Gunternation

We ate this amazing platter of mussels, clams and razor clams, along with a pile of pimientos de Padrón and a bottle of wine, in Santiago de Compostela at an outdoor cafe. Our server even brought us a glass of Orujo, a traditional Galician liquor, to end our feast with. Spain is a whole lot of Awesome!

To combat the Winter/Software Testing doldrums, I am implementing a Week of Something Awesome.

Something Awesome Day 1: Lunch in Lugo

Last June in Lugo, Spain, Bill and I happened upon a festival celebrating the Roman history of this Galician city which has the only fully intact Roman walls in the world, forming a circle over a mile (2117 m) in circumference around old town. After a snack of empanada (the Galician variety which is baked like a large pie) we found a huge grill covered in ribs. We snagged a table and obtained the following items.

• A bottle of white wine with shallow pottery bowls to drink it from
• Ribs
• pulpo a feira–boiled octopus sprinkled with Pimentón (paprika) and olive oil, a traditional Galician dish
• Padrón peppers–another Galician specialty, these green peppers are fried and sprinkled with salt

The Padrón peppers popped into my mind tonight as I was pondering Awesome. We loved the simple preparation that highlights the earthy combination of mild spice and salt. We ordered them at every opportunity on our trip. I didn’t like Galician octopus as much as I did Barcelonian Squid, although I would eat it again if given the opportunity. The ribs were as close to BBQ as we’ve found this side of the Atlantic. Gnawing on bones,  quaffing wine, surrounded by folks in Roman garb of togas, animal skins, and gladiator armor, we were having a feast indeed.

I’ve decided that having a bottle of wine at lunch is one of my favorite markers that we are truly on holiday.

I took a half day off work Thursday. This is what happened.

It’s 3:30 and I’m sitting in Stephen’s Green. I left work at 12:30 and had a long lunch with friends. A two-hour lunch to celebrate a birthday. A lunch that included wine and dessert. Afterwards my friends returned to work and I walked down some leafy streets I had never walked down, near my office. I took pictures of churches and bought a Diet Coke at a narrow SPAR. I got a cold one from the back of the case.

I walked up Camden Street and checked in Listons for some smoked duck Bill had told me about. They didn’t have the duck, so I didn’t buy anything even though Listons is full of lovely food. I like to buy lunch there. They frequently play music I would consider “Austiny.” (Austiny=Lucinda Williams.) At the Fresh market I cut across to Harcourt Street on my way to the green. I noticed a beleaguered woman in a sundress and impractical sandals pulling a suitcase. She noticed me and asked if she were going the right direction for the Harcourt Hotel. “Someone told me it was this way,” she said in her English accent. I didn’t know the Harcourt Hotel, “but you are on Harcourt Street,” I said. “That’s a good sign.” I made sure to say Harcourt Street because residents of the UK and Ireland get annoyed when Americans leave off Street and Road and Lane. I’ve walked along Harcourt several times and don’t remember the Harcourt Hotel, but there are plenty of buildings, at least 65% of which could conceivably house hotel lodgings.

The green is full of people walking and sitting and lounging upon the grass. I find a bench looking out on the central section with fountains and formal flower beds and pull out a Paris Review I had bought in Texas but have yet to read. This issue has a section of photographs of beaches. Beaches in Italy and Croatia and the U.S. I think of the beach Bill and I visited last month in Spain. We had been driving North from Portedeume to Cedeira. As we passed through Valdoviño, Bill said, “Quick, check the book, there’s something here.” I flipped through the Lonely Planet and exclaimed “Praia Da Frouxeira! A beach!” We whipped our heads to the left and spied a patch of brilliant blue rimmed with white foam and sand. “Holy Crap!” we cried and Bill turned the car around.

The sand was soft and not hot like the Gulf white sand. Gulf white sand is almost molten. We walked along the edge of the water which was yelping cold. A few people were in the water, mostly children. Water temperature is of little concern to a frolicking child. There were also a couple guys para-surfing–they were wearing wet suits. We walked toward the rocky part of the beach and climbed up on a dune. We plopped down and sat for a while, looking at the auqamarine water and listening to the waves.

