Christmas 2016

 

     

          “Oh, mommy, they’re not here!” pops up in a text from Jessica as we get in our Uber car at BWI Airport and head towards Capitol Hill in Washington two days before Christmas.  I am excited thinking of Austin eagerly waiting for us!  

          “Austin is freaking out, asking every 3 seconds if you are here…” reads another text from Jess.  I fire off replies, “Little traffic…”  “Getting close…”  “Almost there!”   Finally… “just got here!” The front door swings open and there is Austin in his red and white striped fleece pajamas, curly mop of blonde hair, and bright blue eyes looking like a little elf surrounded by Christmas lights.

          “We’re here!” I say as I kneel down for my big Grandma hug.  So reassuring to see how Austin knows us now even though we live 450 miles away.  All those trips to DC recently have paid off and we are definitely part of Austin’s inner family circle.  “Art” as Austin sometimes calls his grandpa, also gets his big hug.  We have arrived and Christmas weekend has begun.

           “Come, look, Grandma”, Austin says as he reaches for my hand and tugs me over to the brightly lit Christmas tree, with wrapped presents under it.  “Show Grandma what Titi gave you,” says Hayden. Austin says,  “Come, Grandma,” as he walks over to show me his new plastic grill, a gift from his nanny, Therese.  He likes the tongs, a word which he pronounces clearly, while he pretends to grill a plastic chicken for us .There is much to take in, before I have even slipped out of my coat.  This is how it is when we first arrive in Washington.

          “Bedtime, Austy,” Jessica reminds everyone.  “Let’s show Grandma your “Big Boy” bed.  And so Austin’s little hand securely in mine leads me upstairs where the crib now has part of rail taken down so that Austin can crawl in and out by himself.  I take in the new dinosaur sheets, pillow, and matching quilt and my impulse is to say “please don’t grow up so fast”.  Instead, I admire the dinosaurs and make a big deal of the new bed arrangement.

“I’ll read to him,” I say.  Austin pulls out a book from the shelf in his bedroom and climbs into my lap. It’s the Metropolitan Museum of Art ABC book.  We open to A and before I can begin, he takes off reading the alphabet, looking at the paintings of boats or cats or dogs and tells me what they are.  “Wow,” I think to myself as I turn pages…”he just about knows all his letters.” Another milestone?

“Time for bed,” Jess calls down the hall.   Austin climbs into bed and I tuck him in with a good night hug.

           At 7 am the next morning I open my eyes to see a curly head peeking around the door checking if we are still here.  Seeing I am awake the door swings open, Austin walks in, and the chatter begins.  Austin has lots to say and many questions.  “Are you going to do your make up, Grandma?”  or “What’s this?”  he holds  up my round hair brushes. “Let’s play hide and seek ,” he suggests crawling up on the bed before I’ve answered, and burrowing into the big pillows against the wall.  Then he giggles when I pretend not to find him. I am reminded as always what fun it is to be around Austin and how he wakens my imagination and sense of fun to keep pace with his.

          On a rainy cold December 24^th, a morning outing is a necessity.  Jess puts on Austin’s new shirt with striped sleeves and a snowman on the front. We get jackets and rain gear and walk a block to take the X8 bus to the Postal Museum.  A real city kid, Austin loves riding the bus, the metro, or the trolley down H Street. He likes to sit up high on the bus seat and take in everything around him.  He’s a child that notices everything!  While the Postal Museum may not sound like the ideal place for an almost 3 year old, it actually is because of the mail truck kids can climb into, the two-seater airplane hanging from the ceiling, and the interactive computer displays where you can take your own picture and make an “Austin “stamp.  Besides, it’s free and nearly empty on the day before Christmas!

          Our Christmas weekend is balanced with a morning outing each day.  On the 25^th we have a frenzy of early morning gift opening.  Austin gets into the swing of it stopping to check out each new book or toy.  But he is lured away by Kinder chocolate eggs Jess brought from Brussels which he promptly opens inside his new rocket ship tent away from the eyes of his parents.  But when he emerges he announces, ”I will share,” and hands each of us some tiny bits of a chocolate egg he has already opened up on his own.  He knows that the only way he’ll get away with eating the forbidden chocolate in the morning is to share it with the adults.

