McVentures in Spain

10 Days

2006-07-17T14:30:00.000+02:00

The last 10 days or so have been lived at quite a breakneck pace. I've said farewell to Barcelona and am now in the later stages of a return to the West Coast that has included, so far, stops in Berlin, Paris and County Clare, Ireland, and an impending stop in Boston for a trade show for work.

Saying goodbye to Barcelona was a surreal and emotional experience. I can and will write pages about it, later. Yet, trying to go into minuet detail about my journey through Germany, France and Ireland would take equally as long. So for now, just some random highlights and musings about changing my longitude, and latitude for that matter, over the past 10 days...

Having traveled all the way to Berlin to watch the World Cup, never in a thousand years would I have imagined watching the German team win the third-place game from the deep end of a pool. But that's exactly what I did with my friends Malte and Sarah my first night in Berlin. Germany set up "public viewing areas" all over the country for the Cup. Most were in public parks or squares. But I got to see the German fans go buck wild watching their team in a 100-year-old bathhouse. Someone thought it would be a cool idea to drain the pool, drop in a huge projection TV, encircle the pool with foosball tables and set up some chairs and beanbags that used the pool's slope to create a natural stadium seating effect. They were right. By halftime, instead of fighting our way through the crowd to reach the restroom topside or the bar in the shallow end of the pool, we realized the fastest way to the bar or restroom was to actually climb up and down the pool ladder in the deep end. Way to go Germany!

Not having enough money to scalp a ticket to the World Cup Final was a small bummer, but the voyage from downtown Berlin all the way out to the Olympic Stadium was worth it nevertheless. Seeing people from every continent on the planet – save for maybe Antarctica -- smiling and celebrating TOGETHER was something to behold.

There is something very odd, yet exhilarating about feeling the sand between your toes when you walk into an open-air beach bar... one in a vacant lot and one overlooking a river... BOTH times smack dab in the middle of Berlin. Talk about two worlds colliding.

And now that I am 30 years old, its nice to know that I can still party til 8 o'clock in the morning at the above mentioned vacant-lot/beach-bar with the young kids. Something tells me that was a once-every-four-years-ONLY-for-the-World-Cup-Final-performance. And you all thought France and Italy were the only ones that went to extra-time that night?

Currywurst and French fries for lunch every day in Berlin? So bad, but sooooo good!

Trains in Europe are amazing melting pots. Where else can you meet a Senegalese soccer player who used to play for Feyenoord in Holland and a Malaysian couple who "swear" they had no idea the World Cup was going on when they booked their tickets to Europe?

Whether it is Berlin, or Paris after a night train arrival, watching big European cities "wake-up" at dawn is better than any socioeconomic lecture the greatest academics could ever hope to give.

Berlin is slowly and steadily developing "it."

Paris still has "it."

After five years and numerous trips, I finally got to play soccer on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower. I've longed to play there since July 3, 2001. That day was the first of a three-month adventure backpacking through 15 countries in Europe, so my practical side choose not to play out of fear of breaking an ankle or something and being left to backpack my way on crutches. All my other trips were during the winter or for other purposes, like getting engaged! It's simply the beautiful game in one of the world's most beautiful places. Oh, and the Tunisian, the Frenchman and the American whooped the three Spaniards from Madrid, 5-3.

The weather has been so fantastic that I actually had to put on sunscreen hanging out by the Eiffel Tower at 10 a.m. I then had to re-apply more sunscreen seven hours later ... IN IRELAND!!!

All the sunshine has allowed me to confirm one thing. "Burned Brits" is not just a Barcelona thing. England's navy was once the most feared armada on our planet. They are still probably one of the most-respected global powers. They once criss-crossed the globe to bring the finest teas back to jolly ol' England. Given all that, somehow the invention and usage of sunscreen is something that Brits just can't seem to grasp.

Even better is the fact that my sweet Eurotrash mullet is flowing so long and graceful that I don't even have to put sunscreen on my neck!

Nothing beats the quality of strangers you meet in hostels.

Doolin is getting bigger and, so far, better.

While it saddens me to learn that an old friend I made in Doolin has passed away, I have a sneaky suspicion he went out with a bang.

The music at McGann's is indeed legendary … but the food is catching up.

The Guinness really is better the close you get to Dublin.

Watching Doolin wake up is about as incredible as Paris and Berlin. A cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin scon, and a stroll down Fischer Street is truly a slice of paradise. Except since everyone was grooving to the craic the night before, the "waking up" doesn't really happen until about 10 a.m. Not a sound spoils the beauty of the rolling emerald hills and bright morning sun.

Livin' la vida Catalunya with PB and MB

2006-06-15T23:12:00.000+02:00

(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

2006-06-09T16:54:00.000+02:00

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

2006-06-09T01:10:00.000+02:00

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

2006-06-07T00:31:00.000+02:00

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.

The Samba down La Rambla

2006-05-19T10:33:00.000+02:00

Greetings from the home of the European Champions!

What a game and what a night! With a dramatic come-from-behind victory, FC Barcelona sent this city into a frenzy last night. I have never seen such widespread celebrating in my entire life. Everyone on every street was dancing and singing.

Kate and I watched the game at one of our favorite pubs here in Barrio Gothico, amid throngs of singing and chanting FCB fans. There were some amazingly tense moments in the second half of the game as the faithful were starting to consider the possibility of FCB falling to a 10-man Arsenal squad, but when Eto'o finally broke through with the opening goal, relief settled in. Then when Belletti netted the winner four minutes later, Barcelona erupted into sheer pandemonium.

A few of my takes on the action on the field and some of the referee's dubious calls...

1. Every referee blows calls, you only hope those blown calls don't have an impact on the result of the game. The Norwegian man in the middle last night wasn't that lucky. All his mistakes seem to big huge ones. That being said, I found it very disappointing to see the likes of Thierry Henry taking shots at the referee and saying he cost them the game.

2. To Arsenal fans lamenting Eto'o goal because he appeared to be just a wee bit offside, I urge you to consider the goal the referee took away from FCB with his quick whistle on Jens Lehmann's red-card foul. Everyone watching the game knew he should have let play continue and allowed the goal. The referee himself even came out after the game and told the newspapers he blew the call.

3. On top of that, take a close look at the "foul" that led to Sol Campbell's fabulous goal for Arsenal. What a fantastic dive by Eboue.

4. Thierry Henry cried after the game over little fouls that weren't being called. Anyone else find it quite ironic that an English Premier League team would be the ones whining about the rough play of a Spanish La Liga team?

5. Henry's yellow card was an atrocious call by the referee.

6. Frank Rijkaard's substitutions sure make him look a genius. Henrik Larsson steps on the pitch, and in his farewell performance for FCB, sets up BOTH goals. Meanwhile, inserting Juliano Belletti into the game allowed the Brazilian to score the game-winner.

Despite all the action on the field, my greatest memories of the night come from the celebrating here in Barcelona after the game. La Rambla was literally slammed with wall-to-wall people. We couldn't even make our way from our apartment to Plaza Catalunya. Those of you who have visited us know that means we are talking about a serious amounts of humanity. However, the enormous crowd ended up being a stroke of good luck for us.

Determined to make it to Plaza Catalunya, Kate and I cut through the tiny twisting streets of our neighborhood in Barrio Gothico. Halfway to Plaza Catalunya, we encountered a drum corp consisting of nothing but local boys, not a one of them older than probably 15. These kids were busting out an awesome samba beat and just walking through the Barrio on their way to La Rambla. Aside from the eight or so drummers, the only people really walking with them at this point were their parents and few revelers who had taken to dancing along right in front or behind the drum procession.

