Livin' la vida Catalunya with PB and MB

(OK. So we have fallen behind a bit with the blogging. PB and MB returned to San Diego weeks ago, but we still have to capture some of the highlights of their McVenture!)

Unscathed by the torrential downpour we narrowly escaped in Paris, our flight landed in Barcelona at around midnight. The air was dry and dark when we arrived to the blue door next to the Mango store, at #14 Portaferrissa. We'd joked with PB and MB of the 100 stairs to our piso, but with luggage and exhaustion, they showed now sign of amusement. Up we went, panting and pausing. Finally home, we crashed in our beds and slept.

The next day was a Sunday and we decided to show PB and MB the beach. We walked the distance from Barri Gotic down a stretch of La Rambla, left at the Cristobal Colon monument, along Port Vell's harbor way and into Barceloneta where the waves calmly roll into the beach. We spent the rest of the day taking our time, strolling, sitting, having sangria. For dinner, we went to Salterio, our landlord's nook-in-the-wall restaurant where sardos come from. Sardos, we explained, look a bit like a pita bread quesadilla, but taste like a bite out of the Sahara. They are made with white cheese, mushrooms, spices and a delicious sesame butter sauce. They are a Morroccan dish cooked by Fatima, the plump, jolly woman from Sahara who incidentally calls me Shawna because I am the wife of Sean. We'd told MB that she and Fatima share a common passion for Elvis. So, MB brought one of her favorite Elvis tee-shirts to Fatima as a gift. (Later, when Fatima put it on, she cranked up an Elvis CD and suddenly we were in a bizarre culture clash.)

The rest of the week was quite relaxing. While Sean and I worked from our laptops, PB and MB embarked on their favorite trick to familiarize themselves with the city: the open air tour buses. They saw the Sagrada Familia, the Arc de Triomf, the Parc de la Ciutadella and countless curvy, gothic streets. At night, I cooked Spanish tapas and pasta dishes, and we washed them down with bottles of red wine. Our little bohemian piso has been looking especially cute lately with the geraniums I put on our balcony. It was fun to fill our place with garlic and laughter.

Sean took the Friday of that week off to go exploring with PB and MB around Barcelona. So, we took a taxi up the slope of the city toward Parc Guell, better known as "The Gaudi Park." We spent a few hours up there oohing and ahhhing over the intricate designs and mosaics that decorate acres of park land. Gaudi's orginal vision for the lot was for it to be a functioning village, but things went awry and eventually he died before it was completed. (He was actually killed when he was hit by a trolley car.) So now, rather than a village, it is more like a cave/terrace/ labyrinth. We poked around the cave, ate breakfast on the terrace and hiked through the labyrinth. Once at the top of the park, we could see a gorgeous panorama of Barcelona. What a breathtaking view!

Saturday morning, our mission was to train up to Girona, pick up our rental car and embark on our journey through the Pyrenees to a village called Puigcerda (Puh-chair-duh). What a place! The drive through the Pyrenees was a steep incline up some 2,000 meters in altitude on a snakey road that disappears into the fog line. In an hour's drive, we had transported ourselves from balmy Barcelona to a portrait of Switzerland! The greens are lush and the blue sky is brilliant. Once to the summit, we rolled down the backside into open valleys speckled with little villages nestling by rivers.

Puigcerda has to be one of the most magical settings I've ever seen. It's high up on a hillside, overlooking a valley, surrounded by snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. Back in the Spanish Civil War (1930s) Puigcerda took a harsh beating from the Facists. The only remnant of its Catalan identity still standing is the bell tower of the cathedral that once dominated the top of the town, but was bombed to rubble. Now, a parking lot takes up the space that was once the footprint of the main chapel. By the looks of the cars parked in it, Puigcerda is not on a tight budget. Mercedes, BMWs and Minis were the three most common cars. Our hotel happened to be right near the parking lot, so we parked, put our bags down and then went right out to explore. What we discovered was a vibrant mountain village with a flare not unlike that of Park City, Utah, were the Sundance Film Festival takes place in January. Chic boutiques, elegant shops and gourmet restaurants fill the narrow boulevards with their temptations. Up behind the city center, we found a small, tidy lake, perfectly shaped by a stone wall and pathway. A circular park lines the outer edges, and beyond it, a number of quite lovely vacation manses looking rather Swiss as well. We drank a round of Estrella beers in a lakeside bar with glass walls, and then went downtown for dinner –- which was another delicious Italian meal.

