Hamburgulars...

After a veritable feeding frenzy in Barcelona, our wallets were significantly thinner.  

These last few weeks, we've been trying extra hard to tighten our proverbial belts, and we haven't found anything quite as cheap and satisfying as The Hamburger.  (What this has done for our actual belt-lines however, remains to be seen...)

(My favorite are from here.)

Boots Of Spanish Leather...

Before leaving Madrid, there was one last thing to check off my list.

No trip to Spain would be complete without finding a pair of Boots of Spanish Leather.  In the spirit of ol' Bob Dylan, I searched high and low for the perfect pair.   These are the beauties that I finally settled on.  Pretty snazzy, huh?

Good News...

We've been wondering for a while now where our adventures would take us next.  While I long to go north and visit the art galleries of Berlin, ramble the Irish countryside, or see Sweden's Northern Lights, it's just too cold in Europe this winter to really enjoy being a traveler.  The dark skies were sort of putting a crimp in our initial plans and I had briefly entertained thoughts of perhaps just giving up and going home...

But, today we received some wonderful news that has really put a different twist on our itinerary.  While working at Shakespeare & Co. in Paris, a friend had mentioned a bookshop of similar proclivity on an island in the Greek Cyclades.  After exchanging a few brief emails with one of the owners, we're headed south to look after Atlantis Books in Santorini!

I'm really excited about the idea of being back amongst some bookshelves.  I really hadn't really wanted to leave Paris and S&Co.  (suprise, suprise.) Besides, this cold weather necessitates some books and nesting. I think a little bookshop in the Greek isles will be the perfect place to settle for a bit, get cozy with a cup of tea, and let winter pass me by.

The Golden Triangle...

Spending so much time in Madrid really allowed us to sink into the city.  We had time enough to become "regulars", revisiting our favorite spots, making friends with our waiters, discovering secret shows, and partaking regularly in the legendary Spanish siesta.  One of the highlights that this pace afforded us was our daily visits to the museums that make up Madrid's Golden Triangle.  Each morning we chose one single level to explore, saving me from "museum legs", and giving us plenty of time to admire our favorites: the surreal landscapes of Bosch and Bruegel, Goya's black paintings, and endless galleries of Picasso.

And although nothing will ever compare to sheer scale and inspiration of Guernica, the art of Madrid didn't stop at the museum doors.  Here, the colorful streets are covered in more informal art.  Hidden in corners, back alleys and inset doorways, the graffiti art of Madrid extends the famed Golden Triangle throughout the city.

 

El Mercado...

On our first night in Madrid, we found El Mercado de San Miguel, and we couldn't get enough.

From the most delicious hamburgers to salty fresh oysters, fluffy clouds of burrata on toast, copious amounts of beer, and pintxos and tapas at every counter, the Mercado is what [my] dreams are made of. 

We've been back every single day.

Olé, Olé, Olé...

Early in the week we had met an entrepreneurial young British ex-pat who set up nightly events for tourists and travelers ranging from tapas tours to pub crawls.  In addition to his breadth of knowledge concerning quintessential backpacker activities, John was also a wealth of information concerning the local pulse of music, flamenco and secret spaces.  

Following his directions through twisted streets and down a rabbit hole, we ended up in El Local, an underground bar where every Tuesday night, jazz musicians flock to play music, rotating seats, and improvising as they go.  

It's far easier to blend in with the crowd in Spain than it ever was in France, and without the inhibitions of being an outsider, we spent a pretty fantastic evening of toe-tapping and swaying beneath the streets of old Madrid.

Churros y Chocolate...

Hot Chocolate is serious business here in Spain.  Up the street from our hostel, a café advertises specials on liters of chocolate caliente and one famous restaurant serves up steaming mugs twenty-four hours a day.  As a seasoned veteran of hot chocolate in all its varieties (Abuelita, Swiss Miss, Aztec Chili, you name it), this national frenzy was right up my alley.

Walking the streets in below zero conditions, the windows of these chocolaterias are beacons of warmth, with foggy windows and masses of bodies crammed together at the counter.  There is no excuse not to be eating churros and drinking hot chocolate right now.

But! have you ever tried this stuff??  

