Barcelona & My Boys
For the four-year anniversary of my trip to Barcelona with my boys, I'll write another Jaunt about a jaunt!
While my oldest son, Jake, was studying abroad in Barcelona in the Fall of 2018, I decided it was high time for a quick trip to Spain. And when better to do it than in mid-December when his program ended? It seemed the perfect time for someone who doesn't like to sweat. Since 12-year-old Matthew was the only one whose schedule allowed for him to spend a week away, it was decided that the two of us would visit Jake and city he’d grown to love. I relished the thought of a journey with just my boys, and this overseas adventure did not disappoint.
Here’s a list of the most magical and meaningful memories from our trip.
Before we left, Matthew started to worry about missing the whole week of school before winter break. (Given the dates of Jake’s program, this was the ideal time to travel.) And then one of his teachers said the most poignant words to him – words that put his mind at ease and were prophetic for the rest of us: “You will never remember a week of seventh grade, but you will never forget a week in Spain.” A wise teacher indeed.
On our way there, we had a layover in Dublin. All connecting flights were on schedule, except the one to Barcelona. It seemed there was a severe storm over only that particular route. I was upset about missing our first planned day with Jake, but Matthew convinced me to stay and spend the day sightseeing in Dublin instead of trying to get other connecting flights in a roundabout route to Barcelona. We truly had “the luck of the Irish” when we hopped into the cab of a driver who made it his personal mission to show us as much of his charming city as he could in the short time we had. When he dropped us back at the airport later that day, Matthew said to me, “Look at that. Now we have a friend in Ireland.” It seems as though my little guy is also a lemonade-maker.
While in Spain, we decided to take a day-long excursion to the tiny country of Andorra. Matthew, forever the geographer, was particularly fascinated by tiny countries and was thrilled that we could add in this side trip. The quaint ski-resort country was well worth the visit. But it became something extra special exactly one year to the day later, when, during his middle school Geo Bee, this question was asked: “Which tiny country is nestled in the Pyrenees mountains between Spain and France?” Matthew looked directly at me and smiled triumphantly, as he answered correctly, “Andorra.”
When we travel with my husband, deprivation is his modus operandi. We walk miles from sunrise to sunset, never succumbing to public transportation; he challenges us to forgo the overpriced water bottles being sold on the street for tourists, urging us to wait until the next meal to hydrate; and street snacks need to be negotiated. Since I was the one calling the shots in Barcelona, we happily hopped on the Metro throughout the day, zipping all around the city while giving our tired feet a rest. And you can only imagine my boys’ delight when I bought us each an overpriced water bottle every time we saw them. (Don’t tell my husband.) Finally, we slowed down multiple times each day to indulge in special treats: crepes from a cart, gelato from a stand, pastries from a small local shop, or milkshakes and iced coffee from a sidewalk cafe. Looking back now, some of my favorite memories are of us sitting down in the afternoons, enjoying our snacks, and taking in the local scene.
To be honest, Barcelona had never been high on my list of places to visit, but I unexpectedly fell in love with this dazzling Mediterranean metropolis, with its unique and captivating Gaudi architecture. We saw all the necessary sites: the stunning La Segrada Familia cathedral that remains unfinished even after its centennial celebration, and the magnificent view of the city from the top of its Passion tower; the UNESCO World Heritage site Casa Batilo famous for its curves in place of corners; the historic Gothic and Jewish Quarters right alongside the bustling and modern La Rambla and Plaza Catalunya; and the beautiful hilltop Park Guell, juxtaposing nature with the whimsical mosaic structures. I was struck by the overall grandeur of the city, with its wide boulevards and ornate balconies on the elegant buildings lining them. (A fun fact: in the decades predating Instagram posting, society women - I guess the “influencers” of their day - would dress in their finest to sit out on their balconies “to see and be seen.”)
On our last night there, we decided to wander around the trendy Gracia neighborhood in search of a recommended restaurant. When we arrived promptly at six o’clock, we were told the restaurant wouldn’t open yet for hours. But they suggested a tapas place, called Extra, down an alleyway owned by a cousin. It was in this tiny, off-the-beaten-track eatery that we had our very best meal. There was no menu, the chef just brought us whatever he was cooking that day. Each tapa he brought out was better than the last. It just goes to show you that when traveling, it’s important to remain flexible. This rang true more than once, not only with regard to this meal, but also for our spontaneous day in Dublin. Sometimes, the most memorable things are stumbled upon unexpectedly.
Matthew’s teacher got it right when she said we’d never forget a week in Spain. Memories of travels are sharper somehow than memories left from our everyday lives. They’re brighter, more vibrant and durable, sustaining us for years. Even though this jaunt was four years ago, I can still recall details of the experience with clarity. I’ll never forget how proud Jake was to show us around the city he’d gotten to know so well and how he spoke fluent Spanish with the locals. I’ll never forget how Matthew knew that the Catalonia independence flag hanging from windows wasn’t the flag of any nation. I’ll never forget that Matthew now refers to George Clooney as “that guy from Spain” because his Nespresso ads were everywhere. I’ll never forget how the three of us slept comfortably side by side in the enormous double-king-sized bed in our hotel room. I’ll never forget Matthew swimming all alone in the Mediterranean Sea because, really, not many people are brave enough to take the plunge in mid-December. I’ll never forget how on our bus ride back from Andorra, Jake slept much of the time even though it was Matthew and me who had just traveled overseas, and how all of our tourmates got a big kick out of that. I’ll never forget when our server mistakenly assumed Jake and I were married and Matthew was our son, and Jake turned a sick shade of green and shuddered in pure disgust. I’ll never forget how excited I became upon discovering a bead store in the old Jewish Quarter, the local women thinking I was truly a crazy American as I clapped and squealed with delight. I’ll never forget how, at the airport to return home, Matthew had no idea what we were going to do with Jake’s big duffel since we never check bags (see, carry-on). These are all memories of ordinary occurrences, yet they are forever seared in my mind because they happened in the course of an extraordinary week – the week I spent in Barcelona with my boys.