Barcelona

I love Barcelona. Everyone told me I would, which made me slightly suspicious about the city; I mean, if everyone tells you that you will love eggplant and it actually tastes gross then you a) are disappointed, and b) annoyed that your friends led you astray. But I shouldn't have worried. Barcelona is the perfect combination of history and cutting edge, food and art, city and sea, and I was smitten from day 1.

I arrived on a Tuesday evening for the conference I was attending, and checked into my hotel around 10:30pm. Even though that is standard eating time in Spain, I was tired and needed to check in at work so I decided to just eat in my hotel's restaurant. That didn't stop me from having tomato bread and jamon, both of which made up the majority of my diet for the balance of the week. That and cortados.

The next morning consisted of work as well, and then I took myself on a lengthy stroll to the Musée Picasso where the conference registration and first sessions were taking place. I was staying near the Mercado Sant Antoni, and my stroll took me through the Ravel to the Boqueria for lunch.

Unfortunately the Mercat Sant Antoni was in the midst of refurbishment. There were some pretty cool temporary market buildings around the area, but I was still slightly disappointed I couldn't go in the actual market structure.

My route, which I used frequently throughout my stay, was the Carrer Hospital. It conveniently takes you straight to Las Ramblas right by the Boqueria.

 And the Boqueria is A-MAZING.

I ate lunch at the Bar Boqueria, squeezing myself onto a stool amongst a mix of locals and tourists. The menu was extensive (and slightly expensive) and initially I felt a bit lost – what should I eat? what is typical for lunch? how much should I order? But in the end I followed my gut (literally) and ordered my favorites.

Chichirones (fried baby octopus) and pimiento padrones (small hot green peppers cooked in oil with sea salt on top) and a beer to wash it down. I was in heaven.

After my lunch, I continued my stroll across Las Ramblas and through the Barri Gotic to the Barcelona 

Cathedral. The Barri Gotic is really lovely, a maze of old streets now sort of taken over by touristy shops but with some real gems of vintage and antiques shops and small boutiques.

 

Barri Gotic slowly turns into El Born, a really fashionable area between the Gothic heart of the city and the seafront. I found myself starting to windowshop in stylish boutiques and designer home stores and realized that this neighborhood was one to remember.

At that point I had to head into the Musée Picasso, where I stayed for the rest of the day meeting other conference attendees and taking part in the opening night panel discussion. It was a great way to end my first day in the city, and get excited for the following day of conference sessions.

Thursday the keynotes started at 10am, so after running through emails and work stuff, I headed to a cafe for a cortado and then over to the conference. The conference was held at MACBA and the CCCB which are two stunning building situated next to each other at the northern edge of the Ravel. My hotel was less than 10 minutes walk from the site, which was perfect, and I loved walking the old streets to "work" each morning. It reminded me of my summer abroad in Florence – in fact, much of Barcelona reminded me of Florence, that medieval urban plan of winding streets, impressive stone buildings, wrought iron furnishings, and curious alcoves – only with a distinctly Iberian flavor.

 

I spent Thursday and Friday in various sessions at the conference, and when it closed Friday evening I was completely inspired and overwhelmed. I was glad I had the rest of the weekend in Barcelona to decompress and sort out my thoughts in a leisurely manner.

The Irishman had arrived Thursday night to join me in Barcelona, and we started our weekend Friday night by eating at Cal Pep. As foodies, we were massively annoyed at ourselves that we missed out on getting reservations to Tickets, Ferian Adria's new tapas bar, but heard that even better, and more authentic, is this gem of a tapas bar in El Born. Apparently Thomas Keller says it was the best meal he's ever eaten in Europe, and several friends independently recommended it to me. So once my conference had closed Friday night, The Irishman and I dashed off to the restaurant so we could be there as it opened. 

 

What can I say? It was one of the best meals of my life. You sit down at the bar and they ask you what you will and won't eat, and what you want to drink, and voila! Six courses of the best fish I've ever tasted, one of the most lovely white wines I've ever drunk, a fabulously multilingual waiter who assured us we would love what we were served (and didn't grumble when I asked him to add in an order of pimiento padrons), and the most amazing dessert of flavored whipped creams. Amazing. We were lucky too – a mere 10 minutes after we sat down, a line had formed along the back wall of the restaurant and was out the door. Because of that we were rushed, but it all felt like part of the old school Spanish tapas experience.

Saturday was devoted to checking out all of Gaudi's greatest hits, including touring the interior of La Sagrada Familia, his unfinished cathedral. I must admit I didn't really know anything about it besides how it was unfinished and will continue to be constructed for the next 50+ years, so when we entered the interior I was astounded. I literally was blown away by how imaginative and otherworldly it looks, like nothing I've ever seen before. Because I was taken so off guard and thrilled by the surprise, I'm not going to post any images of the interior; I want those of you who might go to be equally as impressed.

