San Sebastian

I have been a longtime fan of Anthony Bourdain. I've always admired his writing, his callous coarseness and of course his passion for food and travel. Before I came to Spain, I saw his episode of "No Reservations" that was filmed here and it was then that the realization came to me, "Spain is now the gastronomer's paradise." I followed everything that he did here and made sure I was able to do many of the same things. I have now become a champion Calcot maker, I have tasted canned fish like Sardines and Anchovies that I have always, like many Americans turned my nose up at, that were so well done, so refined, one could not enjoy them. And now, I have gone to Spain's mecca, as Anthony Bourdain did on his show, for food lovers, Donostia-San Sebastian. San Sebastian is home to countless Michelin restaurants, the freshest locally grown ingredients and of course the odd, ancient Basque language and its people. Something I didn't realize about San Sebastian, is that while it is a city unto itself, what surrounds it is quite the opposite. The Basque have really seemed to maintain (at least in the hills above the city) a traditional, simple lifestyle that harkens back to what one would think of as eighteenth century-esque. The roads are hilly, narrow, difficult to maneuver and yet there is so much there.
We stayed in a rural house about twenty minutes outside of the city. It was silent and unspeakably green. There were countless animals that were seemingly unafraid of people. I mean, I had a sheep run right up to me. Additionally, San Sebastian is home to wild apple trees that seem to grow like weeds in their climate and as a result, a huge part of Basque food and culture is based around the cider houses that dot the land. It is here that you can drink homemade hard cider and eat local delicacies at a good price. Honestly, however, the cider was the only thing I tasted in San Sebastian that I did not like.
We walked along La Concha beach the first night that we were there and had dinner at the La Concha cafe. It was good but nothing to write home about. The second day there, we had the lunch tasting menu at Bodegon Alejandro. It was unbelievably good. The food was the perfect blend of gourmet, wow factor and heart. I truly enjoyed it along with too much wine for a midday meal but I laid in the sun until all was digested and I was fine. The following day, we headed to the Chilida-Leku outdoor sculpture museum where a famous Basque architect turned famous Basque artist works are displayed. It was a loverly property to walk around although I must be authentic in admitting that I didn't really "get it" aside from the fact that it was large scale metal working which I knew, required skill. This I did appreciate. That evening, was our big dinner. We had made reservations about a month in advance and drove out deeper into the country to Zuberoa. It was a beautiful restaurant in an old stone home but was a bit stuffy for me. There were only four or five tables in the entirety of the patio and yet four servers stood behind us monitoring every sip of water, look on my face, ect. for anything they could do. I don't enjoy things like that. Other than that, however, the food showed great technique and was seasonally appropriate and well done. I, personally preferred the lunch tasting we'd done at Bodegon Alejandro. I liked the flavors more and it was a quarter of the price.
Back to Bourdain, so, in this episode of "No Reservations" Bourdain visits a bar called "Haizea" and eats with the Father and daughter of Arzak, the most notorious and well respected of the Michelin collection in San Sebastian. There were some tapas (or Pintxos as they call them in Basque) in that scene that I wanted to try so badly. Plus, if the Arzaks say that it's their favorite we'd better try it before we leave. So, before we hit the road the next morning, we checked of Katxkarre (the house) and headed to Bar Haizea. Sure enough, the tapas that I saw on the show were on the bar and waiting to be picked up and eaten. My personal favorite was the pickled peppers, olive and anchovy on a toothpick, heavenly, acidic mouthful on a stick. Anyway, the part of the bar that was played down on the show (I think on purpose) was that it's literally all fat old women who eat there. They were all sitting there in their moo-moo dresses, smoking, reading the paper and kissing little fat kids that came running in to say hello. We stood out there. However, fat old woman usually know how to eat and I consoled myself with this thought as I gulped down impressive quantities of Pintxos that are not nearly as good as the ones traditionally eaten in Catalunya.
And it was with that, that our gastronomical adventures and misadventures came to close there in beautiful San Sebastian. I admired it's old bridge lined with beautiful white and green topped columns as we strode across it. The bridge is very important by the way in San Sebastian as it connects the old city with the new (the old city cannot be parked in only walked into via the bridge). The old city was the beautiful part of the city, the part people really come to see. I looked this way and that at all the beautiful architecture that lined the water way flowing into the sea, much of which reminded me of Paris more than anything else.The French influence here is evident in much of what they do and how they are. The food is handled more precisely, the architecture is undeniably French but the Spanish-ness makes it noteworthy and unique unto itself. Here's to San Sebastian! Salud!