          After a breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup, we pile into the “red mini car” (Mini Cooper) to head down to the Washington Mall.  We take a soccer ball for Austin to play with along the way. Then we decide to visit the Lincoln Memorial seeking solace before the ominous changes in government coming in 2017.  Standing below Abe in his big chair looking out to the Washington Monument is reassuring. Today the Lincoln Memorial is packed with mostly foreign tourists in Washington for the holidays.  Austin is entertained sliding down the marble edge of the steps as he’s seen some other kids do. Jess is right there holding on to him averting any crisis.

          Christmas afternoon while Austin is taking a long nap I watch Jess admiringly as she prepares fancy Cornish hens, stuffing, and veggies for our dinner.  I try to help out by whipping up my pear flan for dessert and setting a festive table with English crackers I ordered specially for this day.  Hayden pops the cork on the Prosecco when Austin is up and we sit down for a festive meal.  We each come prepared to tell a 5-minute story of something about our lives we want to share – a new tradition and Jessica’s idea.  It works well and we love it.

          Christmas weekend with Austin is about being together and watching him learn what this holiday is all about.  We read “Twas the Night Before Christmas” and Jess tells him the story of baby Jesus in the Nativity display of figures she has just brought back from her recent trip to Sri Lanka. Christmas Eve happens to be the first night of Chanukah.  Hayden lights the first candle in the Menorah we had at home when he was young.  With some reminder from Art, Hayden says the Chanukah prayer while Austin listens and watches. 

          By Monday Austin has ridden his new apple green bicycle with the training wheels, he’s played in his rocket ship tent, and has christened the ferryboat and cars we gave him in the bathtub.  We’ve read all his new books several times and it looks like “Where Do Diggers Sleep at Night” and the elaborate pop up book of construction vehicles are clear winners.  He has broken in his Santa and Snowman shirts.

          Before Austin goes down for his nap, I explain that we have to go home in a little while but will be back again to visit.  He gives me a hug and kiss and we say goodbye.  I think about his parents building their own holiday traditions as we did and know we can be a part of celebrating together as Austin grows up.

          When I get home it takes me awhile to let go of Austin as I carry his voice in my head and the feel of his little hand in mine. I even look for his head in the doorway when I wake up in the morning.  But I know he will be there waiting for me when we go back for our next visit.

 

Revisiting England - A Preview

We are home from a 3-week trip to England and I have not completely made the transition from London to Asheville.  England is a place I have visited often since 1966 when I was an exchange student living with a family and studying British literature.  It was then I fell in love with “all things” British – a passion I’ve carried throughout my life.  I wish I had kept track of how many times I’ve been back to England over the years…a dozen or more at least…

My last visit was 8 years ago. Anticipating this trip, I wondered if I’d feel the same connection to England I’d always had. The answer is yes!  I will always be an Anglophile and yet this trip I was nostalgic for  “how things used to be” before globalization, mass media and communication that has brought a sameness to the developed countries in the world… even England. I miss the Britain of 40 or 50 years ago without the chain stores, fast food places, traffic, and people focussed on their cell phone screens.  But looking to the essence of what really draws me to England, I realized that it is my British friends, whom I have become as close to as family.

 British friends 

Jenny and David

• ·      Daytime drives, hikes, morning coffee, lunches, and teas with Jenny (my “English sister”) and husband David
• ·      Sunday lunch with Jenny’s son John, daughter-in-law Fiona and grandchildren – Ben, Emily, and Sam.
• ·      Marilyn Mann,  friend from Paraguay days, whom I had not seen since visiting in Hong Kong in the early 1990's
• ·      A weekend trip to Devon to see Josephine, our Filipina cook, and her British husband Peter, and sons Charlie and Josh (now 10 and 14).
• ·      Dinner at the Old Vic with Joanne Howarth, British actress, and newly added friend whom we hosted in Asheville 2 years ago.