We also saw the apartment building and a few homes he designed, as well as buildings "in the style of". 

Sunday was devoted to walking along Las Ramblas to Barceloneta and the seafront. We discovered a whole new part of the city that was emerging from years of decay and becoming a vibrant, regenerated community. When I return to Barcelona, I would seriously consider staying down there.

 

 

 

We rounded off our day with a lovely final tapas meal and sitting on the beach for a few hours before having to go pick up our luggage and head to the airport. On our way home, I thought to myself that I didn't really get to see all of the "highlights" in Barcelona, and felt slightly guilty that I didn't see any of the museums despite having attended a museum conference. But I'm okay with that because it gives me so many reasons to go back to Barcelona again and again. I loved the spirit and attitude of the city, and am already thinking of when would be best to go back. I hope that every single one of you get to go there soon, if you haven't already been.

If you go:

All major airlines and discount carriers fly from London to Barcelona El Prat (the main airport in Barcelona). We flew Ryanair from Stansted for £60 return, no checked baggage, including fees. There are literally hundreds of hotels in Barcelona; we stayed at Hotel Market near Mercat Sant Antoni for the majority of our stay, and then moved to Room Mate Emma for the last night. Hotel Market was lovely, fantastic location, and bargain priced, but the walls were extremely thin. Room Mate Emma was in near Passeig de Gracia and in a more suburban part of the city but clean, tidy, and good value. Metro is safe and easy to use for €2 per trip. Taxis are relatively inexpensive but drivers can take advantage of tourists. Taxi from the airport to city center is roughly €25 each way and there are also busses and trains that go direct to the airport.

My first festival: Field Day

Saturday I spent the entire day in Victoria Park at my first festival, Field Day. For those of you who aren't aware, music festivals are part of the social fabric of Britain. Everyone goes to them, young and old, hipsters and fuddy-duddies, as there is a festival for every interest and subculture: rave, electropop, hip-hop, pop, indie, folk, dubstep – you name it, you can find a festival catering to it. If you can't make it to one, the biggies like Glastonbury and Reading are televised on the BBC. I've always wanted to go to a festival, but the requisite camping in certain-to-be-bad weather always put me off. The Irishman is a big fan of festivals, but at his age most of his mates are having babies and diaper changes aren't exactly suited to muddy fields and drunken revelers, so our festival-ready friends are sort of out of commission. Last year we contemplated going to Latitude, which I've heard is brilliant, but I didn't have that many days of holiday so we gave it a miss.

So when some of The Irishman's friends announced that they wanted to come up to London for Field Day, we decided to join in on the fun. Usually Field Day is 2 days, no camping but you can buy a ticket for either day or both, but with the Jubilee it was only the Saturday. A colleague of mine who was also attending gave me the official Field Day clashfinder so we could plan our day, and who we wanted to see on what stages. Below are my legs and my clashfinder, with my picks.

It was a great line up, so there were some tough compromises, but in the end we had a schedule that looked like this:

Liars

Andrew Bird

Grimes

Sleigh Bells

Beirut

Mazzy Star / Franz Ferdinand*

With that plan in mind, we headed over to Victoria Park to join in the festivities.

What I didn't realize about the festival was the carnival atmosphere. There was a himalaya ride! and giant swings! My favorite, which I didn't get a photo of, was the WI (Women's Institute) table where they were doing Dalston dip-dye hair treatments for free. No, I did not get one.

There were tons of food stands throughout the park, and even a Pimms truck!

The general feel of the festival was like a big fair, with massive movements of people between tents as sets finished and others started. There was even impressive festival fashion, like these guys:

The best acts were in the smaller tents, which actually felt like concerts and the crowds - though jampacked - were really into the music. Unfortunately, the main stage performances felt really far away and distant. Most people were talking through the music and not really engaging with the musicians. I think I enjoyed the main stage best during the afternoon when it was sunny and bright and you could lounge in the grass and soak up the atmosphere and music in a relaxed way.

At the end of the day, in true festival tradition, it started to rain. At first it was sprinkly and bearable, but towards the end of Beirut we were getting soaked and I was freezing. So we had to go and miss the final acts.

Overall, though, the day was really fun. I would definitely go back as for £50 we got to see a ton of great bands and discover some new ones too. Obviously there were queues for some subpar porta-potties, and overpriced beers, but the big flipside of Field Day is that you get to rock out all day and then go home and sleep in your own bed. Priceless.

