Spain

Getting Started.
We've traveled often enough now that we know that there are certain things that need to be done in preparation. First – you need a Packing Matrix. But before you even think of graphing one out, you need to know the following:

1. You don't need to adhere to it. If you want to add clothes randomly before you depart – last minute toss-ins don't count. The general rules is "Only bring what's needed." I believe the caveat is "You never know what you might need."

2. You can add to it. Basically, if you find some cute clothes along the way, you can kick the matrix to the curb and show up looking all smart in your Spanish sundress while your travel companions are on day three of the same sweaty, smelly tee and skirt.

3. It's important to map out what will be worn where on what day. Just be aware of the plan. Rules were meant to be broken.

Another good thing to know is what the city's safety record is. If they have a high rate of pickpockets, you should go out and buy a $75 anti-theft bag that can't be sliced, or diced, or scanned, or even unhooked from a cafe chair. Later, when you're sitting at an outdoor cafe in Madrid eating ham for lunch with said bag sitting unzipped and unlatched to a chair at your feet – you'll be glad you were prepared.

Clearly, it goes without saying that you should ALWAYS be aware of your surroundings and keep track of your stuff. If not, you might end up on a subway halfway to your destination and realize you left the entrance ticket in the hotel.

You might find yourself wandering in a department store looking for your bag of souvenirs with the group photo you had taken in that cost $20.

You might get off the plane, reach for your fan and realize it was forgotten at your seat.

Or, you might have to waste time urgently searching for the hotel key only to realize you threw it in the garbage.

You might even go so far as to lay out everything you need on the bed for the Arab baths, then not bother to actually take the bag with you to the spa.

So, just remember...
1. Pack smartly.
2. Use a smart bag.
3. Travel with smart people.

And most importantly...enjoy!

First Impressions.
Barcelona is definitely my kind of town. Bright, bright colors everywhere. Men in pink shorts, mosaic multi-colored everything, soft patterned pants and dresses. Exceptional food – tapas and paella, calamari and lots of ham and cheese.

Wonderful shopping – some of the best original stores I've ever been in.

The downside was the heat. Oppressive humidity made for some difficult moments. I'd like to go back when it's cooler. IF it's cooler. Or just move the whole city to a plot of land in N.D.

After a quick lunch of ham and cheese, we strolled over to the concert hall to get our first glimpse of the mosaic tile architecture. A quick little nap there put us in the mood for a much longer one back at the hotel. None of us were up for the ham and tapas tour that evening, but were hopeful there would be plenty of opportunities ahead.

ASIDE: The Baked Potato Incident.
Refreshed from our nap, we headed out to explore and have some dinner. We stopped at a fun tapas restaurant that had fantastic looking paella but we opted for ham and calamari. And our very last EVER croquette. EVER!

The group of men dining next to us also opted out of paella and one was pondering his baked potato and steak. Clasping his half of a baked potato in hand like he was part of the Potato Famine, he held it out across the table with a puzzled look. His companion gestured to "scoop it out." Instead, he held it over his steak and carefully sliced a couple of thin strips over it.

Must not have been the taste sensation he was looking for however, so he next tried dipping his steak in the cup of sour cream. No go there either. When he was done, the baked potato sat mostly uneaten on his plate. Unmashed. Unbuttered. Un sour-creamed. No more American dinners for this guy, I'm thinking. He'll be sticking to ham from here on out.

Guell Hell.
Although Gaudi's work is that of a genious, the Sagrada Familia looked like the work of a crazy mad scientist. What's up with the fruit pillars on top of every steeple? I don't get it. The tiles and stained glass art (and architecture) are awe inspiring. But, overall, I preferred the parakeets in the park across the street.

We have a short amount of time so quickly moved on to Park Guell. Off the subway, it's a walk straight uphill to the park. The heat plus the humidity plus the stair climb equals a breakdown. At the top, we find out it's over an hour wait to get in. Even with my hand fan, there was no relief. No shade to be found. Dripping wet with sweat running down my legs, I wanted to stick that fan up my skirt to "cool off my under carriage."

Lindsey and I were racing neck and neck to a breakdown and George was trying to get us to continue walking. To where? For what purpose? If Lindsey and I had talked it out, we probably would have concluded to kill her. But we weren't speaking – to anyone! We blindly

followed her to "where the taxis are." I think that's near hell.

After aimlessly walking around in a heat stroke haze, George discovered a little cafe where we could regroup and get our spirits up. After a nice lunch of ham and cheese, several glasses of Coke Lite and a seat under an umbrella for shade – we were revitalized enough to go on.

