Sunday Excursions: Été en Europe!
One day we packed our bags, drove ourselves to the airport, hopped on a plane and ended up in Barcelona.
Actually, that's not really how the story goes. At least it wasn't that smooth--but I'll spare the details, if not for you, for me (writing it is to re-live it and re-living it is just too painful). Let's just say this photo resembled much of our airport and flying experience.
[Our four-year-old monkey, I mean son.]
After an overnight flight with two children, a post-call husband and a few returns from the flight-attendent of a small child who wandered the aisles by herself while her mummy and daddy got two minute increments of sleep at a time, we landed.
[The sad faces of travel.]
There's nothing like Europe; there's nothing like Barcelona. Actually, Barcelona has been described this way:
"Barcelona was a most illustrious city for its princes and most noble , its knights ; its richness and great prosperities where known all over the world for being marvelous and vigorous, and therefore, exposed to envy… ”
Benjamin De Tudela said this. Picasso, Cerventas, Hans Christian Anderson...Woody Allen--they all had the right ways to describe Barcelona. At least through the eyes of somewhat normal functioning human beings. You see, when we arrived we were delusional, brought on by a lack of sleep. Yet, in Barcelona, this does not really matter. This is even true as you await the arrival of your luggage.
The moment I breathed the air of Barcelona air--seconds after inhaling the fresh air of the tarmac--Barcelona placed a new spell on me and it stayed with me each moment we were there. In fact, we were there for several weeks. Our children actually got the memo this time: no sleep until Barcelona. Or, when in Barcelona, don't sleep. Our children wanted to party. When you are parents, you do what your children want to do. Here's the thing--we are not Disneyland visitors. We want our children to learn how to travel the real way. So the trip was ours; but, what we do on that trip is theirs. At least that's how we justified it. In Barcelona, and this is generally true in many European countries, it's about family. In essence, Barcelona is a version of Disneyland, without the make-belief, oversized furry animals, princess syndrome, the parts where you are being forced to dish out money because your kids are screaming to get their photos taken with Goofy. Our kids had an absolute blast in España.
[She liked to be carried.]
Life in Barcelona went like this pretty much every day:
We arrived to the sound of our little songbirds early in the morning. I mean and ungodly hour. We made breakfast from the fresh farm eggs from the local market. One of the two adults would go for a run through the gothic streets, which led to a run along the most amazing boardwalk run along the Mediterranean.
This was followed by a dip in the ocean to clean our sweaty self off (they don't care what you wear or don't even wear in this town)! Then, the other adult went running while the former showered. Then, we got the kids into a stroller (we are not big stroller users, but it's nice to have one here because usually when you leave you do not return until the evening). We would walk around the town all day...ten, twelve miles. First we stopped at the Gelateria. We are big proponents of not intentionally giving our children sugar. But there is unreal (note: the hole-in-the-wall places are always the best). We would walk along the beach for a bit, then drown ourselves in a Cortado. Coffee, espresso, etc. is only done right in Europe. The same is true with Gelato. So we made it a mission to fill up on both.
[First of many Cortado pit stops]
[Please give us thy daily gelato. Essential note: kids eat gelato, adults Cortados.]
We walked some more, had tapas for lunch (oh, kids in Europe eat real food too--there's very little "kid" food). We ordered the tapas, then our kids would eat all of it. So, we'd just have to order Sangria and more Cortados.
[The above photo resembles the brilliance of the Spanish. Restaurants surrounding a playground. Drink Sangria while you're kids play. I don't think they even ate dinner on this night.}
After a Sangria, our body would experience the inevitable sugar crash. To remedy this (our kids do not permit naps in a bed for anyone), we headed for the beach and plopped our lazy bodies down on the sand followed by playing in water for hours upon hours. What is lovely about the Barcelona beaches, is that there are people everywhere. But not in an annoying way. If they are not locals, they are from various parts of the world. It's fun to guess where people are from.
[My favorite people from the beach. Ages 78 and 81. Bikini // Speedo and making out, everyday. Where are they from? I guessed Italy. My husband guessed France. He was right.]
When our babies looked like they were heading toward lobster color status from the sun, we would depart each day with a heavy heart.
[Departing the Barcelona beaches taught her how to pout.]
We would continue to stroll, then find a cafe to sit down in and watch The World Cup. Watching the World Cup in Europe is second best to watching it live.
[After Nigeria was ousted, we moved on to rooting for Argentina for the remainder of the World Cup. That's not true, my husband had a France interlude until they lost.]
Everyday, as Europeans do, we headed to the market. And this was a supermarket--La Boqueria--unlike any American version of the supermarket. This was the truest kind. Vendors from all over with the freshest food--cheeses, fresh-from-the-sea-seafood, the most beautiful vegetables and fruits, legumes, nuts...it had it all. My husband somehow would sneak off and obtain chocolate from some unknown vendor.
We at them pretty much every night accompanied with a different vegetable. After the market, we would start heading home. We would stop by the park, watch our children play with the sweetest kids in the world (Barcelona is filled with the cutest children).
[The kids eat homemade food. Often, the kids eat naked. In Barcelona.]
We cooked our dinner, hung our laundry outside to dry and drank champagne or wine, depending on what kind of rough day we had.
A closer look at these little big shrimp:
We would repeat, only after we'd walk the streets at night, thanks to children who refused to sleep. Midnight strolls might have been a tad bit frustrating at the time, but looking back, that's really where the memories are made.
Oh, and the breaks that we were given thanks to Grandpa and Myshi.
Our dates were the best: roaming the town!
