au Gigot Fin, was still in existence. We have read that it closed (after more than 80 years) and reopened under new management with a new name, but we weren't completely certain that even the new incarnation was still in business. This involved a long metro ride and several correspondances... and our little haunt was indeed gone. Oh well. We had to try. And we figured out a shorter way to get back.

Allan was concerned that it might be getting late to get dinner in "our" neighbourhood, but when we got back there, around 9:00, it was still hopping, the bistros and brasseries full, everyone eating outside on the wide sidewalk. We had dinner at the same place we had lunch, Cafe Central. Another perfect bistro meal: garlicky-buttery escargot, entrecote for Allan, carpacio for me, frites, salade, vin rouge. Apparently we must drink red wine twice a day. It's the law.

Tomorrow is our only full day here. We are going to the D'Orsay in the morning, which has undergone a huge renovation, although it was breathtaking to begin with. After that, we're not sure, except Allan has a place picked out for dinner. The description in Time Out sounds like our old lost bistro love.

My French is awful. I have been focused on getting my Spanish up to speed, and it completely gets in the way of my being able to think in French, even for the simplest necessities. My accent is abominable, as always. I can understand the language pretty well, at least in the context of traveling, and have no problem reading French, but speaking... ugh. And what's worse, I'm miles ahead of Allan, so all the speaking is left to me. (My friend NN may remember this from our first trip together. She did all the talking and I was the mute friend.) Objectively this is no big deal. French people in general are very willing to speak English and work with your limited French. But my French has been better in the past, and I wish I had more skill in this department.

Links to be added later

We had breakfast in a little cafe (what New Yorkers call a coffee shop, a real working-person's breakfast spot) in R's neighbourhood. This was my only opportunity to have a full English breakfast on this trip, and it was yummy.

We got a bit of a late start, but that was probably best in the long run. I either did poor research or didn't fully take in what I was reading, because we didn't realize the British Library was no longer part of the British Museum. Last time we were in London, the British Library was closed for its massive renovation. I had really enjoyed it when I was here before, and I knew Allan would want to see it. So first we went to the British Museum, learned our mistake, and got back on the tube to the King's Cross, where the new British Library is located.

The exterior is an unprepossessing building, but the interior is white and light and airy, designed around a glass-encased tower of books, with seating all around it. Scores of people were working in the open, sitting in chairs of very clever design - each comfy chair a small L, with a desk for a laptop and a side table for papers and books. There are also standing spots, where you can lean against a tall, slanted back support.

The Library's permanent exhibit has been updated and modernized. When I was there in 1985, if I recall correctly, it was a parade of male British writers and British historical documents. I do also remember seeing a Mozart score. I was still an English major at heart and that was fine with me. Now they've widened their lens. Along with Shakespeare and the Beowulf manuscript, there are early printed documents from China, Japan, Korea, and India, and along with the Gutenberg bibles there are korans and hagaddahs. The music section includes a Beatles display, and there are female authors other than Jane Austen. Also Magna Carta, the Lindisfarne Gospels, and many gorgeous illuminated manuscripts, which I love.

We only went to the permanent exhibit, although there were two current exhibits, one on propaganda and a beautiful display on the detective novel. There's also a huge philatelic collection, contained in a wall of metal plates, stacked side by side, that you can pull out to view. One interesting stamp we saw: from the Lodz ghetto in occupied Poland: judenpost.

In between the British Library and meeting Mara at her workplace, we thought we'd see some of London's great new architecture. We took the tube to London Bridge, came above ground, turned the corner, and WOW, there was The Shard. It's an exciting building.

We walked around to see it from different angles. Looking straight up, against a background of sky and drifting clouds, you get the disconcerting illusion that the building is falling towards you. Because of the building's transparent skin, it looks different at different times of day.

I gather from the media that Londoners have been put off by how expensive it is to visit the observation area - "The View From The Shard" - and how far in advance you have to book: advanced tickets at £25, day-of £30. Then we saw the kicker: "Immediate Access: £100." If you have the dough, you don't have queue up with the riff raff. A class system even for a tourist attraction.

We also saw City Hall, where Mara is working right now, and the top of "The Gherkin", which resembles a giant dildo more than a pickle. Although we didn't see it close up, it seems unappealing in the distance. The shape is interesting but the colour and pattern of the skin seems tacky.

When Mara got out of work, we took a long and seemingly complicated tube ride to Chiswick (pronounced "chis-ick"), and met Justin and their daughter A at a beautiful pub, the Duke of Sussex, a great setting and a really interesting Spanish-themed menu. We ordered a lot of food and wine, and had a really nice time. Mara's daughter is an amazing girl - smart, precocious, adorable, and altogether charming.