Where We Stayed

View from the flat

20 Palace Road SW London

The Globe B & B in Topsham

• ·      Marilyn and Mike’s 8^th floor luxury London flat next to Victoria Station at 20 Palace Road SW…complete with 24-hour Concierge services
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• ·      Picture window views of the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, office buildings along the Thames, from the living room, kitchen, and bed
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•  Two nights at The Globe B & B in Topsham, Exeter, Devon – weekend visit with Jo and 

What We Did

Blenheim Palace

Hike along Sussex Coast - Seven Sisters

"King Lear" at the Old Vic

Sunday lunch with Jenny's family

Walk along Devon Coast in Burleigh with Jo, Charlie & Peter

Cream tea at the Savoy Palace Hotel

• ·      Walks from the flat through St. James Park, past the Royal Guards, to the Mall, Whitehall and Trafalgar Square.
• ·      Tour of the Wallace Collection Museum, and lunch in the glassed-in courtyard  with Marilyn
• ·      Lunch with Marilyn, Laura and boyfriend Stuart at The Black Lion pub in Hammersmith followed by long walk down the Embankment…rowers in training on the Thames River and brisk fall winds…
• ·      National Portrait Gallery, lunch in the Crypt at St. Martin in the Field’s Church and free classical music concert in the sanctuary
• ·      Theater – “Book of Mormon” (laughed till I cried), “Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night “(brilliant and creative staging), and” King Lear “(in modern dress) with Glenda Jackson at the Old Vic
• ·      Day trips into Kent and Sussex with Jenny and David – Lewes, walk to the Seven Sisters white cliffs along the coast, lunch at Badger’s Tea House in Alfriston in the Cuckmere Valley in Sussex, and afternoon visit to Monk House (country home of Virginia Woolf)
• ·      Hike with Jenny and David from Chartwell  (home of Churchill) through woods to Emmet’s Gardens with Fox and Hounds pub lunch – muted fall colors and leaves coming down all around us but no rain…
• ·      Joined the crowds on Oxford Street to brave the sales at Marks & Spencer on a Saturday
• ·      Morning at the Exhibition Hall of the British Library near St. Pancras Station, lunch at the Tate Modern and tea at the Crypt – walking all the way dodging the crowds children on midterm holiday
• ·      Hike with Jenny and David on the grounds of Standen House, East Grinstead in West Sussex (a National Trust property) and hot lunch in the refurbished barn
• ·      Tour of the “Abstract Impressionist” exhibit at the Royal Academy of Arts…all American artists and a timeline history of Impressionism… Lunch in the RAA cafeteria
• ·      Oxford Tube coach from Victoria to Oxford, changing to local double-decker bus and dropped off at the gates of Blenheim Palace (birthplace of Churchill), lunch in the cafeteria at Blenheim and walk through manicured gardens and extensive grounds
• ·      Weekend in Topsham with Friday night fancy dinner at Jo’s house with her family – toasting with champagne and ending with Mango Meringue Roll dessert
• ·      Cake and coffee at St. Margaret’s Anglican Church in Topsham including hymn singing accompanied by the organ (reminded us of Vicar of Dibley TV shows)
• ·      Saturday hike with Jo and Peter at Teign Gorge classic circuit with pub lunch at the Fingle Bridge Inn.  Dinner with the Drews at “L’estuaire”, French restaurant in Topsham
• ·      Sunday morning walk along the seacoast in Budleigh Salterton with Jo, Peter, and Charlie
• ·      Final lavish Cream Tea with Jenny and David at the Savoy Palace Hotel on the Strand in London

Unexpected Surprises

• ·      No rain in 3 weeks
• ·     Remembering geography of London
• ·      Fellow passengers on the tube and the double-decker buses offered us their seats (are we that old?)
• ·      Thriving bookstores full of affordably priced books
• ·      Popularity of the British Bakeoff on television
• ·      Politeness and civility London

British things I love…

• ·      Use of the English language –“Have a good journey”.  “Mind the gap between the cars.”  “Where is the loo?”  “Walk on the pavement.”  “I think I’ll have a lie down.”  “This, that, and the other…”
• ·      Favorites – McVities Digestive Chocolate Biscuits, Boots Cucumber Face Cream, Marks & Spencer jumpers, Penguin classic books, British greeting cards of all kinds, scones and clotted cream, hot pub lunches with roasted potatoes and Yorkshire pudding
• ·      Bucolic and manicured countryside with grazing sheep, narrow country lanes with high trimmed hedges, quiet untouched villages, country churchyards
• ·      Public transport – punctual trains, top of double-decker buses, London taxis with window separating passenger from driver
• ·      Gift shops museums and National Trust Properties
• ·      Coffee and tea shops

