Us girls have come to form a pretty tight tribe. Strong, successful, independent ladies, our meetings have a bit of Sex in the City vibe about them ... a secret society of alpha females whom spend their time sipping wine, talking about boys and the challenges of being female in the board room.
Over the course of the last year or so one of our members fell in love with a Scandi, got engaged, quit her job, moved to Norway, and is now expecting. Whoa - talk about grounds for numerous tribal conventions. This weekend was their wedding!
So, we packed our bags and jetted off to Trondheim, Norway, a little fishing village about half way up the country of Norway, for the ceremony. Not many people live there (or anywhere nearby), yet with 100K+ inhabitants it is the third largest city in Norway and the childhood home to the man of at least one girl's dreams. Glad we went when it was green, warm, and the sun never set, because I could envision the frozen tundra this land must be most of the year. Brrrr.
I was really looking forward to this for many reasons ... a new adventure, fresh air, a country I had not been to yet, time away with a large group of friends, and of course sharing in the wedding of a great friend and witnessing the traditions of another culture.
After a late flight in, I woke up early Saturday morning to cover as much pavement as possible before the ceremony - stopping at the fish market on the docks to pick up some smoked salmon, salted cod and a fish cake snack; cruising the streets to see the cathedral and the old bridge in front of one of the oldest rows of traditional wooden housing in Norway.
Quick stop to purty up and we were on our way to the church for the short, sweet ceremony followed by a ride in a vintage tram to the top of one of the hills overlooking the town below. So fun!
The reception ceremony was a delightful surprise (to be fair, I had been warned many times that the monotonous talking in Norwegian would go on for torturous hours and was threatened booze may not be served).
Norwegian tradition dictates that throughout a several course dinner, guests of the wedding give speeches, deliver poems, sing songs, etc. - appetizer, father-of-the bride, groom, meat course, bride, father-of-the-groom, sisters, cheese plate, best man, friends, wedding cake, two songs sung by first the aunts/uncles then the group of cousins, more sweets. I loved it! The five hours flew by. Their love and support for each other was, in short, inspiring (and I don't think it was just the four course wine paring that had me all sentimental).
Could it be possible I forgot love like this exists? There wasn't a dry eye in the house as the father of the bride confessed to wishing he spent more time with his daughter and the darling groom fought back tears as he told his bride why he would love her forever and thanked his parents for supporting his decisions. As I witnessed the whole event, collectively, from the traditional wool dress of the women, the guitars they brought to play their handwritten music, their sensitivity to speaking English, the sheep grazing the peaceful hills outside, to the simple topics they expressed joy for (tractors, skiing, math) it all fell into place.
The complexity we sometimes bring into our lives can be over-rated and needs to be kept in perspective. That night in that room allowed me to witness and once again believe in love ... simple, real love. It's out there. You just need to set your expectations, be patient and open to all possibilities. Having the support of some wonderful ladies to lift your spirits along the way doesn't hurt either!
Oh, and I will skip the details about doing the Electric Slide and the Macarena until the wee hours of the morning. It didn't happen.
OK, well, maybe just the second half ... this blog we are going to start with a little music motivation to set the tone.
Let's just say that as I embarked on my trip from London to Ibiza, I had faint fantasies of being J-Lo in this video where at the age of 43, she owns the club, looking amazing in a glitter body suit, shaking her boo-tay. Well, my trip wasn't quite like this, but not far off.
For those who don't know, Ibiza is known world wide as the clubbing capital and home to Electro House music. There are numerous enormous warehouse size clubs that pack in youngsters from around the globe throughout July and August. World class DJs like David Guetta (whom we missed), Calvin Harris (saw Thursday), and Avicii (Sunday) rock weekly shows. The night doesn't get started until after midnight, and anyone seen on the street before 10AM clearly hasn't gone to bed yet.
Me doing my best J-Lo
By day, people pack the beautiful beach clubs, sipping on expensive cocktails and washing it all down with even more expensive bottles of water. The food is decadent ... lavish seafood paellas and large portions of lobster and sushi ... I'll say, you pay for the food, but the quality and portions are there to make it feel worth while.
Friday we chartered a private sailboat for our group of six ... though the motoring was a bit slow and rolly-polly, we did finally make it to our destination - the beautiful sister island of Formentera. Certainly the highlight of the trip for me was the gorgeous outdoor restaurant tucked away off the beach, with flowing white curtains and mussels and shellfish to die for. Yum! This, my friends, is how to live.