It was such a cool scene that it was a no-brainer for Kate and I to scrap our Plaza Catalunya objective and turn around to join the samba brigade. It didn't take long for just about everyone the brigade passed to turn around and join the fun. As we neared La Rambla, even the revelers on that crazy boulevard shifted their attention to us.

When we reached La Rambla, the kids turned the brigade left and we spent the next hour entranced in a magical samba down the boulevard toward the Christopher Columbus statue near the harbor. Our group, which once numbered just a dozen or so, swelled to hundreds, maybe even a thousand as the masses parted so we could pass through. As colorful flares lit up the sky, casting misty red shadows on all the buildings along La Rambla, people came out on their balconies to bask in the glow of an FCB championship and soak in the music from our little drummer boys.

This season has left me with too many incredible memories about FCB to count. But the Samba down La Rambla is right up there near the top of the list.

Now that FCB's season has come to a close, Kate and I are convinced being here during this season is one of the more charmed strokes of good fortune we've experienced. Starting with the free tickets to the Chelsea game and ending with the Samba down La Rambla, we couldn't have asked for a more miraculous time than our FC Barcelona McVenture.

Game Time

2006-05-17T11:51:00.000+02:00

Well tonight is the night.

Barcelona and Arsenal square off tonight in Paris. The city of Barcelona is already going bonkers in anticipation of what should be an amazing game. I even saw my parents off on their flight to Paris this morning amid an airport full of Blue and Red clad FCB supporters bound for the City of Light. Oh, and did I mention that was at 5 AM this morning!

While I think FCB is loaded this year and could be one of the better teams assembled in recent memory, I think anyone predicting an FCB cakewalk may be getting a bit ahead of themselves. Some have even gone so far as to call the FCB-AC Milan semi-final the real final. Implying neither Arsenal nor Villarreal could possibly have what it takes to win it all. To those people, I have two simple words.

Thierry Henry.

A Frenchman ... leading Arsenal's dream run to the final ... playing in what could be his last game for the club ... head-to-head against Ronaldinho, the only forward who people could claim is better than him ... in one game ... for all the marbles ... IN PARIS!

I would never bet against a guy like that in a situation like this.

In fact, while all the media have focused on the clash between Spain's best team and one of England's best teams, I think it will be the French who have a profound impact before the night is done. The last time a major championship was decided in the Stade de France, a certain Frenchman with the initials ZZ became a legend by besting Brazil for two goals in a World Cup Final. Don't be surprised if Henry, Robert Pires or Giuly rise to the occasion with similar results.

So while I will definitely be rooting for my adopted home team, something tells me a classic is in the cards regardless of the victor.

A Wee Irish Weekend

2006-05-02T16:55:00.000+02:00

You never miss the water till the well has run dry.
--- Irish proverb

So true! We should all feel grateful for at least one thing at the end of every day – even if it's only for the water!

Right now, I feel grateful for many things, actually. Especially because Sean and I got to spend last weekend in Ireland with our friend Jennifer Boyle and her lovely family. She lives in Glenbeigh, which is a tiny village seated on the south side of the mouth of Dingle Bay in County Kerry. By tiny, I mean everyone there knows or is related to everyone else there due to the three pubs and the church, which make excellent gossip stations. In Jennifer's house were also her mother Mary, daughter Caoimhe (pronounced Kiva), age 7 and baby son Fionn, age 6 mos.

We flew from Barcelona to Shannon on Friday and picked up a rental car. Driving in Ireland is quite entertaining enough, as it's done on the wrong side of the car and road! Sean did all the work, and I was his trusty assistant yelling, "keep left!" whenever appropriate. Appropriate, meaning, at all times.

The 3-hour drive was gorgeous as we passed rollicking hillsides the shade of emerald green, newborn lambs and sheep spotting them like daisies. A lazy horse lay down with limbs and neck sprawled out for maximum sun exposure, looking quite drunk. Birds were everywhere, chirping. It was like we'd stepped into the Bambi movie during the scene when all the little creatures are born in springtime.

We finally arrived to Jen's house around 6pm, and she had oodles of Chianti and food for us. We spent our first night chatting with her, playing with the kids and watching the DVD, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Caoimhe gave us an exact interpretation of the Oompa Loompa dance, which was lovely.

On Saturday morning we drove down to Burke’s Equestrian Center and went on a lovely "trek" down on the beach astride two HUGE Irish Draught horses. Mine was Paddy and Sean's was Harvey. We trotted down the narrow road to the beach and went walking in the ocean up to the horses' bellies. Harvey stopped at one point with Paddy close behind and nearly dropped his road apples on my leg! (Never forget, the sea is full of everything.) We took an hour's ride, and by the time our ride was over, Sean had really finessed the art of posting. (Posting is what riders do during the trot in English-style riding. It's the up-down-up-down motion.) For what it's worth, I should probably mention here, that Sean put a lot of, mm, pelvis in his posting.

Later Saturday, we had a nice lunch at Jennifer's friend Jackie's cafe and then took a drive up to a beautiful secluded lake in the mountains. The lake is as pristine as it is silent, and the only other beings we saw there were two backpackers and about 100 sheep that seemed rather bothered by our existence.

Saturday night we hit the town with Jen and her girlfriends Jackie and Gina. Sean was the token male, and he did all right! Jen treated us to a lovely dinner in Kilorglin (the next village over from Glenbeigh) at a place called the Top Deck. Then, the five of us went on a pub crawl. All the pubs were stuffed with Irish revelers drinking pints of Guinness and Harp. I had overeaten my seafood dinner, so I steered clear of Guinness. Sean, however, took the challenge and consumed about 10 thousand calories – just like the best of 'em! That night, with the girls, we got to hear about all the goings on between the two villages. It was a good reminder that even in small towns, big news is a daily occurrence. This type of story-telling and gossip-swapping appealed to the journalistic sides of me and Sean, and we were thoroughly entertained to hear all about it. We left Kilorglin at nearly 1 AM and took a cab back to Glenbeigh. Sean proceeded in going out longer (after hours) with Jackie, who was bent on meeting up with her husband (so she wouldn't miss anything) at a pub called The Towers, right down the road from Jen's house.

The next morning, Sean told me that when he walked into The Towers with Jackie, he felt every eye in the room turn on him, wondering who that man was with John's wife! But, he said, once word spread that he was a friend of Jenny's up the road, it only took moments to have more pints handed to him as welcome gifts. John told him that he would be tomorrow's gossip at church. Needless to say, Sean rolled in around 3:30AM, smelling quite ripe I do say!

Sunday we lounged. The weather that had been gloriously sunny had turned to the mythical mist that is just so quintessentially Ireland. We took a little drive into Killarney (my favorite Irish city) and had lunch. There was something called the Rally Races taking place in the area the whole weekend, which made the narrow roadways jam up like L.A. freeways on a Friday afternoon. Rally Races, we learned, are basically back-road car races run by hooligans driving supped up Porches and Mini Coopers. It seemed pretty crazy to me because from what I could tell, the races took place on the same roads that residents use – with virtually no designations or signage. The only time something like that would happen in America is never. But we managed to avoid having a head-on with a rally car, and made it into Killarney safely, albeit a bit slowly.

Sunday night, Jen fixed us a lovely dinner and then we had to hit the road back to Shannon. Our flight Monday morning to Barcelona was early, so we stayed in a B&B near the airport.

I hope I was able to convey a slice of life in Ireland the way we experienced it last weekend. For an island country of hardly more than 3 million souls, Ireland is full of mythic places, jolly folk and now, a thriving economy. In fact, we learned that Ireland has the fastest-growing economy in the EU. It's quite obvious, actually, by the construction and development we saw in nearly every village. Good for the Irish! In fact, we heard that an immigration reversal has begun. From American cities with histories of Irish immigrants in search of better life like Boston, Chicago and New York, the Irish are returning to Ireland where work is aplenty and boom is abound. To the Irish who helped America grow, I say thank you. To the Irish who are coming back home to help Ireland grow, I say, "Slainte!"

