Holy Schnitzel

Note - Frankfurt coverage from Molly, Berlin from Joe, hence the multi-author viewpoints below.

The Best of the Wurst

After stuffing ourselves with breakfast in Interlaken, we were headed for our homeland. We found our apartment with relative ease and met our host, a sweet German lady who was actually Spanish, which made communicating much easier when her English and our German faltered. We dropped our stuff and walked to Berger Strasse, a mostly pedestrian street with tons of stores and restaurants, and passed through a park and fancy Chinese garden along the way. While looking for our already chosen dinner spot, I spotted a window front from across the street that was labeled The Donut People. Immediately interested, I then noticed a man standing out front holding a tray and realized that they were handing out donut samples. Major score. We each grabbed a sample and determined that we had to buy some for the next morning (I went with macchiato, Joe got cookies and cream).

In our donut excitement, we had passed the wurst stand we were looking for so we backtracked a bit to BestWurst, a locally renowned place with five varying levels of heat ranging from mild to expletive hot. I ordered a simple bratwurst and Joe ordered a double wurst combo with tier three heat, both with fries. The lady taking our order seemed concerned that an American was getting this and warned Joe to take it easy and to stop eating if his fingers or face felt numb. Just what you want to hear when getting dinner. I could smell the spice from across the table and Joe made it through the wurst unscathed, although there were a number of tears and nose blows to accompany the meal. Full of the best wurst (this oxymoron never gets old), we walked to the end of Berger Strasse to the Solzer beer garden that served apfelwein, a local drink that tastes basically like still cider. We ordered two bembels, small clay jugs that are specifically for serving apfelwein, and played card games until we were sufficiently tipsy for the walk home.

One spicy wurst.

We daydream about apfelwein bembels.

An original stop-motion puppet from
the Nightmare Before Christmas in the film museum.

The next morning, we ate our delicious donuts and took it easy for a bit as I had an apfelwein headache and needed a little extra time before we set out into the city. Our host graciously let us borrow her and her husband's bikes, which were perfect for cruising around bike friendly Frankfurt. We crossed the river and started the day at the Deutsches Filmmuseum, a small but extensive museum that chronicled the history of cinema from the beginning, ending in a well-edited sequence of famous movies that were organized by feature and subject (sound, lighting, costumes, cinematography, etc.).

From there, we biked over to the Museum fur Moderne Kunst contemporary art museum, where a famous Austrian artist was featured. Some of his stuff was really neat, although a lot of it was meant to be interactive and the museum was ironically very strict about not touching the works. In fact, my toe was accidentally over the line of an exhibit, which the museum authority pointed out sternly, so I moved back a step only to have him warn me again that I am not allowed to go past the line, which my foot was most definitely behind. The entire third floor was closed for the setup of an exhibit that looked like it would have been the best of all of them.

Frankfurt's modern skyline.

Joe on a stylish pink Bianchi.

We walked through the town and got a pretzel to snack on while we wandered by the mall, some very old churches, and castle remains. We got back on the bikes and rode to Gruneburgpark, Frankfurt's largest public park. We circled the botanic gardens a number of times before realizing that it was paid entry only and heading back to Gruneburgpark to walk through. We rode back through the city to the apartment, where Joe made chili for dinner and we lounged around making plans for our next destination: Berlin.

Ich Bin Ein Berliner

Arrived in Berlin after our most trying rail ride to date—a delayed train that finally arrived, only to stop for mechanical reasons about halfway to our destination, forcing us to wait for a transfer to a very busy train. Sat across from a nice mother and her very outgoing little girl though, rather talkative for 2 years old and making friends left and right. The Berlin Haufbanhof (main station) is huge, several levels of glass and metal housing many shops. On to the S-bahn, the overground train system, after purchasing a 72-Hour Berlin Welcome pass, very worthwhile investment discounting museums and covering our transport for the duration.

Got off at our stop near the zoo and after some typical wrong-way wandering found our way down a pretty upscale shopping district, past the old bombed out church that is currently undergoing renovation, through the misty rain to the Hotel Berlina. Checked in, dropped our stuff in the 4-bed room we had to ourselves, and out into the encroaching night to explore. We headed for Alexanderplatz, a main transport hub and home of the World Clock that even included Denver on its city list. Past a dude playing Led Zeppelin under an overpass and up the Fernsehturm or TV Tower, a large spire remnant of the soviet era and apparently run by the same company as the John Hancock building in Chicago. Super fast elevator up the 300 or so feet to a circular viewing platform, along the windows of which were descriptions of the neighborhoods below. A solid historical and contemporary overview of the cosmopolitan metropolis, although our nighttime view was mostly twinkling lights.