I don't want to discredit myself as a professional eater, nor as a connoisseur of all things sweet, but I just can't drink this Spanish chocolate!  It is richer, darker and thicker than any chocolate pudding- stick in a perfunctory churro and it will stand straight up, or float atop the surface.   Much to my shame, I have had to begin ordering suizo, a much lighter version of hot chocolate, more akin to Swiss cocoa.  I hide away in the corners of the cafés with my incriminating beverage, certain I will be pinned as a weakling, or worse, a tourist.
Anthony Bourdain Kendra Baker would not be impressed.

First Night In Madrid...

Though colorful by day, Madrid really seems to light up at night, and after sunset is when this city really shines. 

On another bright note, this is my 100th post, which, I think, is quite a nice little feat.  To celebrate this event, hopefully I'll manage at least one late night in this sleepless city and stay awake past eleven to revel like a real Madrileño. 
Fingers crossed!

In Fair Girona...

The little medieval town of Girona, just two hours north of Barcelona, is dotted with public fountains where locals and visitors alike come to fill their bottles or buckets with fresh spring water.  Stumbling upon one of these gargoyle visages while walking the ancient walls or green creek beds that run through the city is like finding hidden treasure and, having spent the last week watching Spanish director Guillermo Del Torro's horror films, I half expected spirits to come pouring out of their mouths when we pulled out the corks that stemmed the flow.

The combination of Girona's narrrow streets, steep stairways, and magic fountains seemed to echo the mountaintop city of Chefchaouen and had me daydreaming about Morrocco.

Fresh Bread...

Nothing is quite so comforting as the smell of freshly baked bread.

Tucked away on a narrow streets of Barcelona's Gothic Quarter, this little bakery smelled like home and took me back to summer mornings in Santa Cruz and picnics in Dolores Park.   After 157 days on the road, it's finding these little things that I love the best.

For more thoughts on smells, click here.

The Sagrada Familia...

There are few words, I think, that could even begin to describe the prolific works of Antoni Gaudi.

Standing outside, the under-construction towers seem to lack uniformity and the fluidity of his other buildings.  Five million things seem to be happening at once, to dizzying effect.

 

 Inside, however, this all changes.  A forest of colored pillars rises around you, light streams in through leaded windows, and the ceiling fans out above like a canopy of leaves.  Here, everything comes together in the most hyperbolic* feat of architecture I have ever seen.  I wish my dad had been here to see it too.

 

Before climbing these towers of the Sagrada Familia, I had never experienced any sort of vertigo with heights.  But, built to reach as close to heaven as the nearest mountains, the spindly towers and narrow steeple steps had my knees shaking.  This great cathedral really does touch the sky.

*During the audio guided tour, they continually referred to the architecture as "hyperbolic" which I assumed meant prone to hyperbole.  Later I found this is not true at all, but refers instead to a mathematical term regarding a hyperbola triangle.  Facts aside, I am rather partial to my definition and will continue to regard this architectural style as "prone to exaggeration".

Eating Out In Barcelona...

Ryan  has  been putting me to absolute shame when it comes to eating.  After a few unlucky meals to ring in the new year, I have approached new foods a bit more gingerly as of late, a disposition that was only made worse after reading George Orwell's, Down and Out in Paris and London.  

However, as soon as we arrived in Spain, all my careful eating habits were lost.

You can't just come to Spain and not eat all black footed pig, spicy chorizo, million different kinds of mushrooms, or slimy anchoives piled in front of you.

Before leaving California, Ryan was given a list of places to eat in Barcelona by Mark, a long time California chef, who currently resides in the kitchen at The Penny Ice Creamery.  Marks been around:  he's worked for Alice Waters at Chez Panisse (where he likes to reminisce about the time Alice let him start a restaurant baseball team and embroidered their caps with a flourishing P), for Wolfgang Puck, and a number of other notable names in the industry.  So, you can trust that this guy knows what he's talking about when he gave us a restaurant guide for his favorite haunts in Barcelona.

Here are his suggestions, complete with his voice (I pipe in every one in a while in italics).

El Xampanyet ~ Cava bar right near the Picasso museo

Carrer de Montcada 22

+ 34 93 319 70 03 Metro L4 Jaume 1

Closed Sunday – Monday

One of my favorite bars, great little tapas and dirt cheap Spanish champagne - get there right at opening at noon to snag a table or you'll spent your entire meal standing! Try peppers stuffed with cheeses, salt cod with black olive or dry-aged Manchego.

