Green Paella

 

This evening, I made paella, which I ate almost every day for my mid-day meal in Barcelona, in memory of our recent trip.  Piping hot saffron rice with salty lobster and other seafood.  I decided to make a slight variation of it, using what was in my fridge.  I decided on a green theme - green onions, celery, green tomatillos, peas, fresh basil and green chillies.  I still used saffron (of course) and jumbo shrimp and a taste of chicken.  

 

There was something for all of us in Barcelona.  

 

The Train

 

The train from Paris to Barcelona was an experience in itself.  The taxi took us from our hotel to Gard du Lyon, giving us a little tour of the city, where I wondered if Paris was the most beautiful city in the world (though I decided that that was a little bit like wondering who is the most beautiful person in the world).  The train station was confusing.  We didn’t know where to go.  When we finally found the boards listing the trains, it didn’t tell us which track to go to.  The board didn’t give this information until minutes before the train was scheduled to depart and we had to then quickly find the right track and walk the entire length of the train (and they are long) to get to our car.  We had to walk fast, each of us pulling suitcase.  Thank goodness, Amrita is old enough that she can do this now!  There was no time for hesitation or children’s meltdowns!  We finally boarded the high speed train.  I was worried that the high speed would make me motion sick, but it turned out that I barely noticed the speed and thought the train could go faster!  It was a long journey, six hours, through the French and then the Spanish country side.  We passed the time reading and listening to music (fighting over the good headphones) and ordering food in the food car.  I wanted a romantic encounter like in the movie Before Sunrise, but that is not so much possible when you are travelling with your husband and children.  Our biggest excitement was watch two young girls, clearly backpacking through Europe, get interrogated by security as they had not purchased train tickets and then had no money.  (They were escorted off the train at the next stop and taken to the police station.)  The conversation was very calm and educational for Aveen (note to self:  Do not get on a train without having purchased a ticket!)  

 

Futbol Club Barca -  Més que un club (More than a Club)

 

We had agreed to hide from Aveen that there would be a Barca soccer match while we were there, since the tickets were so expensive.  Of course, the cab driver blew that within minutes of our arriving.  Aveen wanted to arrive wearing his Barca shirt.

 

"Oh, you like futbol?  You like Barca?" the delighted cab driver said to Aveen.  "Match tomorrow!"

 

"Really???"  Aveen said to the cab driver and then to us.  "There's a game!!!  We HAVE to go."

 

During our walk that evening, Aveen spotted the Official Barca store (the first of many official Barca stores) and was enchanted by all the Barca merchandise.  And of course, they were selling game tickets.  

 

"No," Jaime said.

 

"Well, we came all this way.  We might as well spend just a little bit more and take him to the game.  He'll never forget it."

 

It turned out that the game was a late one, starting at 9:00 p.m.  Too late for Amrita.  Which worked out well, since buying two tickets was more affordable than four, and much easier to find two good seats than four.  So Jaime and Aveen went to see the Sunday night match, while Amrita and I had a girls' night at home in our Barca apartment.  We did full beauty regimes and chatted about girl stuff while Jaime and Aveen watch Messi play and the Barca team win 3:0.

 

We also had to take a tour of Camp Nou, the Barcelona stadium.  It was both really cool and really boring for me and Amrita.  Aveen loved it, of course.  An obligatory stop.  Aveen also just loved seeing boys in little squares or school yards playing their own games of football.  (I found there to be a lot of boys in Barcelona, with soccer everywhere.  Where are the little girls?)  The interesting thing about Camp Nou and football in Barcelona, though was that was  more than sport, but the heart and identity of the city.  And footwall was the way that political activism was expressed, the only form that it could take.

 

Architecture

 

If Aveen was in soccer heaven, Jaime was in architecture heaven.  The Gaudi architecture was also interesting for the kids - funny shapes and sizes - buildings and churches and parks and trees and random objects were all subject to the Gaudi curves, no corners.  It reminded us of Dr. Seuss.  We hid in the trees at Guell Park to keep cool.  I kept expecting to see monkeys and parakeets in the gardens and structures – Doric columns, the famous Gaudi lizard,  a serpentine bench, tiled mosaic ceilings, panoramic views and musicians but no exotic monkeys or birds.  We wandered through the beautiful Sagrada Familia, our faces illuminated by the light streaming through the stain glass.  We went up the elevator to the Nativity Tower and to our surprise was told we had to walk down.  Through steep, narrow, spiral steps, down 65 metres.  At places, we could stop and view the city through windows with nothing barring us from plunging to our deaths.  Not for the elderly or for those with claustrophobia or vertigo or heart conditions.  How had I missed all those warnings?  Fortunately, I had none of those conditions. Still, I walked down slowly, thankful I had not worn my sandals with heals, and my knees shaking by the time we reached the bottom.

 

The Mediterranean

 

After two days of looking at architecture, we decided to hit the beach for Amrita.  We found the beach equipped with umbrellas that you could rent to sit under (6 euros).  They were even serving "Fresh mojita.  Sangria." The Mediterranean was blue and picture perfect, like the cover of the book Tender is the Night.  But the waves were strong and the beach was rocky.  Not really a swimming beach.  The kids were a bit disappointed, but was still amazing to be by the sea, so close to the city.  And, yes, it was a topless beach.  But only about 1 in 10 were actually topless.  And it was very discreet.  The kids didn't even notice it.  Many of the topless were just doing it for a few minutes to say they had done it.  A couple of giggling girls beside us took topless selfies and then put their tops back immediately.  We finished with a lovely tapas lunch of potatoes with spicy sauce, garlic shrimp, and beer at the beach restaurant.

