Ah, Ceviche!

Another beautiful day in Panama!

Our first stop was Panama Viejo, who we wandered through ruins while learning about the history of Panama City.

The ruins of Panama Viejo

 

For scale 

From there we made a quick stop at the Mercado de Mariscos. We past small, wooden fishing boats bobbing like a brilliant mosaic on the waters behind the fish market.

Fish face

Fresh off the boats

It was here, amid the hubbub and odors of the fish market, that I had my favorite food in Panama so far, ceviche. It was so fresh, and so many choices! I couldn't decide on just one and ordered the combination. It was definitely a combination, sea bass, shrimp, octopus, squid and more with onions marinated in lime juice. The prices were so inexpensive. A cup of ceviche cost any where from two to three dollars.

Ceviche vendor at the entrance to the Mercado de Mariscos

We had lunch in a lovely little restaurant whose name I forgot to note. We had a meal of Panamanian food including lentil soup, sweet plantains, rice and beans and shredded beef called "ropa viejo" or "old clothes". The beef tasted awesome and had none of the qualities of old clothes except that it was shredded. Dessert was coconut flan.

We went on to the BioMuseo, the Museum of Biodiversity. This extraordinary museum celebrates the flora and fauna of the region in a building designed by none other than Frank Gehry. The displays were informative and entertaining. We were provided with audio tours.

Our final stop before we headed back to the hotel was the Smithsonian Tropical Research Center. My  favorite sighting here was a sleepy young sloth.

First Impressions of Panama!

The first thing I noticed were the contrasts between modernity and tradition, from the airport and the billboards advertising every new, high tech thing you could think of and then some to the views along the roadside.

On our drive from the airport, I caught glimpses, through fencing, signs and plant life, of faded, pastel, shacklike dwellings with corrogated tin roofs crowded together. The image was reminiscent of the housing I remember seeing near Old San Juan in Puerto Rico when I first visited my son in the aftermath of Hurricane Hugo. It brought on recollections of buildings that were indicative of poverty

At the highway overpasses, there were long lines of people waiting for buses painted with coats of brilliant colors. I wanted to get a good photo of one of these buses, but we passed them at a speed that didn't allow for the split second needed to focus my camera. Later I found the back panels of two of these buses being used as decoration in the restaurant of my hotel.

We passed a grass fire on the side of the road. We passed all the usual American imports, McDonald's, Subway, a Domino's Pizza delivery driver.

There was the extreme contrast between the new, ultra modern Panama and the other Panama. It could be seen in the contemporary architecture layered against the older buildings that looked like those I had seen in Mexico and Puerto Rico, but there was so much more.

Near our hotel we stopped at an intersection. A man selling avocados approached the window of the bus. He made eye contact, grabbed at his chest in a way that implied grabbing a breast, and then puckered his lips and made as though he was throwing kisses.

The streets in the area where we are staying felt very confining, claustrophobic and chaotic to me. My unfamiliarity with Panama City was likely to be a factor in this.

Once we made it to the hotel and were booked into our rooms I enjoyed the contemporary artwork near the elevators. I found myself thinking that something similar would make an incredible mural for the front of our high school building.

At the window in my room I watched several large birds (Could they be buzzards? If this was Texas that's all they could be, but I don't know about the birds here.) that soared and spiraled, riding the thermal up drafts over the cityscape across from my hotel. I tried, and failed, several times in my attempts to catch a still image of them. They appeared to be roosting on the buildings across the way.

From above I could see a patchwork of contrasts: modern, gleaming, glass architecture and older stucco buildings with wrought iron over the windows, high rise buildings almost concealing distant hills, congested traffic in narrow streets and small swatches of open space, pavement amid palm trees and lush plant life.

All in all, it made me very curious about the past, present and future of Panama. I found myself wanting to know more about the relationship of my homeland and this place.

I was left with the thought that all that is day-to-day and humdrum to me would appear far different to anyone experiencing it for the first time. It left me wanting to see my hometown through the eyes of a stranger. What would it look like to me?

It's time to wake up!

I feel like Rip van Winkle! OMG! The last time I posted on here was September 2014. A lot has happened since then.

It's travel time again, so it must be time to resuscitate this blog. Right now I'm preparing to accompany the juniors and seniors on a trip to Panama.

I've never been to Panama before. I'm looking forward to seeing the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific Ocean in one day. We'll be crossing the Continental Divide on the same day.

I'll let you know how it goes. For now I have a lot to do before we depart.

Until later!

Long time, no see!

Hey there!

I'm back!

Life is full of changes and mine has changed a great deal. In the past three months I've done some drastically different things.

I quit my teaching position that I've held for the past 16 years. I quit public education where I've worked for 22 years. I retired from the Teacher Retirement System of Texas, and, yes, I'm old enough to retire.

