Coming home - Week 1: Week of Williams

 

Admittedly, I was a little nervous to come home to the US.  Aside from the obvious challenges of traveling overseas with two toddlers and jet leg to consider, I wasn't sure what it would be like to be back in the US again while following a fairly packed schedule to see everyone.  Ultimately, we decided travel back to the US was not only doable, but necessary.  Sure, it had only been six months which isn't a whole heck of a long time to be away, but I needed to see family.  I needed to remember pre-Spain life.  I needed to eat a real hamburger for god's sake.

Boy am I glad we went.  It was so...comforting.  Everything about it.  Seeing our favorite people and places, eating some great food, and spending the vast majority of the time just relaxing and laughing.  It was an easy trip, one that felt calm and relaxed from beginning to end...and though it was a challenge at times, juggling commitments and keeping the kids happy on hour 8 of a daytime flight, it was all worth it.   

Our journey home begin where we left off -- in the North Shore.  With Chris committed to work the early part of our first week home, we were based out of Lexington, which worked out nicely since we had plenty of family to visit in the area.  Our first stop was a BBQ at Chris's cousins house - filled with family and children, we were running off the high of being home again and sharing some laughs with some of our favorite people.  The children's jet lag was hugely overshadowed by the giant bouncy house and fellow little cousins to laugh, run, and play with.  It felt great.  And the burgers tasted unreal.

 

Between the jet lag, the great conversations, and my hands filled with bottomless cold Harpoon beers (thanks Billy) and amazing food (thanks Erin), I totally dropped the ball with the pictures on this night.  Often it seems the more fun I'm having, the less pictures I'm taking.  Still on the hunt for some if there are any out there...

The days that followed included lots of time with Nannie Judie, with an especially fun trip to the Topsfield wading pool for some lunch, splashing, and sun.  We spent afternoons together at the park, and enjoyed a good over-the-top American dinner at Rainforest Cafe.  After living the understated Spanish dining experience for so long, we had almost forgotten about the pomp and circumstance of these kinds of places.  The floor to ceiling fish tanks, life size gorillas, and mock-thunderstorms.  Necessary?  No.  Fun?  Definitely.  The free hurricane glass that came with the gallon sized Mai Tai also didn't hurt. 

 

Next stop was a much anticipated visit with my best friend Kerry and her family's newest addition -- precious baby Robert.  I felt lucky I was able to see him in all his newborn glory. There are few things better in life than holding a newborn baby.  

A little picnic with all four "kids"

The beautiful peanut that is baby Robert

The work week wrapped up for Chris, so down we went to Falmouth to see Chris's father and Lynne -- aka, "Granddad and Meemah". 

We love it there.  With wide open spaces to let the kids run and play, their house is the epitome of a Cape Cod retreat.  Though, I think my favorite part was watching my children explore their Granddad's room of trinkets.  Within these four walls you can see his life story unfold -- shelves filled with moments in his life, in no particular order, but obvious each object was kept and treasured for a reason.  Lining the shelves are tattered pictures, duck decoys, dusty books, stone Buddhas, brass lamps, pilot memorabilia, army mementos, and windup clocks.

 The children are drawn to this room, of course, and as they enter it seems as though they immediately sense the importance of what is held inside.  Their erratic baby steps slow down and their voices lower.  As they pick up an object carefully inspecting it, they look up with a smile and eyes sparking as if to say, "is it OK that I'm touching this?"  Granddad sat in his chair, watching his Grandchildren with smiling eyes as they ran their hands across his old guitar and inspected his collection of brass.  Occasionally he would offer up stories to accompany the trinkets they held and helped them wind the clocks and listen for the chimes.  I especially appreciated these moments, knowing how important it is for my children to connect with this very special man in their lives.   

 

Evan took a special liking to this jet, spending quite a while laying on the sun-drenched floor while he talked through flight scenarios and watched it fly through the air from below.  

The children blew bubbles, chased balls, played in puddles, and enjoyed the very simple pleasures of summer on Cape Cod.

Nighttime came along, and with it were cold local beers, steaming lobsters and clams, and fresh corn.  Joining us for this amazing feast was Chris's sister, Mandy, and her husband-- better known as Auntie Bubber and Uncle Jay.  Sharing many laughs as usual, and feeling thankful for the incredible hospitality and to be "home" again.