Some more nighttime wandering past another Poseidon fountain, the Dom (Cathedral), across bridges and Museum Island, where there was a massive construction site for a new modern art museum, down a ways to the Brandenburg Gate, perhaps the seminal Berlin landmark. Through the arches and a quick left past the US embassy to the Holocaust Memorial, a hundred or so monoliths of varying size set in brick rows. As you walk through, the ground dips and the stone columns rise, creating a disorienting and claustrophobic effect. Apparently it is controversial though, as the company who manufactures the anti-graffiti coating supplied the Nazis with chemicals during the war.

Brandenburg Tor.

The Bauhaus Archiv building is inspired by
the school's design philosphy.

Grabbed some beers and soup in a restaurant near our hotel, a nice warm-up in the rain then hit the hay, getting up the next day for a foggy, rainy market nearby. We had lunch plans but that didn't stop us from nomming on the free samples. Across the misty river to the Bauhaus Archiv, a museum dedicated to the legendary design school. Nerd heaven for us! The Bauhaus was founded in the '20s and dedicated themselves to designing beautiful and functional objects d'art and manufacturing, everything from furniture (they invented the steel-tube chair) to painting to photography to architecture, even a small theater group and weaving school. We were disappointed to be there in between two different typography exhibits, though, and there was almost no typography in the main exhibit.

Uptown to a great neighborhood for huge plate-sized amazing schnitzel at Osswald Restaurant. Paired with beer of course and oh so very delicious, served with potatoes and a small pickle-salad. Overstuffed, we hopped a tram to Hackeshir Markt, where we walked by a vaudeville theater and through a series of art-deco courtyards, through a market and back to Museum Island, where we hit the German History Museum. Way too much information for our allotted two hours, covering everything from the Germanic tribes in Roman times through the Holy Roman Empire to the Cold War. Very detailed historical overviews and many interesting objects and pieces of art.

Forced out at closing time, we headed down the street to the Dom, or Cathedral, a gorgeous marble interior behind the dark exterior with green copper domes, highly baroque. Reconstructed after an unexploded bomb fell through the roof during WWII. We climbed to the top and walked around the dome exterior with the sun setting, then descended to visit the crypts, one metal coffin clearly shredded by the shrapnel of the bombing. Back on the U-bahn to find a brewery called Brewbaker, located in a strip mall market of sorts which was closing as we entered, all the lights off save a chandelier or two in the restaurant corner. A decent IPA but no real hop bite (this is the norm for Euro-IPAs), a solid pilsner of course, and really good Berliner Weisse and Ginger Pilsner varieties. Weisse beer in Berlin is a weak sour beer usually flavored with syrup. A pianist busted out the entire Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack while we sipped our brews in the candlelight.

Best schnitzel ever from Osswald restaurant.

Berlin Cathedral.

The next day we started off by visiting the East Side Gallery, a large hunk of the Berlin Wall that is still intact and was covered in street art back in 1990 (and recently retouched by the original artists). A nicer day but still quite cold—probably because Berlin is further north than anywhere in the United States (except I guess Alaska). Lots of great street art all around the Kreuzberg neighborhood, including a giant astronaut all down the side of an apartment building.

On to the Jewish Museum, another incredible building by our old friend Daniel Libeskind who, if you recall, also did the Denver Art Museum and the Imperial War Museum, which we visited way back in Manchester! He is also the architect of One World Trade Center, by the way. Shining multi-angled metal, with seemingly random windows like claw tears. The metal will apparently oxidize with time. Descending to the bottom floor, there are three intersecting hallway axes, simulating the disorienting journey made by Jews fleeing Germany. Purposefully included "voids" of empty space are spread around the museum, powerful in their unheated blankness. Outside, the Garden of Exhile is a similar monolith grid to the Holocaust Memorial. The top floor held an overview of Jewish history from ancient to modern times, so the museum doesn't just focus on WWII.

Art on the East Side Gallery.

Jewish Meseum incredible architecture by Libeskind.

Stopped by the outside of Checkpoint Charlie, the Western transfer point in the Berlin Wall, then on to Topography of Terror, an outdoor and indoor timeline museum of the SS housed on the former grounds of their headquarters, showing how Hitler seized power and convinced the populace to follow him, with much help from Goebbels and co. We grabbed dinner supplies and had a middle-eastern-ish meal of naan-like bread, veggies with canned hummus, and leftover cheese and wurst from Switzerland. Then we headed out to find a laundromat and try and locate some streusel, or was it strudel? We didn't really know, and when we finally got some strudel, it wasn't what we were looking for, though it was still really delicious.

We paid for the hotel buffet the next day as it was a solid spread that we could both (A) max out on for breakfast and (B) make lunch sandwiches from, only stopping our food stealing when we figured someone would take notice and tell us it's a buffet, not a grocery. Back on the S-bahn, then a very crowded train trip to the Czech Republic!

