Day 13: Barcelona

First of all, an apology. I'm writing this post six days after the fact, but in my defense, they have been a very busy and jetlagged six days.

Our last day in Barcelona started with a day trip out to Montserrat, an monastery built on a mountain about an hour outside the city. We went with a tour group, which ended up consisting of the guide and her friend, who was either in training as a guide, or just hanging out, the four of us, and a very friendly German woman. We made the drive from the narrow streets of Old Town to the wide, winding roads of the mountain and for the first time since leaving home, felt a little less frazzled, if a little car sick. When we got to the top, we were immediately met with an astounding view of the mountain, dotted with chapels and holy sites, and the sprawling valleys below.

We got a quick walking tour of the main monastery, with its statue-lined courtyards and spectacular facades, while our guide pointed out what there was to do to fill our free time on the mountain. There was an art museum filled with great works by masters from all over the world, from ancient relics up to modern art. Montserrat is also covered with hiking trails, which lead to incredible views, chapels, grave sites, and sculptures. There is also a market filled with local cheeses and honeys, as well as shops selling goods made by the monks of the monastery. The tour lasted about 30 minutes and by the end, we couldn't wait to explore the mountain for ourselves.

  

The mountain, our guide explained, is famous because of a miracle that happened here. A long time ago, a group of children found a statue, the Black Madonna, in a cave. They told a nearby bishop, who, out of greed, tried to take the statue away. As his men tried to carry it off the mountain, however, she got heavier and heavier, until they could not lift her. That's how they knew that the Black Madonna belonged to the mountain, so she had stayed there ever since. Now, the Black Madonna is on display in a room above the altar in the main church, where visitors and locals go with their petitions and gratitude.

 

The tour left us in a small side chapel off the main courtyard, in which people had left offerings to the Black Madonna. The room was full with wedding gowns, dolls, juice boxes, photos, money, and letters, all given as thanks. I was overwhelmed and humbled by this tangible display of faith and thanksgiving.

 

We decided to go to the main church first, and spent a few moments of silence in the dark but elegant church, before going to see the Black Madonna up close. When we left the church, however, we found we had just missed the viewing time, so our view from the pews would have to suffice.

 

 

We decided that, despite our inappropriate footwear, a hike was in order. Following our guide's recommendation, we found our way to the rear of the monastery and started up the trail to an incredible overlook we'd seen on our way in.

 

Unfortunately, we quickly took the wrong turn, but we ended up on a path that showed the Stations of the Cross (the sequence of events in Jesus' death) in modernist sculpture. Even though it was not what we had originally planned, the views and the sculptures were beautiful.

 

 

We had almost reached the end of our free time, so we went back to the main monastery area, visited the market and the monastery shops, where we sampled a few more Catalonian specialties. The first was a little pot of soft white cheese with honey poured over and the second was a long, thin cake made by the monks. Both were, of course, delicious.

We made the drive back to Barcelona, where our tour guide took us to Sagrada Familia Basilica, Gaudí's famous (and ongoing!) masterpiece. Construction began, under Gaudí's close supervision, in 1883 and continues today. After Gaudí's death, construction continued according to his extensive planning and is executed today by numerous world-famous architects and artists. The design of the Basilica was heavily inspired by Montserrat. The facades show the rounded, almost melted look of the mountain and the interior features columns that look extraordinarily like trees. Gaudí's focus was on the use of light within the building design, as he had a personal dislike for the dark gloom of the churches of the time. Although incomplete, Gaudí's vision is clearly visible. The church is scheduled for completion in 2016. We'll see.



 

 

We were met with the tiniest surprise, though, when our tour guide said goodbye at Sagrada Familia, as we were most certainly expecting a ride back to when the tour began. Instead, we made the long (not really that long) trek back to La Rambla. When we reached the hotel, we took a few minutes and cleaned up. Deciding to fight through our persistant exhaustion (I've found this a trend in our travels), we got dressed to walk down La Rambla to the port. The end of La Rambla opens up in Barceloneta, the old fishing village, which is now filled with good seafood and bars.