Saturday we spent the day at Blue Marlin Beach Club and then made our way to the most well known club Pacha for another splendid dinner and dancing. Scantily clad performers kept the eyes entertained in this stunning club. What a great way to celebrate Angela's birthday! And, the magnum of French Rose on the beach will never be forgotten.
Sunday, was a repeat ... relaxing on a sun bed like the rich and famous at Ushuaia, then packing in around the giant outdoor stage and pool to sweat it out to Avicii. Definitely the best musical set for me ... this guy is only 23, coming from Sweden. If you haven't heard him before, here is one of his most popular, and perhaps a video more exemplary of how our trip really went!
Three years ago yesterday I boarded a plane with a one-way ticket to a land I had never been to, thousands of miles away. Three years ago today, I got off that plane with more excitement, fear, and anticipation than one heart should handle - eyes darting about as my black taxi (with the driver notably sitting on the wrong side) whisked me across London past one major site after another, dropping me off at my little corporate housing flat near Chancery Lane. As I envision that day, I do seem younger then.
Today I reflected on myself, who I am now, and questioned whether I was "changed" from this experience. Yes, I have grown immensely in my career and this global experience has sling shot me ahead in that arena. My travels are irreplaceable experiences that have shown me culture, diversity, history, decadence, and of course culinary delights ... but has that changed ... me ... ?
First weekend in London, July 2010
I'm not so sure ... I still prefer solitude, control of a situation, avoid conflict, and voice my honest, direct feedback. I find peace in simple pleasures each day, such as blooming flowers and setting suns. I get so jazzed up by a gourmet food store and find few greater pastimes than browsing an outdoor market. I am neurotic and love puzzles, knitting, counting my footsteps as I run 5K. The sun on my skin and sea near my toes is where I long to be ... same as in 2010 before I made this journey.
As opposed to changing me, I think this experience so far has enhanced me ... made me more aware and is helping me to truly see those things in myself that make me who I am and bring me the greatest joy ... those situations that no matter my location and experience where I am happiest ... speaking of which, time to pop off to the pub around the corner to catch up on the local neighbourhood gossip over a glass of wine and a delicious meal (indeed, some things never change).
This weekend I had an impromptu invite for a road trip to Pamplona, Spain to run with the bulls. Running with the infamous bulls was certainly a fantasy I had imagined, like many, many others, but I hadn't thought I would actually be there one day. Humbly, it was such a kind, unconditional offer ... sooo, yes! I accept!
The festival of San Fermin as it is known, is a social celebration marking the old transition of passing the bulls from the farm to the arena for slaughter and respecting the "Saint" Fermin. To me the gesture carries a sense of romance. It is the largest, most known Spanish festival in the world.
A 4+ hour road trip from Barcelona - first through the green foot hills of Cataluna into the dry white hot desert and then back into the land of flowers - Navarro. Every quiet moment was worth more than face-value - the scenery was cornflower blue skies and yellow-gold grain dotted with fields of olive and fruit trees.
We rented a flat from airbnb - which for me was a first, but in this situation it just fit. Our new mates were a joy - bringing us red scarves and delighting us with their little kitty (whom had her own little attitude and scarf for the day). Couldn't have been more kind.
Day one at San Fermin starts at12 Noon with rockets and ringing bells signifying the beginning of the nine day festival. You are not allowed to wear your scarf before this time, so all raise their red scarves in the air and promptly at 12N tie them around their necks. (Mind you, gallons of cheap sangria and watered down red wine is being chucked into the air at the same time, resulting in quite the scene and those pink shirts you see everywhere).
Anyway, after that massive experience the like-dressed people flood the narrow streets of the historic town, popping into the bars / dancing / eating sandwiches of jamon y queso / peeing / tossing wine / passing out in the parks ... makes very interesting people watching. And the fact that everyone is in the same outfit does provide for a peaceful, unifying experience. I had a wonderful time ... and I learned that in some parts of the world Coca Cola mixed with red wine is the #1 drink I want to order. Don't knock it 'til 'ya try it.
Though a lot of this trip was about fun and adventure, I should mention the bull fight itself, which we made a good decision to attend Friday night. I am a carnivorous snout-to-tail person, but it is still quite unnerving to witness the torture and death caused in the ring. {Frankly I had naively questioned whether bullfighting was still legal - yes, it is in Spain apparently}.