The next morning we set off on a full day adventure on Granddad's boat.  We cruised along the southern coast of Massachusetts, stopping to take some dingy rides, lunch, and swim.  Auntie Bubber entertained the little ones on what was a surprisingly bumpy ride home.

 

Saturday afternoon we packed up...one week behind us, another week ahead of us.  So far, we were loving it and so thankful for all the warm welcomes and amazing hospitality.   

Thelma and Louise take Barcelona

I have a special relationship with my mother.  To put it very simply -- I would want her as my friend if she weren't my mother  She is kind and patient, adventurous and open-minded.  She has an amazing capacity to forgive, and will always focus on the positive side of every situation.  There is never a shortage of things to discuss, ideas to ponder, or places to dream about together.  She "gets" me, in a way not many other people, besides my husband, do.  And boy does she love her grand babies. 

One of the things I admire the most about her is her desire for travel and adventure.  Together, we have taken many trips together -- driven thousands of east coast miles, explored the Grand Canyon and the Red Rocks of Sedona, spent nights sleeping in my nanny-quarters in Martha's Vineyard, ran through a hail storm in London, and dined in hidden cafes deep in Paris.  Every place I lived, every long adventure I took, my mother was there to experience a piece of it with me.  Some trips together have been life changing, some have had their blunders which we now laugh about, but each journey together solidified a mutual respect for each other's personal desire to experience life and be open to it in all shapes and forms. 

Many many years ago my siblings affectionately started to refer to us as "Thelma and Louise".  Cheesy, yes, but the nicknames stuck.  And recently, Thelma and Louise shared yet another adventure together here in Barcelona.  To have her here, to see what this life is like and experience it with the open mind and spirit I know she has, was everything to me.   I have thought daily, "my mother would love this" or "I wish my mom was here to see this".  It was almost surreal to have her actually walking the streets and markets right by my side. 

I came home from Germany late on Friday night, and at 7:30am the next morning there was a knock on our door, she had arrived!   If only I had my video rolling to catch the look on Evan's face.  He literally slapped both his hands on his cheeks Home Alone-style while grinning.  He was in shock, and looked like Dora the Explorer just walked in.  So began our two weeks together in this city we now call home.

It was an incredible couple of weeks -- exactly what I hoped it would be for both her and I.  The perfect blend of settling into quiet and laid-back Spanish life, exploring and sightseeing, and time with the family.  I won't offer a play by play of the entire two weeks - just to say that it left us both feeling energized and rejuvenated.  I think she was truly taken with our neighborhood, the people, and the pace of life over here. 

Someone once told me that, as a mother, you have to take care of yourself and always find ways to recharge your batteries, because your children use you to recharge theirs.  Those few weeks my mother was in Barcelona, I was reminded you never stop needing your mother -- and the amazing part was that Spain was recharging my mother at the same time she was recharging me :) 

Boobs and Beers in Landstuhl, Germany

The day after Sant Joan, I headed out on what was a historical event in time -- a week alone, traveling to Germany!  As I had mentioned previously, I am not legally authorized to work here in Barcelona, and therefore have been attempting to find ways to keep myself involved in women's health any way that I can.  I had been looking into certain areas of women's health that might translate here in Barcelona -- something that wouldn't involve dealing with work visas, heavy malpractice insurance, or really ANY paperwork involving the Spanish Government.  At all.  Ever.   

Lactation counseling had always been an interest of mine, something I'm passionate about and inspires me, so becoming certified was something I had really wanted to do...I could potentially offer lactation counseling services to other English speaking ex-pats here in Barcelona, many who are far away from their families and needing support.  I had made some contacts here with midwives and doulas who had expressed a need for these kinds of services in the ex-pat community of Barcelona, and offered to include me on their monthly "pregnant mother meet-ups" and offer free advertising once I was certified.  How perfect?!  Things were falling into place, as I found a great week-long certification training program, based out of -- get this -- Sandwich MA (about 5 miles from where I grew up), that was coming to Landstuhl, Germany late in June.  A 2-hour flight away into Frankfurt? I can do this!  This seemed exciting, but at the same time, completely unrealistic...how was I going to travel for a week?  Who will watch the kids?  Can I even stomach a whole week away from them?  I had never left them that long, and especially not to travel to another country alone.  But Chris was completely amazing and insisted he would make it happen.  He insisted I needed the time away, the adventure of my own, and a place to feel like I was using my brain aside from the daily grind of diapers, dora, and dinkies.

