I Open at the Close (or, Back to Black).

Before I begin, I would like to address this photo. It is of a sign on a little side street in Spain. I am not sure what it is, really. Here are a few ideas:

1. School Zone (BORING! But probably accurate.)
2. Beware of Businessmen (in shorts?), They Steal Girl Children
3. CrossFit Class Ahead (don't they carry those kettle weight things?)

So, back to the business at hand. Thanks to my children (yes, I am blaming them), I have seen The Deathly Hallows 2 twice in the past week. At the first viewing, I sobbed so hysterically my husband started to elbow me energetically (even though he had been warned that I would be crying, and would not like to be disturbed). He is uncomfortable at displays of emotion, which is quite inconvenient considering that he is married to perhaps the most emotional person on the planet. The second time I saw the movie, I was also unable to have complete catharsis due to the interjections of the ragamuffin sitting behind me. At EVERY sad or supposedly scary part in the action, he would burst into uncontrolled laughter, yelling out, "That was SO FUNNY!"

And I needed that catharsis. It has been a rough week in general, and add to that the kidnapped boy in Brooklyn, the bombings in Norway, and even the death of Amy Winehouse (no, I am not surprised, yes, it's still sad) - it's enough to make me want to want to crawl under the covers and never come out. See? I warned you that I was sensitive! To prove it further, here is a list of Three Things That Will Always Make Me Cry (But Not The Notebook, Which Was Really, Really, Stupid.)

1. Love deferred, then ultimately denied. These are the kinds of movies and books I love! Couples torn apart by circumstance (preferably World War II) and a. never seeing each other again, or b. seeing each other again, and then one of the lovers coughs into a handkerchief and sees blood and you know it's only a matter of time before they are dead.

2. Men crying. (I can't even think of this without feeling queasy.)

3. "The Song Remembers When" by Trisha Yearwood. The song is about...a song. More specifically, the power of memory, and how hearing a particular song can take you instantly back to a time and place you either remember fondly or would rather scoop out of your head with a grapefruit spoon. I promise the lyrics are more poetic than that. If I had to list all the songs that make me tear up, this would be a long, long list, so I just picked one that encompasses all the rest.

What is it about crying? Why do some people tear up at just about anything, and others are able to play things closer to the vest? That said - I am glad that I am a crier. It can be embarrassing and overwhelming, but you will always know how I feel.

Found Things.

Cleaning out my computer, I found two things I wanted to share: a drawing created by one of my daughters two years ago or so, and a poem I wrote, who knows how old, now. I thought they went well together, and would buy me some time until I can come up with a real blog post! (It's been very, very hard trying to get back into the swing of things after the trip...)

(I touch with my hands. I touch you.)


I've learned so much since you've been away:
the small word,
overlooked,
that marries subject and predicate-
it has a name, as all things do:
it is called a copula.
Infinite ways to be joined,
taken apart, put right again.

I want to think of sweetness, love,
but my heart catches
on the ragged edge of
your absence.

So I have become obsessed
with other things,
the jade sliver of avocado
soft and yielding under my tongue,
the names of groups of animals,
stronger in number
than standing alone -

a pitying of turtle doves,
a gaze of raccoons,
a murder of crows.

This space is an ocean,
an eternity.
It is a comfort and a cruelty
that life goes on in its infinite wonder,
oblivious
to the absence of your honeyed eyes,
to the forgotten taste
of your imperfect mouth.

Pop Quiz, Hotshot.

I was clearing out my camera and realized there is a whole set of pictures I haven't posted yet...but I don't have time right now, so instead I give you the results of some quizzes I have taken. Because I have time for the important things in life...

Created by Oatmeal

Created by Oatmeal

Created by Oatmeal

Volver.

Beach, Barceloneta.

Well, I wish I was still here, now. Too bad for me! But it was lovely, and worth the 17 Euros I had to pay for two chairs and an umbrella. The children couldn't understand why a lot of the women were topless ("Because Europeans hate tan lines more than Americans do!") or why people would strip naked to shower off at a public beach. It was a good opportunity to reinforce my views on the matter (stop staring, we all have the same parts in general, nothing to be ashamed of, please don't ever take off your clothes in public, especially for money.) Explaining the sex shops was a bit more difficult....

Barceloneta.

Tapa Tapa. Barcelona.

Catalunya is not traditionally the place for tapas, but almost every other restaurant, be it a tiny, four-seat hole in the wall or a temple of haute cuisine, now offers these delectable little snacks. Unfortunately, as with everything, the quality is hit or miss. Some of the best tapas we had on this trip were here, at Tapa Tapa, which is actually a chain. I did feel a bit awkward taking photos of the food, though.

Castell de Montjuïc. Barcelona.

This fortress was built in the mid 1600s and has been the site of many, many unpleasantries throughout the centuries. I believe, however, that the plan is now to turn it into a center for peace studies.

Castell de Montjuïc.

Castell de Montjuïc.

Flamenco Cordobes. Barcelona.

Flamenco is not a specialty of Catalunya - it is from Andalusia. It was very interesting for me to see the Arab influence in the music and dance - sort of like looking at a picture of your great-great-great-great grandmother and noticing you share the same eyes and mouth. Pictures were not allowed during the show (it was a tiny venue, and I could just see the performers toppling off the stage under the barrage of flashbulbs), but my daughter snapped this one at the end. I was worried that they wouldn't be able to stay awake after a long day of interminable walking (the show started at 1030 pm), but I needn't have been afraid. It went perfectly, and the noise was enough to wake the dead (but not the row full of Koreans ahead of us - they took turns nodding off. Too much sightseeing during the day, I'm sure!)

