The Dove

On Dove Street in Ipswich, it's The Dove.



Mmmmm, where do I begin? I think The Dove was my first introduction to proper English ales. And, looking back, of all my first encounters with ales from all over the UK, most of them have taken place here.

The Dove is a haven for beer lovers. It has the best selection I've seen, I think, even in London. The taps change often, and there are a lot of them. If you look at the rafters below, you'll see the names of the beers available.



This is the front room, where the hand pumps are. There's about a dozen taps here. Behind is a tap room with about a dozen more. There's also a large selection of bottled beers, many imported from the Continent.

Off to the right is a smaller room; sometimes I'll duck in there with a newspaper when it's too busy in front to get a seat. Off to the left is the way to the beer garden plus a newly remodeled room.

The Dove is beloved by locals as well as the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA). Beer festivals are held in the garden a few times a year.

I don't visit as often as I used to when we first settled in Ipswich, but when I do it's likely to be a Sunday afternoon. I'll have a chance to catch up on some Saturday papers, and fortify myself for the long uphill walk home.

The Old Fountain

I often stop by The Old Fountain for a pint on Thursdays to start my night out in London. It's just down City Road towards the train station.





This gentleman has been schooling me in English beers for some time. Their taps change often and I always ask for his recommendation. He's introduced me to some fantastic ales, and we've had lots of chats about different breweries and styles, both in England and on the Continent. He's very knowledgeable and passionate about a good pint. Often he'll let his barrels sit for weeks before serving them to let them age a bit and get some character, especially for malty beers, though he's a real hop lover himself.



There's some seating to the left (including a nice fish tank) but it didn't fit in the picture. There's also a bit of a beer garden out the back door, and behind where I was standing is more seating against the window, which is where I usually sit and read the day's Shortlist, or perhaps the London Drinker if it's out.

The Eagle

I have lunch at The Eagle quite often. It's one of the closest pubs to our office.



I mentioned before that it's referenced in the nursery rhyme "Pop Goes The Weasel", and the stanza is reproduced outside.

The Eagle has above-average lunches. I quite fancy their bacon cheeseburger but have also enjoyed many a pie, sandwich and salad here. They also feature about six long-handle taps (one of which is usually London Pride) plus some nicer short taps including Hoegarten and another favourite, Leffe.



There's usually a mellow mix of chillout electronica playing. It clashes a bit with the Americana artwork on the walls - stylized portraits of Sinatra and Marilyn.

There's lots of light from the large windows. A few doors down is the Shoreditch police station so there's the occasional siren going past.

I've enjoyed many a happy lunch here with mates, usually indoors, but sometimes in the beer garden in the back. Years on I'll look at these pictures and remember the taste of Maris Piper chips with aoli sauce and a nice pint.

The Fat Cat

The Fat Cat is the closest thing to my local, though it's perhaps a mile away.



There are one or two pubs that are slightly closer, but they don't have the beer selection or character of the Cat. My mate (and neighbour) John and I visit here most Saturday evenings, and I occasionally come by on a Wednesday afternoon (like today) before picking up Sarah.

The taps change often. I've seen taps on a Wednesday that are not available on Saturday.



This is my favourite room. There's a front room with the bar to the left, and to the right is the yard with tables and umbrellas. But on a sunny afternoon like today, with a pint and a bit of newspaper to read, it's a great place to be. It's mostly empty Wednesday afternoons but heaving on Saturday evenings. I especially enjoy perusing the coasters from East Anglian breweries along the tops of the walls.

Counting House

I brought our camera to work today. I wanted to get fresh pictures (with the newer camera, and with mostly sunny weather) of City landmarks like the Gherkin, Tower 42, Lloyds of London, and the Bank of England. With our departure getting closer, I want to capture sights that I want to remember.

While I was walking I decided I'd also start getting pictures of and writing about my favourite pubs, as I've enjoyed many fine meals and drinks and happy times in these places and I want to remember them. So I'm starting a series of posts with the Counting House pub in London.

The pub is on Cornhill Street in the heart of the financial district, just down the street from the Bank of England.



The building used to be a bank itself, and I enjoy the openness of it. I also enjoy the ornate decorations. It's perhaps the classiest pub I frequent.



