Barcelona Days - Chapter One

Barcelona has the most beautiful people I've ever seen in a city. Even the old people here seem to have some sort of sexy/spry vibe going on. We have rented a flat here for five weeks through a guy named Gerard who we met on Couch Surfing. Gerard is spending the five weeks we are occupying his flat hitch-hiking through Iceland with pretty much just his tent. His housemates just moved out a week ago and he is happy to have help with the rent while he is gone and we are happy to have a place to nest for a bit, cook and save on expenses. Having a little space isn't a bad thing either.

The situation is better than we could have imagined. We are literally right around the corner from the awe-inspiring and sandcastle-like Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi's basilica that that has been under construction since 1882 (expected completion date is 2026). Gerard has cleaned the flat to an immaculate level and actually went out and purchased food for us. With the help of his father, he researched our parking options in the city and finally recommended a garage just around the corner where he helped us negotiate a price of 200 Euros for the five weeks. It is an unexpected expense but there is virtually no free parking in the city so we are happy to have this option. He also arranged to have his sister and former flat-mate come over to meet us so that we know we have resource options, emphasizing that we should use them for recommendations and "not just in case of something bad." All three of them sweetly and affectionately tousle Vaughn's hair.

We have come hoping to improve our Spanish but Catalan is the predominant language spoken here and in some cases it is very different. Gerard warns us that the Catalan identity and pride (and disdain for the rest of Spain - remnants of the Spanish Civil War) is so strong here that some people may actually pretend not to understand us when we speak in Spanish. Nonetheless we cheerfully say 'hola' and bravely cobble together sentences when we need help.

**

After taking some down time and a day to explore part of the city, we decided to set out today to try and find a boogie board for Vaughn and a beach that wasn't too touristy. Jacob has wanted to get Vaughn a boogie board since France and we've not had any luck finding one for a reasonable price. Randomly, we stumbled upon the Spanish version of REI and plunked down 20 Euros for our board.

Finding a beach was a bit trickier since waves were practically non-existent. After dismissing our first few beach options we finally decided to just park and get out. We had to walk a little distance down the beach since our first stop had a pretty significant drop off. On our walk we were stopped by the lifeguard who told us that we couldn't use the boogie board for reasons we literally could not understand. Crestfallen, we made our way a little further down the beach and set down our towels. You would think we would have noticed earlier but since we were so close to the water it wasn't until we had settled in that we realized we were at a nude beach. We decided that we were too weary by the whole process (it had been maybe an hour and half since we initially left the house) to move and start over so we decided to clue Vaughn in and stay put. Vaughn took it in stride although for the life of him he could not understand why anyone would "put themselves in such an awkward position." The water was fantastic and warm and we had a great time swimming (clothed) until a second lifeguard explained to us that it wasn't just that we couldn't boogie board, we weren't allowed to swim altogether. It had rained in Barcelona the night before and I gather they close the beaches for two days each time after a good rain because the water gets dirty. Gross.

We stayed and hung out in the sun for a bit until our neighbor to the left decided that he needed to jog back and forth in front of us for the 20 yards of beach. When he stopped jogging and started doing jumping jacks (possibly to impress the woman to the right of us?) and we decided we'd had enough of our naked Richard Simmons and it was probably time to pack it up anyway.

Southern France

If I am worth anything later, I am worth something also now, for wheat is wheat, even if people think it is grass in the beginning. - Vincent van Gogh

France has the best clouds I've ever seen. We've had a bit of rain while in the country but when the sun does come out, as it does on our drive to Marseille, the sky is a clean and brilliant cerulean blue with chunky cumulus clouds and wispy cirrus feathers. Isabelle and Greg are taking the family to go visit Isabelle's parents in Nice for a week so we followed behind their appliqued blue VW van that reminds us of the Mystery Machine for half the drive.

After an hour we stopped at a little campground to have a snack of fruit and bread by a river and told each other national secrets. They revealed that in France a person can get a type of a massage known as "California massage" (apparently softer than Swedish) and we divulged that a person can purchase an overpriced and over-engineered dog known as the "French Bulldog". We all had a good laugh over the renaming of French Fries in the Capitol cafeteria after 9/11 and then they sent us off with a little care package of fruits for the road.