Sunday, we cruised out of the Pyrenees into France, stopping to take photos of fat horses grazing and go exploring through ancient villages. One of them is called Villefrance. It too, has Catalan roots, as does the entire region we were driving through: Both the French and the Spanish share Catalan ancestry on either side of the border. Villefrance is especially darling with its walled-in village, looking quite like a fortress. The town has a mystic feeling, and the shops sport little witches on broomsticks dangling in the doorways. The legend is that in the mountains, there are spirits –- and the witches keep out the bad ones. Sean and I decided to take a picture of Know-me the Gnome, our traveling doll that my Uncle Ned and Susan gave us from New Zealand. He fit right in with the other charms and talisman for sale in the shops.

Not far beyond Villefrance, we shot out of the Pyrenees and returned to flat olive tree country in Spain, heading toward La Costa Brava, destination: Cadaquez. Cadequez is a small fishing village with white-washed buildings lining a crescent moon-shaped harbor that could be a spot-on backdrop for a pirate movie. Our hotel was a lovely resort, replete with swimming pool and tennis courts. Cadaquez actually reminded us a great deal of Catalina Island, so at dinner, we swapped stories of our memories there: mine were about sailing on my grandpa's yacht, The Gaylup, to Catalina, and remembering the flying fish landing on the deck. PB told us how that is where he and MB were when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. Sean's were about bumping into Brett Atkinson after a wedding he'd been to, and seeing that Brett had eased into a beachy look of tuxedo pants rolled to his calves; shirtless.

Next morning, we strolled through Cadaquez and then hit the deck – poolside - where we stayed until sunset. We had a lovely dinner that night, and then went to bed feeling rested. Monday morning, we were homeward bound, but not before taking a scenic drive along La Costa Brava –- the wild coast –- to see the most beautiful coastline in the world. All of us slept that night dreaming of the village of Tossa de Mar we had passed through and the Mediterranean Sea.

MB and PB had an early flight the next morning –- a Wednesday –- so I said my good-byes and thank-yous to them through squinty eyes and then Sean escorted them to the airport. Our hope is that we helped them have an unforgettable time, and a head-full of memories to flashback on. As for Sean and me, we already cherish the two weeks we had with PB and MB in France and Spain in May, 2006.

Hasta luego and hope you enjoy the pics...




Ramblin' down La Rambla




PB and MB at the colorful Boqueria market around the corner from our apartment




PB and Sean conquer the statues at the bottom of La Rambla




The four of us relaxing on the mosaic bench in Gaudi's Parc Guell




PB and MB with La Sagrada Familia in the palms of their hands




The view of Barcelona from atop Parc Guell




MB and Kate in front of the "Gingerbread House" at Parc Guell




Road Trip!




The Pyrenees!




Daunting drive ... Awesome views!




The beautiful valley near the village of Puigcerda




Happy Mother's Day!!!




A beautiful bridge on the drive from Puigerda to Cadaquez




Kate is all smiles in Villefrance




The approach to Cadaquez. Amazing how similar the scenery is to our pics from Sardinia!




The bay in Cadaquez




MB and Cadaquez ... stunning!




PB and MB posing with an image of Catalunya's ferociously cheeky mascot ... the burro!




PB and MB pose with Cadaquez as the backdrop.




Just one of the thousands of coves along the Costa Brava




The amazing beach in Tossa de Mar

World Cup Kickoff

I promise to get back to the rest of PB and MB's visit, but since the World Cup kicks off in about 5 minutes, I reckon now would be a good time to throw in my $0.02 on how the whole schnitzel is gonna shake out.