From my point of view I can still see a glimmer of the past. Back in the day the men of the farms did need to lure the bulls close enough so they could be slaughtered by the sword - but in modern times this is a gruesome sport where old women and children alike scream for the matador to cut off the giant fuzzy ear of the bull he just stabbed in the brain. Gross. And I suppose I personally identify with the bull, not the matador, so this feels like adding insult to injury.
Back to the fiesta ... Saturday after delightful naps in the park, wondering delis to buy local cheese and wine, doing wine squirt contests from our hip "bota" to our own mouths and those of passers-by, we found a local spot to have a sit down meal and a wonder back to the bus pass the popping fireworks overhead the singing masses stained in pink.
Although we did wake up at 6AM that morning to get to the race (which starts at 8AM each morning of the fiesta) we did not actually run with the bulls ... I know, disappointing, but I am telling you, that is not a tourist activity. Bulls run very fast, they are humongous, the streets are narrow with tight turns and those horns are reeeeally pointy - not to mention, many have stayed up the entire 20+ hours from the 12 Noon kickoff and don't exactly have their wits about them. Of all the 1,000s of people I saw run into the stadium, I only saw two girls.
Though I really would have loved to have been straddling the fence as the adrenaline of bulls and young men raced by, my San Fermin experience was a perfect seat right up close in the Plaza de Toros where the bulls and crowd race to the finish. Exhilarating! And after the wide-eyed runners get into the stadium there is quite a bit of comedy as they actually release some smaller, less risky bulls back into the stadium. Oh how the people run! Ha ha ha.
Anyway, I am glad I had the opportunity to travel across Eastern Spain to breath the air in that round stadium and be one of those that runs with bulls (well, close enough).
Each day I am in London I work from my kitchen table, which has a beautiful view into my back garden area. Not only does it have the perfect little round tree and dozens of pots of herbs and flowers, it is also a constant streaming video of residential National Geographic.
Varietals of song birds are the backdrop to my day; playful squirrels dig up last season's buried nuts, the neighbour's cats do their lazy yoga poses, and our local pack of foxes patrol back and forth along the back stretch.
The past few weeks there has been a new series ... a Mama blackbird built her nest in the giant Hydrangea bush and her young-ins are now looking fluffy and strong. She has whizzed my head all too close a few times to let me know this space was clearly not mine for the time being.
Today I spied some fluffy movement in the Geranium plant, and lo and behold one of the little guys had made his first flight attempt. He has been bouncing around the stone pavement, pecking at bits, a little disorientated and possibly a bit regretful. Mama has been diligent however, bringing him snacks.
As I watched the little guy I was proud of him for being the strong one of the group ... leaping bravely into the unknown, driven only by nature's forces. I thought about how in any pack there is the headstrong, the leader, the bull ... and then ... I thought about the foxes. Gulp.
This dumbass is going to be lunch (and I get to witness the swift snapping up, feathers flying while on my 3P conference call). It makes you ponder ... is it really the strong and brave that make the first leap, or are they the pre-designed sacrificial lambs for the rest of the herd to be taught the valuable lesson first hand of careful consideration / the cruel world / look before you leap?
We as a society tend to envy the adventurous, high risk takers. Personally, I think I will take this little lesson as a sign that being cautious and observant, witnessing and learning from others is the best approach to not ending up as someone else's lunch.
After living in London for some time now, social behaviours that at first seemed quite strange have become my daily norm (I myself and the proud owner of 5 pairs of skinny pants). So much so, that on visits back to the US some of my observations suggest I may be undergoing some social conditioning in London. When this happens I think "whoa", pause to take notice, and reflect on the intricacies of what is the "social Norm". Let's call this reverse culture shock. Here are some examples I kept track of on this most recent trip to Chicago (all of which, when considering their opposite point out some of the initial shocks undergone when I moved to the UK)
• People drive - I literally stopped in the street after jumping the El and lugging my bag 6 blocks to remember what that was like, and everyone I knew had a car. • The accent - oh yeah, they're American here. • Belligerently standing on the left side of the escalator - a stunt known to result in homicidal thoughts to most Brits, and interestingly ex-pats as well after some time. • The size of the robins - holy cow they are huge! • Hispanics ... Awww yeah ... Salsa music howling from open car windows • On a related note ... Guys check you out ... and talk to you ... and honk ... and whistle ... • No skinny pants - I was looking. • Tube tops - searches in London were fruitless. Must have been 20 kinds in the PayHalf on Milwaukee. Yessss. • Hipsters. The real ones. Everywhere, and invented in Logan Square. • Bottomless coffee. Bot-Tom-Less. Now if we could only get England to adopt the bottomless Monmouth Latte. • What do you call that place where you go to the bathroom? It's not the loo, as I have called it twice much to the confusion of others • Pretty people. Not quite as easy to find in England. • Hearing this: "I'm sorry ma'am, the kitchen closes at 9". Huh? I've been ridiculed for setting bookings earlier than that.