Perpignan, France

We took a day trip to France. We left Spanish Catalunya and entered French Catalan territory as we drove on towards the Pyrenees. We had decided that we would go to Perpignan as it was the nearest place in France that had nice beaches and some things that one could do there. Once we were off the highway, we realized that we were a bit lost. However, it was a good kind of lost as we were able to see small, cute towns that had copious amounts of charm and style. When we finally realized the error of our ways we ended up back on the highway for about ten minutes and then in Perpignan we arrived. "Straight to the beach!" was our motto for the trip and to the beach we did go. While the drive from Barcelona is only a couple of hours, the beaches here were shockingly different from those in Spain. They seemed to go on forever and had a completely different set of surroundings. It seemed bigger and had a quality of vastness unlike the cove-like beaches of Spain. It was here that we stopped at a beach shack for lunch. Well, we thought we'd have a nice, simple plate of food here and then onward we'd go to explore more of the beach itself. We were wrong, the food was jaw dropping and so cheap! We ordered a salad and dare I say, it was the best salad I've ever had and that's saying a lot because I've had my share of salads. The greens were fresh and vibrant, lightly dressed with champagne dressing and generously tossed with thick-cut bacon. Framing the salad were small toasts slathered with melted brie and herbs d'Provence. We had lovely olives in the thatch of greens as well. After the surprise salad, we each had a plate. I ordered a whole Dorado and it was crispy and yummy, grilled with the skin on and the now clouded, semi-cooked fish eyes staring right at me the whole time. After we ate, we had some cafe solos, digested and when in search of a place to beach our bloated bodies. No dice. The wind started to kick up before we could even think about laying down our towels. Smiling at the derailment of our whimsical, last minute plans, we remembered seeing a sign for mini-golf, correction, "Le Mini-Golf" (really) on the way to the beach. Sure enough, we packed up our towels, got in the car and played the most rousing round of mini-golf one could ever hope for. I won. And for these efforts, I was handsomely rewarded with a cup of soda of my choosing and of course the score card itself. The score card now rests on my dresser as a reminder as who the boss of the house really is. Ah, Perpignan.

