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Adéu, Barcelona!

We woke up to our last day in Spain, a little concerned about some local activities. You see, when we booked the trip I neglected to account for the one-year anniversary of 2017’s Catalan seperatist resolution that resulted in a crackdown of enforcement from Madrid and the flight of prominent local politicians. There were a multiple of demonstrations planned for the day, and we had no intention of getting caught up in any shenanigans (especially as English-speaking tourists, who tend to be targets whenever things get out of hand).

With that in mind, we were very focused on catching a cab to the train station and making it to the airport as soon as possible Fortunately, most demonstrations weren’t scheduled to start until after noon, but when I stepped out to grab some cash for a cab, I noticed a couple of things: 1) police were already shutting down and cordoning off the main street where our hotel was located; 2) all of the ATMs within walkable distance of our hotel were “out of service”; presumably, the authorities had emptied them of cash the previous night to make sure they wouldn’t be ripe targets. It was time to scram.

Unfortunately, it was taking me longer to find an ATM than it would have taken to simply walk to the nearby train station, and it was only getting later in morning. With that in mind, we simply checked out without grabbing breakfast and high-tailed it to Estacio de Franca with our bags. Once we deciphered the train schedule and made our transfer to the airport line, we could breath easier, but it wasn’t until we also made it past security and passport control that we were able to grab our first bite to eat that day. Airport food is still airport food, unfortunately, the world over (except, perhaps, in San Francisco).

Someone was happy to find some hot food, though, after our first few attempts struck out. We were *not* going to descend the point of ordering from Burger King, I tell you! Once we had sufficient calories, we sat back and enjoyed the view from the international terminal. After such a hectic morning, it felt nice to simply rest for a bit.

Our flight to Montreal was… not great. It seemed like Air Canada service just got worse and worse with each flight we took. This one involved a broken entertainment system, coffee spilled onto my lap by the stewardess, haughty service staff that slept half the flight.

When we got into Montreal, we simply ordered food from a nearby Italian restaurant and slept to catch the next morning’s early flight. Montreal is one of my personal favorite cities, so we’ll schedule a future trip with a dedicated visit in mind.

And that was it! We landed at LAX mid-morning the next day, took the shuttle home, and picked up the kids from school. It was a fantastic trip, and we’re still coming to terms with all we did (this writeup helps).

This seems like as good a place as any to share some notes about traveling to Spain. We had a great trip, but there are some things I’d adjust about our schedule, and if you plan on traveling to the Iberian, keep these in mind:

  • Madrid is a city with lots of interesting things to see (museums, the palace), but the people aren’t as friendly, outgoing, or hospitable as you’ll find elsewhere. We spent two full days in Madrid, and were able to cover quite a bit. While there’s other museums I’d like to see there, I’m not sure I’d schedule much more time.
  • Denia and Barcelona were the two stops that I’d highly recommend to fellow readers. Barcelona is worth its reputation and then some. Denia, on the other hand, doesn’t have a huge reputation but really should. I never would have heard of it if we didn’t have to take the ferry to get to Ibiza. It’s such a great blend of casual culture and relaxing coastal town; it’s easily on my list of top Europe destinations.
  • Spain is not all “spanish”. Basque and Catalan regions are highly unique and very proud of their independence, which extends to different languages and cuisines. They’re both worth checking out.
  • One of my favorite parts of our trip was how much we were able to mix up travel modes (plane, train, boat). It’s fun to see more of the countryside when you take slower trains, too. And if you’re on the Mediterranean, traveling between islands, but not taking the boat, what are you really doing?
  • I did end up feeling a little rushed. We scheduled three nights in Madrid, and three nights in Barcelona. We had two nights in Denia and Ibiza, and only one night in Alicante. If I had to do it over again, I’d pay a little extra for flights with shorter layovers (as much as I love you, Canada) and spend the extra day or two in Denia and Barcelona.
  • Ibiza is actually a really neat island even if you aren’t hopping from nightclub and nightclub. Boats and beaches a-plenty!

 

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Barcelona, By Foot

Waking up this morning, it was really hard to believe that this was our last full day in Barcelona–and in Spain. There were literally hundreds of things we could have chose to do, but we decided to focus on one of the main attractions recommended by the Barmans from their visit the previous month: Sagrada Familia (“Church of the Holy Family”), the famous still-under-construction modernista cathedral just north of the center of town.

We took a casual approach that involved quite a bit of walking, all the way from our hotel (at least a couple of miles as the crow flies). It would give us a chance to see more of the city we’d be missing so much of otherwise. Brunch was a sizable and tasty meal at Cuines Santa Caterina, where we indulged in some outdoor cafe seating and did some people-watching while enjoying one of our last opportunities for fresh Mediterranean seafood.