I love the sound of the waves and looking out at the expanse of water. One photo in the Paris Review is a centerfold panorama of Coney Island. The beach and water are packed with people and beach umbrellas. It looks like candy sprinkles on a giant cupcake. I don’t like busy beaches. I like quiet ones where you can hear the waves. Like in Valdoviño and Anna Maria Island, Florida.

I like sitting in the green as well. This afternoon is full of sunny spells. I’m wearing a celery-colored cardigan with three-quarter length sleeve, trimmed with a small ruffle. I’m also wearing a light scarf. I chuckle to myself about wearing a scarf on July 15–the height of summer. Between the sunny spells a chilly wind blows at my back and brings a few drops of rain. Sometimes the rain doesn’t wait for the sun to quit shining. The wind blows cold against my lower back because I’m wearing the ass crack jeans I accidentally bought in Texas. Well, I was intentional at the point of purchase, but I didn’t realize they would stretch easily and fall below my hips. Sometimes you can be in full possession of your faculties at the time of the transaction, but not be truly aware of what you are transacting.

I consider staying in the green all afternoon reading the Paris Review, but I had intended to do a bit of shopping, so after a while I’ll walk through the green toward the shops. Later Bill will meet me for dinner and as I’m telling him about my day he’ll look up the Harcourt Hotel on his phone. It is just a little ways up Harcourt Street, and I’ll be confident the woman in the sundress had found her accommodation.

It’s been three months since our trip to Southern Spain. Years ago, three months wouldn’t be an unreasonable amount of time to wait for a written account of travels on The Continent, but in these times it’s an almost unforgivable expanse. So imagine you’re reading these words on onion skin air mail stationery and dreaming of the next time you’ll hear my voice.

Spain has been a wonderful surprise for Bill and me. Back in the era before I traveled Europe freely, Spain was not on the short list of places I intended to visit if I ever lucked into 10 days across the sea. But this season, generous with sights and sounds and flavors, has taken us beyond all expectations, and now we know–we love Spain.

We’re particularly drawn to the balance between food and drink embodied by the tapa. Little bites to accompany refreshing beverages. Compared to Ireland which, I’m afraid, loves its drink more than its food, Spain seems to love them equally, and better yet, doesn’t ask you to choose.

I’ve already described some of the wonderful flavors we encountered in Granada, and we continued to eat well in Malaga. Our first night we wandered the entwined streets looking for seafood. Not a difficult hunt, we quickly found some calamari, fried shrimp and manchego.

Tuesday morning we had breakfast at Cafe Moka, adjacent to our hotel–cafe con leche and pitufo (small) sandwiches. I had sobrassada and cheese and Bill had Spanish tortilla (tortilla de patatas).

We then visited a market full of veggies and fruit and cured meat. We kept seeing bowls of orange goo labeled Lomo en Manteca–we would find out later what it was. We picked up a few snacks–skewers of marinated anchovies, pickled onions, olive and pickle (loved these in Barcelona), and some empanadas. We enjoyed these later on our balcony.

Later we walked down to the beach for lunch. We had some gazpacho–gazpacho originated in Andalusia–and I ordered grilled squid. I had been profoundly changed by the grilled squid I had in Barcelona; the grilled squid I had here was a bit bigger and filled with goo, but the non-goo parts where tasty and I could watch a guy stick the squid on the end of a pole and grill it over charcoal, so that was cool. We also had some tortillitas and Bill had gambas al pil pil (spicy shrimp).

After lunch we waded a bit in the Mediterranean and relaxed on the sand. We returned to our hotel for siesta–the air had been turned on and we napped in cool comfort. That evening we started dinner at Gorki, a wine bar which is a chain, but seemingly popular with the locals. We wrote some postcards and ate jamon iberica and a wonderful salad with blue cheese and wilted leeks.