We really need to get some speakers for the IPod. Reception is terrible on these drives and while we have embraced some regional music, we also find ourselves listening to really awful American music just because we appreciate being able to sing along or at least understand the words. When Smooth Criminal comes on we actually emit a little cheer.

When we get to Marseille our hearts sink a little bit. The city is jam packed and there are cars and tourists everywhere. Admittedly, we knew we were going into the second largest city in France but I think our systems were still a little shocked and we realized that we were going to have to select our locations more wisely if we aren't up for the urban experience. Jacob is a fearless city driver and pulls up on the sidewalk while I jump out to find the building. The flat we've rented is on the 6th floor of the building and the elevator is so small and rickety that I make a silent vow that if I get out of it alive I will never step into it again (and a half hour later I joyfully haul my bags up the six flights despite the fact I'm wearing heels).

Our landlord lives a few doors down and is very kind and helpful. I feel a mix a embarrassment and horror when I ask him to please show me on his map where the Belsunce area is located (the one area the guidebook says to avoid) and he laughs and says, "You're right in the heart of it!" but assures me his girlfriend never has any problems. After dinner we get out for a walk and things feel perfectly safe - just kind of crowded and dirty and hot.

***
Today we got up and we were all a little on edge. None of us slept well, our rental is tiny and hot and Vaughn is seriously tapped out on sight-seeing. It occurs to me that we are starting to perceive Barcelona as some sort of promised land and that makes me a little nervous. Despite poor Vaughn's protests (we've promised a quiet day tomorrow), we pack up to get the hell out of Marseille and head for Avignon.

Avignon is in the middle of their month-long Festival d' Avignon where between 35 and 40 theater productions are put on at various venues around the city. Adjacent to the primary festival is the more edgy "Festival Off" that takes place in the street. The streets are peppered with all manner of performers from buskers to performance art to guys on bikes doing potentially neck-breaking tricks. The theaters send out teams of performers who sing, chant and drum as they march up and down the streets handing out fliers publicizing their shows. Avignon would be fun and beautiful on any day but on this particular day it is overflowing with art and it lightens our moods considerably.

After Avignon we set off to Cloitre Saint-Paul, the insane asylum where van Gogh spent a year and did over 100 paintings, including the Wheat Fields painting which was the view from his room. Here we were able to actually go up into his room and look through the window onto the field, although no wheat remains. Although he hasn't done much art lately, there was a time when Vaughn was very into van Gogh and as we were admiring a statue of van Gogh I said to him that I remembered he used to want to be an artist when grew up. To this he replied, "I still plan on being an artist if that professional basketball player thing is not available."

Although it was nearly 6:00 by the time we left Saint-Paul, we made our way over to UNESCO World Heritage site, Pont du Gard. The Roman aqueduct is 31 miles long and dates back to 1 AD. Since it was so late in the day there were only a few small groups remaining and we were able to enjoy the scenery in relative solitude. While we didn't regret any of the day's activities, I think we all felt like we could have just as easily spent the day in the shade by the river. As I sat on the rocks and watched Jacob and Vaughn play in the water, I remembered why we came.

Grenoble, France

We had originally not planned on stopping in Grenoble but some months ago Jacob posted our itinerary on the "Family Welcome" message board on Couchsurfing and Greg replied with an enthusiastic invitation to come to visit. The beauty of having six full months is being able to go to places that weren't necessarily on our "must see" list so we said 'Merci! We'll be there!"

It was raining in Paris when we left and it was raining when we reached Grenoble six hours later in the rental car we're going to have for the next four months. Grenoble is a little city of just around 200,000 that sits on an alluvial plain right at the base of the French Alps.

Greg and Isabelle have three children: two girls Lina (14) and Nais (12) and a boy, Yael (9). Four years ago they also took a year off to home school their children and travel around. Greg works for HP in Grenoble where, ironically, he says he only speaks French about 10% of the time. Isabelle makes jewelry and does massage and she lets me select one of her rings as a gift. The children are very sweet and mellow and despite the fact that only Lina speaks any English, they whisk Vaughn away to play board games and Hide And Seek at a park around the corner.

We're staying three nights with them and like our other hosts, they give us housing, homemade meals, laundry and shower access and vibrant conversation. And like our other hosts, they are genuinely interested in spending time with us - a whole other level of hospitality. We eat dinner on the roof of their flat five stories up, sample their homemade fruit alcohol and wines and drink giant bowls of coffee.