Walking up the road a bit more, we passed through a sizable park headed by Barcelona’s version of l’Arc de Triomphe (get arch envy much, Spain?). There were also a variety of really neat, architectural lanterns (whose pictures we collected over the course of our trip).

When we finally made our way up past several large roundabouts and really interesting neighborhoods, it felt nice just to rest for a moment at the park in front of the cathedral and take it all in. It’s just as impressive in real life (maybe even a little bit more) as you might think–a really astonishing building of great majesty and character. When you look at old gothic churches and think “they don’t make them like they used to” (as I am wont to do), this building stands in particularly strong rebuke.

They had already sold out of tour tickets for that day (order yours today!), so we had to be satisfied with walking around the outside and admiring the building itself–which was still very much a treat and well-worth our time. As an engineer, it’s particularly interesting to try and 1) predict what the remaining steeples will look like; 2) how construction is proceeding; 3) where the hand-off between generations of architects has resulted in a conflict of visions and even mistakes in certain facades that had to be corrected dozens of years later; and 4) what work, exactly, might be remaining (the missing main steeples in the center are a big hint) and why, exactly, it might be taking so long when even New York was able to replace the World Trade Center in a dozen or so years. Certainly helps you appreciate the difficulty of the task at hand.

(Boy, is that a gorgeously-blue Catalonian sky or what?)

Notice the finished spires on the left-hand side? Walking around the building, we got the distinct impression that we were looking at Holy Chickens. No?

Exhausted from all our walking, we took the Metro back to the station nearest our hotel and enjoyed a long nap. We woke up to our last night in Barcelona, so after streaming live services from our home church of St. John’s in Orange (hey, the app came in handy!), we took a stroll to Santa Maria del Mar, an ancient cathedral (first conceived when years still had three digits… O_o) in our local neighborhood. (This cathedral is not to be confused with the official Cathedral de Barcelona, which was practically right next to our hotel). Santa Maria del Mar still has active services on Sunday evenings, but you could still peek in the main door and admire the church that inspired everything from Sagrada Familia itself to a new Netflix series (“Cathedral of the Sea”; haven’t watched it yet, I don’t know if it’s any good).

After walking around the cathedral, we headed to the cocktail bar Dr. Stravisky, recommended by some friends who had spent some significant time in Barcelona previously. It’s definitely a novel place; they take their mixology very seriously. The bar is deliberately opaque, with no obvious signage or even entrance door (you have to figure it out yourself…); even the interior is very speakeasy-like. It’s also decorated with a variety of back-lit chemistry sets, in case the substantial mixology references in the menu weren’t enough for you.

We continued walking around the neighborhood after getting a drink; it’s a delightfully walkable area with lots of options for eating, drinking, and shopping, even after dark. But the real gem would be a leather goods store that drew in Mercy like a moth to a flame. Multiple walls were covered in tasteful leather shoes of every color. Oh, did I mention there were also handbags? Someone was in heaven.

Don’t believe the scope? Check out a photo of the adjoining wall. It reminded me of a 1000-piece set of wearable Crayola crayons.

After that, we had to get some dinner. The obvious candidate was a Basque tapas place next door, Euskal Etxea. This place was unique, delicious, and very fun. It’s a great example of a particular style of tapas of growing popularity, where tasty morsels are served on bread with toothpicks for diners to choose from at the bar. The waiter then counts your toothpicks at the end of the evening to determine how much you will be charged–a little bit like the charge-by-dish-color approach at floating sushi restaurants, only this one came with more tiger mussels! We were excited to see them again, and got the recipe from the main waiter. There were a large number of other tasty dishes, too, from which we sampled as many as we could handle. (Note the standup bar in the background, and the large number of toothpicks on our plates!)

Here’s a more comprehensive shot of half the bar’s selection. So many flavors!

After this, we were stuffed. We walked back to the hotel, did a little pre-packing, and crashed in our bed.

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The Mindbender

We had so many choices for things to do in Barcelona, and I knew there was no way we’d be able to cover a significant amount with only two full days. One of the most exciting opportunities for me, though, was a day-trip to Figueres, a small town about two hours north that hosts the official Salvador Dali museum–designed by the man himself as his greatest work to host all his others. I nearly decided not to go, so we could spend the day covering more local sites. I’m glad Mercy convinced me otherwise, though. This turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

I’ll start the photo experience with one of the most unique lanterns I’ve ever seen. We stumbled across this gem while walking our way to Estacio de Franca, the main train station in our part of town. Have you ever seen its like? I certainly haven’t.

From the station, we caught a regional train up to the small town of Figueres.