Our next stage of dinner was at La Rabana where we dined on figs and more jamon iberica (it’s so great!), a black pudding sandwich, and yes, Lomo en Manteca! Pork in lard–delicious!

Spain had been so kind to us with its gentle sun, fragrant orange blossoms, and marvelous flavors. We were really reluctant to leave and wished we had planned to stay for the whole week. I knew we’d be glad to have the days for a later trip (for oh, say, Slovenia), but it was hard to leave.

Wednesday morning we returned to Cafe Moka for a bittersweet cafe con leche and more of the amazing tortilla pitufo. Click here for more food pics.

And we did do a few things between meals, other than siesta. Click here for more scenes from Malaga.

Scenes from our bus trip as we traveled from Granada to Malaga on May 4.

After an extraordinarily lovely afternoon at the Alhambra (May 3), we stopped for a cafe con leche. The Granadians were out in droves wearing their traditional clothes for Dia de la Cruz.

Seeing everyone in traditional dress truly made the day more festive. I was enchanted by these girls in their finery riding a merry-go-round. Note the little one in her mother’s arms is also wearing frills.

We returned to our hotel for siesta, and then back out for a tapas-filled evening. We started at Bar Poë, a tapas bar unique in that you get to pick which free tapa you would like with each drink, and the menu is tantalizing. The owner behind the bar is a Brit, so that was helpful for those of us with poor language skills. In our time at Poë we ate seven delicious tapas including pork stew over rice , chick pea salad and chicken stew with polenta. We also tried our first tinto de verano, red wine with lemon soda. Great! The tinto was €1.80 and a caña (small glass) de cerveza only €1.20. Our total at Poë was a gobsmacking €11.40! Incredible. I can easily pay that much for a takeaway lunch of a sandwich with salad/soup and soda in Dublin.

After Poë we walked back to Plaza del Carmen where dancers were still twirling and stomping upon the stage. We stopped at another cervaceria and ordered a selection of meat and cheese tapas.

Supposedly the smoking ban for bars says that smoking is not permitted if children are allowed; it seems most bars in Granada have chosen ciggies over kids. Bill and I theorize that the clouds of nicotine add a bit of zing to the legs of jamon iberico suspended from the ceiling.

Monday morning we returned to Malaga, but not without a moment of sadness for our friends in Dublin who were under rainy skies. You can’t see the radar in the pic, but trust me, it was rainy. We also regretted not ordering special pillows from the pillow menu.

Turns out I know a couple people who have lived in Granada, but I didn’t remember because I filed the information into the great black box in my brain that was “Oh cool, Spain.” Now that I’ve been there, I am thrilled that anyone I know got to experience this beautiful city day after day.

We arrived in Granada on May 2 just in time for siesta. The timing was perfect as we had been up since 4:30 for the 7:30 flight. We flew into Malaga, arriving around 11:00. We took a bus to the bus station, and then ate lunch at a sunny sidewalk cafe–meatballs and hand cut fries, preceded by a salad of greens with canned tuna and olives, followed by cafe con leche. Total €18.00.

While we were eating a man in a blue dress shirt sat at the table next to us. When I glanced at him again, the tie was off and his shirt was unbuttoned to his sternum. He drank a coffee and ate some buttered bread before picking up his briefcase and departing, buttoning his shirt and arranging his tie as he went.

Our skin was already turning pink after an hour, when we boarded the bus for Granada. The two hour trip took us into high hills with scrubby brush, not unlike Central Texas. We drove past groves of olive (or possibly almond) trees and stands of tall, straight poplars planted in tight rows.

After our nap at the hotel we walked over the Rio Genil into Central Grenada. We passed several bars packed with people watching a match. We walked through the Plaza del Carmen where a large stage was covered by adorable girls in traditional dresses. We had arrived in Granada during Dia de la Cruz, the Day of the Cross. We sat in the square for a while and watched the girls dance Sevillanas, a type of Flamenco traditional to Andalusia. The dancers curl their arms through the air above their heads, and follow that movement with their hips, while shaking their frilly skirts and stomping their feet.