Swiss Waterfalls: Better or Worse than Casa Bonita?

We faced a fairly epic travel day voyaging from the villa in Grasse to Geneva, arriving in the late afternoon without a real plan of how we would get from the station to the apartment. After some fumbling about at the station we hopped the very modern bus to our friend's place, where we fixed an easy dinner of salad and scrounged pasta, paired with wine and conversation, followed by ice cream while we watched The Constant Gardener.

The next day we headed out to explore. I found Geneva to be...nice. Extremely clean with new-looking buildings, even the historical ones. Beautiful though with the lake, river, and mountains surrounding. Feels like it lacks a distinct culture, although that's hard to judge from one day. Molly thought perhaps that was due to the international population residing there.

Future delegate right here.

Walked down the hill from the apartment past the Red Cross International Headquarters and Museum as well as the United Nations Headquarters (Molly was pumped). Spotting a tree-lined and fountain-spouting entranceway, we poked our heads in to find a ceramic museum, small and cool looking enough to warrant a lap. Back outside and down the hill to the Place des Nations, the center of which holds a giant brown chair sculpture with one leg blown off in support of landmine cleanup efforts worldwide. This plaza is used for demonstrations—indeed, while we were there we saw Syriad and Indian anti-child labor tents—and is fitted with waterjets built into the concrete to disperse unruly crowds.

Further on and into town past some very cool whimsical apartment buildings known as the Schtroumf buildings (the French word for Smurfs), and on to the main bridge in town, hung with flags for Peace Day. The lake meets the river here in the center of town, with an enormous Jet d'Eau in the middle, shooting water skyward at least 100 feet. Walked down the lake shore to a cool pier area were swimmers and cafe goers congregated, a tiny lighthouse at the end. Sailboats and a group of brave swimmers glided past in the chilly water.

At the Jet d'Eau.

Across the bridge and into a well-maintained park that held an impeccably manicured clock made entirely out of flowers and hedges, which gets redesigned every year. Then uphill to the historical center, a nice pedestrian area, where we stopped at a golden-gilded Russian-style synagogue and the Cathedral. Walked about inside and found it pretty austere compared to the Spanish decadence we had just seen, but there was one baroque room off to the side with impressive painted ceilings.

More wandering through the old town past cannons, golden tile murals laid out in the 1500s, down a long hill to a great medium-sized park where I defeated Molly thoroughly in giant checkers and we also checked out the Reformation memorial wall. We meandered our way back past the river and lake, insanely clear blue water especially for the middle of a city, and back to the apartment where we made a batch of sangria to enjoy with sandwiches and salad.

Victorious.

Surprise Festivals and the Top of Europe

Our next stop was Interlaken, a beyond-beautiful, like seriously what-is-this-place-head-scratching-gorgeous mountain region in the center of Switzerland. We pulled into the station late afternoon, on the East side of the town, which sits between two large alpine lakes nestled among large peaks. Got coffee next to the station as we waited for a bus to the hostel, a ride along the insanely blue lake and up thin winding roads, belching out a loud melodic horn blast as we ascended a particularly narrow stretch.

Our hostel was in Istelweld, a very tiny town about halfway around one of the two lakes. A nice but sparse room, the building fashioned log cabin style, with the added plus of our own private patio and the huge added plus of free kayaks to take out on the large lake! We checked in, dropped our bags and as soon as possible secured the double kayak for a quick paddle trip, out past a floating birdbox with nesting waterfowl, a large chateau-like gray mansion on a point jutting out into the water, and around a small wooded island. One of the prettiest places we've been—maybe ever.

Right outside our door.

Brought the boat in as the sun approached the edge of the peaks beyond the far rim of the lake. We ate previously assembled sandwiches on our patio, enjoying the crisp mountain air, lamenting only the lack of free towels. As dusk set in, we voyaged into town, about 50 houses scattered around the port and up into the foothills. A cute Swiss tourist town with a couple hotels and restaurants. Outside of one we discovered today was the day of Chasteilet, an annual festival when the cows are dressed in flowers and marched down out of the mountains. We had missed the flower cows, but we could still catch the party! Located the tents just uphill from town in a small lot past a rushing stream. Biergarten tables set up, brats frying, live polka music supplied by teenagers. What luck!

We got a hefty slice of classic black forest cake, served up by a little old lady who didn't speak a lick of english, and split a bottle of the local brew. Bought cheese made from the happy cows who had recently vacated the premises as well as some chiliwurst for later.

Beer and cake, the perfect combo, at the Chasteilet fest.