Can we talk about Dali for a moment? I knew *about* him, of course, but it wasn’t until I starting reading more about turn-of-century art movements in general. and the artist himself in particular, that I learned just how utterly fascinating he (and his artwork) really was. Just browse his WikiQuote page.

The story of Figueres is particularly interesting. Dali grew up in the town, had his first art exhibit in the town theater, and was baptized in the church next door. After the Spanish civil war destroyed the theater, he approached the mayor and offered to rebuild it as his own museum. As Rick Steves described, “the money’s been flowing in [to the town] ever since.”

Surrealism itself is… something that, in its most authentic form, kind of defies effective description. As Dali himself observed, there are artists who adhere to Surrealism as a school of art, and then there’s Dali, who *WAS* Surrealism. I can’t think of a better way to state it. Sometimes it seems like every artist since is merely a self-proclaimed poseur who is light-years away from achieving the same level of whimsically-skillful mind-hacking.

The museum itself is fantastic–one of the most unique buildings and exhibits I’ve ever seen. The old theater layout has been partly retained, and there’s no clear linear path through the museum. (Dali didn’t want any guidebooks, either; “there are two kinds of visitors: those who don’t need a description, and those who aren’t worth a description”.) You dive into each exhibit bringing only your own perspective and a passion for enjoying each little contradiction of intuition.

Here we are in the main atrium, on what was once the theater’s main stage, under the large geodesic dome that spreads sunlight across each exhibit. In the upper-left, you can see his famous mosaic portrait of Lincoln, as only Dali can imagine. (Feel free to look up a closer image on the internet for a full breakdown of each component and allusion.) The concrete rectangle in the middle is actually the top of his mausoleum, accessible via a flight of stairs behind the camera. The large piece behind Mercy is quite intimidating in real life!

Dali worked in a LOT of different mediums (there’s not a lot he DIDN’T do), including sculpture and arrangement. One of my favorite pieces (I believe the original is in Singapore) had a copy outside on stacked truck tires (a lot of Dali sculptures are thus presented), an Homage to Newton. See how many physics laws you can find references for in this stock photo.

The building itself is a great piece of art, though. There’s a convenient garden on top (sort of) by the exit (sort of) as you leave. (Expect your directions to get a little messed up, deliberately.) It was a nice place to simply rest and admire the whimsy while your brain tries to get back into the real world.

It’s funny how viewing lots of art can leave you feeling tired and hungry. We stopped at a small cafe on our way back to the train station, where we found a prix fixe menu of mussels and paella for a very reasonable 11 EUR. (It’s like they knew Mercy was coming.)

While we were walking back to the train station, though (Figueres is a small and delightfully-walkable town), the rainclouds opened up and left us missing our umbrella (which we had left in Barcelona). It was a fun scurry along the streets while we got drenched, even waiting between downpours under random store overhangs. It was a lot of fun!

This was one of our major clues that we were closer to France than Madrid. In fact, the final stop (two stations after Figueres) was Cerbere, France (see the map from earlier in this article). We were tempted to continue just to add one more country to our list, but the train timetables were a little opaque and we weren’t sure how we’d return to Barcelona in time. Plus, with the rain, we were grateful to barely make it onto a dry train in time.

It was really interesting to look out the window on the way back and appreciate what a different climate we were in. It really was more like the south of France (we were just at the foothills of the Pyrenees, after all) than most of Spain we had seen. Even the people were noticeably more laid back, and Catalan can easily sound more like French (which most shopkeepers defaulted to when they weren’t certain at first where we came from) than Castilian. Take a look out the window and note the distinct lack of palm trees. (The sunset lighting on the southbound trip back to Barcelona made for great sight-seeing of the countryside.)

Once back in Barcelona, there was still enough daylight left for us to wander from the train station back to our hotel. We stopped on the way to admire some architecture (really easy to do in Barcelona, where every block is a treat for the eyes.) See if you can spot the Gaudi in the background.

I’m glad we made it back in time to enjoy a little bit more of Barcelona. It’s a fantastic city, and we barely scratched the surface. I think you could spend multiple weeks there and still just hit the highlights. We were a block from the official Picasso museum, for example, and we never made it there, much less the chocolate museum around the corner. There’s still neat little things you find no matter where you walk, though, like this light-up clock placed within the sidewalk.

We did some gift shopping walking back to our hotel, and stopped for a great meal at Creps Barcelona (where we had the most incredible rum flambe crepe I’ve ever tasted). Walking around the cathedral to return to our hotel, we went past the remaining segment of the Roman wall forming the base of Barcelona’s original footprint. We saw this interesting phenomenon several times, where a stone foundation thousands of years old would be used as the base for a brick wall hundreds of years old, which in turn would form part of a building constructed at the turn of the century.