When it was almost A's bedtime, Dad and daughter took off, and Allan and I went to another pub and had a quick pint with Mara. Everyone inside was watching a Chelsea v Tottenham game. Neighbourhood pubs are one one of my favourite things about the UK. (They are disappearing, too. I'm told that in the country overall, an average of three pubs close each week.)

We went back to Mara's to see her flat, then a long tube ride back to R's neighbourhood. I love the tube. (We used the hell out of our day passes.) And I love London! This visit was mainly to see friends, but just being in this great city gives me such a charge. I fell in love with London on my first time there in 1982, and only like it more every time I've been back.

This morning we were up very early. R drove us to the tube, which we took to the St Pancras Station, and are now in Paris!

It's wonderful to be here! Wonderful to see Rhonda again (permission given to use full name!), to meet Nico, to spend time with her family, to be in their home. And to see London again! I love this city.

So to backtrack... Our flight was uneventful. Flying overnight is never fun, since I don't sleep at all, but everything went smoothly. A few days ago, we had read some horror stories online about US Airways' transatlantic flights through Philadelphia, and were a bit concerned. But either US Airways has upgraded their planes and their service, or those complaining people had unreasonable expectations. The flight was typical, no issues at all.

Rhonda met us at Heathrow, which I thought was a great luxury. We would have been fine with public transit. When I saw the distance - a full hour by car, or two hours on the train and tube - I was very grateful Rhonda insisted otherwise. Rhonda and I hadn't seen each other in 14 years, since she relocated to the UK, but the moment we did, it was like old times. We were immediately laughing and chattering as if no time had passed. (The internet helps with that, too.)

Rhonda fixed breakfast for us and we hung around her lovely home and beautiful garden in Finchley. (I'm told it's not in Finchley proper, and the house needed quite a bit of work when they bought it.) Speaking of returning to old times, it wasn't long before we had killed a bottle of prosecco and indulged in some other substance abuse, accompanied by lots of uncontrolled laughter and goofiness.

Late in the afternoon, we took the tube into central London. It's very suburban where Rhonda lives, but she's still on the tube line, which is wonderful. We walked around St. Paul's, which was cleaned recently, and is even more impressive now, all gleaming stone. We walked over Millennium Bridge, which is only 12 years old, and pedestrian only. Walking across, you get amazing views of St. Paul's on one side, and some of the newer skyscrapers on the other side, including the famous new Shard, although it's really distant from there.

The Millennium Bridge connects with Bankside and South Bank, and (among many other sites) the Tate Modern, in the converted Bankside Power Station. We didn't go to an exhibit, but walked in and around the massive building, and had a view of the Turbine Room, the enormous main exhibition hall. The Tate Modern is free, all the time. I believe all museums should be free or at most, pay-what-you-can. Why put art and ideas behind a financial barrier? (One of my biggest complaints about Toronto is the outrageously high entrance fees of its museums.)

The Millennium Bridge connects with Bankside and South Bank, the strip along the south side of the Thames. There's a pedestrian-only walkway running its entire length, with theatres, performance spaces, restaurants, pubs, design shops, and an abundance of public park area. It's a real vision of what waterside public space can be. (My other great complaint about Toronto: the ugly, privately developed waterfront.) Right now there's a battle going on to save South Bank Skate Park - one of the earliest skate parks in London - from condo development: Save Southbank Skate Park on Facebook. Last time we were in London, we saw the beautiful replica Globe Theatre, but most of the Southbank walkway was unfinished.

It was great to walk a little and get some London vibe, especially since our stay here is so brief. The walk also gave me a new idea for to do with our one full day in London.

We took a long tube ride back to Rhonda's house, where we met Nico for the first time. (Rhonda's first partner, Stephen, was our very dear friend. Stephen and I shared a birthday. He died 10 years ago.) We drank Pimm's Cups in the garden, then had a beautiful vegetarian paella, Rhonda's tribute to our upcoming travels in Spain. Jamie, Rhonda's oldest son, was also at dinner. Since we last saw him about 20 years ago, it was really like meeting for the first time. (Jamie's younger brother Alec is in the US with his grandfather.)

A lovely first day, plus I heard the pups have already been to the dog park with Essie!

Today we're packing and giving final instructions to our friend and dogsitter, the divine Essie Ash, and tonight we fly to London.

In London, we'll see R, who we know from our Brooklyn days, and who we haven't seen in nearly 15 years, and Mara (of Abortion Support Network fame), who I know from my time with the Haven Coalition. By coincidence (or not), we all met originally through pro-choice activism, and now R and Mara know each other through me. Life is strange and wonderful.

I'm totally psyched for this trip. Except for missing the pups. But I know they'll be fine. 
The real reason for this post is to start the new tag: spain trip.