---- Kate

To view all our photos from Ireland (with the added bonus of an assortment of Spain photos thrown in) click here: http://www.imagestation.com/album/pictures.html?id=2106804605

Si, Si, Si ... Nos vamos a Paris!

2006-04-28T00:57:00.000+02:00

That's what the people of Barcelona were chanting all night last night.

"Yes, Yes, Yes ... We're going to Paris!"

FC Barcelona managed to hold AC Milan to a 0-0 tie, so FCB moves on the Champions League Final against Arsenal May 17 in Paris. I know a 0-0 tie sounds like a bore, but it was actually quite a thriller. Rather than sit back and defend, FCB stuck to its strength and attacked all night long. Milan even had a goal called back because of a foul that not too many folks on the Italian side really thought was a foul. We watched the game with Nacho at our new locals-only football bar. Serious fun.

Well, maybe I shouldn't say the bar was serious fun, cause the real action was out on the streets after the game. La Rambla and Plaza Catalunya were jammed packed with fans dancing and singing. That's right around the corner from our place, so Kate and I ventured out right into the thick of it. I have never been in a more festive atmosphere.

Check out the photos...

It was quite a wild time, but unfortunately it turned a bit frightening at the end. The police, who Kate and I strolled by on our way to the festivities as they hung out not looking too bothered by the revelry, decided to put an end to things after about two hours. And when the time came to break up the crowd, boy did they mean business! They rolled up in their vans, jumped out, and proceeded to start beating the crap out of people.

Kate and I quickly realized that they were beating on people indiscriminately. Old ... young ... reveler ... passer-by. They just didn't care.

We tore off running and I must say that I have NEVER seen my wife run that fast. Ever. We managed to make our way back to our apartment, but not before I came within about a foot of catching the business end of a cop's baton. At the very last instant, I saw him take a swing at me out of the corner of my eye as we were sprinting down La Rambla at top speed. I flinched a bit and heard him hit something behind me. Not sure what he did hit, but it wasn't me.

It was all so tremendously stupid. Having witnessed the riot last month when the kids were actually smashing storefronts and tearing up the city, I have to say last night was incredibly harmless. I don't know what the cops were thinking. Aside from jay-walking, climbing some streetlights and lighting a flare or two, the people were just dancing and singing.

I'll never forget the jubulant feel of the crowd last night. I'll always remember the joy of the night. I'm just surprised and a bit saddened that such a happy place could turn into such a chaotic horror in just a matter of seconds.

It's on!

2006-04-26T19:03:00.000+02:00

Well, tonight is gonna be huge! FC Barcelona plays AC Milan here in Barcelona in the second leg of their Champions League semi-final match-up. FCB scored an amazing goal to take somewhat of a surprise 1-0 victory last week in Italy, so they are in the driver's seat now. The task is simple ... win or tie and they head to Paris next month to take on Arsenal in the final.

Before I write too much more about tonight, I should probably back up a bit and explain how FCB got this far since I left off last time with them set to play Benfica here in the second-leg of the quarter-final. As I wrote before, Semana de Pasion here in Barca consisted of El Clasico against Real Madrid sandwiched between the quarter-final matches against Benfica. The fist Benfica match ended 0-0, so the return leg here was for all the marbles.

Fresh off my El Clasico night, I had to decide if I was gonna try to go to the Benfica game here, or watch the game in the pub. For the following two reasons, I decided to go the pub route for the Benfica game:

1. The night before the game, AC Milan completed a miracle comeback against Lyon in the other quarter-final. So I knew an FCB victory over Benfica meant a showdown with Milan and a ticket to an FCB-Milan game might rival FCB-Chelsea in terms of cost. (From what I have seen around town about the going prices, I was just about right... $300-$400 euros for a decent seat. Remember ... those prices are in euros.)

2. Just before the Benfica game, one of our local friends, Nacho (Yes, his name is Nacho) told us about this awesome locals-only bar where I could go watch the game. He promised the place was as authentic as they come, so much so that when a group of developers tried to buy it a few months back and turn it into condos, the whole neighborhood protested and quashed the deal. This may seem a random story, but as friends like Patrick Sweeney and Travis Barsotti will attest, my stand-by pub for watching soccer here in Barrio Gothico has always been Molli's Fair City, an Irish pub. It's a grand enough place and I know all the friendly servers, but it's far from the authentic Spanish experience. I've always wanted to find a place to watch football where I could get some local flavor, so Nacho's intel was too good to pass up.

So Kate and I went to the neighborhood Spanish bar and had a wonderful time. FCB beat Benfica 1-0 and marched on to Milan.

Last week's Milan game was awesome. Milan's stadium, the San Siro, is a ... ummm ... difficult place for opposing teams to play. The game started with FCB fighting for their lives. I think Milan hit the post twice in about the first five minutes. However, once FCB calmed down and got settled in, they started to get some chances of their own. FCB played well in the first half, but I'm not sure I've seen Ronaldinho play a worse 45 minutes of soccer. He couldn't even trap the ball without turning it over.

But....

When the second half started, ol' #10 was from another planet. There is a Nike commercial running right now that splices footage of Ronaldinho as a young boy with footage of him now. Those in the U.S. might recall Nike doing a similar commercial with Tiger Woods a couple years ago. Anyway, one of the scenes from Ronaldinho's boyhood days is of him flipping the ball over an opponent's head, running around him, and flipping it over the next opponent's head. It's understandable in the commercial because he and his opponents are about 10-years-old. Last week he did the same thing to two Milan players. These guys are millionaires and he made them look silly.

Ronaldinho basically decided at half-time last week to come out and put on one of the most freakishly amazing halves of football I have ever seen. And of course it culminated with him toying with about three Milan defenders, drawing all the attention to himself, then lofting a perfect pass to teammate Giuly, who slammed home an incredible finish to give FCB a 1-0 lead.

Ronaldinho almost brought the San Siro to its knees moments later when again, facing three defenders, he sliced a not-so-hard-but-perfectly-placed shot to the far post. It beat the keeper, hit the INSIDE of the post, then rolled harmlessly across the front of the goal before the keeper recovered and smothered it. Another inch to the inside, and FCB win 2-0.

So tonight could be intense. The Milan fans have been out in full force most of the day and there is certainly an increased energy when you walk out on La Rambla. Everyone knows the stakes of tonight's game and everyone knows anything can happen. Milan are definitely a good enough team to rally from the 1-0 deficit and beat FCB. I really don't want to even make a prediction as to who will win, but I am certainly hoping FCB will send the Milan boys home unhappy and advance to the final in Paris.

As for me, it looks like Kate and I are headed to our new locals-only pub. They went out of their way to take us in and show us we are part of their community now. On a night with some much at stake for FCB fans, if I can't be in the Camp Nou, there's no place I'd rather be than with them.

El Clasico

2006-04-18T11:50:00.000+02:00

Well I know its been a coulpe of weeks now, but I figured I'd hit all you soccer fans out there with a quick update on El Clasico and how things are shaping up for Barcelona in the Champions League.

When I last wrote, I was planning to try my luck at scalping a ticket to El Clasico, the big rivalry game between FC Bacelona and Real Madrid. While there was no repeat of the our extreme good fortune from the Chelsea match, I did manage to score a ticket. I even spent way less than I thought I would have to because the guy selling the carnat was a retiree named Juan who wanted to go into the stadium right when it opened -- two hours before kickoff -- rather than remain outside soaking up the atmosphere. His wife had an upset stomach and was unable to make the game, so he was just looking to off-load the ticket and get inside. As it turns out, I was really a stroke of good fortune for me. I had already spent a good hour or two reveling outside, so making my way to the seats early was no bother at all.

