From the top level of a bus, you get a different view of the city below. We drove by this monument and both Rosemarie and I had had enough wine to be able to giggle at it.
And then you see works of art like this, whose sole job is to simply reach for the heavens.
Barcelona meets the ocean. It explains the emphasis on seafood, as well as sights like this.
That iron wrought fence? Designed by Gaudi (his influence is everywhere.)
These little guys can be found everywhere. Barcelona has a very strong “Feed the birds” vibe to it.
After riding the bus for hours, one can work up another appetite (hey, when in Rome as they say.) We stopped at a cafe near the waterfront for tapas (small plates.) Olives to the Spanish are like beer nuts to Americans. At many restaurants, they put out a plate of them when you sit down. They taste like butter, but be careful, unless they are stuffed, you have to deal with the pit.
We decided to try this flatbread (Sun-dried tomatoes, olives, garlic) tapas. Crispy, oily enough, salty. It was perfect.
And of course, I was still in search of Cava and Sangria. This particular restaurant had it. We ordered a pitcher. Great decision. As the waiter poured our drinks, we exhaled the last of New Hampshire’s winter gloomy coldness from our lungs and toasted to our adventure.
And so with the sun shining down on us we ate the olives of Spain and partook of their heady spirits.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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