Despite the on-again/off-again rain yesterday, we packed up a picnic and drove up into the mountains to visit a monastery that has been there since the 12th century. Only about 10 monks still reside there and visitors aren't allowed to enter but the setting is peaceful and it is fun to just walk around up in the hills surrounding the perimeters and contemplate just how long I might last with a vow of silence (I generously give myself one month).

On the way back down the mountain we stopped off at the Church Saint-Hugues-de-Chartreuse where the artist Arcabas has renovated the church as his personal gallery, filling the walls and even the stained glass windows with his "contemporary sacred art." Just outside the church is a small, ancient graveyard and I'm temporarily confused by all the plaques on the graves that say "souvenir" (I went to the afterlife and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!) until Greg explains it is actually the French word for "remember."

Today we took the sky tram up to La Bastille high above the city and wandered around for hours enjoying the sunshine and the view below. We descended down into the adjacent passage tunnels known as the "Mandrin caves" (after Louis Mandrin despite the fact that the French Robin Hood-type figure, died 90 years prior to their construction) which were dark and wet and kind of precarious.

Tonight we take them all out to dinner as a thank you for their hospitality. Isabelle speaks perfect English but accents and my propensity to hear things incorrectly don't mix well and when she asks me if I think her daughter looks like a "cool girl" in her funky sleeveless top, I have to ask her to repeat herself twice before confessing I thought she was asking me to confirm that her 14 year old looked like a "call girl." At dinner they humble us further by presenting us with parting gifts of a coffee table book of Grenoble and a bottle of Chartreuse, a green alcohol made by the monks they had told us about while visiting the monastery.

Tomorrow we head to Marseille for three nights and then it is off to Barcelona.

It's Quick to Get to Paris....

...Unless you miss your train and then you are pretty much stuck in purgatory. We missed our 10:15 train to Paris and are trying to figure out how to change the tickets. The International Train Station Office which seems to be quickly solving problems for dirty, backpacking hippies left and right can do nothing for us because our tickets were bought online. So we go to a cafe where with a small purchase we get free WiFi but cannot get through to the train company and need to go buy a phone card. When Jacob returns he tells me that we missed the window for a full refund – by ten minutes. We will have to be satisfied with a 50% refund on the old tickets and buy new ones that are more expensive than the original ones, despite being second class while the others were first. All told- a $200 mistake and some serious wear on poor Jacob's psyche.

The bright spot is that Vaughn is the most patient, easy-going traveler. Also, we are on our way to Paris to stay with Oliver and Chloe, a 24 year old couple who are putting us up for a couple of days. Even their names make me happy as they are reminiscent of Bernard and Miss Bianca from the Rescuers. When we finally get on the the train, the conductor's name is Jean Jacques – which I also find pretty awesome.

***

Oliver and Chloe greeted us warmly with juice and chips and kisses on either side of the cheek (I mistakenly plant my kiss on her cheek before realizing we're only supposed to kiss the air). Oliver is finishing up studying law and talks passionately about governments in both Europe and the US. I dredged up literally every story I've heard about French politics (which is brief) stopping just short at, “Isn't your First Lady pregnant?” Chloe just finished up film school and is interning with a company that makes documentaries. Their families both still live in Normandy, where they met. They made us heaping plates of spaghetti and brought out their guidebooks to help us figure out just how we're going to see all of Paris in one day. As we've done in other places, we enjoy regaling them with horrifying tales of out of control student loans and uninsured medical bills in the U.S. - just doing our part to make everyone feel a little bit better about their systems. I crashed into bed thinking about how no one in Europe eats Mexican food or has tattoos and if someone could import both these addictive habits – they'd make a fortune.

I had sort of envisioned getting fancied up for our day in Paris but I'm make-upless with unwashed hair and, perhaps most tragically, socks that are close but don't quite match. I don't really care though, it's cool and rainy out and if you're serious about seeing Paris in a day you need to dress for comfort. By the end of the day we've ridden the Metro a dozen times, toured the Basilique du Sacre Coeur (Church of the Sacred Heart), chilled in parks, taken pictures of the Eiffel Tower and eaten our weight in bread. By the end of the day we're looking so confident that a French speaking person asks us for directions.