 

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Onwards, Across the Sea!

We woke up to our last day in Ibiza. Today, we needed to cross the Mediterranean from Ibiza to Barcelona, an eight-hour boat ride by ferry. It was a *gorgeous* morning, though, and after our taxi ride I snapped a few quick last pictures of a very photogenic island.

The above picture is looking northeast as we board our boat. I also caught a picture of the old castle as we cruised out of the harbor; very pretty; I ended up using it as the main header photo of this website.

I was initially concerned, given the rough ride we had a few days ago. Turns out, I needn’t have worried. Two things were working in our favor: a much smoother sea, and a *much* bigger, steadier boat. This was closer in size to a cruise ship than the smaller catamaran we took from Denia. Good thing, too, because this ride would be four times as long! Lots of comfortable sleep ahead of us; and you can tell someone came prepared for the experience.

Ironically, that 8 EUR cruise ship blanket Mercy has on her lap would prove to be one of the most memorable (and comfortable) mementos of our travel.

The morning sun off our bow as we headed north was gorgeous. When you’re out on the Mediterranean like this, it’s fun (with maybe a little awe) to imagine thousands of years of Roman ships, Christian apostles, and Phoenician traders struggling across the very same waters. The Mediterranean is a lot bigger than it might look on a map!

Between napping, listening to podcasts, reading a few hundreds pages of an art history textbook, and grabbing the occasional snack, eight hours passed by pretty fast. Before we knew it, you could see Barcelona approaching in the distance. With the evening sun setting just over the hills, the lighting for the approach was spectacular. It was hard to take too many pictures.

Here’s another one, as we got closer to the porch and the sunlight became even more vividly gold in shade.

In Barcelona, we were staying at the Exe Laietana Palace, right on Laietana and nearby the Metro stop Jaume I. I had chosen this location for the great neighborhoods, El Born and Barrio Gothic, to which it was adjacent; both were safer, more casual, and less touristy than options closer to the main drag of Las Ramblas, which is quite possibly the pickpocket capital of the world. We still had great access to transportation, and a number of attractions were within easy walking distance, too.

That night we enjoyed a fantastic meal at Restaurante Senyor Parellada, just around the corner from our hotel. (Note the interesting spelling of “senyor”; we’re definitely in Catalan territory now!) The meal was reasonably priced, but absolutely amazing (my grilled whitefish was to die for; Mercy’s salmon equally tasty). The interior was very charming, too; Barcelona has a unique blend of Modernista, belle epoque, and whimsical (almost surrealist) decoration styles. Instantly recognizable anywhere, and very fun.

We walked back to our hotel after dinner, stopping at a grocery store to grab a little ice cream and to stock our hotel fridge with the usual snacks (jamon, cheese, etc.) that had saved our bacon so many times before. And prepared ourselves for a couple of crazy days in Barcelona!

 

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Mediterranean Island Beach Day

Today’s mission, if we choose to accept it: Find some sun. Lay on some sand. Recover from the previous night!  First off, though, some food. We found a great little handmade sandwich spot a few blocks down on our way to the beach. I’ll be honest… I *think* it might have been Casa 13 Piada e Cassoni? I’m not sure. The sandwiches were great, though. We took ours to go and found a spot on the sand where we could enjoy them.

Someone actually managed to make Brian smile. Guess he’s having fun after all.

While Mercy soaked up some sun, I tried to fight my way through the local aquatic vegetation to go for a swim in the Med, with varying degrees of success. The waves were nice, though not quite surf-quality. (Hey, everyone’s a critic.)

I came in after a little bit and dried off in the sun. *Someone* captured this particular moment, which reminds me of  a sad satire of Dr. No’s Ursula Andress. Only with a guy. Who’s pudgy. And *not* easy on the eyes. And decidedly opposite of Ursula Andress in every conceivable way. Ah, well.

After the beach, we decided to check out our hotel’s brand-new rooftop pool (with a bar, of course).

Did I mention a rooftop bar by the pool? I enjoyed a G&T while Mercy switched between sparkling wine and a white sangria. Hey, it’s a hard life in Ibiza.

In the meantime, I tried the pool… which was *freezing*. FREEZING, I tell you. The ocean was maybe 60 degrees? The pool had to be 40-45. FAHRENHEIT, in case you were confused. I braved it for a couple of laps, but mainly to prove to myself that I could. After which I got out, dried off, and finished my gin and tonic.