Mallorca

We went to Mallorca this summer. It was a truly amazing place to go, to see, to eat, to swim and to beach yourself in the sand. We had the privilege to stay in one of the oldest villas on the island that also happened to be right on one of the beaches. The villa itself was truly poetic. The architectural style of it was an undeniable nod to Moroccan design and it had intricate shapes and formations that enveloped the structure. We had a huge yard in the front with a cabana that overlooked the beach and the back was beautiful as well, covered in grape vines and equipped with a wood burning oven.
The majestic beauty of Mallorca is firstly noted when one sees the turquoise waters that seem to never end. They are dotted with patches of deeper, more intense hues of blue and protected by naturally formed cliffs of jagged rocks that are inhabited by the local and wild goats. The goats peruse the hillsides of Mallorca, eating God knows what and "baaing" frequently as all the German tourists ( many, many) make the interesting choice of sunburning their often fleshy bodies on the lounge chairs.
We rented a paddle boat for 10 euros for an hour and paddled out to the coves, dove into the unspeakably pleasing and warm water. Afterward, we laid in the sand and drifted in and out of sleep whilst enjoying the Mariachis singing "Guantanamera" at the beach bar to a table of hungry Germans.
The world cup was going on while we were in Mallorca and to watch the U.S. V. Ghana match we decided to walk to Don Pedro, a seemingly normal middle of the road hotel where all the German and British visitors were staying. Well, normal it was not. The minute we entered the bar on the bottom floor of the building, we heard a "version" of "Proud Mary" that made me want to pluck out my own eardrums. "Karaoke?" I thought. No, not karaoke, rather a trio of hired, horrible, haggard performers who were decked out in red sequins. The two women in the group looked like ex-cruise ship performers and the one, very gay man just seemed to be relieved to be performing at all. Oddly, the small TV that was playing the match was off on a side table next to the stage, in order to watch the game, we had no choice but to be deafened by "Rollin, Rollin, Rollin on a river- ONE MORE TIME!" over and over again as we pleaded amongst ourselves for the madness to cease. The audience was full of old British and German couples who looked like something out of the Shining's ballroom scene, drinking cheap wine by the bottleful and digesting the Paella buffet dinner they'd had an hour prior. Needless to say, sitting in the smoky, dark room that held all this, the sweat, the booze and the glitter eye shadow, made me want a shower desperately. To make things even worse, once all had been endured, the U.S lost the match to Ghana.
Once we left the Don Pedro, I felt that I was once again on sane ground and we walked back to our villa, the sea sloshing in the warm, blue night.
While staying in the Villa, we had the difficulty of tourists walking in to our villa from the beach. Many people thinking that it was a museum of some kind or an old church. Indeed it was not and for the first time I felt baffled. I needed to know German to communicate in Spain in order to keep these people out of the house. In the end, we had to just keep locking the door despite us only being feet away on the beach. Silly Germans, they never developed the concept of ,"not yours", now, did they?
All in all, Mallorca is a beautiful, majestic place with the most incredible water I've ever seen in person. I wouldn't go there expecting to have a conversation with the locals as most of them, it seems, have been all but pushed out by the British and the Germans. However, if you get the chance to go with someone whom you can converse with endlessly, it will be a fabulous and memorable time.

La Boqueria

It has been named as the best market in the world, the best market in Europe and it deserves it. La Boqueria is what foodies dream about when they close their eyes at night. There is a stand for pretty much anything that you can think of. The most impressive thing about La Boqueria is the endless choices of fruit and veggies. Many of the fruit stands make fresh juices that they sell for about a Euro each and there are many flavors from which to choose. This past weekend, for example, I had Dragonfruit and Coconut. It was delicious. You can buy the best of everything for the same price or cheaper than what you pay for far lower quality in the supermarkets. It's just about putting the effort in. It's a bit of work getting there in the sense that you have to trek it through the freak filled La Rambla and if you go on a weekend, you will be dodging tourists left and right. For some reason, people become blind and unable to move out of your way once they set foot in the Boqueria. It must be the paralyzing powers of handmade chocolate and the bright colors of fruits that most people never see or taste before they keel over. I have been a few times now and find it is best to go around two thirty because they close at four but many stands begin shutting down at three. So, at two thirty you get the best deals as all the vendors are trying to get rid of stuff. This is especially true for the fish people. No, not a new specie, the fish stands. We got a Kilo of super fresh mussels for 3.50 Euro. I already have my favorite venders. When I can afford it, I love to trip it over to the Argentinian steak lady. She's funny as hell and has awesome aged steaks which she hacks away at with her meat cleaver while laughing about how much better her meat is than the other butchers. I also really like to watch the people working at the various fish stands. They are all working so fast with such a stinky ingredient it just intrigues me. This is especially true when you watch them descaling huge whole fish. The scales fly everywhere and old ladies still nudge their way right in the guys face trying to make deals unafraid of being..well, scaled on. Also, the Mexican stand is hilarious because you see all the Mexican and South American immigrants band around this tiny Latina demanding their favorite hot sauces and spices. She is also one of the only stands that has ginger. Just putting that out there in case you go there and need ginger. Go to her. You can also eat there. They have all types of snacks and prepared food stands scattered about. You can get assorted fried seafoods from one of the fish guys including deep fried baby eels and shrimp on sticks. Of course, they have tapas places and there is also a gourmet pizza guy who spells cheese on the english menu as "Chesses". It's cute, especially as you watch him sweatily maneuver his large belly over to the pizza oven. I always look forward to going here. I don't plan dinner anymore. I simply go and find what looks most appealing and voila the menu self invents.