Fruit Juices. La Boqueria. Barcelona.

La Boqueria is one of the most famous food markets in the world, along with La Merced in Mexico City. Although it isn't particularly large, the array of fruits, vegetables, meats and more make it a feast for the senses. My husband and daughters took pitaya (dragon fruit), which was an eye-popping electric purple. I had the banana-coconut-pineapple, which, although much less exciting to look at, was nonetheless delicious.

La Boqueria.

La Boqueria.

La Boqueria.

My girls got a kick out of this stand - gummy candies in all shapes and flavors. The flan candy tasted just like the real thing, but fortunately the brain one tasted like raspberry.

La Boqueria.

Pastelería Escribà. Barelona.

When it comes to eating, especially when I am holiday, I have very few restrictions and always seem to be hungry. Hence the need for a croissant after being at the market!

Check out the heels! So very Barcelona. Actually, so very Mediterranean.

Barça, Barça, Baaarça!

Ah, home sweet home. However far I wander, where ever I may roam...

Because we were on holiday, and because the internet was slow, I didn't get to post much. Since now the most exciting things I have to contend with are a frightening pile of laundry and the sounds of iCarly wafting through the house (also frightening), I will dedicate the next few posts to finishing up my travelogue.

Parc Güell, Barcelona.

Antoni Gaudí originally planned the grounds as a housing development, complete with schools and services. It didn't work out, and instead is now the site of thousands upon thousands of tourists tripping over each other to take photos. It is an unusual and interesting achievement, but I could not ever imagine living here (even without tourists trampling over my front lawn.) It's a bit too visually stimulating.

Parc Güell.

Parc Güell.

Parc Güell.

One of the greatest pleasures of travel, to me, is visiting local grocery stores. Not necessarily markets (which are wonderful in their own way), but places people stop in to buy their weekly needs. I love seeing the different beauty products (chock full of ingredients that would not muster FDA approval) and get downright giddy while perusing snack foods. I came across so many morsels of deliciousness in Barcelona!

Unfortunately, however, I do not eat pork (even in chip form) so did not get to consume these lovelies. America has Ranch flavored, Mexico gets Sal y Limon, and in England I saw Sunday Roast (if I recall correctly). It is amazing to me how you can track a country's essence (flavor-wise) through the flavor of its potato chips!

Camp Nou. Barcelona.

Home of FC Barcelona, Camp Nou is the largest football stadium in Europe. It seats almost 100,000 people. That sounds like a lot, but you don't really realize what that means until you get to stand on the pitch (well, right next to it - barriers prevent you from stepping on that precious grass). It is HUGE. This picture was taken from the stands, because the view was better.

My kids were initially reticent about visiting the stadium, which I had pegged early on as a must-see. When we arrived, however, they were speechless. We all were. It was definitely a highlight of the trip for us. There is a recording of fans cheering and chanting that plays as you walk out, and it really adds to the experience. It's not just for Barça fans, either. Lots of people were wearing jerseys from other clubs. Maybe they wanted to see the home field of the competition.

David Villa Jersey. Camp Nou.

I am a casual football fan, at best. I tend to go for national teams, because keeping up with clubs and leagues is a full-time job. The fact that the US is not exactly soccer mad doesn't help - to find a match you have to troll the upper reaches of your satellite provider's offerings (FIFA, channel 1938402374209) or watch Univison, with commentary in rapid-fire Spanish that I can barely follow. (Their World Cup coverage was hilarious last year, though. They actually would let the camera lovingly pause on attractive female football fans. It was almost like Berlusconi was in charge.)

That said, my only criteria for liking a particular player is a combination of their skill and level of attractiveness (HELLO Diego Forlán!). David Villa has both. He caught my eye last year during the World Cup. His footwork is maddening. Apparently he became ambidextrous after he broke his leg at the age of four.

Chapel. Club Nou.

I love the idea of praying before a game. Do they hold a full mass in here?

Camp Nou.

Amb o Sense Vostè.

Well, we are on the second leg of our journey (and have been for a few days now, actually.) Can you guess where we are? It's been tiring and fun. Ah, summer hols on the Med. Nothing like it, really. (That was in an effort to make me sound sort of smoothly European. Don't think it worked.)

Barcelona. View from top of La Pedrera, looking down Passeig de Gracia.

La Pedrera (Casa Milà). One of Antoni Gaudí's most famous buildings.

Window, La Pedrera.

Rooftop, La Pedrera. (Or something on Tatooine...)

Attic, La Pedrera.

Waterfront.

Of course, Spanish is the official language of Spain, but we are here in Catalunya, so signs are first in Catalan, then Spanish, then English. This is written on the intersection, and apparently translates loosely as, "look both ways or you will die". (Actually, it says 1 out of 3 fatal accidents in Barcelona involve pedestrians.) Catalan is a beautiful language, not too difficult to figure out if you have an advanced degree in Romance languages. The pronunciation is not phoenetic.

There was a hotel on fire in Las Ramblas. It was basically just smoking when we came round, but I I loved this fire truck. It was so tiny!

more. MORE.

Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea...

Homer, The Odyssey

Southern Lebanon.

Southern Lebanon.

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending

e.e. cummings, somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

A.E. Houseman, Into My Heart an Air That Kills

Momo's, Beirut.

There is a Moroccan-themed lounge downtown (original location, London) that uses cute coasters printed with Moroccan sayings. It's funny how things can get lost in translation.

Delicious pastry at Momo's. Vanilla cream puff with passion fruit gelee.

Downtown Beirut.

Postcard for a pop-up shop, Beirut.