After another late nap, we strolled down to the old town just under the watchful eye of the castle. This was a really neat area that had a great promenade for walking, a number of picturesque plazas, and a wide variety of tasty restaurants. We started the evening at the Michelin-rated Sa Brisa, which was delicious (though the portions were tiny…) The highlight of my meal was the roasted rabbit and dates.

It wasn’t particularly filing, though, so we tried a second meal around the corner at the whimsically-named “Locals Only” (actually titled after their ingredients, not their clientele). Both plazas were right at the base of the old castle wall, which made for very romantic views in the lanterns. Very charming.

 

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The Boat to Ibiza

The weather was still somewhat cloudy and promising some storms when we woke up on Wednesday morning. Fortunately, a freshly rain-washed town and some gorgeous morning light facilitated some great photos of the town castle a block inland from our hotel.

I took advantage of the opportunity to take a panorama shot from our third-floor hotel balcony before we checked out. See how many Denia landmarks you can spot in 270 degrees!

Having cleaned up and checked out, we had quite a bit of time before our ferry left the terminal at 5PM. We walked around the marina a bit and enjoyed seeing the coast in broad daylight, for once.

Eventually, we settled in at a restaurant near the ferry terminal to enjoy a substantial afternoon brunch of mussels, three different ways. All fresh: first cooked with with olive oil and onions; second, broiled in white wine and paprika, and third… Well, here’s a picture.

That tasty little dish, as we’d learn when we re-encountered it in Barcelona, is “tiger mussels.” At first, we had no idea how it was prepared–it seemed almost like deviled eggs, but with mussels. Later, we’d learn the following recipe: 1) remove cooked mussels from shells; 2) slice mussel meat and mix with cream, a little cheese, and sliced mushrooms; 3) ladle back into shell and cover with breadcrumbs; 4) fry in olive oil and serve on the shell. Oh my. Oh me oh my. One of our new favorite dishes, and quite possibly the best preparation of mussels we’ve had (and we *love* us some mussels anyways, no matter how plain).

After our meal, it was time to board the ferry! This sizable catamaran would take us on the two-hour trip to Ibiza. It looks big, but with some of the stormy waves we were working through, and the shallow hull draft-to-inertia ratio of a sizable catamaran, it got pretty rough at times. A number of people in our first-class area got quite sick–and believe me, hearing other people heave is the worst part. Nonetheless, we made a speedy trip out to the islands.

When we approached the islands, the clouds started to break over rocky lighthouses. We entered port to a beautiful scene in the evening sun.

Ibiza is an interesting island. Renown for its party-central status and a multitude of nightclubs, it’s still an interesting Mediterranean destination in it’s own right. We were staying in the *city* of Ibiza (it shares its name with the island itself), which featured the main port, our target nightclub (Pasha), a great beach cove, our hotel, a neat castle, and charming old-town, all within walkable (or a cheap taxi fare’s) distance of each other.

Our hotel in Ibiza (the city) was another Eurostars, this one brand new, half a block from the beach, and nestled against the rocky hill topped by Ibiza’s own millenia-old anti-pirate castle. After a long boat ride and an even longer nap, though, we were afraid we once again would have difficulty locating an open kitchen. (Ibiza, even though it’s a party-hard kind of town, still stops serving food at most establishments around midnight.) Fortunately for us, the establishment Prince (just on the other side of the beach) was still serving a variety of simple but tasty dishes–so we refueled on smoked salmon, jamon bocadillos, and wine. The lady was pleased, which meant I was, too.

After a late dinner, it was time–around 12:30 AM–to hit the nightclubs. We were aiming for the infamous Pasha establishment, and that evening’s performance (“Cocoon”, featuring several prominent discoteca DJs and lots of EDM) didn’t disappoint. We danced for hours. Even I had fun. Despite where this picture was taken from, shot for context, we were right up in front for the whole night.

Of course, I’m pretty sure 90% of the crowd was high on some combination of ecstasy, alcohol, and pheromones. You can tell something’s going on when I’m one of the better dancers in the room. We headed back to our hotel around 3AM, after a fantastic night of laughing at each other’s moves on the dance floor.

 

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A Day in Denia

Denia is a really neat, small, seaside town, nestled on the north side of sharp mountains that give the area such an enjoyable micro-climate. Here’s a 3d Google Earth overhead, looking southeast.