We'd gotten a recommendation from our tour guide for a good place to get tapas, a cultural institution essentially consisting of a series of small plates shared with friends over drinks. Typical Catalonian tapas include Iberian ham, bombas (stuffed rice balls), calamari, anchovies, or fried vegetables. We found the bar she'd recommended and immediately knew she had given a good one. The place was packed and nearly invisible behind the large and boisterous crowd waiting to get it.

Unfortunately, we hadn't had a real meal all day, so we decided to punt (at least for the moment) and grab a few tapas and a drink at a nearby restaurant and try to wait out the crowd. This was a huge mistake.

We ordered a vegetable mix and a seafood mix, both of which were more-than-slightly horrifying. We'd ordered sangria, (we couldn't leave Barcelona without trying it) but where not prepared for the sheer volume and presentation of the drinks. They came in two liter glasses and were set down in front of us with a clunk, each full of a colorful assortment of impractically long straws. Nevertheless, we were not even remotely phased.



  

After our weird little meal, we reached the conclusion that these were our karmic dues, given our incredible culinary find a few nights ago at Allium. Thoroughly exhausted and perhaps even more thoroughly sangria-ed, we walked back home, taking the beautiful and (frankly) equally unbeautiful sights of La Rambla at night.

 

 



The next morning, we made the long, grueling trip home, starting with a 5:00 cab ride and ending almost a full 24 hours later. It was definitely not the best collection of moments of our trip, but the long flights, layovers, and lack of leg room were certainly outweighed by the fabulous, fabulous memories we've accrued over the last two weeks. A huge thank you to those that have followed our travels here on the blog, and of course, to my wonderful family, with whom I've shared this amazing experience.
 

Day 12.2: Allium

Mother of God. Sweet, sweet Mother of God.

I wasn't intending to post about dinner, figuring we'd just go to some restaurant off the La Rambla, but Mother of God.

After taking some down time this afternoon, we wandered down into the Barri Gòtic, a neighborhood in Old Town. The streets were dark and narrow and, in the fading daylight, starting to glow with the dim light of cafés and the smell of good food. Despite being warned about the neighborhood after dark, our interest was sparked by a wide window looking in on a small but beautiful kitchen of one of the neighborhood's restaurants. Ignoring our instincts to check Trip Advisor, we got a table for four.

The restaurant is called "Allium" (Ah-lyoom) and features a combination of traditional North Spanish and Catalonian dishes in an inventive and modern presentation. After ordering drinks and a few starters (local beers, a burrata with stuffed peppers, and salmorejo with Iberian ham), we were presented with complementary pate and pa amb tomàquet (rustic bread with fresh tomato and olive oil-- a Catalonian specialty). It was here that we realized the utter magnificence of the meal that was to come.

This was our first experience with pate, which was served with tiny crostini. It was smooth and intensely flavorful, with a hint of spice. The pa amb tomàquet was light and airy with all the intensity that a good summer tomato should have. And these were just the starters...to our starters.

Then came the salmorejo, a thick and creamy relative of gazpatxo, topped with hard boiled egg, slivers of Iberian ham, and a swirl of deeply fragrant olive oil. The first spoonful had all the zest and garlicy richness of my previous experiences with gazpatxo, but it differed in its silken thickness. The ham, salty and paper-thin, cut a sharp contrast to the summery depth of the salmorejo. The addition of the egg added substance and interest to an already incredible dish.

The burrata was fresh and clean in the way good dairy should taste, seated on a bed of fresh greens and sun-dried tomato paste. This was paired with four tiny, slightly spicy burgundy peppers stuffed with a paste of what could only be called "deliciousness."