Central Wallonia, Belgium

I'm realizing that a huge benefit of couch surfing is having access to someone who speaks English. We are on our second day in southeastern Belgium and no one speaks a lick of English. Right now I'm hanging out at a laundry mat in Rochefort while Jacob and Vaughn play basketball at a park - both of which were found through lots of gesturing to locals.

Today we went and toured the caves at Grottes de Han, the primary reason we came to the area. It was kind of sad to me that such a national treasure got turned into such a private racket. It cost us $60 just to tour the caves and then parakeet wielding staff boarded the tram as we were waiting to depart to force us all to take pictures with the bird (conveniently available for purchase after exiting the caves). In addition to the books, candy and rocks and minerals, the gift shop was full of cheap, carnival-quality stuffed Smurfs (although we think of them as a product of the '80's, Smurfs were actually created by the Belgian artist Peyo in the 1950's) for $15.

The formations in the caves date back half a million years and are amazing to behold. We walked in between the French and Dutch speaking tours reading our English language tour pamphlet they provided. My favorite excerpt from the pamphlet being an enthusiastic suggestion to visit the cafe at the exit of the caves where we'd be sure to find "prices that are very democratic."

Jacob and I had just sworn to stop saying that things in Europe reminded us of Disneyland when all of a sudden we heard the lulling voice of Enya being piped through the speakers 80 meters underground. We were lead up to a semi-circle of benches where a light show started up on the cave walls. At the end of the tour they set off a cannon so that you could marvel at the acoustics in the cave and by that point we were pretty ready to be out of there.

We're trying to hook up a couch surfing arrangement for our last night in Belgium in Brussels. The hotel in Anhee we are staying at currently wasn't able to get our room open so they put us across the street in the "new hotel"that appears to have no other inhabitants and quite honestly seems to only be half completed. It also has to be the worst construction job I've ever seen - like the owners bought a "Build Your Own Hotel" kit at Home Depot or something. Jacob keeps saying that he feels like he is in Barton Fink.

I'm also hoping that a larger city might offer us more food options. Last night we paid $50 to split two plates of terrible spaghetti ($10 of the bill was just water since, for whatever reason, you can't get tap water) and we are tired of living off of peanut butter and jelly. I'm not going to lie- the last 48 hours have been a little touch and go with a bit of bickering (not totally surprising if you consider we are not usually together 24/7). Jacob does a good job of reminding us that sometimes traveling is hard and that we knew that it would be. I keep myself sane by working with my budgeting spreadsheet to remind myself that we are on track and doing just fine. Like any good Program Manager, I can tell you that we are 49.62% through our July food budget but I might be willing to go over a bit for a decent vegan meal in Brussels.

Bruges - The Belgium Days

As anticipated, Belgium got off to a bit of a rough start. We got the keys to the rental car at the train station in Brussels and were told to take the elevator to the third floor of the underground parking garage and then proceed down to the fourth floor. At the third floor we nervously stepped into the stairwell and as soon as the door closed behind me, I had a sinking feeling that one of us should have held it open just in case this wasn't the correct way. The stairwell was strewn with newspapers, feces and cigarette butts- a real human guinea pig cage of sorts. Down one level the door was locked and Jacob instinctively began pounding on it. My heart raced as I thought I heard stirring on a level below as though perhaps we had woken the Dutch Stair People who would come and try and get us. Luckily it took only a few seconds to regain composure and walk back up to try the door we had come in through, which was open.

Once on the road it didn't take long to figure out the GPS wasn't working. It would have been one thing if it just wasn't working, but it mocked us by continuing to call out directions every few minutes. You would think we would have just turned it off but we were so frustrated and hopeful that maybe it would change its mind and start to work that we just let it keep chattering away to “turn left at the round-about” as we drove down the freeway.

The plan was to find a place to stay in the city of Ghent but the rain combined with the fact that we kept turning down the same wrong way streets had us cursing the town within minutes of arrival. Vaughn woke up from a nap as we were back on the freeway to Bruges and began cursing us for setting out with no reservations.

You really can't overstate the charm of Bruges, a 9^th century fortress developed to protect the coast from the Vikings (you'll pardon me if I occasionally lift from our guidebooks). The city is walled and you have to pass over a stone bridge to enter. It is chock full of medieval charm and feels like you are stepping into a fairy tale with cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages and swans swimming though the canals. Despite the rain and our fatigue, we couldn't help feeling tickled by this last minute decision. I was also pretty tickled by the $4 carafe of wine Jacob had grabbed me at the last gas station we stopped at.