TapaÇ24 ~ tapas 5 blocks south of our apartment off the Passeig de Gracia

269 Carrer de la Diputacio

+ 34 93 488 09 77

Metro L2, L3, L4 Passeig de Gracia

Open throughout the day 8-midnight, closed Sundays

Another of my favorites, service can be brusque with non Spanish speakers but the chow is awesome. The truita (Spanish tortilla), gambas, bikini (Iberico ham sandwich), patatas bravas, korean bbq wings (I shit you not), Bomba (deep-fried meatballs) and the chocolate with olive oil and sea salt. Just thinking about this place makes me want to book a plane ticket!    Oh my goodness, those bikinis aren't just ham sandwiches!  They're iberico ham with black truffle paste, pressed and grilled with manchego cheese...oh, oh, oh, oh!

 

Bar Pinotxo

91 La Rambla - right inside the entrance to the Mercat de la Boqueria

Open daily 7am-5pm

+ 34 93-317-17-31

The best for cheap rustic eats, counter seating only, order directly from the cooks or Joan, no printed menu. Items not to miss: chiperones (baby squid), butifarra ( grilled suasage), lobster, cigrons (chickpeas with blood sausage), navajes (razor clams), exquixada (salt cod salad) to name a few... Great place for breakfast, Spanish style: pan tomaquet, chuchos  y cortados!  I came here in November too, on the recommendation of Chef Jami Cakes, and was only too happy to go back. Elbow your way up to the counter for very limited seating between tourists and locals alike.  Breakfast here is fantasic (we went three times this week), and the staff is great- they even drew me a map to the place they get their haircut so I could get a trim too!

Cal Pep

Placa de las Ollas, 8 - just a few streets south of the Picaso Museo in the very cute la Ribera hood

+ 34 93-310-76-61

closed Sundays dinner from 7:30-11:30

Long lines, counter seating only and brusque service, but... Incredible seafood: roast monkfish, fried calamari, tiny squid, sepia (cuttlefish) a la plancha, tiny fried fish - eat heads and all, gambas (super sweet prawns), cigales (even sweeter langoustines), and this dish I can't remember the name of but it's super tiny fried fish served with a deep-fried egg - crazy good.  Arguably the best seafood restaurant in the entire world (and another Chef Jami recommendation).  There is no menu but if you give your server your budget, they'll start bringing you plates and plates of seafood.  My favorite are the langoustines Mark recommends, served with an onion sauce, and the roasted monk fish, my new favorite fish.

Not a Mark-recommended place, but an essential Barcelona spot none the less,
El Champagneria
Carrer de la Reina Christina, 7  
Monday through Saturday 9:30-10:30
No seating room here, only hoards of people squished together delicately handling glasses of pink cava and eating greasy hamburgesas and chorizo bocadillas.  It's an odd sounding combo at first, but with champagne served for less than a Euro a glass, it's brilliant, and I'll have eleven thanks.
We did have a funny experience here once, when, during a tasting frenzy, we asked our server what his favorite dish was.  His response:  not anything from here.
So, though it may not be the most gourmet of places, the ambiance and experience is unbeatable.

There you have it, the best of the best in Barcelona, with recommendations from people who really know their stuff.  

¡Buen provecho!

Barca-loca...

Just a hop skip and a jump from Paris, here we are in Barcelona!  Oh, how I love EasyJet.  Until we have such a brilliant airline in the states, I think I'll just stay here, thanks. 

First up on the itinerary:  visiting the legendary buildings of the Catalan architectural wonder, Gaudi.

 Being inside Casa Batlló is like being underwater.  Not only do the gradient blue walls mirror the colors of the sea and the glass stairwell distort your vision like the surface of a pool, but there is the strange sense that every visitor seems to be holding their breath, awaiting with expectation the next extraordinary bend in Antonio Gaudi's marvelous creation.  Traditionally, Art Nouveau is about following forms in nature, best seen in winding floral decorations reminiscent of Islamic arabesque, or Celtic knot work.  Never before have I seen work of this era that follows, so intrinsically, the patterns of the natural world. 

Emerging at the top of the famous apartment building felt like tumbling out of a wave.  Everyone seemed to breathe sharply, and deeply, like they were coming up for air.  From the top, we looked out over Barcelona.  In front of us was the ocean, behind us, Parc Guell and the pine green mountains, and to our right the sun sank behind Mount Juiic, throwing the palace profile of the Catalan history museum and the iconic communications tower into sharp relief.

Bon dia, Barca.