We were up pretty early the next day to munch our included tasty breakfast (pumped to find oatmeal with raisins on a chilly morning). Our destination: Jungfraujoch, one of the highest points in the Alps and in all of Europe. Despite the brief hiccup of forgetting our Eurail passes, which would have entitled us to a significant 25% discount on the ridiculously expensive rail tickets to the highest rail station on the continent, the voyage was excellent. A series of distinctly old-school trains carried us up in sections. After our first transfer, they were all cog-wheel trains, with large gear tracks int he center of the rails. Up and through resort towns and villages, wood homes and farmers' shacks dotting the hills, pine forest and gushing mountain streams complete with waterfalls. The final train mostly tunnelled under the peak to deliver us to the chilly underground station at the top, the stops in the bunker along the way revealing views of increasingly rocky and snowcovered landscape.

Jungfrau was packed with tourists and soon revealed why tickets were so expensive. Definitely a bit of a tourist trap but still unique and fun. The pamphlets informed us that, "for many visitors, this will be the first glimpse of ice and snow." The tour route through the tunnels included a projected show on angular walls depicting the scenery outside (we skipped it to go see it for ourselves), an observatory tower, sledding/ski mini-piste for extra charge, a silly lit-up room with twinkly plastic stars and a giant snowglobe model town, an ice palace with sculptures (actually cool), a painted wall with moving walkway, and an absurdly dramatic sculpture of the dude who had the idea for the railway in the first place that looked like he was rearing up out of snow while the floor vibrated as the music climaxed and little lasers drew out the rail map above his forehead (no joke).

Gorgeous ride up Jungfrau.

I didn't need all the showy bits, just wanted the snowy bits, which we did get to enjoy, taking a nice hour long walk about near the peak on steep and slippery snowpack with ice chasms appearing in the voids around the trail. Above us on the rock small pieces tumbled down along the face as the real climbers carefully stepped their way along the ridges, poles held out for support. It was surprisingly warm in the sunlight up here. Absolutely incredible views. After a little snack of Swiss chocolate bar, we caught the descending train, stopping at one station for a short hike up to a man-made lake. Past munching cows complete with huge cowbells and dipping our feet in a pond with bubbles coming up next to benches for footbathing.

As Swiss as it gets.

We took a different route down, through Lauterbrennan, a little town big on adventure sports in a valley that apparently has 72 waterfalls. Hiked through town to see one of them, the largest, with a path built up and behind it through a cave in the cliff. Molly got homesick for Casa Bonita, though she didn't practice her cliff diving off the 75 foot drop unfortunately. Got hot chocolate at a coffeeshop then back on the train to Interlaken, where we were dismayed to find pretty much everything closed and settled for ramen and beer at the mini grocery instead of proper cooking supplies. After munching on our patio, we crashed, getting up to have a more leisurely breakfast (stuffing our faces and making sandwiches to go, the true backpacker way) and head onward into Germany.

Cote d'Azur, Safer than Cote d'Ivoire

We were headed back to France to Grasse, a perfume town about an hour from Nice, where we were staying at a grotto owned by my mom's friend who was graciously allowing us to crash there for a few nights. Getting from Barcelona to Nice is a logistical nightmare that we were not aware of when we made our schedule. Taking the train will take between eight and ten hours with a minimum of three transfers. After a lot of discussion, we decided to take the train to Narbonne, where we would rent a car and then drive the scenic route up the coast to Grasse. We picked up the car and realized we would be at the mercy of the local radio stations without an iPod hookup (Note: we had some decent tunes along the way interspersed with yachting commercials). We were prepared with very detailed door-to-door directions that would have been sufficient and toll free except for the fact that there are virtually no useful road signs in France.

Joe was flustered after 30 minutes while I tried to channel my father and get us to our destination. We missed a turn somewhere in Montpelier and spent close to an hour driving around the town, crossing the same bridge no less than three times. With the sun going down and the two of us getting desperate, we managed to find our way back to a highway and follow signs the rest of the way. Unfortunately, the road had tolls, but I was not about to try and navigate on country roads in the dark. At the first toll, we found out that our credit cards would not work after inserting our toll ticket, so we had to page someone to come assist us and pay with cash. So far, it was France 3-Joe & Molly 0. After a few more hours of driving and yacht ads, we zipped down the winding roads of Grasse and finally pulled into the driveway at Villa Ndio.

I Say Geneva, You Say Stupid Americans

The next morning, we were scheduled to drop the car off in Nice, where we spent the day wandering the city. We walked along the Promenade de Anglais on the coast and through the flower markets to Le Chateau, a park that towers over Nice and used to have a castle. We followed the glowing neon signs to the elevator, completely missing the stairs that were just to its right, and ascended to the top in a tiny elevator with 20 other people. The views from Le Chateau were incredible with the mountains, sea, and city all in your line of vision. After exploring what it had to offer, we went back into town and grabbed coffee and strolled some more through gardens before making our way to the train station. At one point in the pedestrian shopping zone, we overheard a lady asking her husband where all the nice stores were that they saw driving in, presumably speaking about the many boutique designer stores of the French Riviera. She was clearly disappointed in the Nice stores and just wanted the nice ones.