Social studies have always been a keen interest of mine, and this life experience not only has provided me with a window to observe many European cultures, but also a valuable chance to reflect back on where I come from and the things we do that make us unique as well. Fun!
The title - a play on words meaning "Why not?". Precisely my attitude as I booked this trip to Lake Como in Northern Italy. If I have to be in Milan every few weeks, why not take advantage of it and stay the weekend for a train trip out of the city? Stunning Lake Como is just an hour ride, but feels as if you were transported to another planet.
This was a solo trip ... envisioned as a weekend alone with fresh, cool mountain air, wondering, relaxing, wining and dining. Mental leg kick! It was all that ... I returned refreshed, with my lethargic winter heaviness shed.
Truth be told, it rained the entire weekend. Non-stop. It was dry enough for me to walk from the train station to the hotel, but the instant I arrived a strong thunderstorm passed over the lake. It was awesome. Really. London gets persistent rain, but no thunder and lightening and I miss those strong storms that blow through the Midwest, especially as an unseasonally warm day is pushed out by a cold front.
Nonetheless, my adventure was not derailed. After the worst of it passed, I grabbed the brelly to stroll into the evening along the coastal path into the old town of Varenna - a sleepy old fishing village with just a few {closed} store fronts on the water and about half a dozen alley ways of infinite staircases leading up the mountain to the square of town. There wasn't a soul to be found on the streets ... later I learned from a local the storm was quite bad, causing a landslide outside of town that closed off the main road.
The wind proved too strong, so I found refuge in a little restaurant with a view for a glass of wine and a starter of what only can be described as chic fish spread ... of course, while being on the lake my goal was to taste as many of the its culinary treats. I was joined by the cuddly house Kitty, as I sat and read my book before braving the elements to shift camp to another restaurant of choice for a proper lake fish ravioli dinner and glass of local red wine. Annnddddd good night!
Up bright and early to assure I didn't miss anything in Varenna the night before (I didn't) and catch the ferry across the lake to the town of Bellagio. This is the belle of the lake, a darling small Italian town known for attracting an affluent crowd to enjoy a day of manoeuvring the slim stairways lined with shops (the best silk in the world is said to come from Como) and ending with a glass of wine in the enoteca before and after a delicious local meal. And so I did!
Sunday morning, again I was early to rise to tackle a three hour hike through the "suburbs of Bellagio". Ha ha ... suburb. Still raining, but having adopted the attitude that it is easier to get wet and get the full view then struggle with the brelly, I wondered the roads, through grasslands of former mansions, past groves of olive trees, witnessed locals pushing a historic fishing boat to the waters ... I was so in awe of the power and beauty of the clouded mountains I took dozens of pictures ... often of the exact same scene in attempt to bring it all back with me. Breathtaking (and not just from the stairs).
After an invigorating boat trip back to Varenna staring into the snow-capped mountain peaks and a lunch of warm bean and pasta soup, it was time to jump back on the train to hustle and bustle of Milan and onward to London (just as the blue sky started to peak through the clouds). Fortunately, the Spring weather in London welcomed me back to continue the momentum and I am good as new!
I tend to not speak much about my gang here on the blog, as I typically "respect other people's right to not be written about on the internet", but this past weekend was a major event in the Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha-Alpha (you get the picture) sorority and is worth note in this journal of goings-on in my life.
I am so, so, so fortunate to have found myself surrounded by a collection of brilliant, beautiful, funny, smart, brave, honest, susceptible, humble, up-for-anything, loving ladies. Friends with diverse backgrounds, interests, characteristics ... and all bring unique value and growth to my life.