I've taken a job teaching art at a very small private school. I cut my commute from 20 miles round trip per day to a pleasant walk of less than a mile.

I've been reassessing my environment and loving it. The surrounding neighborhood has numerous stores of all kinds from grocery to specialty. There are two, not one, but two very complete art supply stores. There is a library nearby. I live within walking distance of two labyrinths and many museums. A new park was just added several blocks away. Of course, the weather in Houston doesn't make for easy walking in the summer, but autumn's on its way!

My studio is packed with supplies of all kinds, accumulated over 22 years of teaching and experimenting. I always thought I would have time to work, but it didn't seem to turn out that way. I'm sorting and culling. This new job may be just what I need to jog me into creating again!

Salvador Dalí makes sense, no, really!

To understand Dalí's work it is necessary to go to the source, and the source for Dalí is in one place, the Cap de Creus. Looking at the seascapes and landscapes in the paintings they appear to be flights of fancy, but they can be found in the area around Cadaqués and Port Lligat. There you can find the aridity, the stones, the light all around you. Little sailboats with cruciform masts float motionless with their reflections in the clear cool waters.

Walking the stony pathways that wind steeply up the almost vertical hills you can spot trails of ants going about the business of carrying away the crumbs of anything dropped. Listen closely or sit still for long enough and you will become better acquainted then you might like with the flies and mosquitos of the Costa Brava.

Sit in the startlingly brilliant Mediterranean sunlight and you may understand how Dalí's story of the melting watches being inspired by a melting piece of Camenbert cheese could actually be true.

After traveling through Dalíland I've come to see how the intensely personal work of Salvador Dalí is drawn not merely from his imagination, but from his environment.

A chance to reflect, Port Lligat

Two things happened in the last twenty -four hours.

The first was simply being in Port Lligat. The quiet, the stillness, took my breath away. I've been on the run, not just this summer, but for I don't know how long.
I live in the city where it's difficult at best to see stars. Sunrise is something that peeks past buildings, houses, and trees. Last night I watched the sky go through a gradation of pastel tints slowly shading into a blue that was almost black. My room here faces northeast. I bolted awake this morning to a dawn that lit up my room. I could almost swear that the sun made a noise as it came up over the horizon. The light was that intense.
I can forget about finding silence in the city. There is always something, freeway drone, sirens, the dump truck that picks up the neighboring wine bar and restaurant's mainly glass garbage by upending the dumpster at 4:00 AM. in my classroom it's the sound of voices, scrapping of chairs, bells, and morning announcements.
Last night I slept with the doors open onto my balcony listening to the sound of occasional gull cries somewhere around the point. I got up this morning and walked, listening to bird calls, dove, gull, sparrow. I passed a tree in blossom and paused to listen to the humming of bees, so loud it sounded as though the tree would take off.
It's been a long time since I took time to do something other than work. My life is controlled by bells and alarms, all things man made.

I said there were two things and I certainly didn't lie. The second was the exact opposite of the first. Last night, as I was sitting in the hotel lobby polishing off my previous post, I dropped the key to my room safe. Being the good little traveler that I am I had deposited my purse, all expensive electronic gear and chargers, my passport, money, tickets, etc. in the hotel safe. That's all well and good until I couldn't find the key. All my big city paranoia struck. In the Hotel Port Lligat when evening comes the owner and employees do what all sane people should. They lock up and go home. This means the lobby and the terrace, the only two places I had been, were locked up tight. I found myself having difficulty sleeping. I developed a seriously bad case of the what-if's. What if I hadn't dropped it? What if I dropped it somewhere else? What if I left it in the safe and someone crept across the balconies and took it? What if the safe was in fact already emptied and I didn't even know it. What if I got some sleep because there was nothing to do about it until morning?
I woke up early. No one else was up and about. I took my walk, marveling at a world that had nothing to do with euros and dollars, passports, credit cards or pricey electronic gizmos.
When I got back from my walk the lobby was open and, sure enough, there was my key, right where it fell out of my pocket onto the seat of the chair.

Lessons learned?
Take time to be in the real world.
Take time to get away from the rat race.
Be in the moment.
Be where I am when I'm there.
Oh yeah, and don't put the safe key loose in my pocket.

The ends of the earth and the beginnings of an adventure

Port Lligat

I'm sitting on the terrace of Hotel Lligat.. If I look to my right I see the roof of Salvador Dalí's house with its enigmatic tower pierced by pitchforks and topped with an egg.

It's quiet here. The boats are anchored for the night. I've noticed that people row out to their boats, so there is only a slight sound of oars slipping through the water.

Voices carry easily over the water. I think there must not be any such thing as a private conversation here.

I've spent the last hour or two sitting here enjoying a leisurely dinner, watching the sky and sea change colors with the coming night.

Gala may have been Dalí's muse, but she had some serious competition in Port Lligat. Looking across the harbor the islands that rise are familiar to anyone who has seen his paintings. The water in the harbor is still and reflects boats, sky, and the errant wader alike. Again I can't help but think of those paintings with their watery reflections.