This is a Fuller's pub, one of many in London. Fuller's London Pride is a complex but common ale, and for me it's a nice default choice if I don't see a more interesting tap. They also have a nice porter in the wintertime and some great seasonals. And though it's rarely on tap (and when it is, it's a big event), most Fuller's pubs offer Golden Pride in bottles - a super-malty, rich, fairly dark ale at (I think) 8.5% ABV, a beer that the late Michael Jackson described as the "Cognac of beers".



They offer a nice plate of nachos, and I've also enjoyed their ploughman's platter - sliced apples, cheeses, and breads. I've also enjoyed their burgers. I've brought workmates here on a few occasions, but have mostly enjoyed it on my Thursday nights out. If I'm alone, I like to sit upstairs and enjoy the ambience.

Barcelona: Sagrada Familia and Return

Friday afternoon. The skies are clouding over, but this morning was bright and clear. We had breakfast at a place Margo had read about, located about a dozen blocks to our southeast. I think it was closer to a deli than a restaurant - there was just one table in the back, which we shared with two older gentlemen. We had our standard breakfast of coffee and hot chocolate, and baguettes.

This was also on the way to our next destination, La Sagrada Familia. We emerged from the Sagrada Familia Metro stop on to the street in front of the church. It was mad with tourists and buses. We went to the park in front and let Sarah play in the playground for a while.


We decided not to pay admission and see the interior. From skimming the guidebooks, it didn't sound too interesting, and we figured the most interesting parts were on the exterior. So instead, I walked its perimeter taking snaps.


Next we took the Metro to the Plaza de Catalunya and walked the shopping streets to the Cathedral of Barcelona. However, it was under heavy renovation; most of it was obscured by construction cloth. Again we elected not to pay admission.

We walked the shopping streets back to the Plaza ...


... and entered El Corte Ingles department store. We had lunch in the terrace at the top floor, with fine views to the west and north.



Then we shopped for candies for our workmates, in the lowest level.

We were quite tired by then, and took one more Metro ride to Diagonal for siestas in our flat.

Friday evening. The sun is with us again, our last evening in Barcelona. I'm sitting on the balcony with a glass of Spanish rosé.

Earlier I walked around nearby shops. I finally feel more relaxed. Not wearing a camera helped me feel less of a tourist, though not being blonde would have helped even more.

We had a simple dinner in a café across the street - pizza-like slices of focaccia bread. Margo is wandering about, packing things for our flight home in the morning.

I just went out earlier to see if the nearby newsstand had any English papers, but it had closed shop. However, on a whim I followed an entranceway to a small public garden that I'd earlier assumed was part of the adjacent hotel ... and saw orange and mango trees. I've never seen one before. Oranges. On a tree. Nice.

A few more random observations ...

• I've noticed more elderly people than in most cities. Strolling, sitting on benches.
• It seems more people are smokers here.
• At any time, it seems most of the benches are in use. It's nice. People just sitting.
• There's a television set in the flat but it doesn't have cable/satellite, and no programmes are in English. Sarah couldn't find any cartoons, so the whole stay, she's not been pestering us to watch it. I've quite liked that, and I'll be voting for not buying a TV when we settle in Canada.
• I think Margo and I have done quite well with our Spanish, which is just as well as it seems few people speak English.

That's all the writing I did on our trip. Saturday's return was uneventful but for delays: two hours at the airport in Barcelona, and an hour and a half delay for our baggage. Grrrr.

We were glad to be back.

Barcelona: Park Güell, Tibidabo

Thursday - Late Afternoon. Today had the best weather forecast all week - mostly sunny - so we decided we'd do Friday's plan today - seeing the Park Güell and the Tibidabo amusement park.

We took the Metro to the Plaza de Catalunya to get breakfast and then find a hop on-hop off tourist bus to take us to both destinations. We got a simple breakfast at the Café Zurich, then crossed the Plaza to find buses.

Unfortunately the line of tourists waiting for the buses was quite long. We estimated at least an hour wait, so we found a nearby taxi stand instead.