Follow the neon signs

Panorama from Le Chateau

At the train station, we attempted to reserve tickets to Geneva but the agent was not pleased to deal with us. Judging by the customer service, we were definitely back in France. We explained what we needed and then walked away with two tickets to Genova, Italy from some other random Italian town?! We understood the similarity between Genova and Geneva, but the agent never asked us to clarify and booked us from a place we had never mentioned or even heard of. We had to catch the train so we decided to correct the ticket back in Grasse, where the agent was much more helpful. She even called a cab for us since there weren't any waiting at the station, but for reasons unknown, the cab never showed. We finally decided we would walk back to the house as our other options vanished. It would be an adventure! We had no plan for dinner and threw around a couple of options, one being picking up food along the way. As most of the restaurants were closing for the night, we spotted a pizza truck parked up the street and beelined to it. The owner was about to close but we made the cut off by about three minutes and ordered two pizzas, only to discover that a third one would be free. Yes please. We had about 20 more minutes to walk with hot pizza smells wafting from the boxes. We were so happy to sit on the couch at Villa Ndio and eat delicious tasting mediocre pizza while sharing our Barcelona beer and watching the action-packed movie The Jackal.

Pizza has never tasted this good

Breakfast of Champions

After our late night walk, I was not ready to get out of bed when Joe woke up. We were supposed to get groceries to make breakfast and I was desperately hoping that he would volunteer to go alone so I didn't have to move, which he did. He said he would make breakfast and I could stay in bed and sleep, an offer I will never turn down. I snoozed a little longer and then did some mindless web surfing while I waited for Joe to return. In my sleepiness when he left, I forgot to remind him that he should get champagne for mimosas (because what is a decent breakfast without mimosas?) so I had my fingers crossed that he had the foresight to grab a bottle at the store.

Over an hour later, my anxious self started to panic and I went into worst case scenario mode. Joe probably got hit by a car on the windy roads, I couldn't leave because he had the only set of keys to the house, and I had no way to even figure out with my terrible French if he had been hit by a car or where he would be (this was the likeliest of cases, I figured). Even though I knew the time difference meant they wouldn't be awake, I messaged my friends Julie and Megan to voice my concern about Joe. About twenty minutes later, I heard the gate open outside and was relieved that Joe was back and had not in fact been hit by a car, so I updated Julie and Megan on his safe return.

Joe had apparently gone the wrong way to the store and insisted that I stay in bed and not help him make breakfast, so I wrote my blog post about macarons in Paris, reliving the deliciousness while I waited. We had already agreed to eat breakfast by the pool so I heard the gate open and close a few times, assuming Joe was transferring the food outside. He yelled that it was ready so when I went to brush my teeth and change, he was antsy and refused to just let me meet him out at the pool. I reminded him that he had given me strict orders to stay in bed and I took those orders seriously. I was certainly suspicious of his over-the-top kindness but sometimes he just likes to make extravagant meals (thanks, Ed, for passing that down!). Joe talked about making breakfast while I half listened and mostly just interrupted upon seeing the feast waiting for us. Crepes! Champagne! Flowers! Now I was really suspicious but didn't assume anything, until his speech that I wish I paid more attention to was over and I saw him from the corner of my eye get down on one knee (my eyes were still fixed on the champagne). I said yes, of course, but was in total shock. Just a mere hour ago, I was convinced that he had suffered life-threatening injuries. What a positive turn of events! We toasted as a newly engaged couple and feasted on a trio of crepes (bacon and cheese, raspberry jam, and Nutella with strawberries), enjoying the beautiful view from the backyard.

The spread and the view

Celebrating a perfect proposal

My whole life I've avoided drawing attention to my fingers but I knew this day would come

After breakfast, we hopped on the bus into town and walked around Grasse for a few hours, stopping in a perfume museum that was basically just posters about a family. We took the bus back to the house and shared the good news with family and friends (certainly difficult and limited without a working phone) before eating chicken tikka masala for dinner and planning our next day's departure for Switzerland.