So I booked it.

Prior to leaving, I had joined a facebook group offering information about the training and realized that Landstuhl, Germany is actually the site of a huge US Army base, with (I think) the largest US hospital outside our country.  A group of mothers and nurses on base had come together to host the certification in Landstuhl.  So, I knew I would be in for an interesting week -- I was staying off of the base, in a mom-and-pop bed and breakfast kind of hotel so I would be sure to get some real German flavor, but spending time on a US base would be all new to me too...as something told me I would be one of the few civilians attending this training.

I knew I had made the right decision to go, when I became more and more excited as the date approached, instead of more and more anxious.  It felt really good to feel like this, as most mothers know there is a long period of time when it feels like your heart is tied with chicken wire to the heart of your children...it just isn't possible to leave, and your whole body will tell you this.  But this day it felt right.  More the right...actually... I changed my flight time from 6pm to 12noon so I could get the hell out of dodge sooner :)  Let's just say, I was ready for a break from the every day, and I was extremely lucky that Chris would be home with them for the week I was gone, I knew they were in excellent hands.  I *may* have gone a bit overboard with my lists, schedules, and directions to prepare him...but I think he appreciated it :)

The morning of, I woke up and headed out to the airport to catch my flight to Germany.  The daughter-in-law of a retired commercial airline pilot, I had heard Lufthansa airlines couldn't be beat, so I decided to book a direct flight from BCN to Frankfurt to experience the wonder of Lufthansa...which also happened to be the cheapest flight!

The airport this day was a mad house, and after waiting in line for close to an hour to check my bag, I decided to just carry on my bag, get my boarding pass from the kiosk, and get going.  I managed to shove the bag into the metal measuring thingy, so off I went through security to enjoy some down time and get out of the crowds.  I sat, waiting for my flight, enjoying a cerveza and a bocadillo, smiling in anticipation for the week ahead.  I could hardly decide what to do first...read...write...sit in silence...drink more...drink faster...Very odd to suddenly be completely in charge of how your time is spent!

Sadly, though, the rainbows and puppy dog portion of this entry stops here.

The bag police stopped me as I boarded, and asked me to kindly show them if my bag fit in the carry on metal measuring thing...with a whole line of folks staring, I tried, unsuccessfully, to reproduce my previous victory.  Beads of sweat were forming, and the stewardess seemed impatient, so she grabbed my bag, shooed me on, and informed me "your bag will be waiting for you in Frankfurt".  I knew then... my bag wouldn't be waiting for me in Frankfurt.

The Alps never cease to amaze as we fly over...

The flight itself was uneventful, and I was excited to finally be in Germany when we landed -- I exited the plane into an airport full of pretzel vendors, boisterous men drinking huge beers, and a surprising amount of signs and billboards all in English.  I got the rush of seeing a new place, and was super excited to find my shuttle and head over to my hotel to do some exploring around Landstuhl before dinner.  Once again, my high was cut very short, when my initial instinct about my bag came true -- the bag carousel stopped, and my bag was no where to be found.  After a very pleasant, but somewhat lengthy, exchange with the bag folks of Lufthansa, I was assured my bag would arrive either later this day or the next, and would be delivered to my hotel as soon as possible.  Good enough, I could deal with another day in these clothes, plus, as a consolation they gave me a little bag of toiletries to hold me over.  And an absurdly large white undershirt.

Unfortunately, by the time I finished with the bag folks, the shuttle I had arranged had already left the airport.  I attempted to call them, but realized my phone service did not work in Germany for some reason, assuming it had to do with the roaming on a prepaid.  Deep breath.  Down to the train station I went.  It seemed the further you got from the arrival gate, the English began to disappear, and the more confusing things became.  I joined the cue of people at the Bahn station, and hoped this train would get me where I needed to go...quickly. 

"I need to get to Landstuhl, please".  Expecting this will be a quick, direct train clearly marked and leaving soon...

Next thing I know, the woman is handing me an itinerary that included three trains.