We arrived at the Park's central entrnace, about a 20 minute walk away from the Monument area I'd visited earlier. This is where most of the features are: the steps with the tiled lizard sculpture;


the columned walkway;


and the balcony above it, ringed with inward-facing tiled concrete seats that were actually quite comfortable. Gargoyles guarded us from outside.


The park was designed by Gaudí as a housing project, but it never became one.

Next we hailed a taxi and rode uphill on twisty roads to the top of a hill and the Tibidabo amusement park. Entrance to the park is free. But unfortunately, only a few rides on its topmost level were open as the high season hadn't started yet. We got enough tickets so that Sarah could ride the few open ones, and we could all ride the Ferris wheel.


There were few others in the park so we didn't have to wait for any rides. Most rides were idle until we arrived to ride them.

Next we went to the café for typical fairground food - burgers and chicken nuggets and the like.

We considered calling for a taxi ride back - there wasn't a taxi stand at the park - but decided to take the funicular ride downhill into town, so we did. The ride didn't take us far and we had some confusion as to how best to continue. We decided to follow the other tourists and take the local bus further into town.

Margo offered to pay this time so she went to get her wallet from my backpack. She didn't find it. We stepped back and searched thoroughly. It definitely was missing.

This was about my worst fear realised. Losing cash I can deal with, but losing one's cards can open a world of troubles via identity theft. I was well panicked.

We retreated to the funicular's lounge to get our thoughts together. We decided Margo would return alone to see if her wallet had been found. Sarah and I waited. I decided that, even if her wallet were found, it had been out of our control for some time, and card numbers could have been copied for future use already, so I called our bank and canceled Margo's cards for our shared account.

As I was on the phone, Margo texted me that her wallet had been found immediately and put in the café's safe. Apparently she'd merely left it at the counter while ordering our food. Though, I don't know why nobody informed us as we were sitting right in front of the counter for perhaps half an hour while eating.

Margo was quite cross at me for cancelling her cards, but later apologised. New cards should arrive days after our return, but this does inconvenience her for a short time.

We took the next bus further down, then the Metro to our Diagonal stop. Once back at the flat, I went out to get some more cash, mostly to confirm that my card was not blocked. But I was still quite shaken by the whole experience, and I think we were quite lucky that things turned out as well as they did.

Friday morning. Yesterday afternoon, while Margo and Sarah napped, I took some walks through nearby streets and alleyways.


We had dinner at Cervezerida Catalana again. The picture below was taken on the way to dinner; I had to be sneaky and run ahead to catch them in the sunny part.


The staff recognised us and we were seated at the same table. We also ordered much the same. The artichoke tapas that Margo wanted last time wasn't available, so we got fried mushrooms instead.



Back at the flat, I soon left with the camera. I wanted to walk southeast down Diagonal and find a building I was curious about - an office building resembling London's Gherkin, only taller. I'd asked a cab driver about it earlier; he said it was the building of the water company, and just about one year old.

Along the way I spied the towers of La Sagrada Familia, so I changed course to take it in.


Returning to Diagonal, I followed it to its end at the Placa de les Glories Catalanes, a large roundabout with a park in the middle. The building was just opposite, though oddly its surroundings looked quite shabby. I also spied a trolley that I'd not seen anywhere else in the city.



There's lots I've noticed and learned in the time we've been here.

• The street in front of our flat has a parking garage under it. I took this picture at the end of my evening walk; you can just see a glass elevator on the right to the parking below.
  

• Our street, Passeig de Gracia, is actually a posh address. One cab driver told us it was the most expensive street in Barcelona. I suppose it's like visiting Los Angeles for the first time and staying in Beverly Hills without knowing much about it.
• In our Eixample area, most intersections have the corners cut off. The space of the intersection - if viewed from above - is a square, but rotated 45°. This means, walking the sidewalks, you have to angle in, cross, and angle out at intersections. On special streets, like Diagonal and Rambla de Catalunya, this is helped because the boulevard area in the middle of the traffic lanes - rows of trees, grass and inward-facing benches, and paved lanes for pedestrians and bicycles in the centre - allows crosing the intersection directly. It's a bit confusing at first but is very aesthetic.
• Traffic is busy. Most streets have several lanes in each direction, and it seems they are usually full.
• The city is noisy. From our balconies we hear car horns often, and sirens are not unusual.
  