Juan said he liked to go to the seats early for El Clasico because he had bad knees and didn't like fighting the rush of the crowd right before kickoff. Plus, he said El Clasico was such a special atmosphere that he liked to be one of the first people in the stadium, then watch it slowly fill up with 100,000 people during the build-up to kickoff.

As a total tangent, my college buddies Brett Johnson and Alex Benson might recognize this theory as something Linfield Athletic Director Ad Rutschmann suggested we do when we went to see the Oregon Ducks play in the 1994 Rose Bowl against Penn State. The much ridiculed "Ad Rutschmann Theory" focused on watching the Rose Bowl fill up with all the beautiful colors and the pageantry... blah, blah, blah. We were 19 years old with nothing but tailgate partying under the beautiful SoCal sun on our minds. Needless to say we made our way to our seats moments before kickoff. Which was unfortuantely just in time to watch Ki-Jana Carter go 80 yards for a touchdown on Penn State's first play from scrimmage, but I digress.

Anyway, my experience with Juan at the Camp Nou was actually quite spectacular. Depsite his earlier pleas about his bad knees, he seemed to take great pride in showing me around the entire stadium. I told him I had been there before, but that didn't stop him. He insisted on showing me little nooks and crannies of the grounds that I would have never discovered on my own.

As kickoff approached, the Ad Rutschmann Theory actually proved true for El Clasico. What a sight! To top it off, everyone was given color coordinated flags on their seats to hold up when they played the FC Barcelona/Catalunya anthem before kickoff. I had not a clue what most of the words were, but they showed them on the scoreboard as the music played, so I Hooked-On-Phonicked my way through the singing.

When the game got under way, the bad blood between the two teams was apparent immediately. Quite early, Roberto Carlos, one of my favorite players for Real Madrid managed to get sent-off for arguing a tackle in the box that gave FC Barcelona a 1-0 lead on a Ronaldinho penalty kick.

Barcelona proceeded to hammer Real Madrid for the rest of the game, but couldn't quite put them away. Sure enough, Real Madrid made them pay when Ronaldo equalized with a breakaway goal against the run of play that he finished with the cheekiest of chip shots over the FC Barcelona goalkeeper.

All in all, the night was a magical event that was only diluted by the 1-1 result. I tried to explain to Juan the American sports saying about how a tie is like kissing your sister. By the horrified look on his 70-year-old face, I am pretty sure that one got lost in translation.

Our Sardinia Story

2006-04-12T21:03:00.000+02:00

Hello Everyone, Kate here!

This is MY FIRST BLOG EVER. Please bear with me, as I may get a bit off topic at times, that's just how I tend to write. We'll see if blogging is the same for me as writing. You know, one time, back in 2002, Sean and I went to a blog party in D.C. I remember our friend Kate Krauss had not yet heard of the term, "blog," and I made a very clunky attempt at explaining to her the root words, web-log, web'log, b'log = blog. Okay. Enough about blogging, 2002, and Kate Krauss - who now, by the way is totally savvy and hip to blogging.

Sean and I went to Sardinia! Do you know where Sardinia is? A) It's in Sardo, the land of sardines. B) It's an island off the coast of Greece. C) It's an island off the coast of Italy. D) It's the island south of Corsica.

(Answer: C AND D)

Yup, we went to Sardinia, and we loved it. Our plane departed from Girona (the tiny airport north of Barcelona) on Thursday, April 6 at 8:00 pm. We arrived to the city of Alghero in the blackest of night. Our only light was the control tower above the tarmac and the glittering stars in the night sky. (If you're into stargazing, go to Sardinia. It's the best spot in the Med to look at planetoids and nebulae from the Mediterranean sea - sans city lights.)

In the dark, on the bus ride to our B&B in Alghero, we met Irene (a.k.a La Espanola.) Her name is pronounced Elena, by the way. She was traveling by herself for Semana Santa - the Catholic-based "spring break" of Spain. Irene is a flamenco guitar and dance teacher in Barcelona. She had no place booked to stay in Sardinia, so after we'd engaged in frienly chit chat, she decided to latch onto us rather than scan the streets alone for a place to stay. We were in it for the long haul with her, we knew, until she found a safe place to sleep. Thankfully, when we brought her to our B&B, our kindly host Mario helped her find a place - since his was fully booked. (Later he said that if nothing anywhere else had been available, he would have offered his sofa to La Espanola) out of custom (and a healthy pinch of Italian chivalry.)

Now that we were relieved of La Espanola's plight, we slept peacefully and awoke to a the gift of morning in Sardinia!

Did you ever wonder if time is variable? I suppose the more accurate question is, whether progress is variable, in which case, the answer is yes of course. But if progress is any measurement of time, then Sardinia could be a case study of how time has slowed, stopped for a coffee, opened a newspaper and talked to a neighbor before continuing its course through a day. Sardinia introduced herself to us with two elderly gentlemen speaking more loudly with their hands than their voices.

We passed them, smiling to ourselves, and continued along. Sardinia is the only other place in the world where Catalan is spoken other than in Catalunya, Spain. This is because in the 1300s, the Spanish conquered Sardinia and so went the language lessons.
(For more history, click here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sardinia)

But, it's not to say just because the Sardinian people speak Catalan, we could understand them with our Spanish-trained ears. No, Catalan is a language unto its own. A mixture of French, Spanish and something quite special.

On our walk, we discovered a little harbor, a decrepid hospital with weeds growing from its red tiled roof and a scooter shop! We went inside, and came out with two helmuts and two 100cc scooters!

So, we went off, like a bull with gas, up and through the hairpin turns of the greater metropolitan-area of Alghero which consisted of sheep, horses and an abundance of cypress trees. (I did take a near digger, for the record, but thanks to my big left foot, I stayed upright by planting it pat on the ground when I thought I was about to go over!) Well, we saw gorgeous coral coves, lush valleys and water so blue you couldn't tell where it ended and the sky began. Then, we cruised out to the coolest spot: a sea cave called Neptune's Grotto! It's an ancient "cathedral" that naturally formed in the side of a rocky cliff about a billion gazillion years ago. It's truly spectacular, and well-worth the 650 stairs down to it - and 650 back up!

So we did the tourist thing on Friday, and then Saturday and Sunday we lounged. There's a saying in Spanish that fits perfectly here: "Que bonito es no hacer nada, y luego descansar" -- How beautiful it is to do nothing, and then rest afterward.

And, that's exactly what we did. We hit the beach and laid out for 2 whole days. For meals we ate nothing but pizza, spaghetti and gelato. (ooops, but once we ate at McDonald's - only to save money, not because we like the fries or anything.)

We did happen to bump into La Espanola again, which was quite delightful. She showed us a live music venue and we drank beer with her, listening to an Italian cover band sing Stevie Wonder songs. Very superstitious, indeed.

Well, that's it for now. I hope you enjoyed my first blog. If the length of it is any indication, then so have I!

To view all of our photos, click here:
http://www.imagestation.com/album/pictures.html?id=2107446197

We miss all of you at home, and look forward to hearing your news and life details! Don't be strangers............xoxoxo..............Kate

Semana de pasion

2006-04-01T18:02:00.000+02:00

Remarkably, Kate is now off to London. She took off Friday morning for a girls' weekend with Sharrolyn they had planned long before the forecast told of Hurricane Barsotti. After much hemming and hawing most of Thursday, and learning they would lose much of the money they spent on airfare and hotels, they decided to go ahead with their plan... even if they are still a bit tired from last week.