Good thing – because it was such a pretty park. The buildings look like they belong in a Disney story. Gingerbread with colors and icing. The mosaic wall at the top is stunning. Gaudi likes curves – no straight lines. And no tiles are alike.

We decide to go back to the land of taxis (a.k.a. hell) to get a ride back in. The driver tells us it's just a "short five minute walk, all downhill." But George, again the voice of reasons persists –arguing with us that it can't possibly be true. Back we go and get the reluctant driver to give us a ride. A short 20-minute cab ride back. Thank you, George!

ASIDE: Lunch.
I think Spaniards are a little rude in the service industry. Maybe it's just a culture thing. We were told to seat ourselves, so I grabbed a table in the shade. "This is a table for six", the waiter told me helpfully counting out the seats on my behalf. "You are only three." They did, however, find amusement in my fan. "That's a neat little gadget." Yep – bet you wish you had one working so close to the gates of hell.

The Best of the Rest.
The food in Spain is unexpectedly good. I say that because the most unexpected of things were absolutely delicious. Who would ever think salted cod in scrambled eggs would be good? All I can say is "More, please."

Ordering at restaurants was harder than we thought given our fluent Spanish. We generally got two of the three things we ordered. Sometimes we got things we never ordered. Once we were certain we'd be charged for two bottles of wine instead of two glasses. Kind of wish we had – best wine of the trip.

Gaudi's home – Casa Batlo was our favorite of his works. But what more can I say about him? Round – no straight lines. Mosaic. Color. Tile. Gorgeous!

Lil' Bits.
I think life is an adventure. Sometimes you should go in the out door. Try it at the subway station. Yeah, Lindsey, it was on purpose!

If a George falls in a casa and nobody sees her, does it hurt? Yes. And for a very long time, apparently.

Speculoos ice cream and paprika Pringles. Welcome home to Europe, Stan.

That lunch of calimari and peppers at the department store makes me cringe. We all should have had Lindsey's ham.

A really long line for the Picasso museum meant we weren't getting in before closing and they weren't open the next day. Bummer.

Why would anyone go barefoot on the subway? Her feet were black. Dis. Gust. Ing.

Holy mother it was hot at the Barcelona airport. Guess what? The plane was even hotter. If they'd given me a cold plate of ham, I'd have pulled all those thin pieces apart and laid them over my face. The check in girl was a sweetheart.

Alhambra – a.k.a. B.O.R.I.N.G.
When in Granada, we went on "possibly the best tour of the Alhambra." As a career marketing professional, I feel there's room for improvement in their brand promise.

We did, however, quite possibly have the best tour guide ever. I give you...Gussisms:

"You are not sheep. I am not a sheepherder."

"We are a group. Look like a group."

"If you lose your ticket, you are lost." (at which point Lindsey immediately dropped her ticket)

"Every place is safe until something happens."

"If you can't find a place, push."

And everybody's favorite:

"We don't want to start the tour with a gypsy curse."

I made the mistake of telling George that nothing but the outside of the Alhambra was of interest. And later spelled it as "boring." It was actually better than that. But it's generally large open marble rooms with nothing left inside. And no colors left.

That evening, I experienced the second coming of the Grand Canyon. George and Lindsey took photos of it at the bottom of the hill, 20 steps later, 20 steps later, repeat until you climb for about 60 minutes straight uphill. Then they took pictures every few minutes as it was bathed in the late sunshine and eventually, moonlight.

It was a lovely evening sitting outside looking across to the Alhambra. I enjoyed a marvelous sangria, a very fun fruit platter with lots of exotic choices and ten shades of chocolate for dessert.

Amazingly, that was the second best dinner we had in Granada. The first night we went to a Moroccan restaurant in the heart of the town. Every single thing was delicious.

I had a banana, almond and date shake while George and Lindsey had cucumber tea. George and I shared a chicken tajine with olive and lemon. Lindsey had a lamb tajine. We shared a chocolate fruit crepe dessert and licked the platter clean. I would go back in a heartbeat.

The Best of the Rest.
Best hotel of the trip. One of my fave photos of the trip is Lindsey leaning out the window with a towel wrapped around her head – waving at us in the narrow, winding cobblestone alley below.

We had the suite with a bathroom I would love to have. A jacuzzi tub that we sadly never got time to use and a big shower with a window looking out to the Alhambra.

Chatty little Alessandro who checked us in was also a bright spot on the trip. I think he was practicing his English on us because he sure found lots to talk about.

One of the highlights for George was the hammam – or Arab bath. OR, torture chamber according to her. Lindsey and I found the experience to be blissful – a massage, a scrub with pomegranate bubbles, warm, hot and cool baths and soothing tea.