We're (Temporarily) From Barcelona

We arrived in Barcelona on a rainy afternoon with instructions to call our host when we arrived so that he could bring us keys. Easy enough, we thought. Then we realized we didn't write down the phone number. Or have a working phone. So after finding the apartment, we walked around the block to find WiFi at the only open restaurant, a Colombian bar, where we ordered our first Estrellas and two empanadas. We looked up the phone number and walked back to a pay phone we had seen earlier. We read, understood, and followed the instructions but once the number was keyed in, the phone did nothing. Joe was growing increasingly frustrated and we were losing more money with each attempt. We finally gave up and asked the grocery store underneath the apartment to borrow a phone, which they said they did not have. Likely story. We walked back to the Colombian bar and kindly asked to use the phone explaining our predicament, and the owners were nice enough to dial our host up for us. The host sent his friend over with the keys, who works at a bar a few blocks away. After letting us in, he told us that it was Catalonian National Day in the city so all the stores were closed for the holiday. Bad timing on our parts but it certainly explained the lack of operating businesses. We found another bar with WiFi, where we shared a pitcher of sangria and made our plans for the stay. After a dinner of leftovers from Valencia, we walked to the Parc de la Ciutadella, where the festival was taking place. We bought beers from a guy on the street, wandered around, and listened to a few songs from the main act. The Catalonian presence is overwhelming and you see a lot of information regarding their desired secession from Spain. Even Gaudi hated Spanish and refused to speak anything but Catalan throughout his life. They are pushing for a vote in 2014 but the referendum itself is banned under Spanish law, so it's very unlikely to happen.

Joe being defeated by a pay phone

The Arc of Triumph and the Catalonian flag

The next morning, we took the advice of our friends and headed to La Boqueria for breakfast. Do not ever go into this market on an empty stomach. Delicious looking pastries, chocolates, bocadillos, meat, cheese and fruit are everywhere. It took us awhile to decide, but after a few laps through the stalls we settled on a few items each and a bowl of fruit to share. We found a bench on Las Ramblas and devoured the food amongst a half dozen men with incredibly annoying whistling mouthpieces. I would have offered to buy one just to make it stop if it would have done the trick. Just around the corner was MACBA, the contemporary art museum, where the current theme of 'd'Art, Dos Punts' was supposed to make you think about how art affected you and encouraged the use of social media throughout the museum to check in at points to give your opinion. You were also supposed to take a picture before touring the museum and then after as an example of your impressions from the art. We failed to do this so took both our pictures back to back before leaving the museum. I'm not sure they would have looked any differently anyway.

'Burrito' from La Boqueria

After the museum, we strolled down Las Ramblas to the Christopher Columbus statue on the coast, passing La Boqueria again and agreeing that we should pick up some chocolates for a snack. We got fleeced on the price and I wish that I argued it more but we didn't really calculate it until we were well on our way. The chocolate was good, of course, but definitely hurt the wallet a bit. We made our way to Barri Gotic and took a coffee break, then wandered through the ancient medieval streets until entrance to the Cathedral was free. This neighborhood makes for fantastic exploring, some walls and streets dating from the Romans! On our walk home, we passed by the Palau Musica Catalana, a gorgeous music venue that we contemplated going to a show at, but unfortunately couldn't find tickets for less than €30 apiece. So we made our way to the grocery store and then home to make dinner.

Gaudi, not Goudy (but seriously what a good font)

We had reservations for a free Gaudi walking tour with Runner Bean Tours in the morning, where our guide took us to Guell Palace, Casa Mila, Casa Batllo, and La Sagrada Familia. Gaudi as a person is just as interesting as his architecture. He hated the elite class and their excess of money, but tried desperately to make friends with them so that they would hire him. He also spent very little of his own money, instead donating the majority of it to the church, while always going over budget on his projects. La Sagrada Familia is an epic still in progress that is estimated to be done in 2020, but our guide was skeptical of that timeframe. We didn't go inside any of the Gaudi buildings but Joe did win a Chupa-Chups for knowing that Salvador Dali was the artist who designed the logo.

The only thing better than a Chupa-Chups is a free Chupa-Chups

 After our tour, we went back to the apartment for lunch and a siesta - I could get used to the Spanish lifestyle. Fully rested, we hiked up to Parc Guell, a large park that was designed by Gaudi and commissioned by the same person as the palace that bears the name. The park is hilly and expansive, looking out over the city of Barcelona. The street vendors are eager to sell you anything until the police roll by and they grab their sheet or umbrella full of treasures and run for the hills. Joe decided it would be a great prank to run through the park (or any street, really) with a bundle of something yelling 'policia,' just to watch everyone scamper. 

At Parc Guell

Gaudi at his finest

We hopped on the Metro and went back to Barri Gotic to find La Cerveteca, a craft brew bar Joe had looked up. We tried a few beers and browsed the bottle inventory, which included some interesting Norwegian beers that were hybrids of popular styles. We would have stayed there all night but the price tag on each pint was a little bit steep, so we walked around the neighborhood to find something more reasonable and drinkable. A bar was just opening up as we walked by and we decided to get a pitcher of sangria and some nachos to share. The nachos arrived with beans and melted cheese and salsa and guacamole, a very welcome improvement from those in San Sebastian. With a clock on the wall was set to Mexico City time and the Mexican items on the menu, we inquired to discover that the owner was from Oaxaca. I can definitively say that I prefer Mexican nachos to Spanish nachos.