Frankfurt to Bad Kreuznach
Bad Kreuznach to  Kaiserslautern
Kaiserslautern to Landstuhl

Total travel time, over 2 hours -- longer than it took me to get from Barcelona to Frankfurt! 

"This is the most direct way to get there?" I asked.  Indeed it was.

I didn't have many options, so I took it.  I reminded myself, it is about the journey, not the destination.  I was in no rush, I was here to experience and explore, so who cared how long it would take me?

Now, I could go on for days about the way the German train system is marked -- short version?  It's not marked well--as least in the opinion of a non-German.  I consider myself a fairly well traveled and savvy person, but I felt like a old lady tourist down there trying to determine if I was getting on the right rain.  When a train arrives, it appeared they only have the first three stops it will make listed on the front of the train, and the conductors make themselves scarce when it is time to board.  Plus, there are trains coming through every 10 minutes on the platform I needed to use, so I had to use the time it arrived as my guide to whether or not I was getting on the right train.  Sketch.

Thankfully, the trains seem to be VERY punctual, so when a train pulled up exactly at the time it said on my ticket, I crossed my fingers and hopped on.  The conductor came through, assured me I was headed in the right direction, and clipped my ticket.  Exhale.  I  had an hour on this train, so I tried to do some reading, but I couldn't focus on anything, worried I was going to miss my stop.  The announcements on board were only German, the signs were only German, so I was left to do a lot of piecing together.  I was also noticing that the stations we were stopping at were not very well marked -- often with just one small sign showing the name of the stop, and I had to crane my neck to see it as we pulled in.  Once again, I resigned myself to making sure the times lined up correctly to be sure I was getting off at the right stop.  Next stop:  Bad Kreuznach.  Bad Kreuznach.  Bad Kreuznach.  Don't miss it.....

The stops were about 15 minutes apart, so when we pulled into Bad Munster with only 4 minutes left until my change, I started to doubt myself...this had to be it, right?  They won't make another stop in 4 minutes in another town that happens to also start with "Bad"....right?....

Making a game time decision, I jumped off the train, and onto the freezing cold, RAINY platform.  I should add here, that I was dressed for Barcelona sunshine -- a thin gauzy top, scarf, sandals, and short pants.  No coat.  Everyone around me was dressed for November with thick coats, jeans, and boots.  No bueno.

Me, standing on the cold rainy platform as my train leaves behind me...

Never mind the fact that as soon as I saw the train depart, I knew I shouldn't have gotten off.  My ticket said I should get off on track 4 and pick up the next train on track 3...I had gotten off on track 3, and saw people only standing waiting on track 4.  Hmmmm...maybe the name of the city AND the track were wrong....

Ignoring the little voice inside me that was screaming "YOUR IN THE WRONG PLACE A-HOLE", I held on to the last shred of hope that somehow this next train would get me where I needed to be.  And honestly, at that point I didn't have much choice. On I hopped as the train pulled in at the time it said on my ticket.  Happy to be warm and dry again, I settled into my seat, only to be faced with the frown of the conductor as he looked at my ticket.  He slapped his forehead and shook his head at the same time when he saw my itinerary.  I started laughing.  I don't know why. 

"Wrong train, huh?" I laughed.

This was all getting a little silly.

Thankfully, the conductor was super nice.  He sat down, and with his iphone, pen and paper, and many minutes, mapped out a new itinerary for me making sure I understood exactly what to do...downside?  It tacked another hour onto my travel time.  But I was thankful for his help, and again reminded myself...it's about the journey...it's about the journey...

Two hours, three stops, and many miles later, I arrived in Landstuhl.  Equally rainy, equally cold, and not a single cab in sight.  That area of town (the train station) was not what I was expecting...very quiet, and not much to it.  There were three groups of people looking for cabs, and after witnessing their battle over the one cab that came into the station, I decided to hang back and avoid the battle.  It was a train station, another cab had to come at some point...Just as I was starting to realize I needed to figure out a plan B, I saw a cab coming around the bend, and hopped in. 

I have never been so happy to arrive anywhere in my life.  It was now 8:30pm, almost 5 hours after I had landed in Frankfurt.  After a salad, and two glasses of wine served by a very nice German husband and wife team, I headed to my room keeping my fingers crossed my luggage would be waiting for me in the morning.  I skyped Chris, sharing my crazy day, then lights out.