Looking for dinner, we wandered down a street filled with sidewalk tables. Some of the restaurants were full, others deserted. I created a restaurant selection logic like this: Choose the first place you see with just one empty table. This restaurant was Casa Jose.

Bars in Granada have a wonderful tradition of serving a free tapa with every drink. Our gratis tapas at Casa Jose was fried sardines. We also ordered a plate of fried seafood which contained more sardines, calamari, shrimp and bacalao. My first encounter with bacalao in Barcelona was, shall we say, slimy. [Although Bill was okay with it.] This bacalao was seasoned with oregano and fried. The bacalao balls were the best bites on the platter.

After dinner, we wandered around and got some ice cream. The next morning after a large breakfast at the hotel, we headed toward the Alhambra.

This year Bill and I spent the May Bank Holiday weekend (plus a couple days) in the Andalusian region of Southern Spain. Our first stop was Granada, and when in Granada, you visit the Alhambra.

The Alhambra is a collection of palaces and gardens from the height of Moorish rule in the 14th Century. We somehow missed the desk for audio guide rental, so enjoyed the Alhambra on an experiential beauty level alone, and so that’s all I can share with you. Some of you may be interested in Andalusia’s fascinating religious history. For you I can pass along a recommendation for God’s Crucible by David Levering Lewis.

You have to reserve a time slot for the Nasrid Palaces. We were scheduled for 2:00 PM, so we started our visit there. We strolled through tiled courtyards and rooms with soaring ceilings where every surface is covered in intricate carvings. In our current age, we appreciate beauty with the snap of our digital shutters–Alhambra is highly pixel worthy.

Click here and here to view more Alhambra pics.

The grounds and terraced gardens are lovely. We also loved the series fountains joined together with small channels of water that flow through the grounds, along the paths and down stairs. The sound of tinkling water and fragrance of the gardens add to the stunning visual beauty.

Barcelona is a place for wandering. The Gothic Quarter (El Barri Gòtic) is a net of streets, strung with shops and sidewalk cafes, and knotted into cobblestone squares or dusty playgrounds. Our first day we enjoyed a late lunch on the terrace of Bar Kasparo, watching the neighborhood life swirl around the swings and a merry-go-round, reminiscent of the teetering iron contraptions of our childhood (back when fun could be a wee bit dangerous). The street signs in the quarter were pretty good, but we did find ourselves circling round a bit, coming back to the same place from a different direction. We passed a guy several times who would yell, “Irish Pub! Ir-ish Poob! Budweiser, €1.” In the same square were protests against bullfighting.

Our last evening we searched for a while for a recommended candy store, Caelum, which specializes in confections from the convents. We bought some marzipan treats and anise-spiced Alfajores. I went into a shop across the way. After we exchanged Hola and Hi, the lady behind the counter said that her English was not good, but she would try to answer any questions. “My Spanish is not good,” I replied. She gestured into the air and said, “Universal language.” “Yes, “I said, “Shopping,” and we both laughed a good bit at that. So of course I had to buy a cute ring from her, made by an artist named Maria.

Many buildings in the Gothic Quarter date from medieval times, but Barcelona originated as a 1st Century Roman settlement. Remains of the Romans walls are visible in parts of the city.

Thanks to the Museu d’Història de la Ciutat, we were able to actually walk along some Roman streets, or rather, inches above them, on metal mesh and glass sidewalks. This fascinating exhibit takes you through excavation of Colonia Iulia Augusta Paterna Faventia Barcino, a city founded by Emperor Augustus around 10 BC. We entered the bell tower and saw that the Romans reused cornices and tablets in subsequent construction. We saw the mosaic floor of a impluvium, a shallow pool in the open atrium of the home used to collect rainwater. The gutters for sewage were apparent, as were the casks, pools and channels used in wine and salted fish and garum (fish goo) industries. The city’s laundry facilities supported a complicated cleaning process (slaves were handy for that) that included using urine collected from vats on the street in front of the laundry. The laundry owners paid a tax to the city to collect public pee. The excavation shows the growing role of the Christian church, tracing construction of the Visigoth church to the Episcopal complex of the 7th Century. Exhibits along the way showcase implements of daily living, including 2,000 year old glass vials. We loved this exhibit. It was, as the lads in Barcino surely must have said, way cool.

