We have had a couple of days of leisure, relaxation and full hedonism in the South of Spain. We laid low at an all-inclusive as a break from moving around. Aside from being a lovely, restful time, it was also a very affordable break from the cost of the cities, and meals on the go. For four nights, the AI was the same cost as a basic apartment would have been for the same four nights. A freebie then was the food (and my family can really get their money’s worth out of a buffet), the drinks and the lovely (though cold) pools.
We had to laugh as, as Canadians we are hearty folk who wear t-shits and shorts at 15 degrees. The sun is out, it’s a warm day (except for in February when it is a signal of blistering cold)! We got some funny looks from the locals though, who were dressed in puffy jackets and toques, walking along in unseasonably cool weather (a high of 20) due to Storm Ciaran, which knocked out power to much of West-Central Europe with 180km/hr winds. This is perfect weather for us however, so we strolled the beach in wet swimsuits and sunglasses.
The beach was spectacular, with shallow, warm waters, and huge waves whipped up by the storm for the first two days, but as Ciaran passed, the waves grew calmer. Still huge, but more surf-perfect and less like Triton was trying to retake the world.
On our third morning in what I explained to the kids was not technically Spain (due to the full on headonism, and lack of actual culture), we got some sad news from Home. One of our beloved extended family pups had passed on. He was my Sister’s pup; such a sweet, funny guy who had a Lab body, but like someone had stretched it to disproportionate lengths, and long velvety Basset Hound ears. He used to come and stick his head between my legs, as dogs do, and I’d spread his big ears over my legs like a blanket. He loved his boat rides, and had an odd affection for empty toilet paper rolls and plastic water bottles.
We all cried that morning, and Olive wrote his name in the sand well above the highway wave line. Within a moment of her finishing his name, a great wave, far larger than the others came and swept the beach clean. It was as if his energy came, in his quiet way, and told us it was okay.
After these few perfectly timed, and well needed few days of rest, it was time to move on.
We had rented a car in Seville in order to make the transfers from airport to hotel easier. The highways in Spain were wonderful to drive. They are very clearly laid out (modern mapping systems help), and drivers are respectful and generally cautious. We also had a couple of lovely clear days, and both drives were timed to be during daylight hours.
Initially the plan had been to visit Cadiz, or Terifa, but one of the problems with AI hotels is that they sick you in – maybe the Eagles wrote Hotel California about an AI hotel. We would certainly revisit Cadiz, and it’s magnificent tidal flats, but would rent an apartment and tour around, rather than be lumps by the pool (in fairness, we did spend a lot of time on our feet, walking the beach).
Our return to Seville was made via the same route we had arrived from Rome, but in reverse. As opposed to Public Transit, Train, Airport, car, we went car, airport, public transit (to Sevilla Santa Justa train station), train.
As many problems as we have had with trains in Europe, we did not find Spanish trains to be problematic. They are super punctual, clean, and comfortable. It is also next to impossible to get on the wrong train. Unlike most stations we have been to, where you just figure out your platform, hop on the train that is there and pray it’s the write one, in Spain you have to go through two ticket checkpoints and an X-ray machine even before you get on.
Our arrival in Barcelona was late, so we navigated the Metro to make our otherwise half hour trek a simple dove miniutes. The Metro in Barcelona is remarkably easy to navigate, clean, and generally safe. I did discover however that someone had unzipped my small purse on our way to Park Guell the next day – haha sucker! I keep nothing but sticky candy wrappers and bandaids in there!
I’m pretty sure a young Lady tried to warn me of the transgression in hindsight, but without the ability to understand Spanish I’m not certain. Either way the timing and events add up, and I wish her good fortune for her efforts.
We only had one day in Barcelona, but we tried to make the most of it. We visited Park Guell, and the kids now understand the meaning of Gaudi. It was a neat spot, but we all agreed that we found the Sacro Bosco more interesting and enjoyable. We visited the exterior of the Sagrada Familia. I would have enjoyed seeing the interior, but we found the cost of almost $100Cad for an hour of oohs and ahhs a bit steep, and the kids would have only enjoyed for a short time.
The most surprisingly enjoyable find of our time in Barcelona was in the Gothic Quarter, where we fell upon the Bouqueria Market. This was the spot that food dreams are made of; the kids were ecstatic. Vendors of all shapes and sizes: fruits and nuts and candies; fish and meat and breads oh my! The sights and smell would have been criminal if we weren’t all so full from our fixed menu lunch near Park Guell that we were able to control ourselves barely.
After a slow saunter back home (about a half hour walk from the Gothic Quarter) we regrouped for dinner plans. After our first choice fell through due to a private function that evening, we arrived at Kinza restaurant. It offered authentic Georgian Food and a fabulous, warm atmosphere.
The meal was extraordinary. Easily the most flavourful wonders that we have experienced in two and a half weeks in Europe (and we’ve been trying to eat flavourful dishes). We ate delicious meals of ostri (a stew of tomato and beef with onion, garlic and a delightful mix of spices that were splendid), Khinkali (dumplings with a meaty soup inside), and badrijani, which is a paste of walnuts and flavour embraced in a thin wrapping of eggplant. Oh my goodness, we will try for our lives to replicate that flavour! Hopefully the recipie below will be a good starting point.
We have noticed that as we travel the streets, we get a lot of stares – even without our backpacks, and when walking in silence. Is it our clothes? How I wear my hair (no one seems to do a basic ponytail in Spain)? Or could it perhaps be our travel water bottles that no one seems to carry in Europe? I haven’t yet figured it out, but would be curious as to any insight.
I have also noticed that one can tell when you’ve been on the road (or tracks) for a while as you start to appreciate different train stations for different reasons; some have amazing architecture, some lovely indoor green spaces. We have just left our midway train change point of Montpellier, on the way to Lyon from Barcelona. We have been travelling on a calm, sunny day, passing tidal flats near Perpignan that are rife with flamingos (flamingoes in France?).
Pulling into Montpellier Station I notice that it’s one of the only large stations that are open roofed on the arrivals level. Upstairs there is an outdoor terrace in the sun with quiet seating (if you buy a coffee), and inside a free to play piano where a line of quite competent young men stand, waiting their turn to play. It is a peaceful spot in what is otherwise a quite hectic way to travel. However, our next train awaits, and so on we get, to our next stop in Lyon. Our time in Europe is coming to a close, and I’d say we’ll be very content to get home, but in the mean time, with four days left, let’s see what happens next.
A twenty year adventure and more 
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