Christmas, Come Hell or Highwater

I am writing this as I wait on hold with American Airlines.  This is a favor I am gladly doing for my mother-in-law, who is obviously a most unfortunate holiday traveler, as you will see from this post.  A lesson from the Almighty?  Or just a good ole fashioned cluster-fuck?  You, dear reader, can decide.

Zoë's family – Mother (M), Sister (S), Brother-in-Law (BIL), and Adorable Little Nephew (ALN) – were to join us for Christmas in Madrid.  S and BIL were quite anxious during the week leading up to their departure, because they really did not know how ALN would handle the rigors of transatlantic travel, to Europe no less!  M, meanwhile, was blasé about the whole thing, since she regularly travels to Kenya on trips that involve not just lengthy flights, but overland travel in jeep-like conveyances over dusty roads into remote areas.  The great irony here is that S, BIL and ALN arrived without incident, stroller and pack 'n' play included, while M was cast by the Furies into the traveler's Hell that is also known as Heathrow Airport.  

Day 1 - Having arrived the day before, S, BIL, and ALN were ready to stroll around, have a great lunch, and start getting to know Madrid.  We at "El Fogón de la Abuela," a mom-and-pop restaurant near the Kid's school that makes great croquetas and roasted meats.  M was stuck in a flea-bitten hotel near Heathrow, hoping that they would be able to de-ice planes the next day and get her out of the UK.

Day 2 - More of the same.  Those of us in Madrid were busy discovering how lovely the city is at Christmastime.  The downtown area is decked out in Christmas lights.  There is an enormous electric tree in the Puerta del Sol.  The Plaza Mayor hosts a Christmas market.  We went to the Chocolatería San Ginés to enjoy the best hot chocolate in Madrid, while people at surrounding tables burst out in Christmas carols.  M befriended the random selection of hapless unfortunates who were also stuck in the flea-bitten hotel and tried to scrounge a half-decent meal at the local pub.

Day 3 - In Madrid, more strolling.  A visit to the Prado, where BIL was delighted to see Bosch's Garden of Earlthly Delights and S was thrilled by Goya's Semi-Submerged Dog.  M, meanwhile, paid an outrageous amount of money to a British cabbie to get to lovely Lutton, England, where the airport was up and running, and where she would be able to catch an Easyjet flight out to Madrid the next day.  The hotel in Lutton was equally flea-bitten.  At least it had food, such as it was.  The place close to Heathrow had run out.  

Day 4 - In Madrid, still more strolling about.  A trip along the Gran Vía, culminating in hot chocolate at the overpriced but lovely café of the Círculo de Bellas Artes.  And, finally, in the evening . . . TA DA!!!  The glorious arrival of Zoë's Mother, after a delay of 5 days!!!!!!!!  And how much snow did they get in England?  10cm!!!!!  For the metrically-challenged among you, that is less than 5 inches.  The busiest, most important airport of the capital of what was once the almighty British Empire was utterly paralyzed by fewer than 5 inches of snow.  Wusses.

Day 5 - All together at last!!!  M wanted to go to the Reina Sofía, Madrid's wonderful modern art museum, and we went, because obviously we were going to do whatever she wanted.  She loved the museum, particularly its centerpiece, Picasso's Guernica, and we loved sharing it with her.  We had lunch at a local cheap-eats place, El Lacon, where the chipirones a la plancha (sauteed cuttlefish) were just fabulous.

It was the Kid's birthday, so that night we enjoyed ponche de yema, a type of cake, from the Mallorquina, Madrid's best bakery/pastry shop. 

Day 6 - December 24th.  The big day.  For those of you unfamiliar with Christmas traditions in the Latin world, Christmas Eve is the big celebration, not Christmas day.  We had ordered prepared food from El Corte Inglés, Spain's biggest department store.  For a surprisingly affordable cost, we got lobster bisque, mushroom-stuffed turkey, sauteed mushrooms, and an apple tart.  We added a salad and mashed potatoes, and - voila! - dinner was served.  Well, except for a little incident where we thought that the oven in M's apartment was not working . . . but we solved that.  After dinner and presents, M and I went to midnight mass at San Ginés, one of Madrid's most beautiful and historic old churches.  The beauty of the setting almost made up for the pathetically mechanical mass.  No choir.  No singing.  A priest who seemed like he'd been roused from his bed to say mass, and was eager to get back.  At the end, they did something called "the Adoration of the Child," which involved having everyone line up to kiss the foot of a little statue of the Christ child.  My mother-in-law, a Protestant, was stunned by the idolatry of it all.  I got a kick out of the priest's reassurance to the congregation, "To make this go faster, we have two."  Two Christs, that is.  God forbid that anyone spend any more time than absolutely necessary in church!!