When you first see the Nativity Facade of Gaudí’s Temple de la Sagrada Familia you might wonder, as we did, whether Gaudí is the origin of the word gaudy. Well, he’s not. The term gaudy originated in the 1500s. But Gaudi may be the origin of the term “insane genius,” or at least “extremely ambitious project that may never be completed.”

Construction on the temple started in 1882. When the initial architect left the project after less than a year, Antoni Gaudí i Cornet took over design and construction of this Monumental Expiatory Church, erected to the glory of the Holy Family. Gaudí continued to refine his vision for the temple until his death by streetcar accident in 1926.

Gaudí saw completion of a good part of the Nativity Facade, a dense, neo-gothic vision of biblical characters intricately surrounded by all manner of flora and fauna crawling, slithering and vining their way to a tree covered with white doves. The filigree continues into the cloister where the arches cradle patriarchs, prophets, saints and the Virgin of the Rosary with child. Ornate Gaudí is impressive and interesting, and evidences the effort and expense humans are willing to invest into places of worship. But it is Gaudi’s modern interiors and Passion Facade that made us fans of the unfinished temple.

Gaudí’s Nativity facade is rife with nature, but within the nave, Gaudí simplifies his vision, illuminating the geometric lines of creation. The columns evoke a forest of trees with fluted branches touching a sky of stars. The columns also exhibit perfect geometry. Comprised of vertical sections proportional to the polygonal base (meter length of first section equals the sides in the polygon, second section equals half the number of polygon sides, etc.), the columns grow into finer flutes, “combin[ing] both the lightness of helicoidal [spiral] growth and the gravity of doric columns [Corinthian columns].” * Other words you can use to describe Gaudí’s design: hyperbolic, dodecahedron, chiaroscuro.

Thankfully Gaudí’s geometry is as beautiful as it is rooted in calculations. The figures in the Passion Facade are sleek and strong, elementally laid bare. Compared to the Nativity Facade the passion figures are stark and minimal. There are large icicles surrounding the nativity scenes (Christmastime is in winter after all); to me these drooping stalactites make the Nativity Facade look like it is melting, and the Passion Facade is what remains. This stylistic progression is part of what makes you feel you’re experiencing a genius vision, and the oscillation between the vast breadth and minuscule detail of his designs might make one slightly insane. We loved the Passion Facade, and bought a set of prints of Gaudí’s Passion figure sketches.

Gaudí’s design even presaged modern skylines with a huge, lighted, mosaic cross at 122 meters (one meter lower than nearby Montjuïc, so as to not exceed God’s creation) and the words “Hosanna Excelsis” emblazoned on each of the twelve bell towers.

The Sagrada Familia is famous for being unfinished. Over a century after construction began, the temple is a little more than halfway complete. The construction has met with several obstacles, including a civil war, but workers were busy constructing an aboriform column the day of our tour. A museum in the basement of the temple contains Gaudí’s design drawings, models and sample ironworks. Gaudí designed every element from the tubular bells in the bell towers to the iron candelabras. More of a visionary than a project manager, Gaudí would respond to inquiries about the completion date of the temple by saying, “My client is in no hurry.” Bill and I have decided to coin a new PM term as an homage to Gaudí: Whenever we encounter a project that has gone a bit off the rails, no matter how brilliant, we’ll say “This is turning into a Sagrada Familia.” Feel free to use this term for all your scope creep needs.

* from the handy dandy guide purchased at the Sagrada Familia giftshop