Denia has a modestly-busy ferry terminal, fully-stocked marina, and just enough of a downtown to walk around and enjoy different options at mealtime. Despite the small size, though, it’s renown for a yearly gastronomical festival (we barely missed it), a disproportionately-large number of Michelin-rated restaurants, and a huge, tasty, rare red prawn found only one place in the world–the sea trench just off the coast, between Denia and Ibiza. There’s also some interesting public art for a small town, like this sculpture of a bullfighter (I think he lost this one!) just outside our hotel:

Denia also has a nice stretch of beach just beyond the marina, and with two nights scheduled for our stay I was looking forward to giving Mercy some quality, relaxing beach-in-the-sun time after several hectic days of big-city museums and train travel. Unfortunately, when we woke up that morning, here’s what awaited us outside the hotel window:

A charming town? Yes. But the rainy weather was not what we had hoped for–and it didn’t show much sign of letting up. Eventually we decided to brave the rain with a hotel umbrella and walk around a bit. We were drenched anyways–but not before we came across this neat life-sized Lego pirate sculpture in a small plaza just around the corner:

My eventual goal was to at least get within sight of the beach sand–a small victory indeed, given our original objective of an entire day lying in sunny sand. Nevertheless, we persisted. And success! Look, there’s sand in the distance. Technically.

By this point, though, we were drenched. Returning to the hotel, we tried to get a little bit dryer and cozier, with a modest degree of success thanks to some very comfortable hotel robes.

After a long nap, taken to the sound of rain constantly falling on roof and windows, we woke up to a calm and dry evening with perfect weather for walking around and enjoying some Spanish BBQ at Fuego, a restaurant next door to our hotel. It was decent, but made significantly better by the presence of a beautiful lady at my table.

After dinner, we walked around old town Denia and admired the ancient castle, town cathedral, and much-improved weather for a stroll.

We even got the chance to walk back to the beach–all the way to the cresting Mediterranean shore this time–and enjoy the pleasant sound of midnight waves lapping at our toes. (They’re hard to see, but if you squint…)

The next day we’d be taking the ferry out to the islands. I wish we had more time in Denia, but the days we did spend were greatly enjoyed. I’d strongly recommend this town as a best-of-Spain destination–almost like a Moclips of the Mediterranean. But with paella.

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Up the Coast by Tram

As much as we loved Alicante, we were only scheduled to stay there one night before we headed north to Denia. Our hotel was conveniently right across the street from the local market, so we grabbed some snacks for the tram.

A word about the tram: this isn’t high speed rail. In fact, the original horse-drawn train line between Alicante and Denia was one of the older rail corridors in Spain. It’s been continually updated every few decades since it was first operational in 1893, and is nearly complete with the latest upgrade to electric tram cars. It’s a lazy trip up the coast, winding around each nook and climbing alongside each beautiful beach.

It starts out as an urban tram from the beachfront in Alicante where we had walked yesterday, before crawling up through each small coastal town.

This is a really neat tram, and today’s journey, while slow (it would take us three hours to go 75 kilometers, compared to two-and-a-half hours to travel the 360 kilometer distance from Madrid to Alicante the previous day), was something I was really looking forward to.

The views sure didn’t disappoint. At times, we were looking down from our railcar into deep, vivid Mediterranean blue water.

Beautiful beaches, small towns built upon 2,500-year-old Phoenecian settlements with 1,500-year-old Roman bridges and aquaducts… Quite a few gorgeous sites, even if a substantial portion are densely populated with timeshares for British expats.

As we rolled further north through the dry, Mediterranean coast, more and more towns moved further up the increasingly-rocky cliffs. Quite a beautiful scene.

Our tram stopped early, in the scenic town of Calp, while we switched to the bus that would take us the rest of the way to Denia. (The remaining rail was still being upgraded to support the new electric trains.) Calp is an interesting, larger town that–while full of towering timeshare and apartment buildings–reminds me a bit of Rio de Janeiro for the way that it builds out along an isthmus to a rocky point in the sea. Very pretty.

A really interesting transformation took place as we crested the mountain before descending into Denia. The side of the road became regularly blanketed with orange groves and sugar cane, and the landscape in general was significantly greener this close to Valencia. Once the bus dropped us off in Denia, it was a short walk down another scenic marina promenade to our hotel, the Posada del Mar.

How do I begin to describe this place? How about starting with this: when you walk into the lobby, you see in front of the staircase the original stones from the inn first built in the year 1300. They’ve done an amazing job renovating around the ruins (including extracting a number of artifacts for subsequent display on the walls and in floor casings).

Every detail of the interior was amazing, from the wooden banisters and artwork on the stucco walls to the wrought-iron railings. But even that paled in comparison to our room when we walked in the door (complete with Norah Jones playing on the TV when we turned the power on), overlooking the marina. Even the bed was a gorgeous four-poster with curtains, and thankfully not the split-twins we’d pessimistically come to expect in half our Iberian rooms.