Day 7 - December 25th.  We got together at our house to consume something we had bought at a nearby bakery the day before, with no real certainty of what it was.  It was a baked good, shaped like an anguila (eel) biting its own tail.  It had frosting and came with candied fruit.  It was clearly a special treat, and a sweet one, so we wanted to try it.  The Kid especially, since he is particularly fond of sweet treats.  As it turned out, these anguilas are made of cabello de angel (angel's hair), which is a type of candied squash. That's the filling.  The outside is marzipan, one of the greatest foodstuffs known to human-kind.  I think it's meant to be eaten as a dessert, but we ate it as a breakfast, largely because we had confused it with these other things they were selling at La Mallorquina, called roscos de Navidad.  It was unbelievably sweet, particularly when paired with the candied peaches, cherries, and pears.  By this morning, we had eaten the whole thing.  

Day 8 - Farewell BIL, S, and ALN!!  They flew out this morning.  ALN proved to be a hardy traveler.  He adjusted to the time change with no problem, and was all smiles and giggles about 90% of the time.  He also learned a new trick, napping in his stroller, which we all hope will stick upon his return to the US, since it is very liberating for parents when their 14-month-old does not have to nap in his crib all the time.  

The rest of us went to Toledo, where we had a magical day.  A Toledo trip was what the Kid had wanted to do for his birthday, but we weren't able to because: 1) M had arrived the night before and we had all gotten to bed late; and 2) the Kid had woken up in the middle of the night to vomit all over his bed.  But, it ended up being for the best, because it was rainy on his actual birthday, but sunny on the day we actually went. We took the train, and managed to see both of the medieval synagogues, the little 1000-year-old mosque, before having a superb lunch at the "Taberna Alfileritos." We had a rice dish, some duck spring rolls, roasted lamb and venison, and a wonderful chocolate dessert.  Basically, traditional dishes reinterpreted, very well, along modern lines.  Then it was off to Toledo's magnificent cathedral, and back to Madrid, …

… where my mother-in-law has discovered that her flight to the US has been cancelled.  I am still on hold with American Airlines, more than one hour after beginning this blog post, waiting to see if we can at least get her across the Atlantic tomorrow.  

Done!  American answered just as I finished writing the last sentence.  She is getting out tomorrow!  Going home to Boston!  By way of Dallas/Ft Worth. Arriving at midnight.   At least this time, there should be no flea-bitten hotels, or English food. 

BAAAAARCELONA, where the winds come sweeping down the plains!!!

You may be wondering about my title, since Barcelona is known neither for its winds or plains.  But the State of Oklahoma is.  At least it has been since Rogers & Hammerstein gave us this song in their musical Oklahoma!  I only know the lyrics alluded to in my title, along with two other fragments from this musical.  One of these is from a particularly irritating song, while the other is only slightly less so.  I have no idea where I picked up "Geese and chicks and ducks better scurry,/ when I take you out in the surrey,/ when I take you out in the surrey / with the fringe on top!" but I wish I could put it back.  I know exactly where I got "Oh, what a beautiful morning!  / Oh, what a beautiful day!" however.  When I went camping with my Boy Scout troop, one of the troop leaders – a grizzled old, chain-smoking former Navy cook who had served in WWII – used to wake us all up by singing those two lines as well as a grizzled old chain-smoking Navy cook could.  I sometimes woke up early, having dreamt of him singing those lines while he was still strolling around the campsite, sucking on a Marlboro, waiting for the right time to do the deed.

Now, I am certain that you are all fascinated by this, but you may be wondering what all of this has to do with our recent long weekend in the capital of Catalonia, the fair city of Barcelona.  The answer: absolutely nothing whatsoever.  Except that one of our friends here in Madrid lives in Oklahoma, and seeing her has gotten the songs from the musical stuck in my head, and last week I realized that you could substitute "Barcelona" for "Oklahoma" and the meter still worked.  So, for the few days before our departure, I was singing "Baaaaaaaaarcelona, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!," much to the chagrin of Zoë.

But Zoë had her revenge.  On the night before our departure, she informed us that she had neglected to notice, upon reserving the apartment where we would be staying, that it was a fifth-floor walk-up.  That's five floors, not counting the ground floor.  So a six-floor walk-up, by US measure.  Oh well.  The price was good, as was the location, right in Barcelona's Barri Gòtic, or "Gothic Quarter."  If you are now picturing us among black-clad teenagers listening to desperately depressing music, then you should know that it was not that kind of gothic, but the other kind, the medieval kind.  As in "gothic architecture," or "gothic cathedrals."  The neighborhood had one of the latter, and plenty of the former.