• The air is hazy. Even when we have clear skies, the sky near the horizon is barely blue - closer to light grey.
• We see lots of people on scooters. Bicycles too. There's a bike share programme named Bicing with dozens of locations around the city. I see them often.
  

Barcelona: Dalí Museum

Continued from Wednesday morning ...

As I write now, mid-morning, we are on a train headed north to Figueras, near the French border, to take in the Salvador Dalí Museum. The city was important in Dalí's childhood and he designed the museum himself. Dalí has long been perhaps my favourite artist. Reproductions of some of the works we will see today were on my college walls.

Afternoon. I'm writing on the return train trip.

We arrived at Figueras without a map - just an agreement to follow signs and other tourists, as the Museum is the biggest attraction. I was wary as some beggars had gathered at a choke point in a garden in front of the train station, and the shabbiness of some streets and buildings had me on my guard.

After about a ten minute walk we arrived at the Teatro Museu Dalí. The museum is a former theatre. It is build around an open courtyard. Galleries span five storeys. As far as I know, it's the largest collection of his works.




You've heard the phrase "You can never get a cab when it's raining"? Below is a cab; inside is Dalí's wife Gala; and it periodically rains - inside the cab. It's the centrepiece of the theatre courtyard.


Two of the works below hung on my walls in Madison, Wisconsin about 20 years ago ...


Hmmm, where to begin? Dalí was very accomplished, proficient in many media, so on display were paintings, drawings, jewelry, sculpture, and even holograms and laser art. His work is finely detailed, and as a result no wall was empty, no stairway unadorned. And his works have a playfulness, so there were secrets and practical jokes.

This is part of the ceiling in one of the galleries.


We split up for a while, joined at an agreed-upon time and place, and continued together.


Then we split up again, Margo and Sarah resting while I finished my touring.

In one room was a boxy robotic figure composed of circuitry boards, lying prone on a glass case. On its front panel was a coin slot. I put in one Euro. The lights did not change. I saw no movement. Two French women looked confused with me. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Perhaps it was meant to be a joke?

Only minutes later did I notice the collapsing tiles of an art work near the ceiling. From a steel crucifix, a geometric mesh backing the tiles was slowly folding upon itself along the axes of the crucifix, its motor slow and silent. I smiled in appreciation.


I also love the dreamlike quality of some of his paintings. And I remembered why I chose those posters for my college walls: I could look at them over and over, and still sometimes notice some detail I hadn't before.

We left the main building and continued around the corner to take in another gallery, this containing examples of his jewelry. I didn't know he'd made any, and wondered what Daliesque jewelry might look like. Well, like his other art.

Some motifs familiar in his paintings reappeared, like elephants wiht stiltlike legs, and misshapen limbs. Some had little motors driving clever movements: a large jewel opening and closing as a door; and a heart made of small red jewels, with an aperture that would open and close in a subtly lifelike fashion.


We had a quick and cheap lunch at a café.

I asked Sarah to take this picture of me as we sat opposite the giant "Dalí" signature in the wall of the museum. The lips are a gift shop item Margo bought for Sarah. I cropped the photo afterwards.


We also walked around the building; on its other side, the decoration is different. The spots on the walls are triangular, globby formations that resemble dog poo.


We walked back to the station, Margo leading the way with her superior memory.

Wednesday evening. We've just returned from dinner, and what a dinner! Our happiest so far. During Margo and Sarah's siesta, I researched nearby eateries in Margo's guidebooks. I came up with a paltry three nearby recommendations.

The first was too pricy. The second we couldn't find - perhaps it's changed hands and names. We browsed some more. Another was too smoky. Then we chanced upon a tapas place Michael had recommended - Cervezerida Catalana - and took it.