We've come about as friends of friends or co-workers and I'm just so dang lucky we did! This weekend seven of us decided on a road trip to commemorate the escape of one of the Alphs. One of our ladies has fallen in love with a Scandalous Scandinavian and is off to move to Oslo in just two weeks now!
Ponte Vecchio
And celebrate we did ... three days in Florence, Italy - the home of food, Chianti, love, and from my experience tons of naked people cast in stone. We took an hour train from Pisa, stayed in a couple amazing apartments on the river overlooking the "Ponte Vecchio" and spent our time between shopping, resting, wining and dining.
Tuscany ... in my American-movie fed dreams, this is the land of promised green rolling hills, olive oil, and love affairs with some sort of bicycle / teacher / dark hair intertwined (perhaps I need to return some day). We remained in the city of Florence, perusing the markets for leather goods, stopping for frequent gelato breaks, staring up at the unexpected giantness of what is "David", and eating meals that included every last bit of an anti, primi, and a secondi ... woot!
As I wrote the second paragraph above and used the word "susceptible" I paused to Google it. It is one of those words that in some sense connotates weakness and I wanted to assure I wasn't describing the girls with a word that may be mis-construed in a negative way (let's be real, I tend to throw a solid jab here and there, so wanted to check myself!).
But as I ponder its definition { Adjective: 1) Likely or liable to be influenced or harmed by a particular thing. 2) (of a person) Easily influenced by feelings or emotions; sensitive. } I truly think there is no more fitting term as I reflect on this weekend, its significance, and the attendees. As often as we ladies have to put on our head-strong, lead-the-world, take-no-prisoners hats, it is nice to see a lovely woman throw it all to the wind, strip down and say there is nothing I would rather do than be with this person, the man I love, trust, want to have babies with ... so much so that I will stay for months in frigid hours of darkness, learn a new language that sounds no more understandable than tak-a-tak-tak-a-tak, meet strangers and call them family, smoke salmon and reindeer meat at home, and endlessly "train" for cross-country skiing events.
Best of luck to you sweetheart ... though scary, at a minimum you have inspired me and made me proud. I'm sure the other Alphs would agree. Hugs.
I've noticed my inner feminist is starting to stir. Amongst certain company that suggestion will provoke negative connotations and definitely raise an eyebrow or two regarding the fact that I am 37 and still a single lady (?!!??!!??), but I am not talking about being a man-hater, I am talking about being a female-promoter. Since moving to Europe certain situations have caught my attention, causing me to be aware of my womanhood ... instances where the fact that I was a woman was brought to the forward of my consciousness (and I'm not talking about those welcomed encounters).
For example, while boarding an airplane at London's City Airport for Milan, the jet bridge is jammed with men in their 30-50s, wearing sharp black suits, fashionable ties, poking away at their smartphones. Aside from a fashionista or two, it seemed as if I was the only woman flying to Milan to conduct business (at least one senior enough to justify the expense of the city airport). Needless to say, I was the only woman sitting at the table of that Board meeting. Hm.
Or, while walking through the Mobile World Congress in Barcelona last week, the crowd was at least 4:1 male, and much to my disgust the majority of females at the show were scantly clad, their only purpose being to tout the latest shiny device to previously mentioned male-dominated crowd. My skin crawled.
I've also felt the same in the UK, where Board rooms are majority male and it is quite acceptable to tell a woman leader she "sounds like a naggy wife" when she raises concerns about business decisions. Stories from friends revealing male leaders in their offices touching and embarrassing young ladies enrage me.
I just don't recall many situations like this in the US. Upon reflecting my own personal history, I never really considered the fact that I was a female when it came to my own education and career path. Perhaps the U.S. is more progressive than Europe in this sense (go us!), but I also realize now that I am fortunate to have role models in my life that helped me navigate around the oppression many women face along the way.
For starters, I remember quite vividly watching my Mom get ready to go to work when I was young. I would lay in her bed, and she would put on her power suit, pumps, and jewellery to go hit the streets to tackle business in her sporty little car. I always thought how smart, fearless, and beautiful she was, and I know this subtle ritual was very impressionable on me. I wanted to be just like her.
She taught me to get good grades, have expectations for myself and others, and beyond all, to be self-reliant with a good job. If I did those things, everything else would work out. I never remember, ever, a conversation about how I was a girl and expected to do less, or that boys could do some things and girls should do others. Bull-mallarky. If anything, I was shown that as a girl you should simply work harder.