Barcelona For The Blind...

I made plans to go to Barcelona nearly three months ago, and from the time I had my tickets in hand, I was so, so excited about the trip.  I had heard tales of warm weather, late night fiestas,  Spanish tapas, the whimsical buildings and mosaics of the legendary Gaudi, and of course, the chance to see Fleet Foxes play in Spain. 

As the date drew ever eminent, however, the hard truth that my camera was not magically going to come back to life sunk in.  Over the last months, I had grown so dependent upon it, photographing absolutely everything, from the meals I ate, and the streets I walked down, to the colors that rust made on fences, and lights illuminating the buildings at night. 

There is something about the experience of photographing something at the very first moment you lay eyes on it; the raw excitement and perspective of that fresh vision that can't be captured or re-experienced if you return to photograph it later.  Since beginning to document my life in photos, I've striven to take every photo in the very first moments and immortalize the sensation of each experience. And so, with that doctrine, my experience in Barcelona was a bit altered. 

  

I think I managed to spend the weekend with my eyes half closed.  Everything I saw, I tried to avert my eyes from, tried to overlook or miss.  I was afraid of ruining any chance I did have of re-experiencing this place when I came back some day, with a camera.

Maybe this explains my hesitancy too, about taking pictures in Paris...

After a couple days in Barcelona, however, the need to "open my eyes" became more overwhelming.  I began taking pictures with a throw-away film camera, which I've found to be quite a gamble.  In about half the frames I had developed, the details of art nouveau interiors are completely lost, close-up piles of fresh seafood at the bouqeria market are out of focus, or the picture is mostly just of my fingers that, clumsily, have gotten in front of the lens. 

And though I do like the grainy aesthetic and exaggerated contrast of the disposable film, I am not quite confident enough to rely on these cameras as I have my Nikon.  I'm not as good at taking pictures as I would like to be. I can't get the results I strive for, I'm not consistent and I still need to take about five million pictures of the same thing before I'm satisfied.  But I'm learning, as I go.  And next time I come to Barcelona, I'll be ready.

I got the very best early Christmas presents from my grandparents this week:  a brand spanking new camera!  

So, I'm back in the saddle, off to explore with my Nikon around my neck, and a disposable camera in my pocket (just in case).

Thank you!!

Great Expectations...

After such a long time living out of a suitcase, my clothes were in shreds, my hair wild, and my posture a little stooped from nights spent rolled in rugs on the desert sand and the crooked shapes I forced my body into during the hours and hours spent aboard public transit.  While none of this really seemed to matter in Morocco, the return to the continent was a bit shocking and I found myself longing to go home, back to a private bathroom, a fresh change of clothes, and my own kitchen.  

I imagined we were a sorry sight, dragging our baggage through the door of our hostel in Madrid, already weary of the idea of spending just one night and hopping back on the plane in the morning.  When we asked Bau, the receptionist at Way, where we should eat for dinner, I was already resigned to the idea of being shuffled of to somewhere backpacker-appropriate.  

On an old piece of scratch paper, he drew us a little map to Naia.  After a few wrong turns, and a lovely little tour of the neighborhood, we found it.

And my jaw dropped.

This is not a restaurant for dirty backpackers.  In fact, it's not really a restaurant for clean backpackers either.  It' seemed more like a place for smartly dressed urban socialites and fine diners.  For a moment I thought I was back in Portland, and though I smelled a bit like camel and still had sand leaking out of my shoes, I immediately felt right at home.

Not only is Naia beautifully designed with mismatched wooden tables, antique accordion lamps stretching out from the walls, beautiful menus and bespectacled waiters dressed in denim aprons that fasten in the back with a button, but the food is good.

Really good.

Confit of suckling pig with wild mushroom ragout, mint and garlic chimichurri and a new potato.  

Monkfish over creamy truffle and egg risotto.  

Croquettes of Ibérico ham and romescu sauce. 

After dinner, house digestivos, and the struggle to finish everything off with a giant cookie served straight from the oven in a skillet, I didn't feel quite so grungy anymore.  In fact, I felt jim dandy.  

Funny what wonders a good meal can do.

Thank you, Bau!

P.S.  I thought the French ate late, but it's nothing compared to the Spaniards.  We were starving by the time the restaurant opened at 8.30, but we dined alone until nearly 10pm, when a line began to form at the door. I don't know if I'll ever get used to this!