I was wanting sangria, Margo was wanting seafood, and we saw we could both be satisfied. We got our name on the waiting list and ten minutes later, a table. We ordered a handful of tapas plates, with a pitcher of sangria and the lemon soda for Sarah:

• baguettes with olive oil and crushed tomatoes;
• patatas bravas (fried potato chunks with aoli and spicy tomato sauce);
• pescadito frito (little fried fish);
• tortilla patatas (omelette with potatoes);
• 2 brochettes langustin (seared prawn skewers);
• esparragos plancha (asparagus friend with salt and olive oil);
• flauta remona (baguettes with chopped letuce, mayo, ham for Sarah)

Margo wasn't so interested in the pescadito so I ended up eating most of it. For a bit I moved the fish in circles, like at the aquarium, then chomped them. I ate one like a shark, biting it, shaking my head, then swallowing the rest. This inspired Sarah to try some - and she ate them, eyes, heads, spines and all!

On to dessert ... Sarah got a slice of lemon cake, and Margo and I got a cake sampler - four slices - lemon cake, custard pie, blueberry pie, and a soaked rum cake.

The service was prompt, the bill was reasonable, and we left with very happy tummies. We shall definitely return.

Barcelona: Aquarium and Barcelonita Beach

Tuesday morning. Just returned from getting a coffee. I was hoping to find a locally owned coffee/tea shop and went up the street a block to the patisserie I remembered, but it wasn't yet open so I went back downhill, collected a free daily paper, and to my chagrin, entered a Starbucks. I've heard that breakfast is not such an important meal here, so I'm not surprised that coffee shops are harder to find.

If I read slowly I can mostly understand the newspaper text. Speech is more challenging. I understand less of what I hear. Catalan is used most often, but it seems most people understand Spanish. When I speak I often find myself grasping for some key word, and sometimes must start a new sentence of similar intent. Or, the other person takes pity and offers some key words in English, as if saying, "It's okay, you can stop pretending to speak Spanish."

I'm quite impressed with what the brain can remember, though. With time, my skills in Spanish are warming up, and I find myself remembering words and phrases I wouldn't have a few days ago. I even catch myself thinking in Spanish. But I've noticed it in all other countries as well. Even though I haven't studied the language, I've found some familiar words regardless. Over a lifetime of reading and viewing, one builds what seems to be a huge, scattered database of words and phrases. You may have never visited France, but you certainly know plenty of French - names of foods, song titles, terminology, other sources. It seems the brain can refresh these relationships to offer up understanding when needed - not always just in time, as in speech, but often being helpful in interpreting things like signs and labels. So occasionally I find myself knowing a word I didn't know I knew.

Today will be merely overcast with perhaps some sun later. (Rain is forecast tomorow and the day after.) Perhaps we will go to the beach today. Yesterday we noticed open sky in cloud breaks, but it wasn't very blue at all - quite pale. Perhaps there was a really high, thin cloud layer, or city pollution.

I wrote this next part on Wednesday, but it's mostly about Tuesday. Wednesday will be in the next post.

Wednesday morning. Finally, a sunny morning! But I am wary. The forecast is for rain, and the locals are wearing jackets, and so I do also.

We're having breakfast at Starbucks. It's how we began yesterday as well. After breakfast, we took the Metro towards the waterfront. We stopped to get snaps of the monument to Christopher Columbus, memorialising his return from the New World to Barcelona.


We crossed the pedestrian bridge ...


... and made our way to Europe's largest aquarium. We strolled through the large entranceway into the first exhibit: a series of over a dozen tanks of various sizes containing aquatic life from different regions of the world.

From here, we entered a long, clear underwater tunnel and observed the sea life circling past, which included three sharks, skates, and sunfish.



We continued upstairs. We left Sarah with some time in the Explora childrens' play/education area, whilst we relaxed with drinks in the café. Sarah joined us for a bite to eat. Then we carried on to the last room and its exhibits. We walked through the gaping maw of a sperm whale to see an exhibit of deep sea life. Sarah gravitated toward a tank of skates and rays as it had tunnels underneath and a viewing area in the centre for wee ones to enjoy.

I came and watched. After a while I heard a splashing sound and went to investigate. It was a skate flapping against the side. And to my shock, it then came right up to me. The tank was open to the air but covered in a netting, so it couldn't leap out or anything. When Margo joined us she explained that skates are quite social.


It was like cats rubbing against your legs, excep these were (probably) slimy and their eyes didn't seem to move. But the tank fascinated us all and we lingered a long while.