Marbella

Marbella on the southern coast of Spain is a gem. I roadtripped it down and spent my spring break there. It is far more relaxed than the busy streets of Barcelona and has gorgeous beaches, great food and wonderful people. The neighboring "city" of Puerto Banus I could have done without as it was a bit flashy and pretentious for my tastes. Otherwise, it's perfection. Old town Marbella is straight out of a painting with it's cobblestone streets, colorful buildings and air that smells of orange blossoms. The beaches are dotted with little fish restaurants with some offering grill boats. I don't think that's what they're actually called, nonetheless, they are wooden boats in the sand that function as wood grills for all the fresh local seafood that Marbella bequeaths unto its visitors. We had fresh sardines and shrimp off the grill. It was all cruncy with sea salt crystals and covered in lemon. I'm not a gifted enough writer to really embody how wonderful my trip was to this place. Suffice it to say that I have never felt more relaxed, more content nor have I ever hated leaving somewhere so much in my life. Old town Marbella is full of quaint artisan stores and yes, more food. Plaze de Naranjas is a mini square within old town Marbella that has copious amounts of orange trees and we sat and had wine underneath them. I need to stop here on Marbella as it's depressing me that I am not there now.

On the way down to Marbella, we stopped in Valencia for an overnight. Valencia is a city that I am dying to go back to. It's known as the city of "arts and sciences" and lives up to the title with elaborate buildings that house museums of many types and it also has the largest aquarium in Europe. We tried to go to the aquarium but the tickets aren't cheap and we soon figured out that it's the biggest aquarium in Europe because it has more eateries than a middle American strip mall. Okay, enough jadedness. Regardless, Valencia's beach strip is huge and is lined with bars and restaurants where one can sit with a jug of sangria in the sun. We ate at La Pepica, a fairly renowned Paella joint that Hemingway frequented. We had the Paella Negra which gets it's name from the fact that it has black rice (from squid ink) as opposed to the traditional saffronic yellow shade. It was delicious and truly special. I have never been to city that simultaneously possesses the size of an urban center with the genuine small town beach attitude of somewhere like Marbella. Though we were there briefly (one night on the way to Valencia and we stopped for lunch there on the way back, too.) it's not something I will forget.

The drive allowed me to see the diverse landscape of Spain. We drove through La Mancha and I kept my eyes glued to the scenery, trying to imagine Don Quixote and Sancho Panza mulling about. Much of what we saw between Barcelona and Marbella (excepting Valencia) was agricultural and green. Most notable, were all the olive trees and vineyards that had not a tinge of pretense. There were no big glitzy wine tasting tours or gold mansions. Most likely, it was just a grandma and grandpa maintaining familial traditions. Also, as you drive south, you see several massive cardboard bulls positioned in the hills, staring down at you. It is the national animal of Spain so it isn't entirely random.


Spain is a diverse, beautiful country with the best food hands down of any other country that I have ever been to. The people in the southern part are smiley, tan and relaxed. You never feel like you "need" to "do" anything or "hurry" or "go". You just sit and that's it. That's why it is perfect. It it effortless and it is perfect. How bout them apples?

A Ladies Date

This evening was fantastic (aside from me having to come home and listen to the loud NY boys across the hall make base-caveman sounds as they chug copious amounts of alcohol). Marleth and I had this lovely evening planned quite a bit ago. I had been wanting to go see a Classic Spanish guitar concert ever since I'd thought of coming to Barcelona. We researched it and found out that Manuel Gonzalez (considered one of the best Spanish guitarists in the world & a Barcelona native) was having a series of concerts this month. We bought our tickets a month in advance and planned a fantastic dinner prior to the show. Well, that's exactly what we did.

We got our tushies on the metro L4 and got off at Jaume. We picked up our tickets at Sant Jaume and then had dinner at Taller de Tapas which was thoroughly enjoyable in it's own right. After dinner, we lazily wove our way in and out of the cobblestone street side shops, had an espresso and took plenty of self-indulgent photographs.