We spent four days in Baaaaaarcelona, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains, courtesy of the weekend, Constitution Day (Monday), the Feast of the Immaculate Conception (Wednesday) and the bridge day (Tuesday).  A bridge day, for those of you so saturated in the Protestant Work Ethic that you simply cannot believe what is obviously implied, is a vacation day connecting two other vacation days, so as to maximize continuous vacation time.  We left Saturday on the early (6am) bullet train, and came back this morning, giving us four days and four nights in Baaaaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!

Saturday

La Seu without the scaffolding that currently graces it

• Arrival.  Trudged up the apartment.  Orientation from Julián, the young Argentinian guy in charge of check-in.  Dumped our stuff.  Trudged down.
• Strolling around the Gothic Quarter.  Again, no Goths.  
• Visting La Seu, the medieval cathedral of Baaaaaaaaarcelona, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!  Extraodinary.
• A visit to the City Museum, which features remains of the Roman town of Barcino, the predecessor to the current city.  The whole museum is underground, because that's where the remains are.  
• Lunch at La Fonda, a restaurant in the Gothic Quarter that I would recommend to anyone looking for a good, affordable meal.  
• An extended visit to the Christmas market in front of the cathedral, where the Kid became obsessed with the Spanish custom of the Nativity scene.  People invest a great deal in these things, adding figures and details over the course of the year.  We ended up buying one, with the central figures, the three kings, the shepherds, and some animals, including a dog and a family of bunnies.  For Santiago, it was all about the animals.  The weirdest thing on sale, though, was the very Catalan figure of the "caganer," a traditional peasant in the act of having a bowel movement.  A fertility thing apparently.  For the satirically inclined, there were caganers in the form of celebrities, including soccer players and politicians, even Barack Obama.  Not to be confused with the caganer was the "caga tío," or "Tío de Nadal."   This is a log with a Christmas outfit that you hit with a stick while singing a special song.  It then defecates small presents, or turrones and other sweets.  Mmmm just what I wanted for Christmas, log-shit for dessert.   We set up the new Nativity scene in the apartment, only to shock poor Julián.  When he came in to fix a little problem with the toilet, he saw our Nativity scene and concluded we were deeply religious people who had brought the thing with us from Madrid because we simply could not be without it during the Christmas season.
• Trudged up to the apartment.

An Obama caganer

Sunday

• Breakfast at Forns del Pi, a bakery/coffee shop in the Gothic Quarter.  We found that Catalans know how to do pastry, and enjoyed having breakfast there every day.
• Betrayal!!!  One of the things we most wanted to see in Baaaaaaaaaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains! was the collection of Romanesque art at the National Catalan Art Museum.  We arrived first thing only to find that the gallery was under renovation.  How could they do this to us?  Didn't they know we were coming?  Or was it because they knew we were coming!?!?  Maybe we should have whacked a log with a stick before leaving Madrid.
• Frustrated and angry with the MNAC, we decided to leave it altogether, and go instead to the Fundació Joan Miró, a museum centered on the collection of works donated by Miró precisely for this purpose.  I can't say Miró is one of my favorite artists, but I certainly appreciate him more having spent a few hours with his work.  At least they didn't have any galleries closed for renovation.
• Lunch at Òleum, despite its location within the walls of the traitorous MNAC.  The only real reason we went there is because all of these museums are located on the hill of Montjuïc, which is on the edge of downtown.  You can either schlep back into town to eat, or eat at one of the establishments in/around the museums.  Òleum was absolutely superb.  We sat with a view of the city, and particularly enjoyed the dessert, chestnut cake with black-sesame ice cream.  Surprisingly, this meal did not break the bank.
• Afterwards, the Poble Espanyol, the kitchiest thing we've seen in Spain.  "See Spain in an hour!" say the ads.  This is a leftover from the world's fair of the 1920s that bequeathed to us many of the structures on Montjuïc.  We read the description to the Kid, and he was dying to go.  It's basically a little park, where each and every building is a repro of some historical buildign somewhere in Spain.  Well, the façade is, at least.  The interior is an arts & crafts and/or souvenir shop.  I was tempted to take a picture of the fake plaza mayor and post it, claiming it was a real place.  The Kid got a kick out of watching the glassblowers.  The Andalusian section included a street from Arcos de la Frontera, where we had been in September.  It was creepily reminiscent of our experience there.  The whole place was a shock to me, because I thought we only had this sort of kitschy repro-authentic places in the US!
• Then, the Caixa Forum, another museum, where we saw this very cool exhibition of archelogical remains from Saudi Arabia.  The museum itself is wonderful.  It's in a repurposed textile factory.  The exhibit culminated in a pair of 17th century metal doors that had once lead into the Ka'ba in Mecca.  Zoë, a former Near Eastern Languages and Civilization major, was particularly moved by this.  
• Dinner at a tapas place off the Ramblas.  The food was delicious at Òleum, but the portions small, so for once we ate dinner.  The Ramblas are a series of pedestrian walkways that cut down the length of Baaaaaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!, and where much of the action is.  Flower stalls.  Cafés.  Tourists.  Pickpockets.  And over-priced but delicious tapas bars.  Can't remember the name.
• Trudged up to the apartment.