As for me, I am hanging here in Barca this weekend. I was planning to hop a train to San Sebastian for a little beach break, but the weather is actually nicer here than it is there. More importantly, I just couldn't justify leaving smack dab in the middle of "Semana de pasion." What is "Semana de pasion" you ask? Well, ask yourself if I am truly capable of going more than a few posts without talking about soccer and you will have most of your answer.

"Semana de pasion" is what one of the local papers has dubbed this week for F.C. Barcelona soccer fans. Not only does FCB have its two Champions League quarter-final matches within a span of eight days, but sandwiched between those two colossal games against Benfica, is "El Clasico" – Barca's league match against hated rivals Real Madrid tonight here in Barca. FCB and Real Madrid are the two most storied teams in Spanish soccer. So whenever they play each other, it is called "El Clasico." Like college football's Stanford-Cal "Big Game" or Alabama-Auburn's "Iron Bowl," it's never just a game when these two teams play.

As I was trying to decide yesterday I should stay in Barca or head to San Sebastian, one simple fact kept rising to the surface. I can go to San Sebastian anytime as the sand isn't going anywhere. But actually being in Barca for "El Clasico" can only happen once a year.

That being said, this year's "El Clasico" has a bizarre twist. It is, by far, the least important of all three games. FCB has such a commanding lead in the Spanish La Liga standings, that a loss tonight only delays the crown they will undoubtedly soon wear. But the Benfica Champions League games are something entirely different. Winning the Champions League is the big enchilada... or perhaps I should say the big tapa. Barca tied Benfica Tuesday in Portugal in the first leg of the match-up (The teams play two games for this round of the Champions League, one at each team's home stadium. The total score on aggregate decides the winner). That means the second leg Wednesday at Camp Nou, FCB’s home stadium here in Barca, is for all the marbles.

Now I don't have a ticket for tonight's "El Clasico" or Wednesday's pivotal Benfica match, but I will be at the gates outside Camp Nou for both of them, hoping for the best. I mean, after our luck at the Chelsea-Barcelona match... how can I not?

Barcelona a go-go

2006-04-01T12:42:00.000+02:00

Now that we have survived Hurricane Barsotti, I suppose its time to update y'all on what we've been up to lately. For those of you that don't know the Barsotti's, Travis and Lisa are some of our close friends from Portland. A few weeks ago they surprised us with the news that they were coming to visit. Realizing they might never get a chance to see Barcalona whilst knowing a couple of "locals," Travis and Lisa rather spontaneously collected all the spare change buried in their couches, pawned Lisa's beloved karaoke machine, and then traded in their beautiful one-year-old baby girl for a couple of plane tickets (I guess those bankrupt airlines will take any ol' form of payment these days... ).

Anyway, they have now come and gone and I'm not too sure Barcelona will ever be the same again. They rolled in last Thursday and were immediately joined by our other friends from Geneva (Sharrolyn and Loic). Kate, Lisa and Sharrolyn are all girlfriends from college, so needless to say they were excited to be spending time together here in Barca. We showed them all the wonderful sites, sampled the finest of tapas and sangrias, and even found time for an overnight trip to Girona. Kate and I have now been to Girona twice -- the first time for her birthday -- and it is fast becoming our favorite little getaway spot. We are even on a first name basis with a local or two up there.

To make things even more pleasant, the Barsotti's even brought the beach weather with them. How they did that from snowy Portland, I have no idea? Nevertheless, we managed to enjoy a day or two down on the sand. That's right folks, break out the sun tan lotion, because Tan Camp season has begun here in Barca!

Ultimately, it was a very special week. Not just for the memories we all made, but because some life-long friends are now personally familiar with the people and places about which Kate and I will likely be telling stories for the rest of our lives.

I hope you enjoy the pics....

The six of us in front of La Sagrada Familia.

A view of the harbor and waterfront along Barcelona's Barrio Gothic, our neighborhood.

Kate and I with Lisa and Travis at Gaudi's famous Parc Guell.

Lisa and Travis hanging with the photogenic lizard at Parc Guell.

Kate and I at Parc Guell.

Lisa and Kate among the palm trees at Parc Guell.

The three legendary statues of sculpted muscle in Barcelona's Parc de la Cuitadella...

... and the three Booty statues in Parc de la Cuitadella.

More info on last night

2006-03-18T21:00:00.000+01:00

So with the help of our friend Patrick Sweeney back in Portland, I've been able to piece together a few more details on what was behind all the chaos in our neighborhood last night.

You can check out the news link here, but essentially the government throughout Spain is aiming to take away one of the young people's favorite kinds of partying. It's called a "botellon" and it is pretty similar to what we in the U.S. refer to as rave. Bunch of kids with nothing better to do on a Friday or Saturday night gather at some public place and just start binge-drinking. The police here have been planning a crackdown on botellones and the kids got wind of it. None too happy about The Man trying to take away their weekly good time, the kids staged massive "macrobotellones" throughout the country yesterday. In some cities, chaos ensued.

Apparently the worst of it was right here in Barrio Gothic, our neighborhood. So tonight, Barrio Gothic and the adjacent Plaza Catalunya, which is Barcelona's version of Times Square, are on lockdown. Police are out in full riot gear, accompanied by helicopters hovering overhead. I guess the police are hoping a serious show of force will prevent a repeat of last night's "festivities."

The funny thing is, despite the huge police presence, everyone throughout the city has gone about their business today as if nothing unusual happened last night. For example, the lingerie shop right across the street from our apartment was one of the stores that had its floor-to-ceiling window completely smashed. By noon today, the entire storefront window had been replaced and bras and nighties were flying off the shelves like a normal Saturday.

I suppose I should point out that Kate and I are in no danger whatsoever. Our apartment is six stories up, so watching all the action from above is very much like watching a football game on TV. In fact, there is even the same kind of battle for field position. Twenty or 30 kids gather on our street and creep toward the police gathered on La Rambla, the major pedestrian boulevard that intersects with our street about 80 meters away. When they get close enough, they start cursing the cops and throwing bottles and whatnot. Eventually the police get tired of playing defense and decide its time to get some field position of their own. So 10 or 20 cops lock arms, march down the street, fire off a few rubber bullets, and the kids take off running down the myriad of side streets. When the police reach the other end of our street, they turn around and march the 200 meters or so back to La Rambla. Ten minutes later the kids return, and the whole process repeats.

So unless one of those cops last night firing the rubber bullets had Dick Cheney-like aim, Kate and I were quite safe poking our heads over our balcony every few minutes to check out the Super Bowl below.

It's actually quite a fascinating cultural experience to have right on our doorstep, literally. No one has been killed or seriously injured, so I kinda just chalk it up to kids being kids.

As I strolled across Plaza Catalunya today, a smile crossed my face and I chuckled thinking to myself that somewhere in this world Mike D. and the rest of the Beastie Boys have got to be smiling. Fore here in Spain, the kids really do fight for their right to party.

It's no soccer riot, but it's close

2006-03-18T02:08:00.000+01:00

I doubt this is CNN worthy, but we've got some fun little rioting going on in the streets of Barcelona tonight. Not related to St. Paddy's Day at all, but we've got the your everyday friendly cops firing tear gas/stun grenades at some mad-about-something local youths. We duck inside every time they pull the trigger -- just in case they're errant shots find our balcony -- but I'm sure the misdeeds in Barca tonight pale in comparison to what's going on in France.

Sleep tight.

Happy St. Paddy's Day

2006-03-18T01:33:00.000+01:00

Happy St. Paddy's Day to everyone back home in the U.S. I trust you all are looking forward to finding your way to your favorite Irish pub today, but I thought y'all might enjoy the story about what happened to Kate and I last night over here on this side of the pond.