Winner: I know Brazil is the favorite, but I hate rooting for favorites. I'm going with France. I was counting on some scoring from Djibril Cisse to help Thierry Henry and Les Bleus along the way, but even though he snapped his leg Wednesday and is out, I think they can still get it done. All the talk may be about Zinedine Zidane and Henry, but take a look at their roster. They are loaded. Plus, they still have Mr. Underrated Claude Makelele keeping things steady behind the attack. Besides, they have way too easy of a draw to have odds as high as 12-1.

Tournament MVP: There is only one Thierry Henry. (Ronaldinho is a close second, and only cause he has to share the goal scoring for Brazil).

Surprisingly good teams: Switzerland and Australia. Gotta love Switzerland's nutty coach and almost all of Australia's starters play professionally in England. Add a sprinkle of coaching genius from Dutch maestro Gus Hiddink, and the Socceroos should be able to put together a nice little run.

Surprisingly poor teams: Portugal and the Netherlands. If Luis Figo plays, his team will not win. It's that simple. I love The Orange, so it pains me to say this, but they are very young and have quite a difficult group and draw. This is a team that is usually considered a failure if it doesn't reach the semi-finals. Me? I'll be surprised if they make it that far.

Breakout players: Fernando Morientes, David Villa and Fernando Torres from Spain. They simply score goals. They are well known in Spain, and Morientes has done well abroad, but I expect at least one of them will make the leap to global star this month. If not for the leg snap, Cisse would be here too.

Bust players: David Beckham and Claudio Reyna. Becks simply doesn't have it anymore. Sure he might score a highlight goal or two on free kicks, but over the course of 90 minutes, he is more of a role player than the leader he once was. Reyna's performance will be inversely proportional to how much Bruce Arena and the U.S. squad rely on him to make an impact. Coach Sampson said the 1998 U.S. team was Reyna's to lead. See the result. In 2002, Reyna wimped out of the Portugal game and the U.S. won. He played a central part in Poland game and the U.S. got thumped. Arena lessened his responsibilities in the Mexico game by moving him out on the wing and responded with some vital runs down the flank. Arena then moved him back to the center for the quarterfinal against Germany, and he spent most of the night chasing his mark, not defending his mark. Captain America he is not. Probably never has been.

How will the U.S. fair: The U.S. is good enough to win all three games. Their opponents are also good enough to send the Yanks home without a win. My crazy prediction looks something like this. U.S. ties Czech. Scores shocking upset over Italy. Then blows it big time and loses to Ghana. Whether or not they advance depends on how things shake out in the rest of the group. If they squeak through like 2002, a second-place finish in the group likely means Brazil in the Round of 16. Could they? Might they? Nah!

The McGriswald's do Paris

So after a long night's sleep, we awoke the next morning ready to tackle Paris. With pastries and fruits in our bellies, we made our way to Republique, where we purchased tickets for a hop on-hop off, open-top bus tour. I have never been too keen on exploring cities in such a fashion, but I must admit it was quite a relaxing way to take in the sights.

After rolling by the Opera and other parts of the Right Bank, we decided our first stop would be The Louvre. To do the museum justice, you really have to spend at least a couple days appreciating all the exhibits. Instead, we opted to walk the grounds and take a leisurely stroll through the Tuileries. In a word, the gardens were stunning.



I have been through the Tuileries a few times, but they have never been so colorful and in bloom. In fact, the scenery was so beautiful we decided to buy some simple sandwiches and enjoy lunch among the flowers.

Next stop was Notre Dame. We toured the inside of the cathedral and then made our way to Ile St. Louis. You can't go to Ile St. Louis and not sample the legendary ice cream and crepes, so we indulged ourselves with the latter while sitting along one of the banks of the Seine.



Then it was time to hop back on the bus. We rolled along the Left Bank, up the Champs Elysees and hopped off at the Arc de Triomphe. Of course there is a tunnel that leads under the traffic circle that encompasses the Arc, but I told PB and MB it would be much more ... um ... exhilarating to play "Frogger" like I had back in 2001. Just like the video game from the 1980s, the object of the game is to venture through the dozen or so lanes of maniacal traffic and avoid getting splattered while you make your way to the Arc. One not-very-amused look from MB, and through the tunnel we went.