Going Back to Montreal

            The poster in the Montreal metro car with the headline “Juste pour toi,” caught my eye as we headed northeast of the city to Pie–IX, the stop that would take us to the Botanical Gardens.  Below the slogan was a graphic design of the skyline of the city including a mosque, a cathedral, and high-rise buildings. On looking closer I saw that it was an advertisement for Bell Canada, a telecommunications and media company headquartered in Montreal.  The juxtaposed mosque and cathedral in the poster caught my attention. “Just for you” is an example of the Canadian message of inclusivity that pervades television commercials, radio, billboards, and public service notices. The message is that Canadians live and work for the betterment and the good of all – promoting a nationalistic pride in all things Canadian.  I was struck by the contrast to the divisiveness and hate rhetoric in the media that seems to pervade the US at the moment.

View from our balcony at 1200 Rue St. Jacques

            Vacationing last week in Montreal in a rented downtown high rise apartment came from a desire to go back to a city we had visited often and loved when we owned our house in Vermont.  A weekend in multicultural Montreal, usually in the winter, was an annual event we planned for every year.  A mere 3-hour drive from Rochester, Vt., we could be in this sophisticated French city where we indulged in shopping, ate in ethnic restaurants, caught up on foreign films, and took in whatever exhibits were at the Musee de Beaux Arts.  It was like going to France and being in Europe without the long journey to get there.  Returning there after a 10-year absence triggered many memories.

Chihuly at the the Beaux Arts Museum

“ Oh look,” Art said,  “isn’t that the expensive downtown Sheraton we stayed at that time we brought Hayden and Megan with us after Christmas?  How did we afford a room there, I wonder?”  Or I suddenly remembered, “Isn’t this the neighborhood where we stayed in that upscale B & B one February and we had a jacuzzi in our room?  Remember?”  Or, “There’s La Baie where we bought those wine glasses we are still using.” Or, “Remember the time we had Hayden with us when he was home from Serbia and he bought out the men’s department at Simons while we stood like clothes trees?”

As we walked the downtown I looked for familiar landmarks – our favorite Indian restaurant, The Taj; Simons where I bought all my winter sweaters which I couldn’t bear to throw away for years; The Forum, a renovated hockey rink, where we went to see 2 or 3 movies in a weekend; and Cora, the place we’d order a hearty breakfast on cold winter mornings.  They are all still there!  The Beaux Arts has doubled in size and now has an underground passage to the big church across Sherbrooke St. that is part of the museum. We walked to Notre Dame Cathedral in the Old City and had the time to go to an afternoon concert in the choir loft where we were thrilled by the grandiose sound of the French organ. Despite the familiar landmarks, I felt different being in Montreal this time.

Notre Dame Cathedral

The first afternoon we arrived, we walked towards downtown and encountered the longest Gay Pride parade we had ever seen on Rue Rene Levesque. Led by Justin Trudeau, the Prime Minister, it appeared that all of Montreal lined the downtown streets on an overcast  Sunday afternoon cheering and waving at the decorative floats, gay and transvestites dressed in sparkly costumes, holding banners with messages (“Say No To Faith Based Hate Groups”…) moving along to catchy rhythms. There were few police around and no anti-gay demonstrations.  The following morning the Globe and Mail carried Trudeau’s smiling photo and a caption that lauded the PM for being the first to attend such an event but reminding people “more concrete action is needed”.

An editorial in the the Montreal Gazette last Friday titled  “Everyday Racism” called upon the tolerant people of Canada to band together to sponsor Syrian Refugees “to atone for past wrongs” which is a reference to the long held racism against indigenous peoples.  In the same issue the Gazette had an article calling for the people of Quebec not to fall into the French “Burkini Ban” which they said has “no place in Quebec, no place in Canada.”  As an American it was hard for me not to be drawn into the aura of inclusivity that seems so pervasive in Canada.