So Many Sports

The next morning, we were off to Parc Montjuic and made a long and winding journey to the MNAC, National Museum of Catalonian Art. The temporary exhibit was Tàpies, a bizarre and kind of boring mixed media artist, and that's considering that Joe and I normally like the 'weirdo art' (as one TripAdvisor commenter called it). We were burned out on medieval art before we got to the good stuff so it was kind of disappointing. We walked back through the sloping park with waterfalls and fantastic views, through a garden, to Fundacion Joan Miro. The collection is extensive and exclusively Miro with the exception of a few friends and collaborators. We climbed through the park a bit more and stumbled upon the Olympic Stadium and grounds from 1992. The grounds are connected to a major square with a bunch of outdoor escalators, which Joe found incredibly amusing. This square houses the Magic Fountain as well as a modern building designed by Mies Van Der Roe, which we only learned later on at our visit to the Bauhaus museum in Berlin.

There was some event the NBA was hosting that was not very well attended as we passed by on our quest to watch the FC Barcelona game at a bar in solidarity with our host city. Every bar on the street (4 in a row) had their flatscreens turned outward so people could watch from the patio. I've actually watched a lot of soccer. The team allegiances, however fleeting, might have helped with my football withdrawal, which is a real thing. I skip a season of Broncos football and it's this one?! We left about 60 minutes into the game with FCB up 1-0, the patios now completely full, to go watch the Magic Fountain, a huge fountain that was built in 1920's for the World's Fair. On the weekends, it lights up and does a water show while a variety of songs play. We got to hear the always wonderful 'Call Me Maybe' amongst others (but really I do like that song). We found out on the crowded Metro that Barcelona had won the game (3-2) and made it home to eat a very late dinner on the couch.

Joe and D. Rose just hanging out in BCN

Watching FC Barcelona from the street

It was grey and cloudy on our final day in Barcelona and it started raining just as we were leaving the Parc de la Ciutadella. We walked over to La Barceloneta, a fishing village where the beaches are. We wandered through a small market that had only a few tents, one of which was Simanya, a local brewery. They gave us samples of their IPA and we talked about the difference between beers in Spain and back in Denver before buying a bottle of their Belgian style to take with us. Despite the rain and chilly wind, there were plenty of people surfing, including a group of young kids taking lessons. We followed the sound of music to a Honduran festival of sorts that was just getting started, then found a restaurant to warm up in with some coffee and beer before we went to Museo Picasso. The line for the museum was super long and even wider than normal with everyone's umbrellas. A local lady was cursing the tourists for not allowing people who live in Barcelona to walk their own streets. On the one hand, yes, it is very annoying for all these people to be in your way when this is where you go every day. On the other, you should know better than to walk down the street where the Picasso Museum is, and on a weekend no less - one block over and it would be empty.

Luckily, the museum ticket we had purchased allowed direct entry to the museum so there was no need to wait outside in the rain with the rest of the peasants. Much of the museum is Picasso's younger work and the layout is very confusing when you suddenly skip from pre-Cubism to post-Cubism in one room without any explanation of the 20 years in between. The highlight was the collection of his Las Meninas study. Having just seen the original work by Velasquez in the Prado, it was amazing to see Picasso's total transformation of the painting and all of the various sketches associated.

Parc de la Ciutadella

We had a few hours to kill before El Xampanyet opened, the tapas bar that we were planning on patronizing for dinner. We stopped by the CCCB, a contemporary art space that was due to close the next day for total renovation. We bummed around the exhibits and then made it to El Xampanyet to discover that they do not reopen after siesta on Sunday. Damn you Google and your incorrect hours! Super disappointed, we retraced our steps to find a guy we had seen multiple times handing out flyers for 1€ tapas and headed straight there. We ordered a variety of things that weren't great, but that is to be expected when your food costs less than a shot of espresso. No complaints from us but still a little left to be desired for dinner, we picked up two more empanadas from the Colombian bar and a bottle of cava to share while we packed our bags for our return to France.

So sad

Ending Barcelona exactly the way we started

 

Oh, Valencia-a-a-a

The title references a Decemberists song which I will now be incessantly humming in my head as I write this post, which is obviously about our next Spanish stop, way down south in Valencia. We booked another "hostel" that was really a homestay. This time the dude was named Roberto, there were no noisy Australians, just us, and he was cool enough to come pick us up at the train station. After being quite helpful explaining where all the main landmarks, nearby groceries, and cheap eats where, Roberto vanished to go do his thing as an air traffic controller, never to be seen again. So basically the same as our private apartment rentals.