And I have to give credit to the company I work for. From the very first position I held, I was encouraged to grow, learn and take on more. My first boss was a woman, our CEO at the time was a woman, my second boss was a woman, I was hired by a woman to move to Europe, my mentors are mostly women, and as I look at the executive leadership team today easily half are women, if not more. Never has sexuality been a topic at work, aside from the encouragement to continue to be present and to celebrate our diversity. Today, our company issued a series of twenty short videos of our leadership around the world expressing their support of International Woman's Day. I am quite proud to be part of this.
So, on this International Woman's Day, I hope everyone takes the time to acknowledge that our private bits are not an acceptable source of discrimination, to call out those cases in which you see that discrimination taking place, to encourage young woman in your lives that anything is possible, and to thank those who've encouraged you along the way. You should never feel uncomfortable or less than anyone else because you are female and societies that do not encourage their women are not realizing their full potential. And, I have to say, I'm quite looking forward to getting a copy of Cheryl Sandburg's book Lean In, coming out Monday (Facebook's COO and female activist).
Thanks Mom, and to all of you strong ladies in my life, "You've come a long way baby"!
I just downloaded 355 pictures from my trip to Barcelona - a tell tale sign that there was a LOT of eye candy in that city! Last week there was a global convention for those that supply the mobile industry (think phones, tablets, wireless technology, app venders ... eight football arena sized halls of it), and I got to attend on behalf of Nielsen (we're trying to measure what you do on your device!).
Being that I had yet to visit this favourite city of many, I made a long weekend of it to see what the city had to offer. Work has been quite busy, so I did not have much time to do the research I typically do before visiting a new place in order to assure nothing is missed. Fortunately I made do.
I did get in a quick Google search of "food markets Barcelona" and found the grand-mack-daddy of them all. And, I did scan TripAdvisor for the best tapas restaurants. Armed with that knowledge, I made my way Friday evening to "Bar Celta". A quick and easy fried tapas kind of joint near the sea that is also a pulperia (or restaurant that specializes in octopus). Gross to some, a special delight to others ... I ate an entire plateful sprinkled with parprika, along with large plate of pimentos de padron (flash-fried, loads of salt). And, they put a bottle of chilled, local white wine in front of you and you just pay for how much you drink out of it. Bliss.
Saturday was designed to wander the Bari Gotic and Las Ramblas - the old heart of the city and main drag which runs down the middle. The hotel was a metro ride form the centre, so I am now an expert on one more city's public transport system. The Bari is exactly what you want to find when you travel to a European city ... little winding alley ways, lined with shuttered balconies holding laundry, ferns, and local flags. Main stream shops are interspersed with local speciality shops, and fortunately many old businesses are still in tact.
By mid-day we made our way to the Mercat Lo Boqueria, aka Heaven on Earth. This foodie haven provides a solid challenge to my beloved Borough market in London for best in the world. It seems every kind of anything edible the great Earth provides is under this roof - every possible type of fruit, veg, spice, cheese, fish, and meat ... ohhh, the jamon! Catalunya is the home to Iberica ham ... its not cheap, but oh is it delicious. Jamon in a cone! After strolling each and every lane, eating along the way, we stopped to take a load off at a little tapas bar in the market. I had some delicious anchovies with the local Estrella beer. The only reason I could walk out of there was because I knew I would be back before the end of the trip.
From there we continued on our wondering way, seeing the Arc di Triomf (its not only Paris that has one!) with a flock of parrots feeding in front, a darling little shoe shop with every colour imaginable, antique shops with old food tins, and a stop off for a devilish hot chocolate (which was more akin to molten chocolate sauce you'd pour on a sundae, eaten with a little spoon).
For dinner we went to La Paradeta on a recommendation from a friend. This counter-service restaurant sure was popular, indicated by the line of locals winding down the street waiting to get in. It works like this ... counter is overflowing with ice and the freshest of seafood. You get to the counter and order (in Catalan) which items you want, the number of grams, and either grilled or fried. You grab a number and when you hear it called out (also in Catalan) you go to the window and pick it up. No fluff, just grilled squid, tuna, prawns, and I did have to try the razor clams (first time, and they are good). After a stop off for an after dinner glass of local red, and perhaps a couple tapas it was off to bed.