“Did you notice any security checks at the Beaux Arts Museum or even Notre Dame Cathedral? I commented to Art.

“None”, he replied.  “But did you see how all their police are out during rush hours controlling traffic lights to move cars along?  I haven’t seen them anywhere else.”

It seemed that life in Montreal is how life used to be in the world before terrorism, the Iraq War and the extreme political divisiveness.  We noticed the high number of Muslim women in headscarves and African immigrants who seemed to be accepted and assimilated into Canadian society. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police came out this week to say they would not take issue with women in the force wanting to wear the hijab.

Remembering our many trips to Montreal, continued all week but returning after ten years, I was reminded that we, too, have changed.  We are retired, older, and have moved South to Asheville away from the northeast winters. This time I looked beyond the ethnic meals, the new movies we see all the time where we live, and the shopping which isn’t important any longer.  What I saw was a very multicultural French city that is working hard to promote inclusivity.  That seemed hopeful and is what I chose to take away with me on this visit.

Montreal Botanical Gardens

             

I'm on Fire!

          

          The red Mini Cooper with the shell pulled up to 50 Black Horse Run for the much-anticipated yearly visit to Asheville.  We saw it go by on Lake Drive and were on the front porch ready to welcome everyone. Jessica unbuckled and lifted Austin out.  Giving him a tiny prompt, he smiled shyly saying “Hi, Grandma,” as if he knew right where he was. He took my hand and we went right into the house. And so our 4th of July visit began.

            Being 450 miles apart and seeing Austin once every 3 months, I always wonder if he’ll remember us. I shouldn’t give that a second thought as each visit, either in Asheville or Washington D.C., Austin greets us as if he just saw us yesterday and I breathe a sigh of joy.  Having a grandson is pure bliss.

            As a Grandma I do a quick check of what has changed since I last saw Austin. This visit he was taller and still slim but with the same sweet demeanor and an entire vocabulary of new words. Austin now talks in complete sentences about everything and adds new words as fast as you teach them to him.  His clear blue eyes draw you in and his perfect blonde curls attract much attention. Engaging him in peek-a-boo, or kicking a ball or splashing in the water, he is such a happy little boy rewarding you with a wide grin or giggles.

            With an ear for spoken language Austin comes out with expressions like “there we go…” or “sorry”…or “alright” – all spoken with perfect intonation he has heard from adults.  I would say to him,  “let’s go outside and play…so lets find your shoes.”  Austin would reply “Oh, here they are!  They’re right here!  And we’d put them on.

            Austin takes a nap and several afternoons I was home resting while he napped and his parents had some time out and about in Asheville.  One afternoon as I was sitting in the big chair in the loft with my eyes closed I heard this little voice “Hi Grandma…”  He was up earlier than expected and ready to go again.  I tried not to groan and of course enticing him back for more sleep was to no avail. Instead we went downstairs and he looked around remarking in a matter of fact way,  “Hey, where did everyone go?”  When I explained no one was home he wasn’t fazed in the least.  We settled down in the living room to put together the 26-piece floor puzzle of butterflies, caterpillars, moths, ladybugs and other insects, all of which he can name and find. 

Then I suggested having a popsicle outdoors.  “I want a red one,” he would tell me.  “But we only have orange ones,” I replied.  Taking it outdoors he would lick it quickly as it shocked his little tongue and share bites with me.  I ended up with more of the popsicle than he did.

 “I wonder if it will rain,” I mused out loud.  Austin’s response was “I don’t think so”.  “Where’s the ball?” I would ask.  With his little hands turned up and shrugging his shoulders he would indicate with clear body language that he didn’t know.  And then we’d go find it.  Austin loves nothing more than to kick a soccer ball, throw a Frisbee, or swing his plastic baseball bat. Hayden pitches to him and even if his bat does not connect with the ball, he knows how to “run the bases” all over the yard just as he’s seen it done by the pros.  His parents take him to Washington Nationals baseball games. Austin has his own tennis racket.  He swings his tennis racket for a forehand or a backhand just as Hayden has taught him never seemingly discouraged if he can’t hit the ball.  He’s got the right moves. 