We were walking home from dinner, when the church bells here in Barrio Gothic clanged away marking midnight. Realizing St. Paddy's Day had officially begun, the Irish blood in me perked up and I turned to Kate and insisted we duck into the next little watering hole we pass and have a pint of Guinness to celebrate.

Ten steps later, we are in a local little pub. I step up to the bar and ask for two pints of Guinness. No luck. They don't have Guinness. Any Harp? "No Senor."

The bartender then excitedly points to the sign on the wall behind me and explains the have a very special beer for a very special price. I turn and read the sign... "Tecate 2 for 6 euros"

Being born and raised in SoCal, I've spent enough time in Mexico to know just how awful Tecate is. All of you from the SoCal crew know Mexicans don't even drink Tecate! However, the pints the barkeep is pouring of various Spanish brews are sizeable so I figure, "What the heck, it'll be St. Paddy's Day Barca style"

I am immediately dissapointed when the bartender reaches below the bar and pulls out two 12-ounce bottles of Tecate. Warm.

So my luck of the Irish found me paying way too much money for horribly warm and awful Mexican beer in Barcelona on St. Paddy's Day. I guess that's just how they do Leprechaun holidays here...

I hope you all have fun tonight and don't forget to throw back a few Tecates, hopefully cold, for your friends in the BCN.

The Kindness of Strangers

2006-03-08T00:45:00.000+01:00

Well, I thought I had a wild night of soccer fun last week in Germany. But the experience Kate and I just had here in Barcelona still has my head spinning.

Let me set the scene a bit. My favorite soccer team in the world is FC Barcelona. A very close second is Chelsea FC. Of course, these are two of the top 5 or 6 teams in the world, so rooting for them is pretty easy. Right now, the biggest club soccer competition in Europe, the Champions League, is in full swing. This morning, there were 16 teams left. After games from tonight and tomorrow, there will be only eight.

Because the Champions League knockout round pairings are drawn randomly, the teams ranked No. 1 and No. 2 in the world could theoretically be chosen to play each other in this, the Round of 16. Some people would say that is exactly what happened this year when it was announced that FC Barcelona would be matched up against Chelsea FC. I can still remember sitting in my home office in Portland back in December when the pairing was announced, thinking, "Wait a minute... Barcelona vs Chelsea in Barcelona on March 7? I'm gonna be living there by then!"

Daydreams of actually attending the game entered my mind almost immediately. Those daydreams were put to rest over the ensuing months when a bit of research on the Internet indicated the cheapest ticket for a decent seat would cost 500 euros. Now remember, that's euros, so we are talking like $600!

As the weeks passed by and Katie and I made the move over here, I always had March 7 marked off on the little calendar in the back of my brain. Even when the teams played each other in London for the first leg of the home-and-home series, Katie and I made a point to soak up some of the local soccer culture and head to a pub to watch it.

Over the past few days, I checked various CraigsList type web sites here, and still nothing good for less than 500 euros. Seats in the absolute nosebleeds were fetching 350 euros. Nevertheless, Kate and I decided this morning we would head up to the stadium before the game to see what the atmosphere was like. We had no hope whatsoever of actually getting cheap tickets, but we just wanted to see what the scene would be like when two of the world's best teams got together for the rather heated second game of their series. Barcelona had beaten Chelsea 2-1 in London, and the players and particularly the coach in the Chelsea camp were not happy about it. Lots of trash talk and the like in the papers over the past two weeks. Not to mention, it was Chelsea that eliminated Barcelona from last year's competition.

I got caught working a bit late today, so when I finally logged off at 8:15, I was uncertain we'd even have time to make our way via the subway to the stadium in time for the 8:45 kickoff. Even after we walked down La Rambla and were at the top of the steps to the metro station, we asked ourselves one last time if we should really waste our time going to the stadium, or if we should just hit our local pub.

"I've been waiting for this game since December. I know we are just gonna end up watching the game in a pub by the stadium, but I at least want to be nearby when all the fans spill out onto the streets after the game. Let's go," I said.

Sure enough, we got to the stadium just as the teams were being announced. There were still a few tickets being sold by scalpers, but let's just say it was a seller's market. The cheapest ticket I saw sold went for 400 euros; Kate and I had 100 euros between the both of us.

Nevertheless we hung outside the gate just people-watching. Kate has never really been in a ticket-scalping environment, so she thought the whole thing was just the most fascinating social sub-culture. Me, I was more entertained by the pathetic Chelsea fans getting turned away at the gate because they were too intoxicated to be allowed into the stadium. I kept thinking of a sort of sick and twisted MasterCard commercial.

Tickets to the Chelsea-Barcelona soccer game: 500 euros
Flight from London to Barcelona: 200 euros
Hotel room in Barcelona: 150 euros
Not being allowed into the game because you are too drunk to stand: PRICELESS

So after about 15 minutes of this scene, Katie and I were seriously considering leaving for the nearest pub we could find. Afterall, the game had started, and there was no way we were gonna get any tickets for the measly 100 euros we had.

I suppose it might be fair to mention here that it was Kate who said we stay a few more minutes. "I'm having fun watching all this chaos," she said with glee.

Well it's a good thing she insisted.

A minute or two later, a middle-age guy walked up to me with an inquisitive look on his face. I honestly couldn't understand for a moment or two whether or not he was trying to buy tickets, or sell me some. Then I heard the magic word... Carnet.

When I came to Barcelona in 2001, I scalped a carnet from a guy outside the stadium. Carnets are the season passes that the regulars keep all season long. Its a great thing if you are the buyer, because the seller wants it back once you are inside, so they walk through the gates with you, as opposed to some guy handing you a paper ticket, then disappearing before you get the bad news from the ticket-taker that you just bought a fake.

This man proceeded to explain that he was waiting for two friends with their carnets, but that they weren't there yet, so he was going in. I asked him how much he wanted for the carnets, but couldn't understand his answer. Kate's Spanish is better than mine, and even she was confused. I'll never forget what happened next.

The man said he didn't want anything for the tickets at all. "Son gratis." Then he motioned for us to follow him inside.

Once inside, we offered again to pay him something, but our new friend, Simon, wouldn't take one euro from us. He just wanted us to enjoy the game.

Unbelievable.

Then we got to the seats. They were awesome. Lower level, close enough to see the rubberbands in Ronaldinho's hair.

The game was exquisite. This is the second time I have seen Ronaldinho play in person, and he exceeds the hype. The goal he scored tonight has to be one of the best I've seen, not because of just his genius, but because of the brilliance of the entire Barcelona side.

The stadium, which is known as Camp Nou, went bonkers. Everyone around us was howling and hugging. Kate thinks I blew her eardrum when I celebrated by squeezing her tight and accidentally screaming in her ear.

For all my soccer friends out there, find a tape of the goal. I'd say half the team touched the ball as they strung together 10-12 passes bringing the ball up the right side. Henrik Larsson, Samuel Eto'o, and I believe Deco got in the mix and swung the ball across the field about 35 yards away from the Chelsea goal. Suddenly, Ronaldinho knifed in at top speed against the flow of the players and the ball. He took the ball on his foot, fought off a challenge from John Terry, then hammered a shot that Petr Cech barely got a piece of before it found the back of the net. Amazing stuff. I honestly want to find a video of it just to admire the build up and everything.

Chelsea managed to get a penalty in the dying moments to level the game 1-1, but Barcelona's 2-1 victory in London two weeks ago means they won the series 3-2 on aggregate goals.

So Barcelona moves on and I still sit here amazed by the turn of events that have been bestowed upon Kate and I tonight. When the game ended, Kate and I hugged Simon and thanked him profusely. He was humble right to the end, but I think somewhere inside he was happy to see us to ecstatic. He could have easily sold the seats we had for 600-700 euros EACH, but something inside him moved him to give them to us, complete strangers, for free. His generosity had given us something our money could have never bought, for the thrill of the night was magnified by the circumstances and kindness that he had displayed.