Sunday was planned to be the more cultural day focused on seeing Gaudi's architectual masterpieces sprinkled throughout Barcelona. First, to Sagrada Familia, which left me with one headline - this guy is certifiable. Nuts. Pure genius. The mathematical design concepts he had to discover to build a structure like this, combined with his awesome abiilty to integrate design from nature and inability to say "when" made for some simply unbelievable results. I do have to say, I loved the primary coloured stained glass windows, but the church itself is simply just too "Gaudi".
On our way over to some of his houses, we passed by a xurreria, or as it should be known, the place that makes best dang churro anywhere, ever. Thick, hot, filled with nutella, served in a paper cone from a guy whose been in business for more than 60 years ... fried dough will never go out of style.
Hmmm ... what else was notable ... lunch! Another highly recommended tapas spot Cerveceria Catalana, which served endless varieties of montaditos, or little slices of bread with a topper, usually tomatoes, fish, cheese, and also two key plates - a mountain of french-fried potatoes topped with tomato sauce and a fried egg (everyone was getting it, so of course we had to try it!) and also a plate of grilled green onions. Now, these onions, known as calcots, are not your every day onion (at least that is what this article says). We had to watch others around us to figure out how to eat them ... which is to peel off the outer grilled skins and dredge the soft gooey center into tomato sauce. Combined with a pitcher of sweet sangria, this was classic Catalonia lunch. After a stroll along the coast and through the little Barceloneta neighborhood, it was back to the hotel to just take it easy ... no need to eat dinner that night!
After spending two days and nights at the conference, I had some time on the final day before heading off to the airport to knock out a few more places. As if the weekend weren't enough, I was astounded to find many more foodie delights. First stop was Casa Gispert. This little dried food shop was been roasting nuts since the mid-19th century. They had the old roaster in back going when I was there ... the lighting from the flames, the aroma of almonds, and the historic shelves lined with dreamy delights was surreal. This is where I picked up my paella rice.
Making my way to another food market, Mercat Santa Catarina, I came across an old pastry shop with these crunchy, chocolate and peanut covered thingies (and its making me crazy because I didn't get the name of them) and of course had to stop for a couple since they were so unique. This market was quite nice as well, with meat/cheese stalls dreams are made of. I wandered a bit and found a little shop selling paella pans, so that souvenier was a reality.
Winding my way across town, stopping at La Boqueria market for one last mental hug and a toast with a glass of local Cava (I learned that Cava, Spain's answer to France's Champagne and Italy's Proseco, is from quite close to Barcelona), I made it over to the Parallel area of town for the grand finale meal at Quimet i Quimet. As chance would have it in a town like Barcelona, I walked past this amazing old bakery, serving bunyols, small little donut-hole like creations served in Barcelona only during the season of lent. Picked up a few of those babies and tucked them into my bag for a snack on the plane.
Anyway, in a less touristy part of town, this small little tapas counter (no seats) was epic. I did read about it online, and after seeing it in a gastronomy book I bought while in town, I had to make it there. Not much bigger than my kitchen, every bit of wall space from floor to ceiling is covered with wine and food products. They had some wicked montaditos, like salmon with truffled honey, shrimp dotted with caviar and creme freche, and the closer ... foie gras speckled with black volcanic salt. Ta dah!!!
I have been on a veg and fruit diet for three days now! Barcelona ... one of the few cities I would make a repeat visit to. Next time, in the warm weather ... throw in visits to the beach and I may never leave!
Brazil has its tanned, feathered samba dancers. Venice its masked Carnival and New Orleans its debaucherous Mardi Gras. In England ... it is Pancake Day.
The day before the start of the Lenten period in Catholic cultures has evolved into a massive party of sorts to celebrate all that is decadent in life in preparation for the forty days of deprivation to follow. Those cultures that are less Catholic generally do not celebrate this date, or have modified their approach ... thus England and its "Shrove Tuesday".
Pancakes are associated with the day preceding Lent because they were a way to use up rich foods such as eggs, milk, and sugar before the fasting season. So, all across the nation this past Tuesday night bands of people came together carrying ingredients of their liking (Nutella, sugar and butter, ham and cheese) to partake in the custom.
My dear friends Amy and Cheryl hosted quite the event, making dozens and dozens of crepe-like pancakes (not those fluffly ones us Bisquick-raised Americans envision) to please the masses, first taking in a few "savoury" and closing up with a couple "sweet".