The day's forecast was for partial sun, with rain fo rthe next day, so we had planned for today to be our waterfront day. But as we left the aquarium the skies remained firmly clouded shut and, to our dismay, a light rain began. We considered returning to our flat, but after some deliberation, decided to press on and make the moderately long walk through the Barceloneta area to see the beaches - if only just to look at them.

The rain ceased. We admired the Gas Natural building as we passed it. Then we climbed a ramp and turned toward the park, walking next to it.

In minutes we could see a street through the palm trees - and beyond it, the Mediterranean! Finally. I'd been quite looking forward to spending some quality time beside this most exotic of seas. We even had some light sunshine by now.

We crossed the street and descended some stairs to beach level. Margo found one of the concrete lounge chairs for herself.


Sarah and I bagged our shoes and stepped onto the groomed sand.

This being the off-season, and the weather being what it was, there were few others on the beaches. No lifeguards were about, and the folded lounge chairs remained stacked, presumably locked.

The dark grey waves looked quite strong, and as the first one washed over our feet, Sarah and I yelped - cold! This was not the tropical bathwater I'd envisioned, but then neither was the cloudy weather.


To Sarah's extreme disappointment, we realised we wouldn't be changing into the swimsuits we'd brought.


However, we made the most of it. We lingered for an hour or so, mostly standing at teh water's edge and jumping just as each wave hit us. We never let the water get higher than our knees - the outgoing current was strong. We periodically checked in with Margo and whiled away the time.

Margo was getting a bit chilly and so took residence in a nearby café, under the street and steps from the sand. Sarah and I carried on for a while but eventually dusted teh sand off our feet, re-shod them, and joined Margo.

The café was nicely designed in dark stone walls with orange accents. Wide horizontal mirrors against the back walls perfectly framed the watery view at sitting-eye level. Chillout music played, and the DJ booth hinted at its nightlife potential. I got a fresh glass to enjoy some of the half litre of house red Margo was enjoying - along with a tasy hamburger (no bun), cooked quite crispily yet juicy inside, with highly caramelised onions and a sweet barbeque-like sauce, wtih shoestring fries. After some deliberation, I decided to make this my main meal, ordering the same dish and another half litre, and a child's spaghetti with the standard lemon soda for the shortie. And so another relaxing hour passed as we enjoyed our fortunate moments beside the sea.


At one point, the sun became quite strong and the water became blue. I got more snaps.


Later the clouds regained their iron grip on the skies.

We took a taxi back to the flat. It was early evening. We had wine and snacks and mostly lounged, reading the Sunday Times I'd picked up, Sarah with her Doctor Who comics and Captain Underpants books. And that was our evening.

Barcelona: Ramblas, Park Güell

Monday morning. I have a story for you. I mentioned that we arose early in the morning yesterday. At one point, in my grogginess, I noticed on the floor of the upstairs landing - tiny pieces of toilet paper. I brought my bag downstairs and set about closing the curtains. When I returned - toilet paper on the stair! It was starting to seem like an M. Night Shyamalan film. Surely these were signs - but of what?

Standing in the check-in queue at London Stansted - and there on the floor, another toilet paper piece!

As we unpacked our bags in our Barcelona flat - more toilet paper pieces! I have just finished sweeping them up. I dare not wonder what grim spectre haunts us, nor to what its portent; I merely hope it deserts us soon.

Breakfast at a "5J" café, down the Rambla de Catalunya. Croissant and hot chocolate for Sarah; Margo and I had baguettes - a sharp cheese in mine, a cured ham for Margo. The coffee is nice and strong.

I'm flipping through a 20 Minutos free daily newspaper. It seems some articles are in Spanish, others in Catalan. The latter is the regional language and seems to include elements of French (France is nearby) - instead of el or la, there's l', and d' for de.

Afternoon. Time to catch up. After breakfast, we continued down Rambla de Catalunya. We ran into old friends from Helsinki - large metal sculptures by a Spanish artist that were copies or had traveled there during our visit. We passed the Placa de Catalunya, a large square.


We'd also just passed from the wealthier, newer Eixample district into the Old City district, and the street name changes to La Rambla. You can see that there was still occasional rain.