Basketball is another favorite and he has his own small hoop in his own backyard.  But when he’s near any basketball court he’s ready to go , “be in the zone” and shoot baskets.  Hayden has taught him to shoot, run back, holding up his arms and yelling “I’m on Fire!” 

One afternoon our friend Ayla came over for a visit as we sat outdoors.  She asked Austin if he liked tennis and he promptly answered, “I like Andy, Roger, and Novak”, perfectly naming the top 3 tennis players in the world.  Of course, we all know Hayden is a huge tennis fan and he takes such delight in teaching Austin much about the tennis “greats”.  Ayla looked at him in amazement.

The new scooter we had for Austin was a big success.  Hayden put it together and then we took it out on our quiet, dead end street and Austin hopped on and scooted up and down.  The street is very slightly on an incline and going one way you can coast.  And so I taught Austin to coast and am not sure if he loved doing it as much as he liked testing out that new word…coast!  All week when he’d get on the scooter announcing “I’m going to coast!”  In the rush to leave home his parents forgot his helmet so Jess and I made a trip to Toys R Us where we found the perfect bright blue Dory helmet.

When Austin takes a fall he’ll stop and if it’s not too bad he’ll say “I have a boo boo on my elbow…but I’m OK” and then go on to what he’s playing.  If it’s serious there can be a few tears demanding “Mommy attention” and then life goes on.

Austin’s week long visit to Biltmore Lake this summer was a reminder that not only is he growing up fast, but he’s an unusually verbal two year old that notices everything around him and imitates what he hears and sees.  Having the attention of four adults – his parents and us – for an entire week resulted in many new words and more sentences.  Most of all his visit confirmed for me that he truly knows us as Grandma and Pop Pop…a name he is also calls his other grandfather.   

             

           

           

Barcelona - a Real Treasure

         

Strolling along Las Ramblas

View from the Joan Miro Museum

          I never realized Barcelona is one of the most beloved cities in the world, until I went there this spring.  When I began telling friends about our walking trip in Catalonia followed by a week in Barcelona most people did not react to the walking part while easily exclaiming, “Barcelona,… my favorite city!”  Really?  I wondered why years ago when I travelled to Spain several times I had never gone to the Mediterranean coast and Barcelona. Even my brothers, who are not frequent world travelers any longer had each called me up to talk about the wonders of Barcelona…one focusing on the art museums we must not miss including Picasso, Miró, Tapies and Dali, while the other raved about the “awesome” architecture and churches.

            In 1970, I went to Aranjuez, famous for being the summer retreat for the kings and queens of Spain, just south of Madrid.  It was my second year as a Group Leader with The Experiment in International Living, an exchange program with a home stay.  It was a perfect job for me as I understood and spoke the language easily and was responsible for a group of 10 college students on a “summer abroad” program. We lived with Spanish families for a month and then traveled as a group with a brother or sister from our families throughout northern Spain.   In contrast, the previous summer of 1969, the EIL had assigned me to Bergen, Norway in charge of a lively group of high school students.  In those days, few Norwegians spoke English including those in the family I lived with.  Hiking and being out in nature, as Norwegians love to do, were not activities American teenagers were expecting. Where were the malls, the movies, and friends? Some had a tough time adjusting and at my young age, I had difficulty managing it all as well as the language.

            The summer after Aranjuez, I went back to Spain with my girlfriends, Jill and Mary.  Being independent travelers in our mid-twenties we three spoke Spanish fluently.  We planned our own trip south of Madrid to include the “must see” towns and cities of Toledo. Granada,  Cordoba, Sevilla, Ronda, and Marbella.  Now I wonder why we didn’t include Barcelona and Catalonia.  How could we have missed it?  It has taken me more than 40 years to go back.