The show:
This was one of the most magical things I have ever experienced. This sounds over the top for me, I know. Nothing ever impresses me too much, I know this. Hear me out. This man is an artist, a genius, a musical madman. First let me describe the setting at Sant Jaume: It's an old, small, intimate, beautiful, intricate church that was full of flowers and overflowing with lit, warm, red candles. It sits on cobblestone streets and hasn't an ounce of pretense. The church smelled ever so slightly of flowers and given the small size, there were only about 40 people littering the pews.

When he began to play, I took note not so much of the music right away, rather, the way this man held his guitar. Okay, so Spanish guitarist cradle the guitar more vertically; I know this but this man held, caressed and even looked at his instrument like it was the love of his life. The first song sucked me in, then the second, then.....

Then he began to play "Asturias". It is a classic song often done by Spanish guitarists as a staple of sorts. Many songs played by or written for Spanish guitar are names of cities in Spain and neighboring countries. This song's namesake being the former Kingdom of Asturias, a now autonomous province that includes the likes of Oviedo. The song was written by Isaac Albeniz of Gerona in the late 18th C. Why the history lesson? Well folks, this song, when played at least by the great Sr. Gonzalez made me cry like a little baby. For me, the song represented an intense, rapid, fast-forward soundtrack representing the cycle of human life. That's just what it sounded like to me and as I let myself accept the music more and more, the clearer this movie in my mind became. It was a beautiful, interpersonal experience that is going to be with me forever.

Also interesting, but in a completely different way was an original piece that he had written and performed as an encore called, "Interrupted Romance". It was this lovely, romantic song that kept being interrupted by other commonly recognized songs like the "Mission Impossible" theme, "We Will Rock You", a knock on the door (he knocked on his guitar), a precocious yet invisible fly that he kept following with his eyes and soundtracking with his guitar...even picking up an empty water glass disapprovingly and then playing his guitar with the rim of the glass. The man is amazing.


It was a wonderful night.

Calcots

My apologies for the delay in posting something new (if there was anyone out there "waiting"). I wanted to write about the Calcot today. Yes. It seems much of the blog is now going in the direction of food and gastronomy, however, this is a large area of interest for both Barcelona and myself. The Calcot is a large, green onion that resembles a leek. In the Catalonian region of Spain, Calcots are a seasonal food that is typically eaten with friends/family at a BBQ type of function.

How to Prepare Calcots:

1) Take your calçots, green onions or scallions and trim the tips. Remove any dried peelings, but leave as much of the vegetable intact as you can. Once the onions are cooked, you'll be peeling off the first layer, so don't worry about trimming them too much.

2)Preheat your grill to high. Calçots are traditionally roasted over fire in an outdoor oven (in a calçotada), but they can also be cooked in a conventional oven or on top of the stove. The next best thing to the calçotada, however, is the grill.

3) Prepare the calçots by drizzling them with olive oil and seasoning with salt and pepper. Some people like to use cayenne pepper as well, but this spice (as well as the others) is optional.

4) Arrange the onions on the hot grill and let cook for about 8 to 12 minutes (scallions will take less time than green onions and green onions less time than calçots). Watch the onions carefully so as not to burn, but allow the first layer of skin to char. Occasionally turn them with tongs and continue to season them as they cook.

5) Remove the onions and wrap them in a newspaper (this is how they do it in Spain) or if you prefer you can wrap them in paper towels. Let them stand and cool for about 15 minutes.

6) Serve warm with Romesco sauce or olive oil, salt and pepper.

I recently took it upon myself to cook this local yummy for some friends at a BBQ. They went over so well that we are having an even bigger BBQ with Amber's Calcots upon request. Even the students that are born and raised here haven't cooked them but have only eaten them. My Calcots got rave reviews from natives and non-natives alike, all of whom commented on the irony of the situation.

When you have friends and family over for Calcots it is called a Calcotada. I found that cute.