Though not quite as provocative as some other culture's celebrations, this quaint indulgence is the perfect exclamation point on all that is decadent in life. I do have to say though, judging on the stuffed restaurants on Valentine's Day Wednesday, there was no stoppage of the over-consumption!!
Hello! Its been some time since I've written a post, so I'm putting up a general update on the life of Sarah these days. Not much different from most the population, I have spent the first few weeks of January recuperating from the holidays, doing a general assessment on the status of life, being healthy, and bracing for the soon-to-be rapid onslaught of 2013.
The final months of 2012 were a rip-roarer, consisting of ping pong between work and personal travel, long heavy days of work focus speckled with my personal explorations and aggressive "foodie-ism". Thus, I was definitely ready to check out a bit ... let the frantic pace slow to a drool ... stop telling myself I needed to be doing something.
Health
Once I returned from the States from a lovely X-mas with family and friends (I mean, my little Ri is just the sweetest), I took to the stereotypical resolution planning. I am not one to get real particular about it, but the urge to cleanse is etheral for me. On the typical day I focus on the food I put in my mouth and the thickness of "cold protection" forming on my extremities, but I step it up in January to aid the "post cookie tin" recovery.
I am back in Bikram yoga twice a week, and running as well. Diet is veg, grain and legume heavy (I mean, I have never loved lentils so much!). Actually made it three days in a row without wine in week one. (ha, ha).
Work
I instituted the pay-it-forward philosophy. I knew that early in the new year organizational and strategic changes meant things were going to go bananas quite soon. So, as a result I had little guilt from taking it easy early in the month (which also helped me keep up the exercise program). Things hit hectic pace about mid-month, but I was rested and on-point to tackle the challenging times. I'm hitting a high at work right now ... it just feels right and its preparing me for the next phase. Drive ... determination ... vision. Look out.
Travel
Early in the month I didn't even want to ponder travel, as all I wanted to do was hang in lovely London, waking late and enjoying strolls in the afternoon. Though, soon enough life offered up the need to start booking, and inevitably this got me into personal travel planning. Since I moved to London I had a mental goal of one trip a month. So far, that goal has been fulfilled. I'm kind of an over-achiever, so this goal too must go on! Last week it began ... Milan (work), this week Paris (work) and onto Chicago/Florida (love/work), Hamburg, Germany (work), Barcelona (pleasure/work), and Florence, Italy (pleasurable girls' weekend). That gets me through March ... April has another US trip, Paris and Milan (hmmm Venice?) ... May to Mykonos, Greece for a girls trip. Definitely more travel blogs to come in 2013 ... and to think I have yet to plan Champagne, Burgundy, Portugal, and the Amalfi Coast.
Peace Beyond that, I have put the priority on simply finding peace ... I am a loner of a person and need to have the time in my life to do those things that are important to me ... alone. Browsing the Borough market squeezing the perfect tomato, taking the fishmonger's advice for dinner ... watching the foxes play in my back yard ... a Sunday afternoon stroll in the fresh snowfall ... hanging at the pub for conversations with my neighbours ... hand-crafting jewellery and knit goods ... spending time staring at the flora in my neighbourhood pondering survival in January ... chop, chop, chopping veg to the sounds of my "hot ladies pop" playlist on Spotify ... just laying in bed looking at the ceiling letting the natural thoughts and conclusions flow from one side to the other as the sun rises to remind me to actually get to work and start the action of 2013! Bring on February!
So, we packed our bags and jetted off to Trondheim, Norway, a little fishing village about half way up the country of Norway, for the ceremony. Not many people live there (or anywhere nearby), yet with 100K+ inhabitants it is the third largest city in Norway and the childhood home to the man of at least one girl's dreams. Glad we went when it was green, warm, and the sun never set, because I could envision the frozen tundra this land must be most of the year. Brrrr.
Could it be possible I forgot love like this exists? There wasn't a dry eye in the house as the father of the bride confessed to wishing he spent more time with his daughter and the darling groom fought back tears as he told his bride why he would love her forever and thanked his parents for supporting his decisions. As I witnessed the whole event, collectively, from the traditional wool dress of the women, the guitars they brought to play their handwritten music, their sensitivity to speaking English, the sheep grazing the peaceful hills outside, to the simple topics they expressed joy for (tractors, skiing, math) it all fell into place.