The next day we set out and walked back to the center of the city where there was a Farmer's Market in progress. Smoking vendors shouted out descriptions of their products and handed us samples. We walked over to the 272 ft Belfort bell tower and decided to pay the 20 Euros to walk the 366 steps to the top. There are 47 bells at the top of the tower controlled by a person using a keyboard and the chiming is heard throughout the city on a regular basis. The steps wind in a tight winding spiral and are only about three feet long and between one and a half feet to a few inches deep, depending on your spot on the stair. There are no windows and you must pull tightly to the wall to allow a person to pass. A near constant stream of people walking up and down the steps makes for the most claustrophobic situation imaginable and about two-thirds of the way up I was overcome by a horrible panic and had to let the boys continue on without me.

The veganism and strict budgeting means that really only Vaughn is sampling the culinary treats such as Belgian waffles and chocolates and it all starts to feel like that scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where the grandparents gather 'round to vicariously enjoy the single chocolate bar that Charlie gets for his birthday.

As you might imagine, Jacob is the consummate friendly traveler, asking everyone we encounter where they are from (the most amusing encounter thus far being an older couple from London who said they had been to the States three times but only to Las Vegas and it was “lovely, just lovely”). I also appreciate his boldness in doing things that I'm too shy to do, such as fill up our water bottle from the machine at breakfast since the hotel has said it is “not advisable” to drink the tap water (which I read after pounding three large glasses to get rid of a dehydration headache).

Tomorrow we set off for the Ardennes in the Central Wallonia region and this time we're going to try to have reservations.

Woerden Days - Pt. 2

Yesterday Rembrand had to work so the rest of us took the train about 10 minutes to neighboring Utrecht which had many of the charms of Amsterdam in a smaller, more sanitized version. All along the canals are restaurants where people were sitting out on patios drinking. We sprung for a boat tour through one of the canals and visited a monastery that later went on to be a place for the locals to drink beer and eventually became a site for gunpowder storage – sort of the ultimate fall from grace.

The church contained many replicas of art dedicated to Martin Luther so I decided to try and enlighten Vaughn a little bit. I present this dialogue as a cautionary tale as to what can happen when children are raised by parents with no religious upbringing AND are too cheap to buy the self-guided tour:

Me: So Vaughn, there was this guy – Martin Luther – and he had some problems with the Catholic Church so he nailed ummm...I think 13 of these 'demands' to a door and voila! That's how we got Protestants!

Jacob: Aren't they Lutherans?

Me: Oh right- yes, that would make more sense.

Vaughn: Can we go back outside now?

(After reading the Wikipedia article on Martin Luther I can see the multiple levels where this fell apart).

That night Monique and Rembrand spent close to two hours with us trying to figure out how we were going get to Belgium and what we would do when we got there – including where we would stay. We went to bed feeling a little less adventurous about the prospect of rolling into some of these areas at the height of tourist season with no reservations and I began to see how my dad has turned planning for his two weeks in Italy into practically a full-time job.

Today's plan centered around taking bikes and visiting Monique's home village of Wilnis (est. pop. 7,000). The trip was about 18 miles round trip and this was a pretty hefty trek for all the Mestmans. Monique showed us a place where the dike broke some years ago and flooded the town and we spent some time at the local playground. I know I keep harping on how much I like the cows/sheep/goats but this place is seriously like the domestic farm animal version of Yellowstone (sans geysers). It is my Little House rural fantasy without all the religion and hard work.

Tonight Monique requested that in lieu of taking them out to dinner I cook them a meal. Naturally the meal I made was - wait for it - burritos! I don't think Mexican food is very common here but I was able to round up most of the ingredients I wanted except cilantro. I bought what I thought was cilantro but it was encased in plastic and so I couldn't smell it and it ended up being some other random herb.

Tomorrow we leave for Belgium and poor Jacob has spent the last hour trying to get a car rented. We decided that we weren't going to worry about making reservations so I'll let you know how that goes. We're taking the train to Brussels in the morning and then we're going to head south to Wallonia (the French speaking half of Belgium) to try and stay in the town of Rochefort and tour the caves in the famous Ardennes region. I wish I could say that I was more excited about going to Belgium but at this point we're not feeling super adventurous. I may pick up a copy of Heart of Darkness for the journey.