Category Archives: travel

To Barcelona, Part 5

Part 5, continued from part 4

After the disappointment of lunch, for dinner Enrico had armed himself with recommendations from our friends. We had a hard time finding the place – the street number he had was somehow wrong, and after we finally found it we had to kill an hour and a half because they would not actually open for dinner til 9 pm. We went to a nearby wine bar, where we tried three different Spanish wines (by the glass), all of them excellent.

Travel Tip: Ask the locals (anyone NOT connected with the hospitality industry) where to eat.

La Provenza, when we finally got to eat there, turned out to be worth all the trouble. The cuisine was somewhere between Provence and Catalunya, so we had more foie gras in our various starters – mine was a crisp flatbread with grilled vegetables and foie gras. My main course was duck breast with a sweet wine sauce and a fig-stuffed raviolo. I also had dessert, but don’t at present remember what it was, nor what Enrico and Ross ate. We each had a starter and a main course, and shared a bottle of wine, for a total price of 110 euros. I highly recommend La Provenza.

We tottered home to Sant Cugat after midnight, so Ross and I slept in the next morning while Enrico went off to the university. We had coffee and doughnuts (“doh-noots,” as the lady pronounced them) at a coffee shop near the train station, then ran into trouble trying to buy train tickets. For cash, the ticket machine would only take coins, of which I didn’t have any. It “couldn’t connect to network” for my US bank card, rejected my Italian bank card as “unauthorized for this transaction” (I’d seen that the day before at several attempts to withdraw cash at ATMs as well), and for my Visa cards wanted a PIN code which I don’t have. We had to ask for change at a nearby bar before we could finally get tickets and board a train.

Travel Tip: Carry coins to use in the ticket machines of the Barcelona train/metro system.

continues in Part 6

To Barcelona, Part 4

Part 4, continued from part 3

Enrico left us to go back to the university for a meeting, and Ross and I struck out on foot for the Barri Gotico, seeing many beautiful buildings along the “Modernist Route”, including what is probably the world’s most beautiful Starbucks. We wandered for a while, eventually ending up back at another Bus Turistica stop. So we rode the bus to Casa Batlló, one of Gaudí’s wonderful creations. The full collection of Ross’ photos is here.

music from Magnatune.com

We had agreed to meet Enrico in the evening at Sagrada Familia, the cathedral designed by Gaudí and still under construction – they expect to finish in another 25-30 years. Judging from the drawings in the museum underneath the church, I will actually like it less when it’s finished – a fat central spire towering over the others, topped by a clunky five-pointed cross, may finally push the design over the top. Still, what’s there now is wonderful, and I need to go back and look more closely at the myriad exterior details. The forest-like interior reminded me of some of the design in “The Lord of the Rings;” I wonder if some of the film designers’ inspiration came from Sagrada Familia.

go on to part 5

To Barcelona, Part 3

Part 3, continued from part 2

Between that and my cold, I got a very poor night’s rest. After breakfast I went back to sleep until it was time to check out and move on. We reached our destination around 2 pm. Javier met us and let us into the apartment where Enrico will be staying for the month, near his own home in Sant Cugat, a small town within easy commuting distance of Barcelona. Once we’d dumped our stuff, he took us back to his place, where Maria gave us an excellent lunch of lentils with sausage and sliced beef with a garlic-onion sauce (though the meal was great, she apologized for the lack of fresh vegetables – they had just returned themselves from visiting relatives for Easter).

That evening we walked around Sant Cugat and had a meal of tapas and salad at a small bar/restaurant. We deliberately sat in front of the sliding glass door, to get as much fresh air as possible. Spain’s recent anti-smoking law permits smaller establishments to choose whether to allow smoking, while larger ones must create a separate smoking section. Since most restaurants and bars aren’t very big, in practice this means that very little has changed: few have decided to go non-smoking, and the Spanish smoke even more than the Italians used to. So it’s difficult to find a restaurant not full of smoke, and in my lung-congested state this was even less appealing than usual.

The next morning we met Javier at the Sant Cugat station to take the commuter train to Barcelona. We first went to the math department where Enrico will be working and saw him settled into an office etc. Ross and I did a bit of shopping, then bought tickets at Plaça Catalunya for the Bus Turistica.

This costs 22 euros for a two-day pass (they give you a book of discounts to various things, some of them useful). It would probably have been cheaper and more flexible to get a day pass for the subway, but the weather was gorgeous and I was still feeling very tired and coldy, so riding around in the sun on the open upper deck of a bus was very appealing. You can get on and off the bus at any stop, but, to really see everything efficiently, you need to plan the trip better than we did.

Enrico joined us and we set off on the ruta sud (southern route), which actually first went north up the big avenue where the two famous Gaudí houses are located, then around to the west west and down to the waterfront. We stopped at Maremagnum, a shiny new shopping mall, mainly to use the restrooms, then walked up to La Rambla, looking for lunch.

La Rambla was the wrong place. The cafés with sidewalk tables are all horrible tourist traps, and so was the restaurant we eventually chose – they wanted to charge us 45 euros for a mixed plate of tapas for two. We don’t mind paying well for good food, but paying too much for mediocre food is deeply irritating. We selected the cheapest things on the menu. I had fried eggs with french fries and chorizo – the latter being good, I probably had the best meal of the three of us.