The flat was OK with the one amazing feature being a private terrace, on the 8th floor to boot. Located a bit north of the town center, but Valencia is quite walkable. We unwound a bit and then headed out to explore the Old Town. Valencia is a cool medium sized city with a distinct flavor, even if that flavor is a bit of a mish-mash. Tons of history with walls, bridges, huge towers all dating from medieval times. Amazing street art on literally every surface in many blocks of the Old Town. This is mixed in with some of the most incredible modern architecture we've seen, which I'll get to shortly.

Street art in Valencia.

Sunset behind the medieval city gate.

Started off with the 10 minute walk into town and over the bridge spanning the Jardin de Turia, a former riverbed-turned-park that wraps around the city. We continued past the towering northern medieval town entranceway and into Old Town, stopping at IVAM (Institutia Valencia d'Art Modern), a contemporary art museum with some solid exhibits including Julio Gonzalez, a renowned cubist sculptor, and one area drawing parallels between art and fashion, with dresses and paintings/sculptures hung in the same rooms.

Continued through Old Town to the main tourist square with cathedrals, one more modern Spanish style with an angular tiled dome roof, connected to the older-looking Gothic one next door. Stuck our heads in past the rude tourists snapping photos with their flash on during the service, and sat in for a bit of Spanish preaching while we absorbed the elaborately painted ceiling and looming, gaudily decorated Virgin behind the pulpit.

Lobster paella taunting Molly.

Past horchaterias, cafes and paella examples stuck out in the street to entice passerby, and on to the newer part of the city, with marble walkways near the fountain square in the center and a wild mix of vegetation (apparently Valencia is the tree capital of Europe? Cacti, palm trees, evergreens, and deciduous all hanging out together). Molly said it looked a bit like Vegas, but I'm not sure Vegas has the same kind of baroque facades, tile roofs, or art deco flourishes. At least not as classy of ones.

Lobster gelato also taunting Molly.

After a meal of paella valenciana (made with peppers and chicken so Molly can enjoy it, too, and much better even at the low price point than the awful paella I had in San Sebastian), we returned to the cathedral square to get awesome gelato at a World-Record holding gelateria, something like 100 flavors ranging from the usual to delicious mix-ups like Twix or Ferrero Rocher, all the way to questionable savories like tomato, tortilla espanola, and lobster.

Molly battled a stomachache the next day as we strolled through the Jardin de Turia, a lovely park with hanging ivy strands filtering the sunlight, a crazy playground shaped like a fallen man, and several fountains. Our destination was the astounding architecture in the City of Arts and Sciences. Huge rounded buildings with points, covered in tiles, surrounded by reflection ponds and nearly all white except for one dark blue building. They house the science museum, aquarium, a concert hall, and something else I've forgotten, and resemble giant battle helmets melded with sea creatures.

City of Arts and Sciences.

In El Jardin de Turia.

From here we made our way to the beach (Valencia claims to have several, but they are basically just one very long beach). Spent a few hours sunbathing, reading, and taking a dip in the good-sized waves. As the sun dried us out, a dusty layer of salt formed on our skin. Molly felt better. Long walk back past the University, another set of cool buildings, and after a brief search settled on a crummy cafe for dinner because it was super cheap and we were starving. More ice cream and some pan de chocolate for the AM.

Where are we again?

Up on our final day and back into Old Town, where we swung by the large indoor market. Bustling fresh food stalls, so tempting, truly the way to get groceries. Picked up some tasty dried and salted veggies for our travels, then enjoyed some obligatory churros with our afternoon coffees on a sunny patio before stopping in the gorgeous modern post office with a huge stained glass dome ceiling. Back towards our flat, where we visited the Museu de Belles Artes, with a decent collection from the 1700s onward (also a good floor and a half of medieval art, 1400s+, which we breezed through). Nice overview of Valencia region painters including a Sorolla exhibit we enjoyed.

Down the street to Tu Menu, the cheap eats recommended by our host, which we had tried to grab the previous day only to discover they closed at 4:00pm (strange). Takeaway heaven: only 9 Euro for two servings of paella, a quarter roasted chicken with potatoes, chips, veggie and potato salad, ice cream, and a beer. We saved half for lunch on our upcoming travel day, enjoying the rest on the terrace, where it was finally cooling off. Valencia was quite hot even in mid-September. Walked off a bit of our dinner with a lengthy 2 hour park stroll to the other end of Turia, stopping at a pasteleria on the way home to get the morning's breakfast. Up early to catch the train to Barcelona, a city we were both looking forward to.

I'm sensing a theme here...

Cheap, tasty chow on the terrace.