Having gain an appreciation for what our chef was capable of, we strategized the selection of our entrees. We opted for Catalonian specialties and more ambitious dishes. I got Catalonian pork sausage with white beans (Botifarra amb mongetes), and Mom ordered Tagliatelle with fresh summer vegetables topped with a cheese crostini. Dad, impressed by his first paella last night, got a paella amb marisc, filled with shrimp and mussels, dark with squid ink. Matt got a coastal specialty, Fidueá, a distant relative of paella, prepared with short, thin semolina noodles and calamari. It was served with garlic mayonesa prepared to mimic crème fraiche.

Rather than try to explain our reaction to the food, I'll allow you to imagine our experience based on my description. I'd be happy to reenact my personal reaction when I see you next.

Having finished our finished our dinners, but not surrendered, we accepted a dessert menu. Naturally, by this I mean we shrugged noncommittally when it was presented, trying (and likely failing) to hide our eagerness. While we perused the menu, Dad ordered a coffee and Matt a dessert sherry, Pedro Ximenez.

We eventually made up our minds, deciding to combine forces on Flan and another Catalonian specialty, cheese with honey, only to be promptly corrected by our waitress.

"That is, for me, not so tasty."

Okay...

"It is not the best."

I'm interested.
"Crema Catalana is much better. Like crème brulee. Local specialty."

Fine. Do we still want the flan?

"No, it's too similar. Panna cotta."

Done and done.

And thus we ended up with two desserts we didn't know we wanted. And we loved them as our own. Firstborns. Sports cars. Whatever Rumpelstilskin would take.

The Crema Catalana was, indeed, like crème brulee, but spiced exotically and with a more rustic texture than most crème brulees. The panna cotta was made with Madagascar vanilla and ringed by a clean and subtle citrus syrup. Both silenced what had been lively chatter, leaving the four us warmed by the kind of bliss only a good meal can bring.

It was a truly remarkable meal and we're convinced Allium is headed for great things. If you're ever in Barcelona, or even northern Spain, be sure to look them. It's well worth the trek into the undiscovered parts of old Barcelona.


Also, major thanks to Matt, who helped write this. If the State Dept. thing doesn't work out, here is proof that he needs to be a food writer.

Day 12: Barcelona



Internet is working again, so picture-heavy post today! First off, because it's really cool and I didn't post a picture yesterday, here is our little alley:

 

 

This morning was spent fighting the good fight, trying to figure out how to make a decent cup of coffee from the World's Dinkiest Coffee Maker, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. After concocting a weird cross between café au lait and a latte, we went to the central square to catch the hop on-hop off bus tour. Instead of a straight-forward bus stop/information kiosk situation, we were met with a massive crowd and a lengthy line whose ultimate end we couldn't quite find. We ended up getting in the wrong line a couple of times and waiting for Mom after she followed a woman (holding our ticket voucher) into the masses across the square.

 

Eventually, we got ourselves onto the right bus and started our tour, which took us through Old Town, the beachfront, the Olympic village, and the new, modern part of the city. It was breezy and warm and  very sunny. We're all sporting some fun sunburn patterns. I've got permanent sandals on right now, and a weird red triangle on my shoulder. Besides that, though, the tour was awesome and included some groovy Spanish music, as an added bonus.
 

 

 

 

We rode the bus to the Parc Güell, a public park designed by Antoni Gaudí. The original intent was to meet a tour guide, who was supposed to take us through the park and explain the art and design to us, but we made the call after a waiting a solid half hour. Instead of following  a guide through the park, we wandered around by ourselves, finding our own way among the curved towers of rock and the mosaic paths. We went off-road a couple of times, through gardens of blue-flowered trees and between blooming cacti. Sometimes, it's better to go without a guide.

 

 

 

At the eastern edge of the park, we found a set of stairs and decided to take them. At the top, we found an incredible view of Barcelona and the sea, framed by the absurd and shining work of Gaudí.