Monday

Entrance bldg at Parc Guell

• Gaudí Day.  If you don't know who Antoni Gaudí is, you're missing out!  Gaudí was a spectacular architect of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, certainly of Spain's greatest ever.  Most of his buildings are in Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!, and we decided to see them.  
• First stop, the Parc Guell, a spectacular public park in the hills just above downtown.  The fusion of nature and artifice is amazing. The architecture reminded me of something, and I couldn't tell what it was . . . Something sci-fi?  No.  The Lord of the Rings?  No.  What?
• Second stop, La Sagrada Familia.  We were conveyed there by a Galician cab driver who told the Kid that he looked like a girl, and then regaled us with a story about how he won the Army Judo Championship back in the day, despite the fact that he knew no judo, by getting his opponent into the only pin he knew right away.  He mumbled some nostalgic things about life under Franco.  Upon arrival: Abort! Abort! Abort!  The line wrapped around the entire block.  We decided to come back the next day. Early.
• Third stop.  Not really a stop, since we were walking the whole time.  A stroll through the Eixample, the 19th century neighborhood where most of the buildings by Gaudí and other modernistas.  
• Fourth stop.  We went into La Pedrera, an apartment building by Gaudí that is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  I wondered what it would be like to live in a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but then as I wrote this, I realized that I actually have!  Again, it looked like something I knew, but I couldn't place it . . . 
• Lunch at Ponsa, a family-owned restaurant nearby.  OK food, but overpriced!  The most expensive meal we had in Baaaaaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!
• After lunch, an abortive trip to the Museum of Contemporary Art, which was closed Mondays, it turns out.  
• Exhausted, we headed back to the apartment, planning on an early bed and an early rise, to get to the Sagrada Familia before it opened. 
• That night, Zoë had a dream that revealed to both of us the answer to the question that had been bothering me so.  Gaudí's architecture looked like something out of . . . Dr. Seuss!!! YES!!!  Apparently, Zoë and I are not the only ones to think this way: take a look at this passage from Dr Seuss: American Icon, by Philip Nei. 
• Trudged up to the apartment.

Tuesday

The crucifixion scene

• La Sagrada Familia.  I knew this unfinished church by Gaudí was going to be a show-stopper, but I was not prepared for it to be quite as spectacular as it is.  Gaudí reinterprets gothic architecture to make it look natural, converting the columns into trees and the vaults into leaves.  The interior soars.  The stained-glass shines.  I cannot even imagine what this place will be like once it is finished.  Right now, it is among the most impressive buildings in Spain, along with the Mosque in Córdoba and the Alhambra in Granada.  We spent 3+ hours there, gawking and marveling.  I was particularly impressed by the statues executed for the western façade, dedicated to the Passion, by the Catalan sculptor Subirachs.  
• Then the Picasso Museum.  A strange little place, because it has no really famous works by the artist.  It's interesting nonetheless, because it has some juvenalia that allows you to appreciate just how talented Picasso was at an early age (14 years old).  There's also a wonderful gallery with his multiple parodies of Velázquez's Las Meninas.
• Lunch was at Origens.  I highly recommend this place when you find yourself in Baaaaaaarcelona where the wind comes sweeping down the plains!  It specializes in Catalan cuisine.  The menu reads like a magazine, with a little article about every dish and a map that shows you what part of Catalonia it's from.  We had the tasting menu, which was both a flavor feast and a good value.
• After lunch, a stroll through Barceloneta, the waterfront neighborhood, enjoying the unseasonably warm temperatures (high 60s).  And then the teleferico ride across the harbor to Montjuïc, followed by a long walk back to the apartment.  
• Trudged up to the apartment.

Whew.  I can't believe that was just four days.  If you enjoyed what you read, please post, here or on Facebook.  We'd all love to hear from you.  If you didn't enjoy what you read, go post on David Gies's blog.