 

Food

 

The food in Barcelona was always amazing and it suited me well to eat a bigger meal for lunch.  Usually, a late and leisurely lunch in an outdoor terrace after a several hours of sight seeing.  Paella or tapas. Every single lunch was fabulous!  Usually, we had to ensure that the restaurant we chose would pass the “Amrita test”, offering something that our sweet but fussy 8 year old could eat.  But by the end of the week, even Amrita was eating tapas – squid, tentacles and all.  The only food I objected to was breakfast, which was hard to find, with most cafes offering only super sweet baked goods.  Even the croissants were covered in an unidentifiable, sticky syrup.  Entirely unnecessary.  I finally made peace with having multi-grain croissants, sipped with small cups of expresso (which is just called coffee in Europe). 

 

Walks

 

Our long lunches were followed by a few hours back in the apartment to avoid the hottest part of day, which would make sightseeing intolerable.  Then we would make a light evening supper of sandwiches and salad, not bothering to learn how to use the stove.  Around 7:00, we would emerge for our evening stroll, sometimes to the Ramblas to see the spill of humanity, the city centre for some shopping at the Zara’s multi-level store, or  the narrow, winding streets of the Old City with stores and restaurants, churches, Picasso art galleries, and street musicians playing Ava Maria.   I watched an American architecture student doing a sketch of a beautiful church.

 

My Hair Cut

 

Somewhere in Barcelona, I decided I needed a hair cut.  Especially because I knew that I would not have time to get my hair cut back in Ottawa before going back to work, and I decided that I could not go back to work, after three weeks of holidays, needing a hair cut.  This was going to be interesting, but I also thought it would be a good way to experience something “local”, if a little risky.  But it was only hair.  So, we scoped out a  couple of hair salon studios, and there seemed to be a good option near our apartment.  There was the problem that I didn’t speak Spanish, so Jaime would have to be my interpreter.  This was true throughout our trip, and towards the end of the week, I was starting to get a bit tired with having Jaime speak for me on everything.  Not knowing the language meant relinquishing control.  Not a big deal for ordering food and seeing sights.  But getting a hair cut was more complex, more personal.  First, in Barcelona, when you make an appointment, you get an “estimate” on how much it will cost.  There seemed to a rather long conversation about this when all I wanted was a trim.  After what seemed like 15 minutes of a lot of talking, Jaime looked at me and said, “Do you want a perm?”  A perm?  Have I ever got a perm?  What is this, the 80s?  Who gets perms anymore?  Why would I choose to get my first perm in Barcelona? Wouldn’t I have mentioned that before?  Anyway, I quickly said, “No.”  Firm, succinct.  Followed by another several minutes of conversation.  How long does it take to say, “No, thank you.  Only a trim, please.”  Anyway, this continued throughout the appointment-making process and during the hair cut itself.  I did get a lovely and long scalp massage, and the hair cut turned  out to be fine.  But having your husband as interpreter for your hair?  Depends on your husband, of course, but not necessarily recommended, unless you are willing to come out with a perm. 

 

Home Sickness

 

Barcelona was a curious and wonderful blend of Paris meeting Latin America meeting the United States meeting India.  The city was huge and densely populated, with everything that you could want, yet the streets were not that always very clean, it wasn’t advisable to drink tap water, and you could get killed on the sidewalk, being run over by a bike or motor bike or bitten by a dog.  Some afternoons, back in the apartment, I would get pangs of homesickness and long for my familiar bed and kitchen.  I usually called home when I was feeling sad, hearing my mother’s voice and hoped for an e-mail to come in.  At the same time, I loved the intesne time we spent together, just the four of us.  No work or school or camps.  No soccer practice or dance lesson.  No playdates to organize or obligations to fulfill.  We were just there together.  Playing cards or Uno.  Before bed, I read to them (a wonderful book called the Think About Luck – more on that in another post).  They were more willing to hear the same book and snuggle together while were on vacation.  Our family vacations are so much more than seeing new places and getting away.  They are a time for us to be together.       

 

Magic Fountain

 

On our last day, we wandered through the city park and took a last ramble through the Old City, buying little gifts for our family and friends back home.  During our afternoon rest, we packed our bags.  There was one more adventure we wanted to have, but were nervous about undertaking something late at night, the night before we needed to catch a plane back home.  But everything was done, and we had read about a “Magic Fountain” which offered a spectacular light and water show, starting at 9:00.  It would mean another ride on the Metro and getting back late.  After being indecisive, we decided to go and what a treat we had!  The Magic Fountain was in front of the National Art Gallery in Barcelona, which, like many of the structures, in Barcelona, looked like a palace.  We arrived around 8:20, when the sun was just starting to fade.  There were crowds of people camped on the steps of the Gallery in order to secure their view of the Magic Fountain when the show started.   We found our own spot and we watched the crowd and the buskers and the city beyond fade into the dusk.  At 9:00, when it was finally dark, the fountain, including all the fountains in front of the Gallery and those lining the wide boulevard in front, started to turn on, one by one, until there was water everywhere.  Teenagers standing closet to the fountains squealed in delight, as they got sprayed and then drenched by the fountains.  Then began an amazing light show, the fountain springing water in pinks and purples and blues and greens.  Different types of sprays with different pressures.  And music!  Contemporary songs and classical music.  It was a show, dazzling like fireworks and music like Cirque du Soleil.  We watched, transfixed, mesmorized, taking everything in.  The show went on and on, and we could have stayed all night.  Eventually, tired, we reluctantly started making our way back, stopping to buy an ice cream cone, then back along the boulevard, looking back at the fountain, back to the metro station, crowded and lively at night, back to our neighbourhood, back to our apartment, and into bed, in anticipation of the journey back home, tired but happy and satisfied that we had fit in one last adventure, which was the most magical of all.