It is my hope that we will be able to post a picture here to illustrate this McVenture, but we didn't have the camera with us. The blame for that lies with me. Upon leaving our apartment, Kate asked if we should bring it. "It's not like we are actually going to the game. Plus, I don't want to have to worry about carrying it around a crowded pub," I replied.

We did, however, ask a complete stranger after the game to take a picture of us with his camera and e-mail it to us. He seemed a sincere enough fellow, so we'll see if he actually follows through and delivers. After encountering the kindness of one stranger tonight, I'm pretty sure people are full of generous surprises.

USA 1 -- Poland 0

2006-03-06T23:25:00.000+01:00

So last week was quite an amazing week. My old buddy Steve Mraz and his wife Sarah live 20 minutes away from Kaiserslautern, Germany, where the U.S. men's soccer team was slated to play Poland. After the proper amount of teasing and taunting from Steve, I booked a flight for the morning of the game to go check out my very first U.S. game on foreign soil.

After arriving at Frankfurt Hahn airport, which absoultely the most remote airport I have ever seen, Steve and Sarah took me to lunch in K-Town (Kaiserslautern), where I sampled some tasty schnitzel and began waht Steve affectionately referred to as "a steady diet of German brews." We then walked the streets of K-Town for about five minutes before deciding it was far too cold to be out walking around in the cold. We had a few hours yet left to kill before the game, so we went back to Steve and Sarah's amazing home outside of town and relaxed for a while.

When it came time to set out for the game, we knew it was going to be freezing cold, but we had no idea what was in store for us. Properly outfitted in layers and layers of clothes, and with Steve clutching a not so tasty flask of Pushkin vodka, we caught the train back into K-Town. Upon arriving in K-Town we hit the beer stands as quickly as possible, bought a couple for the road and began the walk, I should actually say climb, up the rather sizeable hill to the stadium. Surrounded by a fair mixture of U.S. military personnel and flocks of singing Poles, the hike was quite entertaining.

A few moments before kick off, we settled into our seats and assessed just how cold we were going to be. Put it this way, I had four layers of pants on, and the seat, which had been exposed to the cold for the hours leading up to the game, pierced all my layers of clothing and chilled my buns straight away.

The first half of the game was honestly rather uneventful. Aside from Steve commenting repeatedly about how good one of Poland's players, "Mullet Boy," was playing, not much of mention really happened. The second half was when things went a bit nuts.

The snow began as mere flurries. Hardly noticable and not much of a distraction to the players or fans. The intensity increased a bit, until suddenly, about 20 minutes into the second half, the skies opened up and dumped nothing but white on everything. At one point, the entire crowd erupted in a roar over the simple thrill of being a part of the miserabley enjoyable conditions.

To top it all off, the U.S. got the victory on the back of an Eddie Lewis cross that took a couple of fortunate bounces before finding the foot of Clint Dempsey, who slotted it into the back of the net. I'm still not too sure Dempsey wasn't off-side, but hey, I guess Bruce Arena and the lads will take the wins when they can get 'em.

Enjoy the pics!

Steve pre-gaming at the train station.

Steve and I loving the atmosphere.

Steve and Sarah looking not too warm.

A look at the frosty field.

We had to stay warm somehow!

To illustrate just how much it snowed over the course of the second half. This is a pic of Steve and I hamming it up among FC Kaiserslautern's famous Starting XI statues outside the stadium before the game...

... and immediately after the game.

Our Dorky Trip to the United Nations

2006-02-27T23:31:00.000+01:00

As I mentioned in my uber-long e-mail at the beginning of this blog, Kate wasn't able to come with me when I originally arrived in Barcelona, but we got to meet up two weeks later out our friend's home in Geneva. There will be more photos soon of us and Sharrolyn, Loic and Patrick, but until they arrive, here are the photos of our tour of the United Nations' office in Geneva.

While the UN's main headquarters is in New York City, many of the UN's agencies are actually headquartered in Geneva.

Since I spend about half my day writing and editing stories about the United Nations as part of my job, touring the offices where so much I write about takes place was very much a dorky professional thrill for me.

Above is an interior view of the Palais des Nations.

This last photos is actually of Kate and I standing in front of the headquarters of the International Red Cross, which is located directly across the street from the Palais des Nations.

Giants and Dragons

2006-02-27T22:23:00.000+01:00

So let's get right to the first batch of pictures. This is what greeted me on my very first Sunday in our new apartment.

At around 10:45 a.m., a massive amount of church bells rang throughout Bari Gotic signaling it was time for the parade to begin. The first couple pics are from our balcony, then the rest are from when my friend Patrick and I went down to the street to get a closer look at what was going on.

I was initially confused because when I first visited Barcelona back in Septemeber 2001, it was during Festival de Merce, which is huge here and I saw many of the same giants and even more human towers. It struck me as odd that the same giant costumes from a festival in Septemeber would be out for a smaller festival in February.

Patrick eventually got to the bottom of the mystery. He asked a local who answered something like, "They don't need much of an excuse in Barcelona to hold a parade and break out the giant costumes!

2006-02-27T22:10:00.000+01:00

Hola everyone! Sorry it took us a couple weeks to get this blog up and running, but hopefully we should be able to share more about our time here in Spain with you on a regular basis. I figure it would probably be easiest to just start with the huge e-mail I sent some of you last week, the get going on some more recent posts.

Here is the text from that first e-mail.... enjoy!

Greetings from Barcelona!

First of all, let me apologize for taking so long to finally craft this e-mail and reaching out to most you to say I am alive and well in Barcelona. These last two weeks have been… ummm… shall we say…. busy.

I landed in Barca on a Saturday afternoon. After checking into my hotel, I immediately took to the streets to explore the various neighborhoods and get a feel for the city. It had been almost five years since I first visited Barca. I must say much has changed since that first visit, and much has stayed the same. After walking the streets til well after dark, I grabbed a quick meal and returned to my room for a long night’s sleep. After all, though my Lufthansa flight was smooth and uneventful, it was far from restful. I woke the next day and again threw on my walking shoes and took to the streets. Most people on a mission such as mine would probably buy and all-day subway pass to cover the most ground, but I decided from the outset that I would rather walk the entire time so as to not miss any attractive neighborhoods because I was passing under them instead of traversing them on foot.

So that Sunday consisted of a great deal of walking and an appointment with a real estate agent I had arranged while still in the U.S. I really liked the places I was shown, but had also made appointments for Monday, so I decided to refrain from going ahead and signing any leases. That Sunday night I took to one of the local pubs to watch the local soccer team play a televised match and get a feel for the passion the people of this city have for FC Barcelona. It was an amazing experience; one that would have probably been even better had the home side not suffered a surprising defeat at the hands of Atletico Madrid.

First thing Monday I met with another real estate agent to view a place in a part of the city called Barceloneta. Barceloneta is a tiny little peninsula that along the ocean right near the heart of the city. On one side is the Old Port, which is home to some of the city’s local fishing fleets and a new touristy embarcadero built for the 1992 Olympics, while on the other side of the peninsula lies a more traditional beach boardwalk and the rather spectacular Mediterranean Sea. While the neighborhood was awesome, the actual apartment was rather small. However, my mentality was that we since I could negotiate a two-month lease, we could survive the tight quarters and find a new place later if we so desired. Not to mention, the peace of mind of knowing where I would be sleeping the next wasn’t bad either, even if I could have probably extended my stay at my hotel indefinitely. So I gave the agent a small deposit and we agreed to meet back at the flat that evening to work out the rest of the details.