The Romesco sauce that you dip the Calcot in is really what "makes" it. It's delicious. However, once on the Calcot it becomes a melodious marriage of flavor and texture. The sauce is primarily made from almonds, hazelnuts, tomato, garlic and a series of spices. Its thick and paste-like so, it sticks nicely to the lanky vegetable as one gluttonously drops the entire thing into their pie hole and chews it like it's a cud.Yum.

Jamon Serrano

Since I mentioned Jamon Serrano in the last post, I felt that I had to explain more about it as it's a big deal here.

These things are in most typical Spanish homes' kitchens. They are massive, delicious and the gastronomic pride of Spain. Just as Cod fish is San Sebastian's, Jamon Serrano belongs to certain parts of Spain. Mind you, they hang from the walls of all the butcher shops here. You see people hauling them out to take them home. You see little old women pointing to the one they want. Additionally, if one wants to regularly enjoy this specialty at home, Jamon Serrano requires its own stand and a special knife. They don't need to be refrigerated. Rather, they stay fresh by ensuring that the meat portions are fat covered and so, they remain out for view on one's ham stand, in one's kitchen. Lovely isn't it? Talk about childhood desensitization. Howver, I imagine if I had one of these (the ham and all the accoutrements) that I'd be slicing bits off every time I passed by. I have not tried this delicacy yet but I've heard nothing but good things. I'll let you know when I do.

I love the Forn de Pas everywhere

So far, one thing that I've noticed about Barcelona and the Spanish in general is that they love their pastries. The good news is so do I. A Forn de Pa in Catalan is basically what we Americans call a bakery or in Spanish you would say, "Panaderia". However, it differs in several ways from the bakeries of the Bay Area (wonderful and gourmet as they are). First, as Americans, it isn't typical to routinely grab something from a bakery everyday or multiple days within a week. Here, it is. It seems to be most commonly frequented in the mornings and/or between the long gap between lunch and dinner. Here, a croissant, a danish, a donut or a chocolate dipped heart is a normal snack when paired with a nice espresso or cafe con leche.

Don't get me wrong. The Spanish have varied diets. They eat other things for between meal sustenance. It just makes a sweet tooth like myself wide-eyed with glee. I can't help but feel understood when I see other people recognizing the perfection that is pastry. They are so joy inducing.

Now, before you all flip out about the whole "fat" thing, let me tell you that the Spanish are not fat. They walk A LOT more than Americans and the remainder of their diet is pretty darn healthy (If you ignore the fact that a cured quarter of an entire pig is a grocery staple for homes. Yes. Like, milk, eggs, one quarter of a pig ( jamon serrano)).

In addition to them being a staple in the daily life of a Catalan, they are everywhere. Every block has at least one. I am still unsure how you are supposed to know which one is better or best. They all look good to me. Today, I stopped in to one and got four mini-chocolate croissants and an espresso (see pic). Yummy.

The crazy Europeans and their partying ways

This weekend was full of fun. Given the friendly nature of everyone in my classes, I was generously invited to several social functions. Everyone does things a bit differently here when it comes to the typical concept of “going out”. Firstly, the pre-party doesn´t start until ten o'clock. Usually, everyone arranges to meet at someone´s place, music is played on their favorite system here known as “Spodify” and drinking games are played until everyone is ready to go to the club. That is everyone must drink, talk and entertain themselves and each other until two in the morning. That´s when the clubs open. You want to aim to get there between two and two thirty to avoid paying cover, which at the more upscale places can be as much as twenty euro. The clubs close around six in the morning and about half the group will go home and the other half will after party until nine or ten. I know. It is crazy.
As for this program “Spodify”, I´d like to touch more on it as it´s a big deal here. Basically, it´s a music program that one can only have if they are invited by another user. Each user is given ten invites once they are invited into the program that they can use to invite their friends. It´s only legal and useable in six countries and they are all European. Why is it special? You can type any song into the search window and listen to it for free. Any song that you can think of is on this thing. We´re talking remixes, covers, the most random, the most underground-any song. So, usually the pre-parties (at least the two I´ve been to) are held at people´s houses that are members of “Spodify”. The program becomes the center of the party and everyone aggressively overtakes each other in getting a stab and putting their song on. The best part about this is it´s actually getting incorporated into the social scene as a means of showing a girl you like her or showing someone that you think their super awesome by telling them “I think I have another invite left if you want it.”
Okay, enough about “Spodify¨.
On Friday night when Marleth and I came home after heading to Hotel Om and the Barcelonetta scene with some people, we had a slight “situation”. The cab couldn´t get down our street as someone had parked their car in the middle of where the two streets cross as they dragged their overly drunk friend from up the street into the car. No big deal, right? You tell the cabby that you´ll get out and walk half a block. Wrong. Remember, it may be five in the morning but the streets, even in our quiet neighborhood, are bustling and full of people. Not just people but really, really drunk people. We approached the front door to our building and were completely cut off as we prepared to unlock the door by an insanely drunk twenty something Spaniard who was professing his love to me. Not just professing, attempting to full on kiss me. He pulled out his ID and started rambling on about the neighborhood he was from in Barcelona. How it was the best neighborhood and how it made him special or something. We kept saying ¨Goodnight¨ and “You need to go away now” but to no avail. Finally, when I thought he was fully occupied by his own ramblings, I attempted to quickly open the door and have Marleth and I slip in and then slam the door in his face but I failed. This slimy little creature slipped in with us and finally Marleth and I had no choice but to push him out of the door. Unfortunately, Pepper Spray is illegal in Europe