*The Irishman and I were torn over which headliner to see: I wanted to relive the grrl power 90s and see Mazzy Star and he wanted to bounce around to Franz Ferdinand. We had agreed to decide in the moment but in the end we left so it was a draw.

The Diamond Jubilee weekend

 

I'm sitting on the sofa watching the Queen's Jubilee Concert, arguing with The Irishman over whether The Beatles originally sang Live and Let Die (I was sort of right, it was Wings) and thought it was the right time to update you all on the Diamond Jubilee festivities thus far. That's me above, with my face through a placard in Victoria Station and it pretty much sums up the weekend: flags, buntings, and Corgis galore.

It started Friday on my walk to work. The pub above is my local, where I had my 30th birthday party, getting ready for the onslaught of the coming festivities. It cheered me up and set the stage for the rest of the holiday weekend.

When I got to work, bunting and chalk drawings greeted me. Can you see the theme yet?

We spent Saturday out in East London at a music festival (a post about that later), but Sunday was devoted to the Jubilee flotilla. We decided to go down to the riverside near Tate Britain, and try to find a spot near a large screen. This is what we saw when we met up with friends at a pub near the Pimlico tube station.

And here is what we saw on our way to finding a viewing spot:

The screens were great, as you got to see all of the goings-on down river in Chelsea Harbour where the royal party was boarding their respective watercraft. When the Duchess of Cambridge came on screen for the first time, a massive cheer went up and the flags went wild. All around me I heard "She's gooooorgeous!" A lesser cheer went up for Charles and Camilla. But of course, the biggest cheer of all went up for the Queen.

And then the flotilla procession began. I had to stand on tip toes, but when I did I could glimpse Kate in her bright red dress and get a good view of the royal barge. It was pretty special. 

The rain started not long after the Queen sailed past, so we decamped to a pub near Victoria Station. This is Elizabeth Street.

We sat outside a street party table, with lovely flower arrangements that reflected the flowers of the British nations.

And some unfortunate spelling on lovely decorative bread. 

In Victoria Station, this cheeky sign was a brilliant symbol of the mood of everyone in the city - despite the weather.

Today we went to Oxford Street, and Regent Street was decked out with bunting and flags.

Carnaby Street of course had a more eccentric take on the Union Jack.

And then we had lunch in Chinatown, where the Union Jack hung next to the Chinese flag across the neighborhood.

Even the drag queens were celebrating, with confetti and balloons during an outdoor concert.

And of course, there was the Jubilee concert this evening in front of Buckingham Palace. It was surprisingly emotional, with Prince Charles calling the Queen "Mummy" and the Queen breaking into a smile as her subjects cheered and clapped for her. But the festivities aren't over; tomorrow there is a service at St Paul's Cathedral and procession down The Mall. I don't think we'll try to attend any of those celebrations as the weather will be crap again, and I want to take advantage of some of the Jubilee sales that are flooding the high streets.

I remarked to The Irishman that I felt sort of weird after yesterday, standing for hours in the rain to crane my neck for a glimpse of a monarch that technically isn't mine. I mean, I'm a native of a country that defined itself by rejecting the British royal family and rule; The Irishman's people were persecuted for centuries and tried to kill the Queen. Yet we both found the Jubilee celebrations to be wonderfully moving displays that we were more than happy to join. The Irishman thought that it was a testament to the Queen's ability to bring people together and lead in such a way that helped mend differences. I think that the Queen is a lovely grandmother sort who has mellowed so much since I moved to the UK. 

There was a lovely piece of footage during tonight's concert that summed up how I see the Queen: in it, she is examining soldiers standing to attention - including William. As she passes him, he cracks a smile and then straightens his face but not before she pauses a moment and smiles herself. That shared look of love through duty is what I've come to see of the Queen in my four years of living in the UK. A lot of articles have been written about the Queen over the last few weeks, many (if not most) of them positively praising her influence on the world and the UK, but I've found the personal portraits the most fascinating. Here is a woman who completely dedicated her life to duty to the Realm, and had to adapt to some of the most changing situations in history. Sometimes she changed too slowly, but at this point, 60 years in, she's found an equilibrium that most of us dream to possess. Whether she likes it or, not, Diana was good for her and the family and you can see her influence in how the Queen treats her grandsons and her subjects.

I'm glad I got to experience the Jubilee, and all of the pomp and circumstance, even if every time I hear God Save the Queen I think of My Country, 'Tis of Thee. It's a special time for a special woman, who sets an example that all politicians around the world should study and heed.

A glimpse of Doha

For those of you curious about Doha, what the city is like and what the Middle East is like at the beginning of the hot part of the year, here are a few pictures that help give you one side of the story...