George's description of the bath went something like this: Violence. Torture. Invasion. Horror. Too much touching. Went on forever. Barely survived. Truly awful experience.

Poor George. Spas are hard. :)

ASIDE.
I was able to work in some stellar practice for my colonoscopy while in Granada. In spite of my new veggie diet, I was not feeling so great by the time we got here. George gave me two Dulcolax before we went to dinner. Afterwards I had to cut short the shopping at the Moroccan markets to go back and spend some quality time with the toilet. Ever mindful of my travel companions, on one of my brief forays out of the bathroom, I decided to move the bouquet of lilies to a shelf over the toilet.

Lindsey loves herself some quality time in the bathroom as well – but for far more pleasing reasons. So it was an interesting evening for everyone.

By the time morning rolled around and it was Lindsey's turn to use the bathroom, she announced she would rather smell the stench of my shit than the cloying reek of the lilies. That's friendship.

Lil' Bits.
My first, not last, and favorite

experience of eggplant with honey - YUMMY!

Riding in a taxi on the way back from the Alhambra dinner through the crazy, twisty, narrow streets and being greeted by a man going up with "Allo taxi compatriots."

Casaba melons - that's what's been tasting so good with all that ham.

Keep the ham in its pure form, though. Jamon Pringles are messed up.

My GI issues prevented me from being able to buy souvenirs in the evening. Unfortunately, the stores weren't open in the morning so I was unable to purchase the nativity set with the unicorn. And, who knows if I'll get a second chance at that.

Aaaaaah Seville. Why You Gotta Be So Cruel?
The most charming city. The most frustrating city. It was in this serene, beautiful setting that we all fell apart. And where we called on our new travel partner – Derek.

Now, Derek had been with us from the very onset of the trip. I'd been reading his autobiography on the plane trip over. Derek – Derek Hough to those who don't know him – is a very positive, inspirational sort. I'd imparted some of his wisdom to George throughout the journey and she was eager to learn more. "What would Derek do?" became our trip mantra.

And boy, did we need Derek in the lovely city of Seville.

We were lost. Lost all the damn time.

Easy enough to solve – pull up Google maps on your phone. I told that to Lindsey and the angry retort was "I AM using Google maps." It wasn't working. (For her, I thought.) So, I just pulled it up myself. Go straight ahead it said. But that wasn't an option, so I went right. Seeing I was getting further away from my goal, I turned around. Went left. Same thing. Go straight ahead, it said. "I CAN'T", I responded.

So, fuck Google maps. Just start walking and see what happens. I'll tell you what happens. Your feet hurt so badly by the end of the day you could cry. Would love to take a bath, but can't fit in the tub. Well – at least my feet fit.

Lindsey gets her first 20,000 step day in Seville. That's because we couldn't find the tapas restaurant. And we couldn't find our way from the restaurant to the flamenco show. Once there, it should have been easy to get back. Reverse your path.

NO! I will never forget the corner in the Jewish Quarter with streets like spokes of a wheel going in every direction. We went every direction. According to Google, not a single one of them was correct.

It was the Bermuda Triangle of Seville. We went around and around and around. I don't know how we got out. Probably just went straight ahead.

Fresh start the next day. We decided to do the city bus tour to figure out where things were and get our bearings. If we could only find the bus. Honestly wish we'd never found it. Biggest time waster ever. And it led to breakdown number one. "I'm DONE with culture," Lindsey said. She was ready to shop. Or nap.

Fine – then let's find our way back to the hotel. But on the way, we'll just swing by the tourism office. Where the FUCK is the tourism office? Somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle, that's where.

Here's a little math word problem for you. George is stubborn and insists on heading off to find the tourism offie. Stan is equally as stubborn and is ready to give up and go back to the hotel. Stan and George are heading at euqal speed in 90 degree directions from each other. What does Lindsey do???

Poor Lindsey. She just wants to shop. But she's stuck on the corner yelling, "George" in one direction and "Stan" in the other. She's trapped by some Marine code of honor never to abandon your troop.

Help us Derek! Help. Us.

And he did.

The next and final morning, we gathered together in the only space all three of us fit in our hotel room and made a pledge. We would give in to Seville and stop fighting its charm. We would call on Derek whenever we found ourselves on the verge of a breakdown. We would go wherever the day, and Derek, took us – and just be.

Best. Day. Ever.

From Fancy to Frugal.
Goodbye to the hotel suite. Hello to the hotel...room.