 

 

We found our way back down to the main entrance, found the bus stop again and rode back to our apartment. We took a bit of a walk around our street, again soaking up the strange but not unpleasant slice of life it represents. This cities is full of freaks, and I'm loving it.



Day 11: Barcelona

Barcelona is loud and colorful, a flurry of language and music and movement pulsing in the narrow spaces between buildings. It seems as if life has been poured into the cracks of the cities and has been cultivated, growing in the kind of vigor that transcends the so-called “language barrier.” In Catalan, they have a word “rauxa,” which means “creative chaos.”  Barcelona is rauxa.

Our first lesson upon our arrival here in Spain is that there is no set of rules to depend on. At least, not one I can decipher. Here, they speak a regional language separate from that of the entire country. Our cab driver, in an effort to get us closer to our apartment, drove over a roadblock and into a pedestrian zone to save us a 20 meter walk. Historic buildings are invisible through layers of graffiti and, on our street alone, there exists a strange mix of grunge culture and ice cream shops. Even having been saved the 20 meters, our first steps into Barcelona were terrifying.

We checked our luggage (this involved jamming our luggage into a closet filled with a million other pieces of luggage while trying to avoid an avalanche) and, famished, went and found some lunch. I had my first chance to use my seven years of Spanish in a real-world situation, which went well until she spat some phrase at me, which I’m hoping was Catalan, to justify my utter lack of understanding. I smiled and muddled through the interaction and everything went fine, though, so I think I’ll probably survive the next few days.

After lunch, we headed back to the apartments, where we’d been told the rooms would be ready by 3. We were still a bit early, so we stopped at an ice cream stand and had a much more successful interaction with the lady behind the counter, who was very sweet and, I think, very charmed by our efforts to speak Spanish.

Still finishing our cones, we collected our luggage and made our way to the apartment building, which is actually down the street from reception and the associated hotel. I suppose it is more accurate to say that reception is on the main street, while the apartments are down a nearby alley, marked only by the number above the heavily graffiti-ed door. We made it into the building and were pleasantly surprised by the general cleanliness and non-graffit-ness of the inside. And, climbing the narrow, winding stairs to the third floor and almost breaking the key in an effort to unlock the door, we got in.

The apartment is basic, but nice enough, clean and spacious with a modest kitchen and not intolerable beds. The best part of it is its proximity to the main street in the center of old town, called “La Rambla.” We’ve already dedicated some time of the next few days to wandering La Rambla, its shops and side streets. It promises an endless variety of shopping, people watching, and enjoying the beautiful Barcelona weather.

Having settled down a bit into our apartment, we decided to explore our street a little more, and so we wouldn’t have to worry about the infamous Barcelona pick-pockets active particularly in this area, we emptied our pockets almost entirely. We found a market a picked up some breakfast provisions for the next day and some snacks to tide us over ‘til the customary 10 o’clock dinnertime. We bought fresh Manchego from the very sweet old man behind the deli counter, who was forgiving of my Spanish and my limited knowledge about cheese shopping (he basically ended up choosing for me). We also rustled up some cava wine, a Catalonia specialty, some olives and roasted red peppers. We found a loaf of crusty, rustic bread and headed back to feast.

We did some tub-laundry, which was a new experience for me, and did a lot of ringing out clothes, which we incorporated into some fresh dances moves to the American radio station we found. Nothing quite like squeezin’ socks to Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”

We scoped out a place for dinner, basing our decision entirely on whether the people inside seemed like locals and whether they looked like they were having a good time. We decided on a place called L’Oliva, where Matt, Dad and I ordered paella mixta, a Spanish specialty involving a rice, vegetable and saffron mix with fresh seafood (things that still had their faces!) and meats, and Mom ordered a chicken dish with vegetables and a fabulous broth. The food was riquísima and served in awe-inspiring portions.

Before turning in for the night, we took a walk part of the way up La Rambla to try to work off some of the paella, and eventually arrived at the Plaça Catalunya, a central square where we saw tourists strolling, admiring the nightime skyline and locals sitting in the square drinking, playing chess and spending time together.  