            A few months before our trip I spent time searching the Air B & B website having decided we would do what we often have done in foreign cities…rent our own apartment.  It is the only way to experience what it is like to live in a place.  In the case of Barcelona it was a good decision as this is a city overflowing with tourists and hotels.  There is an element of luck in picking the right apartment and location.  I chose the barrio of Eixample, on the other side of the Plaza Catalunya. The Plaza is in the center of this city of 1.6 million people. We checked into our flat on Carrer le Bruc 17 and learned quickly we could walk everywhere.  Perfect!  Our second floor one bedroom flat had all the amenities and I liked coming and going on our own, entering the big rod iron, glass front door to walk into a large marble entry way with concierge.  A winding wide marble stairway with elaborate banister, swept up to the first and second floors whereas the tiny elevator seemed an afterthought tucked next to the stairwell.

View from our flat on Career de Bruc

Beautiful Palau de Musica - concert hall

            On our taxi ride from the bus station to Carrer Bruc, Art began a conversation with the driver about the secession issue which had been in the news last year when a vote was taken in Parliament for Catalonia to secede from Spain.  The resolution to secede passed but,the Spanish courts nullified it saying it was illegal.  Catalonia is the richest area of Spain because of trade. tourism , and high tech industry  Barcelona has been an important port city on the Mediterranean coast for centuries.  “Do people in Catalonia still want to secede from Spain?” Art wanted to know.  “Oh no,” the taxi driver responded. In his opinion it would be a disaster economically for Catalonia to leave Spain.  It appears the independence movement does not have the majority support of the people and the Spanish central government is not about to let it go.

            It is easy to see why so many people remember Barcelona as a favorite city.  While famous for its Gaudi monuments and buildings, I found every building an architectural delight.  The city streets and avenues are lined with shady tall trees and wide sidewalks so reminiscent of Recoleta, an upscale barrio of  downtown Buenos Aires where I grew up.  In fact I couldn’t stop seeing the similarities and exclaiming, “this is just like BA”.  And it is.  However, traffic seems so orderly in Barcelona and there is a definite respect for pedestrians.  No one jay walks and we quickly learned to get in line at street corners to wait for the pedestrian crossing light, All traffic comes to a stand still for pedestrians.When had I ever been in a city where that was the case?  Spaniards in Barcelona are polite and appear to have patience with the hoards of tourists that invade their city. 

Gaudi's La Pedrera apartment building

Flower Festival in Girona

            Taking a map and setting out each day, we quickly learned how to get around.  All street names are in Catalan and not Spanish as are many of the store names and advertisements.  Within three blocks we found El Corte Ingles, a nine-story department store in the heart of Barcelona.  It is the fourth largest department store chain in Europe and the biggest in Spain.  We frequented the busy supermarket on the lower level and would stop daily to pick up wine, cheese and crackers, fruit and breakfast foods to bring back to our small kitchen. Being close to the Plaza Catalunya we found the famous Las Ramblas where we strolled, people watching and window-shopping under tall shady trees. We explored the narrow back streets in the Barrio Gótico, (old city), to find the least touristy cafes where we could enjoy a leisurely lunch selected from the Menú del Dia.  We took a city bus in order to get to the Museo Joan Miró that is high up in the hills overlooking Barcelona.  Even the buses for the airport leave every five minutes, 24 hrs. a day from Plaza Catalunya.  Barcelona is an easy city to get around on your own and by the end of our week I could have stayed indefinitely.

            What is a surprise for the first time visitor are the many museums of the most famous artists in the world.  I kept wondering how is it that this one area of Spain – Catalonia and Barcelona and its environs just happened to produce artistic geniuses like Pablo Picasso, Joan Miró, Antoni Tapies, Salvador Dali, and Antoni Gaudi.  Each museum is a gem and makes you come away feeling the need for more time to know these artists. We booked a bus tour for a day to Girona, a medieval city in Catalonia, and Figueres where the whimsical Dali museum is located. Designed and planned entirely by Salvador Dali during his lifetime and built in his hometown of Figueres, it is 150 kilometers from Barcelona. It is one of the most imaginative and bizarre museums we had ever visited and it reflects Dali’s creativity and unique art. 

Dali Museum in Figures

Courtyard in the Dali Museum

            Our days in Barcelona went by quickly. Now that I’m home with time to reflect on all we experienced, I, too, will be one of those who exclaims “Barcelona…one of my favorite cities in the world…”