Barcelona (pronounced Barthalona)

We hadn’t read much about the city before leaving, but thankfully we didn’t need to. The city offers surprisingly few tourist attractions: a charming pedestrian zone with creepy street performers, gads of art nouveau architecture (called “Moderismé”), a Picasso museum, and a shiny day star called the sun (unknown in Germany).
But its lack of “must-sees” didn’t damper our days, as we spent our “in-between-sights” time enjoying much-needed 60-degrees-and-sunny weather, the labyrinthine medieval gothic quarter, and delicious grub.

I’ve been to this Catalan capital before, but neither Kate nor Josh had had the opportunity – nay the delectable privilege – to sample its paella, sangria, and Serrano ham. So after arriving, unloading our packs, and energizing ourselves with a buttery pastry (I went for the pound-and-a-half cream danish), we cheerfully set out to discover the sights and tastes of this Mediterranean metropolis … and get lost doing so.

Before el lunchos, we walked around a bit and saw the scary performers on the pedestrian street (called Las Ramblas, which is Arabic for “the place with scary street performers”) and the Columbus monument, which we determined had Señor Colón pointing south.
Luckily, our eventual eatery had Serrano ham – so Kate and I indulged. Unluckily, the pepper top was screwed on by a two-year-old who’d just eaten French fries, so my bite of ham had a bit of bite for me.
Afterward we walked to an unfinished Moderismé church called Sagrada Familia and saw architect Antoni Gaudi’s fascinating Ninth Symphony equivalent. Here are a few pics.

Although Kate and I both liked the place, Josh seemed a little scared.
Anyway, it had a playful mix of styles that all reflected nature in some way (spires shaped like grapes, columns made to look like chestnut trees, honey-comb-like decorations), and is well worth the time and money. AND it made me hungry for churros. (Pronounced “¡¡¡¡CHURROS!!!!” because we’re always way too happy and excited when it’s time to eat them.)

After the churros (¡¡¡¡CHURROS!!!!), an hour spent watching college-aged jugglers in a park, a quick nap, and a rapid ramble around the Barri Gothic (which we loved) we were back out for more food, sampling tasty tapas and palatable paella. The next day started with a jaunt by the Cathedral La Seu – which employs a gaggle of geese as night watchmen – and a sunny daydream on the steps of some other nondescript church that tourists kept taking pictures of. Either that or they thought the homeless guy sleeping behind Kate and Josh in this picture was the second coming of Gallagher. That was followed by watching a crowd of surprisingly alive folks doing an ancient Catalan back-and-forth shuffly waddle “dance” to Mediterranean-style music.
Then, the last thing on our list of must-sees was the Picasso museum, which had a lot of his earlier (read: not drug-induced) work, in which the Spaniard actually paints pretty well. I’m always relieved by evidence that modern artists actually have talent, as it makes it less tempting for me to pay a four-year-old to paint the next “it” painting.

Afterward we rambled and ambled through the sun-drenched, palm-laden, lake-centered park, watching men with no rowing experience unwittingly paddle their families in circles. What fun! (First picture)

We then watched the jugglers again while working on our tans. Somewhere between the lake and the jugglers my belly growled for churros (¡¡¡¡CHURROS!!!!), but I knew I had to contain myself….for tonight was the Pièce de résistance of our trip: Spanish game food at a real, honest-to-goodness European Futbol match.

Josh had purchased soccer tickets for all three of us to see FC Barcelona trounce underdog Santander Sunday night and I could tell he was excited. He wanted action. He wanted crazy European hooliganism. I wanted flan.
So we got there and everyone was excited. Josh was eager to see how close our seats were to the pitch and Kate and I were eager to read the food stand menus. Paella perhaps? Got any Gambas? Fancy a flan?

On a good note, Barcelona won, 1-0. On a sad note, I’m sorry to say they didn’t offer flan at the soccer match (only a sports-a-phobe like me would actually think such a nonsensical victual would be offered at a sporting event.). But despite the flan-less-ness of the trip, we liked Barcelona.

It was a relaxingly simple getaway filled with sun, fun, and a Mediterranean feel. And of course churros (¡¡¡¡CHURROS!!!!).

Pecos munching on the Sasquatch of squash

During a hike near us last weekend we came upon this mammoth squash (among others), which Pecos just went bananas for, without any goading from us. This perspective doesn't show the squashes true size, though. Here's a picture to illustrate.

House Resolution #2008

So far, so good. Sort of.
Without much forethought, I made a New Year’s resolution this year to only drink water. No soda. No juice. No coffee. No alcohol. Just water.