Ola from Barcelona

Ola everyone from sunny, lovely Barcelona. I got here Tuesday night for three days at the MuseumNext conference, discussing museums and digital technology. The Irishman arrives this evening, and we'll stay the weekend exploring and eating all things Catalan.

Of course there will be a full-on report when I return, but you may have to wait a while as 12 hours after I return to the UK I have to get on a plane to Doha again. You may think this life is glamorous (I thought it would be) but actually it's just tiring and requires a lot of strategic laundering of clothes.

Anyways, I'm missing the best heatwave to hit the UK in months so I'm going to go enjoy the heat here while I can. Have lovely weekends everyone! x

Spotted: In case you forgot to pack your salad creme

Compromise

So I hinted on Twitter that there is house news coming soon... and I promise it is, and it will, but just not yet. If it were up to me, I'd have filled this blog with every single juicy, gut-wrenching, dramatic high and low of the house-buying process thus far. But it's not up to me; I'm doing this in partnership with The Irishman and that means we've had to meet in the middle about a lot of things – well, everything really. From location to size to space to bedrooms to garden to money to how much I disclose about our house search online to money to dealing with our parents to money, we've had to discuss and argue and find a way to agree on everything despite our seemingly extremely different points of view.

Where we've ended up is a place we both feel comfortable and positive and optimistic for the future, but the compromise isn't over. In fact, it's dawning on me that this is just the beginning. Even if we do get a house, by signing on the dotted line we are committing ourselves to 33 years – the length of a mortgage – of joint decisions, budgets, priorities. And that means that my world view is shifting, and none too subtly. Holidays I want to plan, sales that constantly tempt me, must-do restaurants and theatre, all of the things I previously would have done on a whim are now going to be things we plan and save for. The Irishman likes to reassure me that this is what everyone does, and that we've been privileged up to this point to be able to just jaunt off to Paris and worry about the credit card bill later; I recognize this truth and I do appreciate and value where I've – we've  – been able to get to in our lives to be able to have that freedom. But it is exactly that freedom that I'm now trading for the security of a home with The Irishman, and that is pretty scary. It's a bigger, more complex, more demanding commitment than the one I made when I moved in with him, one that is a lot harder to undo.

And of course, there is the big elephant in the room: marriage. In some ways, buying property together is more binding than a ceremony and party. The Irishman and I will have been together for four years in just over a month, and I sort of feel like the last 5 months of house-hunting has been our version of wedding planning hell. I've never really been a big bridezilla type, never wanted a big white wedding, and I also was pretty adamant that I didn't want to get married until I turned 30. But now that I'm here, buying a house with my man at 31, having attended more weddings than I care to recount, I am ready and want my own special day. We've talked about The Big M and there is a shared agreement that it's not an If but a When, but talking about the sheer sums of money we need for A House makes the cost of a wedding feel frivolous and unrealistic. When £2,500 can get you the kitchen of your dreams or the wedding dress of your dreams, it's hard to decide which is the more appropriate decision – compromise – to make. Yet, I'm sorry, my vanity is strong: I do NOT want to get married at 40, I don't want to walk down the aisle with wrinkles. There's no right answer to how to spend one's money, and I feel slightly trapped in that putting a downpayment on a house has already decided for me.

So I'm entering unchartered waters here, trying to juggle the best for us as a couple, hopefully as new homeowners, and what I want and wish for me, myself, a girl who has her own individual hopes and dreams. And I am starting to realize that actually this is just a magnification of the biggest struggle a person can have as part of couple: retaining her sense of self, stay whole, while creating and building another, bigger, hopefully better, whole. I guess this is just the maturing process, realizing who and what you are and want and balancing it with who and what your partner is and wants and what you are and want together. Every milestone we meet together brings this truth into sharper focus and brighter clarity, while also being difficult to understand and adjust, yet once we've passed it I feel stronger and more capable. I guess this house thing will be yet another of these trials and tests for us both.

A meaty weekened: Street Feast & MEATmarket

Somehow, without realizing it, The Irishman and I had a meaty, streetfood-themed weekend. We started Friday night, post drinks with my colleagues, at Street Feast off Brick Lane. Street Feast is a gathering of all the good and great food trucks that have been rumbling around London lately; we had attempted to go two weeks ago but The Irishman got the dates mixed up and it hadn't started yet. So b the time we got around to attempt 2 we were really up for checking it out. We started our evening with a light appetizer of ribs from The Rib Man with his Holy Fuck Hot Sauce, which made my lips burn for the rest of the evening.

Then we waited patiently for hot dogs from Big Apple Hot Dogs. They were good, red, and nothing like a New York urine dog. Delicious.