Since I already had two other appointments for Monday afternoon, I figured I might as well honor them and see a bit of what else might be out there. The first flat was a bit rough, so the tour was short and led to a very quick thanks, but no thanks. I had a bit of time to kill before my last appointment, so I got a bite to eat and cruised over to Plaza Catalunya to relax, write in my journal, and do a bit of people-watching. I thought about blowing off the last appointment, but since I had only made it earlier that morning, I figured I’d check it out before heading back down to Barceloneta to finalize the terms for the apartment I’d seen that morning. Boy, am I glad I didn’t skip the appointment…

The place was SWEET!

As soon as I walked in, I knew it was exactly the place we were looking for. The agent and the owner showed me the place and we quickly got to talking terms. The agent rather adeptly worked some very friendly terms for me, so I told him I’d call him within the hour to give him my decision. A quick stroll down La Rambla to finalize my thoughts assured me eating the tiny deposit on the Barceloneta apartment and paying a small bit more per month would be the best money I ever spent. So I quickly called the agent and told him it was time to do some business and he immediately invited me over to his office to do the paperwork. So the agent (Mark), the owner (Alberto) and I met that night and wrapped up all the paperwork.

When we were done, Alberto and I decided to ride the subway back downtown together and immediately began chatting about everything we could. Now keep in mind, Alberto’s English is worse than my Spanish, so the topics of our conversation were limited, but we nevertheless took an immediate liking to each other. Turns out he is actually in the restaurant business, so when we exited the subway, he immediately invited me to his establishment for some dinner. His place is amazing. He sat me in the corner and didn’t even bother bringing me the menu. He simply brought me all of the house favorites and treated me to quite amazing evening of authentic cuisine. When I finally left the restaurant to head back to my hotel, I was overcome by a feeling of luck and joy. Everything had fallen into place just as I had imagined. Call it luck… call it planning… whatever it was, it felt like magic.

So the next day, I met Alberto at the flat to gets the keys. I literally only had time to drop my bags in the bedroom; then it was off to the Internet café to return to the good ol’ work force.

The next few days consisted of getting settled into the flat and taking long strolls around my new neighborhood, which is called Barri Gotic, or Barrio Gothic. This is the oldest part of the city. Our street is called Carrer de la Portaferrissa. Portaferrissa translates to Iron Gate… as in the Iron Gate that once stood perhaps 100 meters down the street and marked the entrance thru the Roman wall into the ancient city. Needless to say, our new ‘hood has character.

After a few days, a friend of ours from college, Patrick Sweeney, arrived from Portland to visit. No longer alone in the Barcelona, one could say I took full advantage of now having a partner in crime with which to continue my exploration of the city. Patrick arrived on a Thursday evening and the next four days consisted of great food, some beer, some site-seeing, more food, more beer, repeat. Highlights included a good ol’ European soccer game and multiple long and memorable nights out roaming the city until about 5 a.m. After all, Patrick and I had to see for ourselves if it was true what they say about the Spanish nightlife and how nothing really gets rolling until after midnight. It’s true.

The routine is actually quite regimented. Dinner and drinks at a restaurant starting at midnight. Those restaurants generally close at about 2 a.m., which is when it is time to head for the bars. The bars stay hopping until about 4 a.m. Everyone then heads to the clubs or after-hours bars til long after the sun comes up. We tended to befriend other people at dinner, roll out to the bars with said new friends, then power on through to the late-night places. On our biggest night, we befriended some Americans at the early bar and rolled with them to a second bar. Just as we were leaving the second bar, we met e group of French people who convinced us to go with them to check out an after-hours place across the plaza. We hung there for another couple of hours chatting with a bunch of Africans. Did I mention Barcelona is a worldy kind of city? All-in-all, a marathon of good times.

Oh yeah, did I mention the time zone difference between here and the U.S. and how it impacts my work schedule? I’m six hours ahead of my office in Washington, D.C., so my work day starts at about 12:30 p.m. and goes til about 8:00 p.m. Do the math and you will quickly find that that means I can stay out til 4:00 a.m., come home, and STILL get eight hours of sleep before I have to be back on the job. I’m an old 30-year-old man now, so I certainly don’t plan to keep that up every night. However, as I mentioned before, Patrick arrived Thursday evening. Friday morning, my new Time Zone Fringe Benefit was… uhhh… convenient.

After Patrick left the following Monday, it was back to my alone-in-the-city routine for a couple of days before it was time to head to Geneva to finally collect Kate and visit with our friends Sharrolyn and Loic. Actually, the alone-in-the-city routine only lasted one day, because on Tuesday night I went to the pub to watch a big Real Madrid soccer match on TV. While there, I befriended these two Scottish dudes who work for Vodafone and were visiting Barcelona for the big wireless communication conference that was going on all week. They were shocked to meet a Yank who knew his European soccer and responded by insisting on educating me about the finer whiskeys that hail from their proud homeland. Being Scots, they liked to drink. Being on an expense account, they didn’t much care about the cost. The Time Zone Fringe Benefit was null and void the next morning because I had an early flight to Geneva. So my intention was to watch just one game and head home early. But with my new friends from Vodafone were having none of that… “Your wife arrives tomorrow? This is your last night out with just the lads good man… have another shot!” I ended up watching two and a half soccer games and Uncle Vodafone covered all but about two drinks. Thanks Uncle Vodafone… I think.

So after a blurry flight to Geneva Wednesday, I caught up with Sharrolyn, Loic and Patrick (Sharrolyn also went to college with us, so Patrick was visiting them as well). Katie arrived the next morning. We were so happy to be reunited and among dear friends. We spent the next four days enchanted by Geneva and the beautiful mountains and vineyards that surround Sharrolyn and Loic’s home in Denans, a tiny Swiss village not far from Geneva. Highlights of the weekend include amazing meals at Sharrolyn and Loic’s home, an afternoon snow-shoeing in the Alps followed by a nice meal in an actual Alpine lodge. I really enjoyed Geneva itself and the dorky professional side of me thoroughly enjoyed the tour we took of the United Nations office there. I write every day about meeting and decisions coming out of those offices, so it was special for me to see then and get a visual of all those agencies there I cover for work.

Katie and I flew from Geneva to Barcelona yesterday and I finally got to unveil our new home to her. I made a decision when I rented the place not to tell her a thing about what it looked like. Katie is the curious type, so I took great pride in driving her mad by only revealing that we lived in Barri Gotic and nothing else. She is ecstatic about it. From the size of the place, right down to the interior design, we are thrilled.

We are in the heart of the old city and our street is pedestrian only so there is no traffic noise whatsoever. We are just steps from all of life’s little daily needs and while we are about 75 meters from the most famous pedestrian boulevard in Barcelona, La Rambla, we don’t here any of its hustle and bustle. And not only do we have three sets of French doors that open to a narrow balcony overlooking the street, but we are on the top floor with a rooftop terrace above us that is available for us to use at our leisure. We scored.

Well I could write forever about these past few weeks… geez I already have… but I will end this initial update here. We hope to set up a blog or website in the next couple of days and plan to post more frequent, and I promise more brief, updates about our new life in Barcelona. Will let you all know when it is up and running…

Take care for now and hasta luego!

Sean

P.S. For those of you that are soccer fans, I seem to have become a bit of bad luck to the two local clubs. Espanyol has lost every game while I have been in the city, including the one Patrick and I watched. FC Barcelona, the local fan favorite and global powerhouse, lost both games they have played so far when I have actually been in the city. Of course, I leave to go to Geneva and they crush their opponent that weekend 5-1. With FC Barcelona’s big clash against Chelsea set for Wednesday night, I’m surprised the customs guys at the airport let me back into the city!