The first day of the training was wonderful -- I had met two other girls staying in the hotel that morning at breakfast, so it was nice to immediately have "roommates" of sorts, to share this experience together.  The base was a short walk from our hotel, through a small wooded area and across the street.  Landstul is incredibly beautiful -- very rural, green, with HUGE sprawling forests just like I expected.  The base itself was fascinating to me.  Lots of security, and once inside... you are suddenly in the US.  It was crazy...all the US products, US restaurants, they only take US dollars, and sell gas by the gallon, not the liter.  Schools, hospitals, malls...Also interesting that I couldn't really buy anything in the stores because I wasn't a military family member.  Out of over 50 women at this training, there were only 3 of us civilians -- many were nurses, some doctors, midwives, PAs, doulas, and mothers living and working on base.  Fascinating girls, and equally fascinating instructors who lead the course.  Exactly the women I would hope to be some day :) 

The first day ended, and although I was pretty excited about how the first day had gone, I was anxious to get home and get my clean clothes!  I practically ran through the door of the hotel to find the owner who only shook his head when I asked about my luggage.  Nothing.  Ok, cue the tears. 

I can handle a day of lost luggage, missed shuttles, wrong trains, cold weather, and no cabs...What I can't handle is a week in the same clothes, no make up, and no hair dryer.  Sorry, if this makes me shallow, so be it.  After venting to Chris via skype who very nicely got the Lufthansa manager on the line, we discovered my luggage was not so much in Barcelona OR Frankfurt...but rather, Mallorca.  A tiny island off the coast of Spain.  How it got there, I will never know.  But it was expected that my luggage would arrive sometime the next day on Tuesday.

Sadly, that night there was a big get together with all the girls from the training in the hotel lobby for dinner and drinks, but I had to pass...I had to get some stuff to feel somewhat presentable for the next day.  I had assumed there would be something somewhat close by in terms of clothing stores, and so I asked the owner of the hotel if he would be able to call a cab for me to go to a place for some clothes...after much deliberation, he nodded knowingly.

"Kaufmans.  Yes, Kaufmans will have what you need."

I sadly walked by the crew of women eating and drinking to head outside and wait for my cab to take me to this magical place, Kaufmans.

When I pulled up, I started laughing again.

I was at Wal-Mart. 

Except, at Wal-Mart, there are entire sections of clothes: Men, Women, Children, Baby...hell, they even have Maternity clothes and uniforms!  Here?  ONE AISILE of clothes for all.  They had more garden tools then clothes here.  And you can't so much see the clothes you wish to buy...no, they are in little plastic bags with pictures of someone wearing them on the front, like a Halloween costume.  After trying to rationalize whether or not this would be an improvement over the the shirt I had been wearing for two days, I finally put my money on this one (matching headpiece not included):  

I also added some conditioner, a tiny hairdryer, and pressed powder to the mix...I was now living large!  With enough time left for a much needed beer, I settled in at the Kaufman cafe, had a pretzel and beer, and basically laughed to myself about this entire situation as I people watched.   I was really seeing the local color, and who said vacations had to be all museums and monuments?  This stuff adds character too I think.

I'm happy to say the rest of the week was uneventful in comparison.  The following day, sporting my new Langarmshirt, I had another great day learning, talking, and exploring and came home that night to my suitcase waiting outside my hotel room! 

The rest of the week was filled with long dinners in and around the German side of Landstul, chatting with new friends, drinking great beer, eating local food, unexpectedly learning about life in the military, and most importantly -- learning everything you ever wanted to know about breastfeeding.  I had so many inspiring conversations with women from all kinds of backgrounds.  I had Subway for lunch :)  At the end of the week, we took our exams, and find out our results in about 8 weeks, keeping my fingers crossed I am now a Certified Lactation Counselor.  Sadly, I did not get enough pictures, and am keeping my fingers crossed my Pfeffermuele ladies will send along theirs sometime so I have some more memories of this fantastic week.

In short, the week was really everything I had hoped it would be -- personally and professionally inspiring.  A change from the every day.  And an adventure.

I came home, bursting to see my babies and Chris, and was even happier to find out Chris totally loved his change of pace too.