La primera dia de escuela

As I drift off to sleep, I just wanted to post something quick about my first day at BES La Salle. It was a school, a campus and a student body that I have never seen or thought of ever existing. Firstly, the school is extremely small. I am not sure on official numbers here but intimate is a good describing term for the feeling you get just after a day here. Secondly, the students in the business school are from every country imaginable. There are few, if any, native Spaniards in my classes. They come from all over Europe and there are a few from Mexico and South America as well. There are noticeably larger quantities of Norwegians and Germans, however, by this I mean five or six between two of my classes. So far, they have shown themselves to be warm, welcoming and friendly. My classes are small and due to my American origin and the fact that our colleges don't base classes purely on the year of the student, I am taking classes from all four year classifications. Traditionally, the students take a set of up to nine classes each semester that are pre-picked for their major and vary slightly but only in terms of electives. This means that from the beginning to the end of their college career, the same students are together. This really makes you feel the "family" vibe here. Additionally, if one does follow this traditional class structure you have one class room and the professors rotate.

Other things to take note of:

1) It's just more laid back all around. After all, it is Spain. However, I don't think the quality of the work is included in this relaxed attitude.

2) The gym is awesome.

The lazy pigeons of Placa Catalunya

La Rambla Y La Placa Catalunya

Today was Sunday. So, all the stores and restaurants in our neighborhood were closed. Marleth and I decided to go to La Rambla and check out the shopping and all the tourist attractions. We saw plenty of street entertainers, endless stands that were selling jewelry and accessories and plenty of restaurants hawking overpriced Paella. We walked all the way up La Rambla until hitting Placa (Plaza) Catalunya which was absolutely beautiful. There are two gorgeous fountains there along with several statues and grandiose buildings that frame the setting quite well with their golden inlays and intricate details. Noticeably, the Placa is also home to a huge pigeon population that is reminiscent of the classic scenes from the center of Venice. Although, these pigeons are a bit sleepier, lazier and less excitable. It seems that these Spanish pigeons, like the Spanish intellectual, is simply unimpressed by anyone or anything.

Parc Guell & Sagrada Familia

Today was our second to last day in Barcelona before classes begin. We thought that it may be a good time to start seeing the sights. All I have to say about today is the following: 1) A lot of walking 2) Parc Guell is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. 3) I need to go back to Sagrada Familia when I have more money so I can go inside.

On a funny side note:

I had the displeasure of walking through a construction site today. Unlike America, you can't walk under anything that they are working on. So, I unknowingly walked beneath a crane that was in the process of well "craning" only to be yelled at by the construction workers, " NO MORENA, MORENA" which roughly translates to "No brown girl"....

