Adrian asked, “What’s the waterfront like?” so I went down and had a look. Here’s Barcelona, sun setting on the Mediterranean. Happy birthday, bro.
Latest
la Festa dels Tres Tombs
John: ”What’s up with those cops and that crowd up the street?”
Abby: ”Aw man! It’s probably just one of those stupid festivals where they block off the street, everyone drinks a huge cup of beer, and then it’s over.”
John: ”Uh, yeah, which is why we’re going over there.”
And off we went, exactly half eagerly. But we were so wrong. Without knowing it, we had stumbled upon the world famous cavalcade of la Festa dels Tres Tombs de Sant Antoni. Amazing how that works.
You are thinking, that sounds pretty dark. Because tombs are for dead people and so forth. I was thinking, how could one guy have three of them? Well, a little digging put me right. First of all, Saint Anthony (spelled the English way) was a saintly guy who lived in Egypt, fourth century, and is probably buried somewhere there, presumably in one tomb. He was a hermit so he may have not had a showy funeral and all that. Nowadays he is remembered as the patron saint of animals–getting to the point, you see, with the cavalcade–and also the poor and the sick. This parade is given in honor of him, and it includes an animal blessing by a priest at the end for all the people who bring their pets to the festival.
There will be beer!
But what about the tombs, you repeat. There are no tombs, because we’re speaking Catalan here and “tres tombs” translates to “three tours”. Three tours, because the parade route is traversed three times by the old-school carriages of various professions. Makes sense, now, huh? The show included a horse-drawn fire engine, hearse, meat wagon, ale truck, and more.
Asses' shaved asses?
P.S.: Does the parade really trace the route three times? No, no it does not. But we like the idea enough that we still call it that.
El Born
Abby and I are staying in a small apartment we’ve rented for one month while we look for more permanent housing. Snicker away, if you must. Our standard for “permanence” is just different, that’s all. Our place is on Carrer de Jaume-Giralt, no. 57. Here it is on a map:
View Larger Map
We live in “El Born” district which is a sort of sub-neighborhood of what’s called “Ciutat Vella” or the Old City. Barcelona is old—really old, depending on how you want to measure it. Neolithic remains have been found here of people buried perhaps 6000 years ago. The cathedral, very close to our apartment, is about 500 years old. (Hard to say exactly because its construction spanned over one hundred years, and then some. Matter of fact, they are working on it right now.) The streets of El Born are ancient, narrow, twisted, and dark. Many five- and six-story buildings form this medieval maze.
Our home, for now
When you stroll through El Born, you notice first the paint. In the early morning, before the businesses open, the incredible amount of graffiti gives you the impression you are somewhere quite dangerous and lawless. There is no such thing as an unpainted door. In a generous show or restraint or respect, most of the “artists” spare the city walls themselves and only decorate doors. Indeed, many shopkeepers paint cool-looking murals on their rolldowns before the kids can junk them up, beating them to the punch.
After about nine in the morning, the neighborhood turns, believe it or not, quite chic. Behind the anarchist façade lie any number of delicious bakeries, produce markets and sweet shops, and hundreds of boutique clothing stores await. And I’m getting hungry now, so you will have to wait for more photos later!
Arrived in Barcelona!
This is a quick post to let you know that Abby and I are safely arrived in Catalunya. Once we get these bags inside our new (temporary) digs, we’ll be off to see the town. First stop: Claro Partners…
Imminent Departure
To all of you who have persistently (and lovingly, to be sure) questioned us, “So, when are you moving to Spain?” and, “How’s the whole ‘Spain thing’ going?” and so on, well, I have an official answer for you. Next Thursday. There you go. It is official. I am at least 90% sure of it.*
What makes him so sure, you’re wondering. Well, the long-awaited FBI paperwork arrived, which certifies both Abby and me as non-criminals. The limiting step has been, uh, stepped. Abby will fly down to San Francisco again on Monday to deliver this critical information by hand to our friend Marta at the Spanish Consulate and then BAM they will stamp her passport—right then and there—with a residence visa for Spain. Then we’re golden. We figured in another day or so to finish packing and cleaning everything up, and then we’ll hop on a plane on Thursday.
Maybe two days...
I would like to take a moment to thank everybody who helped launch us out of our home country… I think you were all on our side…
But seriously, big thank-you’s to:
Steve
Nellie
Claro Partners
Our legal associate Maria
Marta, who is the best part of the entire Spanish Consulate
The FBI, even though you were very very slow, FBI
Leni, for watching our dog who, by the way, is very depressed about all of this
Max, for storing big boxes of our stuff he doesn’t know about yet
and the city of Las Vegas and the great state of Nevada.
To every one of you who persistently (and, I add, lovingly) inquired about when we were actually leaving for Spain, thank you too.
I’ll let you know as soon as we’re gone!
*I’ve learned very well not to count on anything when it comes to official proceedings like this. You will note that my visa has not been approved. That will take some months more. I will wait for it patiently in Barcelona and return to the US when it is ready. Makes sense, right?
Holiday Report: Fortress 2011
We are back! I know it’s been a while since you’ve received any updates here at No Es Torta, but stay tuned in 2012 for lots of excitement as we chronicle our move to Spain.
But first!
Let’s look in on a Very Hovey Christmas and see what went down in SD this past week…
Everybody was busy doing something. I was outside on Christmas Eve working with a chainsaw well past dark. What on earth could be so important?
Mom was compelling greater and greater numbers of people to eat greater and greater numbers of cookies.
Cyrus was breaking something.
Dad changed his shirt and then spent the usual number of hours trimming every scrap of fat possible from his three roasts.
The ladies sanguinely sipped.
And the dark, cold Nochebueno put us all to sleep while we wait for…
CAGA TIO!
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy New Year, and all that to all of you!
License and registration, please
Wedding license acquired! Now we’re going to the chapel.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Feeling better
Abby was feeling blue.
Indeed, feeling sorry for herself.
And then her face stopped swelling. And then she found a friend.
You know where you are?
You’re in the JUNGLE, baby. And you’re gonna die!
Well, having a day off from work, Abby and I decided it would be a fun thing to do to return to Crazy Horse and go rock climbing again. (You are so surprised.) Anyway, we donned our protective equipment and set off toward the cliffs, which are a one hour motorbike ride from the city, near the Mae On caves.
Breathe deeply.
Having arrived, we got to enjoying ourselves straight away. There were annoying British people nearby who would not shut up. That’s why I use phrases now like “straight away.” That accent jolly well rubs off on you.
While Abby was climbing, I marveled at the wonderful insect and arachnid specimens which abound in the Thai jungle. Rain forest, you say? Please, spend an hour there for yourself. It’s the god damned jungle, sir, and it will eat you alive.
The "Orb Spider" making itself look bigger with web design. Ha ha!
A walking stick, or stickbug.
Hornets
Wait, what the hell? Hornets? Let’s look at Abby again. Holy shit:
Them's wasps, friends.
The end of the story is too easy to predict. All at once, just when it seemed we couldn’t be doing anything funner, the hornets unleashed their wrath on Abby’s face. She screamed and threw her glasses from the top of the cliff into the jungle somewhere and they were carried off by giant ants. I lowered her to the ground and scrutinized her. Indeed, she is now much uglier. I mean she is now ugly. I mean, well, never mind.
I love you darling.