Just could have done without the Bad Munster :)

Intro to Barcelona Fiestas: Sant Joan

I had heard from so many people how much folks in Barcelona love holidays, feasts, and celebrations of all sorts -- often taking it to extremes with over the top displays of ornate decorations, and downright dangerous traditions like making human towers over 4 stories tall. Yet, until last month, I had seen none of this.  Sant Jordi, back in April, was our first real Barcelona holiday, and was pretty tame by Catalan standards (sort of the Valentine's Day of Barcelona without the excessive spending on meaningless crap) -- this incredibly endearing holiday involved buying a book for a man in your life, and a single rose with a piece of wheat for a woman in your life.  Sweet, simple, heartfelt...but not the blood pumping holiday I was looking for.  Not that I'm trying to risk my life or be part of an angry mob or anything, just wanted to see that Catalan pride come out in full force and be a part of it.  People like to celebrate holidays in the US, but something told me they take it to another level around here...

A while back I had mentioned to a friend here that I still have yet to see a real display of Spanish partying. She was quiet for a minute, then smiled wide and said "wait for Sant Joan." 

Sant Joan, as I mentioned in a previous post, marks the summer solstice and typically involves a night of feasting, drinking, fireworks, and a ceremonial dip in the ocean at sunrise which symbolizes healing.  I had read that every neighborhood in Barcelona usually has a celebration of some sort, but often isn't advertised.  I DID read that if you go out around 9pm to your local plaza and see what's what...often you will find something happening.
So that's exactly what we did.  On June 24th, around 9:00pm (super late night for the kiddos), we all headed out to take the dog for a walk around our neighborhood.  We heard firecrackers going off all day long, but didn't see much in the way of "set up" for any celebrations in particular so we decided it was another holiday we were going to sit out, and headed home.  However, just as we were about to head back inside, keys in the door, we heard the beating of drums start up.  Ah ha!!!

We followed the sound of the drums over one street to find a crowd of people sitting in a plaza, children dancing, most just watching, as a group of about ten drummers played.  Just beyond the drummers, between two buildings I could see a group of people dressed in costumes, holding lit torches, circling around a large paper mache (?) dragon.  To the beat of the drum, out came the dragon, and so began a huge, neighborhood-wide parade winding through the streets of Poblenou.  The dragon and the drummers lead, as the entire neighborhood joined in the march.  Not sure where we were headed, we joined in, happy to finally have caught a celebration from the start!

The parade went on for a while longer, until we arrived a huge clearing down toward the beach...in the middle of the clearing was an entire town's worth of kindling. Piled up about 20 feet in the sky.  The dragon stopped, and the crowd cheered as the torches went in to light the fire.

Once the fire was lit, so began the circles of people dancing around the fire as it grew bigger and bigger, kids throwing fireworks into the center and the crowd cheering.  All around us, kids gathered in circles in empty streets, lighting fire crackers and throwing those little snap rocks that explode we used to use as kids...Would I personally hand my 3 year old a roman candle to light and toss into a street with people potentially walking through?  Um, probably not.  But here it is live and let live...if you want to let your kid live on the edge, that's your choice.  Interestingly enough, with all the fire and fireworks (largely lit by young children), there were no ambulance sirens or fire engines the entire night....  Regardless, we took care to keep away from the fireworks, and kept Evan close.

Once the fire grew too hot, we headed back home...finding that our entire street had been turned into a block party/family dinner with decorations.  Everyone had brought food to contribute.  We walked by, smiling and secretly wishing we were included in this "inner circle" :)    I imagined this was a long held tradition on this street, families who planned this huge pot luck celebration (complete with a DJ!) year after year...they looked like one big family out there, four generations drinking beers, eating ham, and laughing with the sound of firecrackers going off in the background.  Very cool to see.  Content to have finally witnessed a true, heartfelt Catalan holiday, we went home.. already looking forward to next year.

Nannie Judie comes to Barcelona!

Barcelona welcomed yet another Williams family member a few weeks back...Nannie Judie!!! (aka, Chris's mother).  We had been talking about her arrival with the children in the weeks leading up to her visit, so Evan was well aware that Nannie would be taking a "big plane to Spain" (his words), and said so every morning when he woke up.  Still, the look on his face when he came out of school and saw her standing there was priceless.  He stood grinning shyly, like it was Brad Pitt who came to pick him up.  Adorable. 