That night, smack in the center of Costa Blanca, there was only one meal we wanted to chase: we hunted down the best paella we could find. The result: Ca Pepa Teresa, where a monstrously-big vat of rice and seafood combined with a great bottle of white wine to produce one heck of a memorable meal–even if we came in second place against the French couple next to our table in the time-honored Mediterranean game of “who can shell the shellfish most quickly and neatly with nothing but knife and fork.”

After our meal, we wandered back down Denia’s main street, Calle Marques de Campo. One interesting note: We were definitely in Catalan culture now, with a variety of religious references and subtle differences in common language terms. It was a very scenic night, and after a tasty nightcap of mojitos at our hotel’s bar, we hit the sack pretty hard.

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HIGH-SPEED RAIL; or, how to get yelled at by old embittered spanish ladies

Our last day in Madrid! Sad. We were greatly enjoying our time in Spain thus far. But before we go: one last morning-light picture of the block from our hotel.

Today’s itinerary called for us to take the high-speed rail from Madrid to Alicante, a mid-sized town on the Mediterranean coast. More tasty fun with maps!

We stuffed our bags, checked out, and took a cab to one of the main train stations in Madrid, Puerta de Atocha. Very nice indoors, with a greenhouse-like interior plaza to enjoy while we waited for our platform to be announced.

And here’s our train! SQUEE for high-speed rail!

And now to shoot across La Mancha (yup, that one) at hundreds of kilometers per hour! Looks like the windmills have changed a bit at some point in the past few hundred years.

And now for a brief interlude.

Turns out our seats were in the “silent car,” and we weren’t even sitting in the same row. Quelle horreur! Fortunately, we were able to switch with the lady sitting next to me. Unfortunately, after we exchanged a few brief “so glad we’re sitting together” whispers, the older lady who had been sitting next to Mercy stepped over to our seats, put her face a foot-and-a-half away from mine, and proceeded to tell us:

“THIS IS EL COCHE SILENCIO! SEE!?” she pointed at the headrest sign right over my ear. “YOU MUST BE QUIET! YOU CANNOT TALK! IT IS FORBIDDEN!”

I’m not making these words up. And she’s yelling this in a voice approximately three times louder than our whispers.

In the meantime, a half-dozen other people in the car have cellphones going off, are holding phone conversations, listening to music. But clearly I digress.

When we finally arrived in Alicante (and it was a peaceful, quiet ride after that), it was a short walk from the main train station to the hotel, Eurostars Lucentum. Eurostars turns out to be a nice chain of respectable, higher-end business-class hotels located across most of Western Europe (we’d stay at another one in Ibiza, though we did notice a few engineering issues here and there in both locations…) After our usual unpack-and-nap routine, we took a stroll down the conveniently-close promenade. It was a very nice smaller-town break after Madrid, and much more like Portugal, from the outdoor landscaping to the tiled sidewalks.

It doesn’t have the royal palace. It doesn’t have the Prado. It doesn’t have Madrid’s bustling size or fantastic Metro. But you know what Alicante has that Madrid doesn’t? Here’s a clue.

Alicante is, of course, right on the coast, and it’s a beautiful place. Like most old towns (and I mean OLD; our hotel here is named after the original Carthaginian settlement, Lucentum, from 230BC), this old place is built around a disorganized huddle of old-town streets. The old town itself sits at the base of a rocky outcropping, typically topped by a castle that was used to scout and defend against pirates for thousands of years. We’d see this pattern again in Denia, Ibiza, and even Barcelona itself.

Despite it’s contrast to Madrid, it’s not to say that Alicante doesn’t have it’s fair share of public art. We spotted several neat sculptures on our walk along the marina to the beach, including this charmer who (we’re still not sure) might be holding either a surfboard or large tuna.

One of my favorites was this sculpture, which reminded me of the dodecahedron from the city of Digitopolis in The Phantom Tollbooth.

A few moments later, we finally made it to the beach. Despite the fact that it was technically shoulder season, the place was absolutely packed with Brits getting in a few last days of sun before heading back to winter in auld cloud-saturated Brittainia. (Dear god, I’ve seen enough arrogant, overweight, and speedo-sporting old English men–and women–to last several lifetimes.)

Walking back up the inside of the promenade, there were plenty more tiled mosaics in the ground to admire as we made our way to dinner.

Dinner that night was pizza at an outstanding Italian establishment, Sale e Pepe. (The northern half of Spain’s eastern coast has a strong Italian influence.) What a place! Great, authentic pizza, served by a jovial Italian family who refuses to speak Spanish (“English or Italian only in here!”), and right in the shadow of the local cathedral. Great food, great wine, and fantastic limoncello. We could have stayed here for days.

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Museo Nacional Del Prado

A brief interlude here about our hotel.