Even though today was a bit overwhelming, it bodes well for our time here in Barcelona. I can’t wait to see the rest of the city, to explore it, and to get to know it.

A note: I may have to forgo pictures for the next few days, due to limited wifi and data availability. I will be sure to catch up later as soon as we have reliable wifi!

 

 

 

Day 10: Munich

Due to the absurdly early hour at which we were up this morning, I am writing retrospectively from the airport as we wait to board our flight to Barcelona.

Yesterday was a busy day and our last day in Munich. We rode out to Nymphenburg Palace in the morning and took a audio tour of the main rooms, which were amazingly beautiful. I actually preferred the decoration of Nymphenburg to Versailles, finding it more elegant and tasteful.

 

 

After exploring the palace itself, we took a walk through the gardens, which are now a public park. It was an interesting mix of old statues and Baroque gardens and joggers and families with strollers.

 

We then caught the return bus back to downtown Munich, where we revisited the Marienplatz to see the Glockenspiel, which plays on the clocktower of the Neues Rathaus (that elaborately constructed city hall building I posted about a few day ago) at 5 pm.

When the Glockenspiel performance(?) was over, we walked over to the Viktualienmarkt, an extensive daily market where farmers, sandwich and wurst stands,  florists, butchers, and artisans offer their goods to locals and tourists alike. We sampled wurst and bought some Bavarian mountain flower honey, perused flowers and a terrifying display of monstrous crustaceans and octopi.

It really was magnificent, but seeing all that beautiful food, we'd worked up quite an appetite. The market was starting to close  down, so we went back to Marienplatz and got dinner at a nearby restaurant owned by Augustiner brewery. The whole place was boisterous and friendly and full of good food and drink, so it was a perfect way to finish up our trip to Munich.

We grabbed a couple of beers from a café on the way home and hung out in the courtyard for a while before turning in early, ready for the final leg of our trip: Barcelona.



Day 9: Salzburg

Although we've only officially been situated in Munich for less than 24 hours, we took a day trip out to Salzburg to see what Austria had to offer. The answer, we found, is a lot. Salzburg is picturesque and charming and rich with history. In short, it's a little closer, I think, to what we all expected from Munich.

 We went with a small group tour, which mostly entailed being introduce to Salzburg by a very English Englishman over the course of the two-hour train ride from Munich, following said Englishman on a quick walking tour, and then being given a large amount of free time to explore the city. Surprisingly and somehow totally unsurprisingly, the tour focused on Mozart, food, The Sound of Music and the "darkly-- oops, deeply-- Catholic" nature of the area. Like I said, very English.

The walking tour started at the Mirabell Gardens, designed in Baroque style with swirling lines of flowers and exquisite sculptures, as well as an impressive (I guess?) unicorn fountain that, apparently, was featured in the Sound of Music. The amount of obscure references to that movie over the course of the day left me questioning whether I'd even watched the same movie as everyone else. Either way, the gardens were beautiful and despite the rain, very pleasant to walk through.

 

 

 

Then, we were led through an odd collection of archways, alleys, and construction zones to the historic shopping district, characterized by the iron signs that hang above the shop entryways. Unfortunately, mainstream retail has moved in, overtaking local shops and cafés at the rent prices went up, but there were still some authentic-looking places along the way. Fun fact: even though chains have bought up retail space, they are still required to hang an iron sign above the door. It was a little weird seeing a McDonald's sign in the style of old Salzburg.

 

We strolled through the rest of the city, which didn't take long, given its size. We passed tiny markets in alleys, old beautiful architecture, and a load of old churches (Salzburg was originally home to a bunch of bishops).