The draconian denial is pretty typical for me, who arbitrarily makes ascetic resolutions to deny myself from what I view as unnecessary indulgences. In high school, for instance, I gave up hot showers for about two and a half weeks (which probably ended up being a defensive measure). And in college I wanted to see how little I could eat and still get by – both because I viewed our society’s waste as an excessive misuse of inherently the most valuable thing in our lives and because it would save money.

Although I now take hot showers and bust at the seams after a good Chinese buffet, I still don’t like indulging myself too much. I dislike the beach because it makes me feel lazy and I’d much rather read non-fiction because I think it’s a more productive use of time. (And my showers are short and my meat intake is measly).

But back to my point. Even though I’m doing relatively well with my resolution (I’ve decided to drink coffee on weekends but other than that am sticking to it), I know I’ll probably end up struggling and caving in. And that’s OK because I know I’ll learn a little something about myself and will feel proud of my ability to deny myself.

It’s not like I haven’t caved in before. In 2006 I didn’t want to burp out loud for a whole year and in 2007 I wanted to read the bible the whole way through. Failed both of those.

But I’ve also kept some resolutions, including stopping biting my nails and learning more about Judaism.

According to google, only 8 percent of Americans successfully achieve their New Year's resolutions, with 45 percent failing by the end of January. At least I’m doing better than that.

New Year's at the Capital of Europe (aka Capital of Terror)

I think some random American dude summed it up best. Just after midnight on New Years, Jay, Linda, Kate, and I were walking out of Brussels’s Grand Place – the crowded Belgian equivalent of Times Square – and Linda was earnestly asked by a fellow celebrating American: “Was that it?”

Indeed, it was.

Here’s a video of the uneventful occasion, in which Kate doesn’t even know we’d entered 2008.

The reason was that frightened Belgian officials put Brussels on a ‘maximum’ terror alert and canceled all official New Years’ Eve celebrations – including fireworks, music, and a lightshow – because of intelligence about a potential terrorist strike in the capital
http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/12/30/europe/brussels.php But letdown or not, we all still managed to have a good time in this, the birthplace of Godiva chocolate, French fries (yes, according to legend they’re Belgian, not French), and pissing boy statues. Our first stop on our typically swift exploit was Mini-Europe, a park housing 350 of “the most attractive monuments in the European Union” at a scale of 1:25. It was, in a word, monumental!

As if Europe wasn’t small enough….

Actually, we all really enjoyed it – it was like condensed traveling. Kate especially liked it, which is no surprise considering she would drown herself in miniatures if given the chance. (Good thing no one has created mini water). And it was bolstered by live action models of trains, helicopters, and Mount Vesuvius erupting (which made me have to use the poopoo lounge).

Here’s my dad and I revisiting a regrettable escapade in France we had almost seven years ago.

And here’s Bruges, which happened to be our next stop of the day.

Bruges is a well-preserved (almost pickled) Gothic city in the Flemish (cough cough) part of this low country. Many friends have said the city is an absolute joy – it has the canals of Venice, they’d say, the bikes of Amsterdam, the quaintness of Rothenburg, the French fries of, well, Belgium, ad naseum.

Well, they forgot THE TOURISTS OF ALL THOSE PLACES COMBINED. Maybe it was just that this small wonder has all the acclaim at 1/4 the size; but we managed to squeeze a couple photos off before being engulfed. We also managed to gobble some fries doused in mayo – a traditional specialty in this part of the globe.

We sought amnesty in the relatively peaceful “Capital of Europe,” Brussels, the Washington D.C. of Europa, where both EU and NATO officials call home.

Our first stop here was the Grand Place (or Grote Markt in Flemish) an enchanting old-world square in the center of town. Dinner was mussels (in Brussels, of course), a dish called stoump, one of the many famous beers that this country is so renowned for, and, of course, more French fries to gorge on.


We also saw this fantabulous light show.


The next day (New Year’s Eve) all four of us got out for a couple hours of some good old fashioned staring. As very visual creatures, we stared at the “probably good” signs adorning local waffle shops, we stared at a lazy rat at a park, we stared at scantily clad child mannequins in store windows, we stared at passersby who thought they looked fashionable (scoff!), and we stared for quite some time at this unusual merry-go-round.

Our pre-midnight celebration ended with a paella dinner (not actually from Belgium) and two local dishes from Belgium – waterzooi (chicken) and carbonnades (beef) – accompanied with heaping portions of, you guessed it, French fries.

After the midnight misfortune, we went back to our hotel, stayed up late drinking champagne, eating chocolate, and comparing previous New Year’s celebrations we’ve experienced. (Some better, some worse, none with more trans-fatty acids).

Thank you Jay and Linda for a wonderful but ill-timed trip to Belgium. Next time we’ll devise a backup plan. Here's me trying to conjure one up. Or maybe it was the gas from Vesuvius.