If you are organized enough, and taking a group of 6 or more to the Street Feast, you can reserve seating in the Car Wash Dining Room tent and wait staff will go GET YOU FOOD FROM THE STANDS FOR YOU. How indulgent!

One of the things that wasn't so indulgent about the whole set up was that there were absolutely NO trashcans to be found. A few stands had bags themselves but I heard one trader say that whatever trash was left they themselves were responsible for removing, which is a bit of a shame. However the organizers had set up portapotties – a nice, necessary touch.

We wrapped up our eating with margharita slices from Homeslice pizza. I was a bit annoyed because I wanted to try their bone marrow and spring onion pizza (!!!) but it was a 20 minute wait for the next pie to come out of the oven. I was impressed however that they had a portable pizza oven for their pizzas. So cool!

We left soon after the pizza as the queues for beer were unbelievable, and, while still peckish, the other remaining stands seemed to only be different types of burgers and some Asian starter-type dishes. We didn't want more burgers and didn't want to queue for satay sticks, so off we went. We'd definitely go back though which is a good thing as Street Feast takes place every Friday until 20 July.

We woke yesterday still hungry, somehow, and with a friend of The Irishman in tow we headed to Covent Garden to check out MEATmarket. From the chaps behind such deliciously BBQ'd favorites MEATwagon and MEATliquor, MEATmarket is in the Jubilee Market on the south end of Covent Garden. Upstairs, above the touristy tchotchkes, is a fastfood space serving burgers, hotdogs, cheesesteaks, and fries. It was greasy, delicious, more American style than any other burger/fastfood concept I've visited in London. I highly recommend it if you're craving some really great American comfort food. Be warned: limited seating and no booking so this is definitely an on-the-go drop-in spot.

Spotted: rings of fire

Carluccios

St Pancras International Station

May 11, 2012

4 years and counting

Today is no ordinary Thursday. Today is the fourth anniversary of my arrival in the UK.

It's very interesting timing for me. When I think back to landing at Heathrow with 3 suitcases and a bike, I never thought I'd be a) still here, b) in a long-term committed relationship, c) trying to buy a house four years on – and yet it all feels completely natural. I guess what I mean is that I never thought I'd have eased into such a comfortable routine for myself in London.

Moving abroad often carries with it the dreams of travel, new experiences, excitement around every turn, and while there is definitely an element of that spice, I've also found a myself embedded in a rather normal domesticity that includes weekly veg boxes, dry cleaning runs, loads of laundry, HBO TV serieses, and occasional meals out with couple-friends. In essence, my expat life looks surprisingly like the life I probably would have had back in the US – except that I have a postcode with letters in it rather than a zip code with numbers.

And yet I still don't feel fully settled here in London. My recent trip home to US was an eye-opener for me in terms of realizing how much I missed simple American pleasures like driving through the farmlands of New Jersey, sitting out on my parents back deck in the sun, calling my grandmother without dialling a complicated access code and doing math to figure out what time it is for her. I don't know that I would be living in the 'burbs if I were in the US right now, but I do know that I wish I could have better access to the rolling green hills and hayfields of my childhood than I do now.

Even harder was seeing my friends at the wedding in Florida. I haven't been able to give you all a full debrief of the week because it was a rather bittersweet reminder that our respective lives have been changing in parallel, sometimes too much for me to bear. I listened to them recount all of the lovely details of weddings, vacations, nights out, that I've missed over the last several years with an increasingly sinking heart, knowing that unless I move back I will continue to miss out on these simple joys. On the one hand it was wonderful to arrive in a place and greet them as if no time had passed, and I felt so honored and secure in knowing that our friendships are still strong despite time and difference, but on the other hand it was desperately hard to leave them, yet again, to leave the sun and sand and get on a transatlantic flight to a cold, rainy, seemlingly isolated life.

So I am trying, on this anniversary day, to think of all the good in my expat life, rather than what I left behind. I am looking forward to travel to Barcelona, Ireland, the Middle East, around England and maybe more this year. I am looking forward to plans with lots of UK-based friends this summer – new friends who maybe didn't know me when I danced on tables in bars in Syracuse, or who ran wild with me through the streets of New York, but people who recognize the person I am now and find me endearing despite my rather American earnestness and volume levels. I am looking forward to hopefully finalizing a house purchase (more on that soon for everyone's reading delight) and I am hoping the place we find is a home not just for The Irishman and me but also a place for me to welcome all of my friends from far and wide – a little oasis in this big city I now call home, where we can pick up the conversation wherever it was left off.

That is my resolution for year 5 in the UK. I think it's probably going to be a pretty good one.