La enferma y las tiendas que no tienen sopa

As many of you know, I have fallen ill only three days into my journey in Spain. Since my last post, I have been able to weakly accomplish things that simply could not wait but have been unable to see any of the sights or really enjoy myself. I think that some faits have made me sick so that I could be grateful once I was no longer ill and then wouldn't think so much about missing home. True as that may be, I am still quite homesick. I miss everything. Right now, I am mostly missing my Grandma, her soups, my bed, my TV shows and my cat.

I got an irritating phone call today from customs. They are holding my trunk at the airport until they receive an email from me saying that I am not selling any of the contents, that they are for personal use only and why I am in Spain. They also are demanding a copy of my visa and my passport. I could have sworn that all of that was already inputted into the DHL website. Nonetheless, I managed to use the fax machine at the property management place that rented us this place as their office is a two minute stroll away. So, that rude woman has her faxes and her email. Hopefully, I can get my stuff. As I mentioned earlier, it's freezing here. I wouldn't be bothered by it so much except for the fact that I have to walk everywhere and the wind here whips through all the layers of clothing. My scarves, beanies and assorted coats are in that trunk.

Everything here closes from 2-4 PM for lunch and siesta. As a result, I am unable to buy any medicine or soup until later. Even at four most of the places are still closed. It's not exact. So, it's pretty much whenever the shop owner feels like opening back up that day. Hopefully I can get my hands on some soup, more bottled water and some more medicine before the sun goes down. It might be important to mention that the soup I am referring to is really just powdered bouillon in packets with freeze dried veggies as the Spanish don't really seem to eat chicken soup. I am trying to eat on the cheap while I'm here since everything is way expensive and all the costs from getting settled in are catching up to me fast. Yesterday I ate a bowl of Special K and two turkey and gouda sandwiches at home. I couldn't, however, figure out how to open the mustard container and ended up sawing the top off with a kitchen knife.

Something else that's different here is the paper. All the notebooks people use for school are in grid paper versions only and come in various paper thicknesses such as 6 and 8. So, I have a spanish notebook, a cold, some lunchmeat, a space heater, some tea and no soup. I may just give up and go get some fish soup as that seems to be all they have here. Or maybe I'll go to a chinese restaurant and get some sizzling rice soup or something. EESh...what a pain.

Cafe a llevar, el mercado y las primeras dias en Barcelona

The first evening that I arrived in Barcelona, I had a lovely little meltdown. The combination of jet lag, exhaustion and the realization that my life for the next four months would be immensely different, all hit me square in the chest. I called my Grandma which is what I always do when I can't breathe, sleep or think straight. It made me calmer to speak to her and I was able to sleep for about four hours.

Today, I awoke in slightly better spirits. The "better" mostly attributable to the fact that I knew I had much to do in order to get settled in and ready for the beginning of the semester and less having to do with not being homesick. It's not like moving to a new city or a new state. In addition to the geographic differences and living differences I am also dealing with cultural differences. This became immediately clear during the quest for my morning java fix. After stopping into a smoky bar (bar is more all encompassing of a word than in the US. It can include little snack/pastry/soda places, too.) I ordered "Cafe con Leche" which seemed a "so far, so good" exchange until I added "para llevar" (to go). It became evident that this was simply strange. The notion that one would not want to sit and nurse one's coffee along with half a pack of marlboros in a tiny, little bar was baffling to the barkeep. He realized, however, that I was not from around here and quickly adjusted his attitude and proceeded to pour piping hot coffee into a thin, wimpy PLASTIC cup. I, with hands burning had the pleasure of being looked up and down by nearly all who passed by. I was a scene unto myself.

After the plastic cups were disposed of we went into the grocery store to buy some food for the house. After shopping around the aisles, attempting to decode what it was that I was buying and lugging a rollable hand basket through the narrow pathways we quickly realized that we had to lug 15 bags uphill for about a 15 minute walk in the freezing cold. We saw an old lady who had a hideous plaid rolly bag that she was using for her groceries and asked her where we could get one as we knew that was our only hope. She told us to go down the street to a shop that "Chinese people own" and buy one. I ran down and bought the bag and we sweatily arrived at our apartment food in hand.