16 October 2013

1 Tsp. Barcelona

On Friday night we landed in Barcelona, and our flight out was exactly three days later. Although it was hardly any time at all in a city of almost five and a half million, we squeezed enough in to go home happy and well-fed. The main objective of the trip was to get the mister behind the wheels of some fancy shmancy cars at the F1 Circuit de Cataluya (an embarrassingly overdue 2012 Father's Day and birthday present). It's a good feeling watching your better half from a distance, knowing his biggest quandary so far in the day is having to wait a little long for his Ferrari.


Next on the agenda was to get our mouths on muchas comida sabrosa. Check. Our fish-centric meal at Els Pescadors was impressive, but the tapas at Bar Pinotxo stole the show. Located in the bustling La Boqueria, Pinotxo is worth being shoved around by the constant tide of people stampeding through the market while you wait for a seat to free up. While I was savoring the chickpeas, I had the distinct feeling that they must be famous. And apparently, I was right. 

Besides food and cars, we loaded up on sunshine and walked ourselves into the arms of sheer weariness. At one point, we found Julian sleeping in a suitcase. We saw little of the main attractions, due to time constraints and tourist fatigue, but there's always Google Images for that. On the way to the airport at the beginning of our way home, we counted the ways we could take the Lord's name in vain, over Frankie's hysterical backseat wailing and Julian's temper tantrums. At one point I might have compared the experience to what I thought I could expect from waterboarding. Fortunately, no one is typically available at airports to issue and sign divorce papers, and all was well a short time later on the plane, one child swiping away on an iPhone, the other sleeping snug against my chest. We came home to rain, unsurprisingly, which was fine by me. I missed Holland, the moody old girl.

Happy travels, people, wherever you're off to: Sri Lanka, the gas station, your kid's harp recital.