This part of La Rambla features several stalls selling small (and of course cute) animals, like chicks and hamsters, as well as fish and turtles.


At one point Margo directed us to a side street that she'd researched earlier as it has some well-known sweets shops. We ended up at Dulcinea where we had xuros (churros) that we dipped in a hot chocolate sauce that was like a heated pudding. I noticed sawdust had been put on the floor.


Along La Rambla were performers, most of whom would be frozen until given coins. We'd been warned in guidebooks, and also by Michael on our arrival, to be wary of pickpockets in tourist areas like this. Attractions like these divert tourists' attention so others can check our pockets. We'd taken some precautions, but I personally hate the feeling of being preyed upon and I didn't enjoy myself as much as I would otherwise when walking through areas like this.


Next we visited the nearby Boqueria farmer's market. We browsed the aisles and picked up a sausage and cured ham slices, cherries and coconut slices.


We then found a café to the side of the market and got some lunch. Margo ordered tapas of: sliced baguette bread drizzled in olive oil with crushed tomatoes on top; cured ham slices; and slices of a sharp white cheese drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with pepper.

We found the nearest Metro stop and bought 10-trip tickets, then rode a few stops back uphill to the Diagonal station, right near our flat. Siestas followed.

Margo had made a short list of household foods and drinks for me as I'd volunteered earlier to go shopping. I (swear I) pocketed the list and set off for a nearby grocer. When I got there and reached in my back pocket for the list, it was gone. It spooked me to think that it had been pinched and I'd not even felt it! But perhaps I'd just misplaced it. In any event, I had my wallet, keys and mobile in front pockets, so nothing important was lost.

Again I arose first and read through some of Margo's guidebooks to research attractions to visit while the others slept. I started by going out to get better pictures of some of the nearby Modernist buildings, including La Pedrera. It's not in the picture, but at the base of this street lamp is a tiled concrete bench also in the Modernist style.


Returning to the flat, the others were still sleeping, so I decided to take another small trip to the Park Güell. I rode the Metro a few stops uphill, and then found the walkway up to the park. It's a long climb, but escalators cover all but two blocks of it.


The first area I found was the Monument area, so I climbed it to capture a panoramic view. That was most of what I wanted to see. There was much more to explore, but I wanted to head back as I figured the others would be awake by now.



And that brings my narrative up to date. Margo's picked a nearby restaurant named La Bodegueta for dinner and we will leave shortly.

Evening. We decided to save our dinner destination for later in the evening. Most people don't go out for dinner until later. Some restaurants don't even reopen until 8.30. So we set out to find a gelateria and get some drinks, and Margo wanted time in an Internet café.

I remembered seeing a gelateria on the way to Rambla de Catalunya. It turned out to be a full-on restaurant with the word "Gelateria" on one face of its awning. We pressed on down the street and several blocks later settled upon a Haagen-Dazs shop. Scoops and a chocolately mouth ensued.

Next we stopped for drinks after a few more blocks. Fanta Limón for Sarah (what she's been drinking most often so far) and a half litre of sangria for Margo and I. Mmmmm.

Afterwards we split off, Sarah and I taking the Metro back to our flat, and Margo going on to the nearby Internet café.

After dinner. Sarah has been asserting her independence. At home, when I pick her up from school, at a half block from our house she likes to run ahead to our door. Sometimes she wants my key to open the door. Here, she wants to run down or up the building's stairs, while Margo and I ride the lift.

Margo picked a dinner recommendation from a guidebook. It was a good one. We arrived and got on the waiting list, waiting about ten minutes. On a Monday night! We ordered a bottle of Rioja and a Fresca Limón for Sarah. Then tapas: a baguette with cheese for Sarah; for the adult eaters ... chorizo slices; manchega cheese dribbled in olive oil; the olive-oil-and-crushed-tomatoes baguettes; patatas fritas (fried potatoes) with aoli and chile sauces; and omelette with potatoes cooked slowly with olive oil.

It's an old restaurant. Probably the first time I've noticed refrigerator doors in hardwood. Lots of old wood throughout. It was a very enjoyable meal.

Now we are back. I poured some more red wine for Margo and myself. We should sleep well.