As soon as I unlocked the door, I said "This isn't going to work." Our room was the exact same size as the jacuzzi at our last hotel. There were three beds in it with barely a couple inches of space between them. The furniture was all pushed against the

wall and I couldn't imagine where six suitcases would fit.

We tried for an upgrade or an extra room to no avail. There was a "room for one person" available but it was so small it didn't merit the extra money. Why is it always the worst hotel room is located in the place you stay the longest?

Good thing we like each other. A lot. If we're able to share that room for three days, I'm pretty sure we can get through anything.

It's what I'd call a single file room. You needed to plan your visits to the bathroom and turning in for the night just like on the airplane. The girl furthest away went first, then the one in the middle. The one closest was responsible for shutting off the lights and climbing into bed last. Single file, walking sideways was the best way to exit as well.

Unfortunately, to actually exit the room, you needed to push the rollaway bed closer to the wall so it doesn't block the door. Unfortunately, that causes the bed to push into some wall panel that causes music and the lights to turn on. And, unfortunately, once you make it safely out of the room, it's impossible to lock the door.

I couldn't figure out what was taking George and Lindsey so long to get downstairs the first day. They told me the door wouldn't lock. Locked fine for me. Once. Then, whatever spirits were playing games with us whammied me as well. It would lock eventually. You just had to open and close it eleventeen times while chanting some gypsy curse.

I was in the middle bed and every time I tried to get up, I stubbed my toes, bruised my shin, or fell trying to get up in the two-inch space between the beds. Had to learn to crawl out the end. Then remember to walk sideways once in the "open" area.

And the bathtub. I literally didn't fit in it. It was so narrow my fat ass and thighs couldn't fit unless I sat sideways. There's a theme here. Walk sideways. Bathe sideways. Should of had that "fat ass" bathroom sign from the restaurant in this room.

Best of the Rest.
Super sexy Ivan Rodrigo was a highlight of the flamenco show. His feet and thighs moved so fast he was a blur. And that's after smoking before and during his performance. Can't imagine how fast he would move if he had full lung capacity.

It was a fun show Not only because Ivan Rodrigo was throwing me steamy hot looks during the show, (Me, Lindsey. They were directed at me.) but also because it was such an interesting art. Angry dancing – which we think must be foreplay for hot, angry sex afterward.

I also wanted to tour the bull ring. Who knew they were still slaughtering bulls? I thought they were Disney performances now. Matador meets bull. Bull charms matador with his big brown eyes. Matador and bull go home together to live with a beautiful princess.

Not so much. What an archaic, medieval, inhumane practice. Is this really necessary anymore? Total yuck!

Lil' Bits.
Coulant. Like a flourless molten cake but better. We had one with caramel. Even better – chocolate with orange. Licked the plate clean.

Shopping was amazing. Wanted so much ceramics that I couldn't decide and went home empty handed.

The Jewish Quarter was packed full of cute stores and cafes. Could have spent all day here. Got great souvenirs and gifts for friends.

Some of the best food of the trip including the rice triangles with shrimp and leeks. And the paella.

The Real Alcazar was gorgeous. A lovely "little" orange palace with Spanish tiles, stained glass and an orange courtyard.

Museums of Madrid.
Personally, I didn't care for Madrid. When doing the initial planning, I'd intended to bypass it all together but Tammy talked us into it. I think I would have enjoyed spending time in Toledo or Cordoba more. Fortunately, Lindsey loved it enough for all three of us PLUS Derek. To each his own.

There were churros and chocolate. And a calamari sandwich – but even that didn't live up to the hype. I was tapa-ed out, but the food was not nearly as good, or varied, or interesting, as our other stops. Every cafe sold the exact same thing. More ham anyone? For Lindsey, a big "YES, PLEASE!"

The architecture was beautiful. They light up the fountains and some buildings at night. And the streets are wide, clean and very safe to wallk.

The shopping was horrible. Granted we were only in one small section of the city, but they all sold junky, touristy crap. Not impressed.

The best part is their museums. Picasso's Guernica is impressive and I'm sure it will take us longer to build the puzzle than it took him to paint it.The Thyssen museum might have been fun but George and I went through the modern exhibit first and were too late to use our tickets to see the rest. There were some good paintings at the Prado. We zipped around it at lightning speed (We were DONE with culture) and saw the best of the highlights. Even the museum stores didn't measure up in my opinion.

The very worst part was the squeaky puppet people in the plazas. If tourists are actually giving them money, it must be to get them to shut the hell up. If Lindsey ends up moving there, I hope she'll meet me in some other part of the country for a visit. I hear Northern Spain is wonderful.