I'd say the week was a smashing success. Lots of down time with the kiddos punctuated by some great sighting, and even a day trip up to the south of France, in Collioure. There was a fabulous paella dinner with just the three of us down in the Olympic village, a nice quiet afternoon at Sagrada Familia, trips to the large Boqueria, and strolls through the Gothic labyrinth (with screaming child in tow, but still...). We drank lots of wine, ate lots of olives, and had a lot of great conversations...We miss you already, Judie, come back soon!!!

Walking hand-in-hand in Parc del Poblenou

Chris and his "Mummy" :)  Plaza Cataluyna

Enjoying some French mussels

Love

 

Overlooking Collioure from above

Summer is in the air...or did someone just light my hair on fire?

"You gotta just lay low and sweat it out." -- My Scottish hair-dresser on summers in Barcelona.

The train is approaching the station, and we are bracing ourselves for impact.  Our first summer in Barcelona.  It's fitting that Barcelona throws one of the biggest parties of the year on the summer solstice -- the celebration of St. Joan, set to kick off this Saturday night. An all out, all night, party till dawn rager that extends to every corner of the city and involves music, dancing, festivals, feasts, and fireworks. LOTS of fireworks. Often launched around, near, and even INTO crowds. Should be an interesting weekend, and while we won't be on the beach partying till dawn, we plan to take part with some low key sparklers for the kiddos and feast it out with the rest of them this Saturday...more blogging to come about this crazy Barcelona holiday.  For those interested, you can read all about it here

A beach snapshot from a previous year...

So, while summer hasn't officially arrived until the last firework has been launched this Saturday night, it feels as though we are already in the thick of it.  And, in a way, this is the moment I've been waiting for since we arrived here in Spain.  The time when we shall see what we pampered Americans are really made of.  While we are no strangers to heat (what, was it like 100 degrees in Mass yesterday???) -- we ARE strangers to a no A/C lifestyle.  Yes, we technically do have a version of A/C in our apartment here but, to be honest,  I do not consider the decorative "art cool" you-think-its-a-painting-but-really-its-an-air-conditioning-unit thingy in our kitchen to be actual A/C, more like a refreshing puff of air, and only if you sit directly under it. 

That is our air conditioner.  It says "Art Cool".

Generally, anything over 80 degrees used to make me a little grumpy, and back in Rowley Chris would insist on pre-cooling our bedroom before bed for a solid hour at 60 degrees before he would even consider going to sleep. When we found our apartment here, we were so wooed by the layout and the pool we rationalized our way through the lack of A/C... ("The walls are brick and stone, we will practically be freezing....right?")

While I wouldn't say it is freezing in here, I will say that we are surviving the heat so far.  I realized today that we are almost into July, and I haven't died of heat stroke yet and actually have been pretty comfortable all things considering.  Like my wise Scottish hairdresser said, you really just have to resign yourself to "sweating it out".  The roughest part of summer city living anywhere is all the walking.  Back home we would leave our air conditioned house, hop into your air conditioned car, and drive to another air conditioned place.  Here, not so much...we have to walk everywhere, and we have to take the metro full of other hot, and often smelly, folks...but it is comforting to know that we're all in it together! And honestly, a lot of the air conditioning we used at home really wasn't all that necessary...I think we waited until November to take it out of the bedroom window last year?!

So for now, we are embracing it.  Bring on the heat.  Bring on the sundresses, bikini (yikes), irresponsible firework use, and frizzy hair-- we are ready for summer!

Ya no estoy gordo -- Molly's Story

"Gordita".  Little fatty.  This is what everyone here is calling my poor Boo (our nickname for Molly).  Don't get me wrong, everyone is in love with her.  Kids, adults, elderly folks -- everyone stops to pet her, hug her, and declare her cute...and fat.  Is it true?   Periodically, Chris and I would step back and stare at our Gordita long and hard.  'Did she just need a good brushing?', we would ask each other.  There is no way she has gained that much weight...or has she?  Finally, after several weeks of noticing shocked looks by strangers we passed, Chris scooped up our yellow beast and stood on the scale with her.  84 lbs???!!!  How is it possible she has gained almost 7 lbs. since we have arrived in Spain?!

Now, let me back up.  Molly has never been the most svelte pooch to begin with.  She was the biggest, fattest puppy of her litter.  A giant, cuddly fluff ball that just kept growing after we brought her home. 