I already mentioned that I tried to avoid staying in the middle of the super-touristy areas. Alonso Martinez stuck out as a good candidate for a couple of reasons: 1) we could get there in two Metro lines from the airport; 2) it was at a Metro station with access to multiple lines into different parts of downtown; 3) the neighborhood isn’t too busy, but is clean and professional with plenty of nightlife, museums, food…

The architecture in this area of Madrid is really fun, too. Here’s a shot from our hotel–three separate styles in three separate buildings.

It’s also a great hotel. Not a hostel, not cheap (still high-quality), not too fancy/expensive, more professional/business that touristy… “Gran Versalles” was the name, and the interior was really well-done.

The hotel building itself was pretty neat, too, with classic Madrid stone detail on the first two floors and modern steel-and-glass for several floors above that. Here’s a beautiful lady waving at me from the second floor.

Breakfast that morning was at Mama Framboise, a French-inspired Spanish bakery. It was a beautiful little shop, with detailed video of pastry-making and tart-baking looping in the background just to make sure you appreciate their craftsmanship. We enjoyed raspberry tarts, chocolate truffles, and my personal favorite: a crepe with brie and jamon iberico that just explodes flavors in your mouth. It’s the best possible combination of French and Spanish cuisine, and if you ever get a chance, try it.

From there, we took a leisurely walk through the fashion district (naturally adjacent to the French embassy) to a main promenade (Paseo de Recoletos) that we’d take back down to the museum district. Naturally, it was decorated with a number of interesting sculptures and other public art works–including a copper frog covered with dozens of esoteric symbols. (How many can you recognize?)

Another block towards the Prado (today’s destination), another fountain/sculpture.

And now we arrived at the Prado, one of the most amazing–quite possibly the best–painting museums in the world. No photos allowed, but god, do you really need them? Think of the 100 paintings you’d see in a typical art history textbook. I guarantee at least 50% of them are in the Prado. Complete originals. Everything from Greek sculptures from 500BC (just sitting out there in the open; walk right up!) to the actual Las Meninas (a Velazquez whose multiple layers of interpretation and self-commentary are still fertile grounds for analysis and enjoyment over 450 years later).

It was really fun to balance the official Prado guide (a thick and heavy tome that nonetheless serves as a mere summary of the museum’s collection) with Camille Paglia’s “Sexual Personae”, a fascinating art history survey that I was working through over the course of this trip. Lots of interesting perspectives, countless hours of intellectual investigation of amazing art. I’m in heaven.

Two of particular pieces caught me by surprise. The first was “Queen Joanna the Mad.” Joanna of Castille was married to Phillip the Fair, but according to legend, when he passed away his death drove her off the deep end. She died years later confined to a covenant and stripped of her authority. When you see the painting up close in real-life scale, the haunting look in her face is something you will never forget. The whole painting is powerful, but way the painter captured her expression of despair is particularly astonishing.

The second piece was “The Expulsion of the Jews from Spain,” which captures a particularly powerful and tragic moment in Spanish history. It’s doubly poignant when you consider that the original intent might have actually been to glorify a moment in the early inquisition (that’s Ferdinand and Isabella on the throne). Just as the rabbi was making a case for his people to remain, the Catholic priest towards the left got really pissed and denounced all Jews as accessories to the crucifixion of Christ. That was enough; case closed.

Another fun surprise was a completely unexpected exhibit of Durer originals. One of my favorite painters, his self-portraits are incredibly detailed; I have no idea how any one person had the patience to brush out each individual hair by hand, using a paintbrush that had to be the size of a whisper.

We spent hours in the Prado, walking around from highlight to highlight, and we BARELY scratched the surface. We picked out a handful of artists and exhibits to strategically target, because if you try and see everything you will need days. And that doesn’t even include Museo Reina Sofia across the street.

I’ll include one more picture from golden hour Madrid, because it nicely complements my beautiful wife. After hours walking about the Prado, though, we were exhausted. We returned to Alonso Martinez via Metro, grabbed a quick and mediocre bite from Bar Beti Jai around the corner from our hotel, then returned to our room and took a long nap.

When we woke a few hours later, we found out–even though Madrileños regularly stay up until 5 or 6 AM–that most kitchens stop serving food before midnight. Oh no! Not good news for a calorie-starved wife. We walked from establishment to establishment (trying not to get too pissed at the bartendress who haughtily suggested that we Americans try the Burger King that should still be open). A sandwich and a pizza slice from a corner market took the edge off our hunger, but it wasn’t until we found 100 Montaditos (“a hundred tasty morsels”) on the nearby street that could finally enjoy an array of pecadillos and beer/cider. It’s a cheap-and-casual Spain-style fast food hole, but it’s cheap, open late, and saved our bacon. Cheers!