The Salzburger Dom (the cathedral) was particularly cool in its construction. The front of the cathedral is decorated with statues of saints and Gospel writers and Old Testament characters and so on, but as our guide pointed out, the Virgin Mary was missing, which is very unlike the Catholics. He led us around the courtyard to look at the building head on and we saw that part of the façade of the cathedral, a crown being held up by two angels, lined up perfectly with a separate statute of Mary, creating the illusion of Mary being crowned.

 

 

The end of the walking tour left us at the foot of the fortress of Salzburg, the Festung Hohensalzburg. The fortress was designed to protect the bishop in times of conflict and was built in 1077. We took a funicular up the mountain to the top and got to wander around inside the fortress, which was pretty incredible. It wasn't reconstructed to be as it was when it was in use, unfortunately. It was mostly filled with restaurants and gift shops, but the structure was impressive in and of itself, and the view from the top was amazing.

 

When we got down from the top, we had about two hours before we had to meet to get back on the train to Munich, so we decided to hit up some of the points of interested mentioned by our guide during the walking tour. Most of these were Salzburg culinary traditions, including Mozartkugeln (literally, Mozart balls) and "the best hotdog in the world."

We found the Mozartkugeln pretty easily, retracing our steps back through the city. They were invented in 1890 and only one place has been selling the proper, original and handmade ones since then. They're these little chocolates with a hard shell and soft chocolate and marzipan inside. They're pretty pricey, going for 1 euro apiece, but the general deliciousness and the novelty of Mozart balls make them worth the price.

Finding these famed hotdogs, however, was a disaster. The shop is literally a hole in the wall of an alley off the main street, visible only if you walk down the correct alley and happen to glance right at exactly the opportune moment. So, naturally, we were walking in circles around Salzburg, taking every possible wrong turn and even the right one a couple of times, though we didn't recognize it. Keep in mind, too, that by this time, we were running out of time. Missing the meeting time would mean missing the train home, and as we started to get more turned around and more hotdog-deprived, panic was rising. There must have been one point where it was no longer the quest for a hotdog, not even for the best hotdog in the world. This was a quest for justice, a personal vendetta, a battle for revenge. Just as we were about to give up, we limped down a dimly-lit alley and, though we thought them hallucinations at the time, smelled the faint aroma of hotdog in the air. We'd found it. We'd won.



 

 

 

 

It was a beautiful moment in time for us all. And actually, the hotdogs were pretty darn good. The "original" comes with parsley and onion and a hotdog rolled in curry spices, all served in toasted bread. Perhaps it was the joy of victory, or perhaps they were really that good, but I would say that these hotdogs are, in fact, the best in the world.

We boarded our train back to Munich and trekked back to the hotel, where we collected ourselves and had some down time. Then, we went out to dinner at a place called Lenz.

I have to start off my description of this place with a confession: this was not our first trip to Lenz. We went yesterday for lunch, and I totally forgot to include it in the blog, so I will give you the full scoop now. Also, yes, we went back to a restaurant twice in two days. I'm not even concerned. It's that good.

Lenz is probably the cutest restaurant of all time. It's laid back and friendly and staffed by the family of the owner, a hulking man who looks a lot like Gru from Despicable Me. Contrary to his appearance, he's the friendliest guy ever, chatting up everyone in the restaurant, customers and staff, and joking around with kids. The atmosphere of the place is great, but the food blew us away.

Yesterday, we tried plates both from the regular menu, including wiener schnitzel and a gorgeous roast pork creation, and from the specials, specifically the goulash and curry. All of it was intensely delicious and, especially after Paris, very reasonable, price-wise.

Today, we went couldn't resist going back. Both Dad and Matt ordered the wiener schnitzel, Mom got beef tenderloin, and I got a salmon fillet with potato pancake. Again, all of it was fabulous. This time, we ordered an array of desserts to try. The tiramisu (house specialty) and apple struedel were impressive, but the stars of the show were the chocolate mousse with strawberry sauce and the fresh strawberries in marzipan. I don't think Lenz could put out a bad dish if it tried. We may or may not be back tomorrow to collect more data...