Travel Tip: Don’t eat in touristy areas, especially not La Rambla.

continues in part 4

To Barcelona, Part 2

Part 2, continued from part 1

We stayed that night at a chain hotel in the suburbs of Nîmes. I was amused to note that French suburbs look exactly like American ones, with strip malls, motels, and fast-food joints (and many more MacDonald’s than we have in Italy). The main difference is that the signs are in French.

Easter Sunday started with a panic: we were almost out of gas, and couldn’t find a manned, open gas station. There were some automated ones, but they would not take cash, only French bank or credit cards (at least they had signs saying so). We drove around in a state of increasing nerves and bad temper for nearly an hour before finally finding a BP station with a live cashier.

Travel Tip: Always be sure to fill the gas tank the day BEFORE any major holiday.

After that, we were so irritated with Nîmes that we did not, after all, stop to see its perfectly-preserved Roman arena, but drove on to Spain. Somewhere along the way we ate the remains of our paté and cheese at a roadside rest stop, along with a fresh baguette purchased at a truck stop – one thing to be said for France is that it is impossible NOT to find a fresh baguette, any day of the year.

At the truck stop I saw a lovely scene that I will forever regret not being quick enough to photograph: a burly, pot-bellied trucker in a muscle shirt and shorts, seated at a table in front of his huge truck, lovingly grooming a tiny Yorkshire terrier.

There is now no passport control at the France-Spain border, though the structures still exist and everyone slowed down on the French sides, for reasons unclear. Of course the highway signs all changed language, which caused me to reflect that, in a world with no political boundaries, such abrupt changes would be highly artificial – rather than sharply split languages, we would likely see a continuum of dialects. The Catalans protest that Castillian Spanish is an “imposed idiom” in their region, but I couldn’t detect a huge difference between the two. My impression was later confirmed by Enrico’s mathematical colleagues, Javier and Maria, who are not originally from Catalunya but said they could understand the language perfectly after only a few months there. Their three daughters are schooled in Catalan, with Spanish and English as secondary languages.

We spent the night in San Feliu de Guixols, at the Eden Roc hotel, whose claims to fame are a stunning location on top of big red rocks on the sea, easy access to golf and tennis, and an attached “health center” offering massages, sauna, ayurvedic treatments, etc. This last interested me, but the center was booked solid, so we didn’t get to enjoy any of these services. The hotel owner gave us a discount to compensate for this disappointment, and warmly urged us to come back again. The included buffet dinner was good, the included breakfast somewhat less so (awful coffee – it takes a lot to make up for that).

The bed, or rather, the bed/pillow combination, was also uncomfortable. American hotels give you so many pillows that you have to push some of them off the bed to make room to sleep. Most European hotels (at least in the categories we can afford) give you one pillow, so flat as to be nearly non-existent. I sleep on my side, and these pillows don’t give me enough lift to get the weight off my shoulder joint, so I get very sore. I guess I will have to start bringing my own pillow – something I have seen Americans inexplicably do even at well-stocked American hotels!

Travel Tip: If you’re fussy about sleeping comfort, bring your own pillow.

go on to part 3

To Barcelona

Enrico is spending a month at the University of Barcelona, doing mathematical research with a colleague there. Since Ross had a long Easter break, we decided to accompany him there and see a bit of the city.

We left Lecco on Good Friday afternoon and reached Cannes for a late dinner with the family of friends of Ross’, there from Lecco on holiday. It was a lovely spring day, so I was miserable with allergies all the way, and when I finally got to bed that night was exhausted from sneezing for hours. (This triggered a cold or something which dragged me down for days and weighed heavily on the whole trip.)

The next morning we explored Cannes, stopping in a supermarket to buy French goodies for lunch: vacherin (my favorite cheese in the world – soft, smelly, and wonderful), paté de foie gras, and various terrines. The cashier, wrongly assuming that we did not understand French, made snide comments about tourists who always buy the expensive stuff for their picnics. We needed a knife, which was eventually supplied by an open-air antiques market on the waterfront piazza – eight euros for an elegant remnant of some former grand hotel’s silver cutlery.

We drove on down the coast, stopping to eat our picnic within view of a famous house that I’ve seen in architectural magazines – can’t remember the name or who designed it, but it’s all weird humps and round windows, like a hobbit dwelling built into a cliff.

We stopped in Avignon for a stroll and coffee, but didn’t find it sufficiently compelling to stay the night. We drove on to Nîmes, where we had an excellent dinner at a tiny, family-run restaurant called Le Ménestrel. Ross and I both had the “Ménestrel” menu – four courses for 30 euros, starting with a melt-in-your-mouth pan-seared foie gras with a sauce of reduced balsamic vinegar. The main dish was steak with a pepper-wine-cream sauce (why are Europeans always surprised that I like my steaks bloody?), followed by a soft cheese with walnuts, then a sampler of desserts, of which my favorite was a violet-flavored creme brulee. By then I had eaten so much that, regretfully, I actually left behind some chocolate mousse.

go on to part 2