She is an English lab, short and stout, with plenty of padding to keep her warm in the icy Canadian waters where they were bred to retrieve lobster traps and return them to the boats.  Except...she is not so much swimming in icy waters, but rather catching rays belly up in the Mediterranean sun.  We knew the breed was intended to be hefty, but I always was sure to ask our vet in the US if she was too fat.  He would assure me she was within normal weight limits, but to keep an eye on her and start to cut back on food if we noticed her waist disappearing.  Once our kids were born, her exercise did get cut back a bit...she didn't get a ton of long walks, but did get a fair amount of play out in our yard, and trips to the beach during off season.  She had a good life, maybe a little extra padding, but nothing excessive or worrisome. 

When we first talked about moving abroad, the only part that really gave me reservation was Molly.  What would we do with Molly?  I had assumed most countries required months of quarantine once we arrived, and I wasn't sure I wanted to put her through that...plus, we had no idea how dog friendly a city Barcelona was, and assumed that we would be living in a fairly small apartment, landlocked and relying on elevators and long walks to find green outdoor space.  Not the kind of life we wanted for our big yellow lab, but it made my chest ache to think about leaving her behind for two years.  I know most dog owners feel their dog is unique and share a bond, but I think labs are just special.  Hearts of gold, with a soul so pure you can see it through their human-like eyes.  Molly's our girl, and it was heart wrenching to think we would miss two years out of her already very short life. 

Luckily, we found a place to live here in BCN that blew these worries out of the water.  Our apartment is close to the beach, on street level, and has a back yard.  I don't want to say we picked this apartment for the dog...but...we picked this apartment for the dog.

We truly felt we were giving our dog an even better life than she had at home in Rowley -- at least once weekly visits to the beach, leisurely naps outside on the patio, and at least four 10-minute walks per day, with added fetch sessions in the evening and occasional longer walks in the morning with the kids. 

Molly's first day in Barcelona

Then there is the food...Back when Molly was just a puppy, I had taken her to Plum Island for a swim, and was stopped by an old salt of a man sitting on the back of his truck with his elderly lab mix. He smiled when he saw Molly, and said in his gruff voice, "Best dogs on earth. The time will go fast, so enjoy every day with her." We talked awhile after that, he said his dog was now almost 12, and still going strong.  He warned me: "You need to feed her good dog food, none of the crap you find at most stores. Get her the good stuff, and she will live a long life."  Maybe true, maybe not, but this struck a cord, and from that point forward, I only got the good stuff.  Although Spain has some great fresh food, and overall eating here is much healthier than in the US, the dog food ain't great.  Perhaps the US takes it a little overboard with "holistic" this, and "nature-made" that, but Spain goes the opposite way.  The dog food here is terrible.  It took me a month online research, and trial and error, until I found the best dog food made here in Spain, and only found in one store in the entire city that sold it.  We started her on the food, cut out the treats, and kept up the walks and fetching daily.  Good.  Molly is taken care of, she is with in Spain, we have done our duty and we are good doggie parents.  Exhale.

Now, imagine our surprise when after three months of our "healthy doggie lifestyle" our dog is now 7 lbs heavier!  That is a 10% body weight gain, obviously terrible for her health, especially her joints.  We have suspicions that this new fancy pants food is the culprit, which is kind of ironic...healthy food, turning her into an unhealthy obsese dog.  It seems it is higher in calories, and I have failed to measure it out properly.  Plus, it doesn't help that Molly has stolen her fair share of baguettes out of unsuspecting strangers hands and shopping bags (always a good time). 

So it has begun!  With her 5th birthday approaching in just one week, it is time to take action.  I have named myself Molly's new personal trainer, and we are determined to get her down to a healthy weight again.  Our plan of attack includes daily morning runs together along the beach, carefully portioned diet food, and more frequent, longer pee walks.  This morning was our first run together, and she did...OK.  We made it about 15 minutes running, until I started to feel really bad for her and had to slow it down to a power walk.  She is just so out of shape, jiggling along after me trying to walk fast to avoid running.  She started panting just looking at the leash.  This is going to be a long road for her, but we'll get there.  For now, we are posting her "before" picture, with updates to come on her progress...Our little Gordita will get her body back.  :)