After returning to the apartment to change our clothes, MB and I hit a local supermarket to purchase supplies for a full-fledged Eiffel Tower evening. After being so jet-lagged at the Tower the first night, it was great to return with a little more energy so we could stay long enough to enjoy the late-night light show the Tower puts on.



The next day, it was back on the bus for the journey to Montmartre. We made our way up to the Sacre Coeur, then wound our way around to the artists' square to experience the festival-type atmosphere and settle in for a long and lovely lunch.





After a few hours in Montmartre, we hopped the bus and hit the Latin Quarter. PB instantly took a liking to the pedestrian streets lined with sidewalk cafes and shops. We grabbed some dinner in a cool little restaurant just off Boulevard St. Germain. Despite not really knowing what we were ordering, we all managed to get lucky and score some tasty dishes.



To walk off our meals, we headed up to the Luxembourg gardens and delved deeper into the side streets for which the Latin Quarter is so famous. Completing our rather circular stroll near the Sorbonne, which unfortunately was all covered in scaffolding for renovations, we ducked into the nearest metro station and made our way back to the apartment.

Our final day in Paris got off to quite an exciting start. After handing the keys back over to Regis, we made our way down the stairway of the building and out onto our street. There we encountered the next batch of visitors slated to stay in our apartment, a group of friendly American guys. We chatted them up for a few moments, and then posed for a picture as PB set up his camera on a timer across the street. From there it was off to the Metro, as our plan was to store our bags at Gare du Nord, then begin one final day of sightseeing. So we were standing on the Metro platform when PB froze and asked where his carry-on bag was.

You see, even though PB didn't have his computer, he was using his laptop bag as his carry-on. Those things are tender vittles for thieves the world over.

(Insert colorful expletive here)

The last place PB remembered having the bag was outside the apartment when we posed for the picture. Up the stairs and out of the Metro I sprinted. By the time I got back to the apartment, there was no bag on the street. I went in the building and encountered the American guys in the stairwell. PB overlooked the bag when we left because he had set it on the sidewalk right next to their piles of luggage. Luckily, they spotted it and brought it inside to Regis.

When I got to the apartment, Regis explained how happy he was that I had come back for it. He knew we were on a lfight out of de Gaulle that night, so he was planning to go to the airport in hopes of finding us and returning the bag. Now mind you, the airport is about an hour by Metro and train from the apartment. And who says the French aren't ridiculously nice?

After storing our bags at Gare du Nord, we set off for the Marais and Place de Voges. Place de Voges is a special spot for Kate and I as that's where we hung out the morning after our engagement. We soon ducked into a restaurant in the Marais and had yet another uber-lucky culinary experience. We were again uncertain as to what we were ordering, but we walked out four happy customers.

From the Marais, we hit one of the famous boat rides along the Seine. That boat tour is another touristy type thing I had always dismissed, but the unique perspectives it offered again surprised me. We were fortunate to have a rookie tour guide on the boat and boy was this guy meant to be on a microphone. If they ever held an American Idol competition for cheesy tour guides, this Mr. Happy would win hands down.



By the time the boat returned us to Ile de la Cite, the day was getting late and storm clouds were rolling in. We probably couldn't have timed our trip to Paris any better. We had magnificent weather for four straight days, and were only sprinkled with our first few drops of rain as we walked the last hundred meters or so to the Metro stop. From that moment on, the skies opened up and dumped quite a storm on the city, but it was no bother as we were on our way to the airport and never had to set foot outside again.



We were off to the sun and fun of La Vida Espana.

Just your typical Paris arrival

Now that I have been to the City of Light a few times, I've developed this saying that goes, "It's not a Paris arrival unless something goes wrong." This dates back to my very first journey to Paris back in 2001, which started off with me wandering the city for a few hours, supremely lost, desperately hungry, and nearly melting from the oppressive July heat and the weight of my overstuffed backpack.

Looking back on that brutal day now, it was all part of the adventure. However, once Kate and I decided to have my parents meet us in Paris May 3, it was a part of the adventure I worked frantically to help them avoid. So when Kate and I touched down at Charles de Gaulle the scheduled three hours ahead of the flight that would deliver Papa Bear and Mama Bear to France, I was feeling quite confident my weeks of planning had paid off and I had covered all the bases. At least that's what I thought...

The first tinge of panic struck when Kate and I, after killing most of the three-hour wait eating breakfast in our own terminal, made our way over to the terminal that collected all the American Airlines flights shuttling people back and forth across the Atlantic. When MB booked their tickets back in December, she forwarded me the itinerary that had them landing at 11:45 a.m. So imagine my surprise when Kate and I strolled up to the arrivals gate at 11:15 a.m. only to read that PB and MB's flight had touched down at 10:40 a.m. Not good.

Believe it or not, I had actually planned for this on the off chance that perhaps the flight Kate and I were on might be delayed. The plan was to meet at the Hertz rental car counter. Only problem is that in an airport the size of de Gaulle, there are about 15 Hertz rental counters. Luckily, before Kate and I began our own O.J.-style sprint from yellow counter to yellow counter, I happened to hear two women near the arrivals gate talking to each other in the oh-so-lovely accent that indicated they had to be from Texas. Since PB and MB were routed through Dallas, I asked the women if they were waiting for people on the Dallas flight. Indeed they were and they informed us that they reckoned no one from that flight had cleared customs yet. Whew!

So after about a 30-minute wait, PB and MB finally came beaming through the arrivals doors. After warm greetings and hugs, we were soon on our way to catch the train into the city. Right about then was when MB decided to inform me their flight itinerary had been changed weeks before.



The real estate agent I had rented our apartment from, an awesome dude named Regis, asked me to simply call him when we were leaving the airport so he could meet us at the door of the apartment and give us the keys. I was a little unsettled when I only got the voice mail on his mobile phone, but that concern was quickly overshadowed when MB tried to withdraw her first little bundle of Euros from an ATM machine and was promptly denied.

The kind folks at Bank of America had apparently decided the international activity on MB's card was just too suspicious, so they called the house in Carlsbad to check it out. We found out much later that after our friend JoEllen, who was kindly house-sitting while PB and MB were away, informed the bank that she was on vacation in Paris, they figured it would make perfect sense to just freeze her debit card and cut her off entirely. Brilliant BofA. Comically and thankfully, the bank didn't bother to freeze PB's debit card, which is of course linked to the same account. Wonderful anti-fraud department they have at BofA, eh?

Anyway, we made our way into Paris and surfaced from the Metro at Republique. I, of course, then led us on a 10-minute walk in the opposite direction of where we needed to go to reach our apartment. So that meant we had to retrace our steps and walk about five minutes or so in the proper direction. Did I mention it was a wee bit warm? And PB and MB were a wee bit tired from the journey? And we were loaded down with luggage? Oh the flashbacks! All in all, it was an idiotic move on my part because I know that section of Paris very well, but at least it gave good ol' Regis some extra time to check his voice mail. So by the time we actually made our way to the apartment, it wasn't too long before Regis came strolling down the street to give us the keys.



After we dropped our bags and took a load off for a few minutes, we took to the streets to give PB and MB their first taste of Paris. We grabbed a quick bite and some free beers from a cool restaurant in the Marais, then set off to see our first big time attraction ... the Eiffel Tower.

I had planned in my head for years that if I ever went to Paris with my parents, I would ensure their first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower came from the Trocadero. I don't know why, by I just feel the way the Tower suddenly appears as you turn the corner of the tall buildings is breathtaking. To me, the Eiffel Tower never disappoints.



So after PB and MB caught their first glimpse of the Tower, we relaxed in the grass along side the fountains and brought a bit of Spain to Paris in the form of the siesta. PB and Katie were down for the count, while MB and I sat on a bench and soaked up as much of the atmosphere as possible.



We eventually made our way over to the other side of the Tower (the side where Kate and I got engaged) and drew a close to quite an epic day by settling down for a relaxing picnic.



So to recap: A near-miss at the airport ... a temporarily unreachable real estate agent ... directional hiccups on the way to the apartment ... and shut out by the bank.

Yep, we had certainly arrived in Paris.