I toured Dalí and Gala's house today. The sense of humor reflected in the belongings and the way they are displayed pleased me immensely.

Opening the door of the house a stuffed polar bear, a gift from Edward James, greets the visitor, He brandishes a lamp in his right paw and a basket holding the traditional red Catalan cap called barretina, at his feet is a collection of Dalí's walking sticks.

A guide takes you through the yellow room with its table holding the snail clock that Dalí had made at Tiffany's in New York. He said he liked the snail because it reminded him of the shape of Sigmund Freud's head. On the wall is a mirror mounted at an angle so that it can reflect the first light of morning onto Dalí's waking face. Port Lligat is the most easterly tip of this Catalonian peninsula. Dalí said he wanted to be the first man in Spain to see the sun in the morning. Apparently he fulfilled this wish daily while he lived here.

There is a large bird cage that, when Dalí lived here, contained canaries to sing to him. Mounted on the wall to the right is a tiny cricket cage. Dali said he liked the sound of crickets and of nature in general.

The studio workspace is interesting due to mount that Dalí had made for his easel. It allowed the easel to be lowered down below floor level so that he could work sitting down. I find myself wondering if this is not part of the source for
Chuck Close's easel arrangement, although Dali's arrangement was for comfort and Chuck Close's is a matter of necessity. There is a smaller easel set up over to the side. Most interesting was the collection of 3-D glasses, you know the ones with one red and one green lense.

There is a small room with all of the supplies that Dalí needed to continue painting. Cadaqués and port Lligat are difficult to get to by land, so there would be no quick trip to the art supply store from here. If you didn't have what you needed it could be either a tragedy or a happy accident.

Up a small flight of stairs is a dark little space with a full set up for making jewelry.

There is a dressing room that Gala lined with pictures of Dalí and herself and the most important moments in their lives, meeting various celebrities, happy moments with friends and family, and images of people who were important to Dali like Velasquez. As for the last, just look at his mustache and I think you'll understand a part of the attraction.

I think my favorite room in the house is the round room inspired, the guide said, by a sea urchin. This room was Dalí's gift to Gala, a retreat for her. The thing I love about it is that he designed it for the acoustics. It echoes in the most extraordinary way, but then it was designed by an extraordinary man for an extraordinary woman.

The most indescribable part of the entire place is the garden out back. There is no way I can even begin to do it justice. I took photo after photo until I ran my battery down. Every time I thought I had seen everything I spotted something new, an owl, a giraffe, another Michelin man, a lion, a crutch supporting a stone. It just kept coming.

I'll let a few of the pictures speak for themselves.

Meanwhile, back here at the Hotel Port Lligat, I feel incredibly privileged to be able to be here. As I sit on the terrace night is finally fully upon me. There are mosquitos here that rival the ones back home, although they don't seem to bite so hard. Stars are out. The moon has been here with me, just a sliver reading over my shoulder.

I've been typing this up courtesy of the glowing screen of my iPad. I'm going to head down to the wifi area in the lobby to post this.

I wish you all, wherever you are a peaceful night and a wonderful tomorrow.
Bona nit!

Art Invokes the Diety.

It doesn't matter what language they speak, watching someone encounter the Sagrada Familia for the first time, they get it. From that first moment, whether turning the corner on the street or stepping out of the ground from the Metro station, they get it.

Antoni Gaudí probably never got to see the effects of what he had created. I'm sure he got a taste of it when people saw the residences he designed, but that was no where near this.

I can't explain it to you. I can only show you pictures and tell you what I overheard as I stood near another pilgrim, for that is what we all become in this space. As I passed this young man staring up at the vaulted ceiling high above he said in a hushed awestruck whisper, "There is a God."

What more could Gaudí have wanted?

Like a Virgin, with apologies to Gaudí and Madonna both

I treasure the feeling of first spotting a Gaudí creation. It was the Palau Güell. Wandering down La Rambla towards the sea, I took a left onto a narrow little one way street much like all the other narrow little streets in the area known as Raval. Souvenir shops and sandwich shops line the tiny sidewalks. The street was none too clean. It was early morning with the city just waking. I had no idea what was coming.

And then, there it was, these two incredible arched wrought iron gates set into the stone wall. There are no words to fully describe it. Wrought iron taken to its limits and made to move and flow like a pile of ribbon. Between the two gates there is a great wrought iron sculpture topped by a barbed sphere on which perches a fearsome bird. I have no idea how long I stood and tried to take it all in.

The street is so narrow, even backing up across the street, risking being hit by racing motorcycles and taxis, I couldn't take it all in completely. I craned my neck to see the top of this amazing place and up there in the far distance I could see just a bit of the most exquisitely turned mosaic finials glistening in the morning light.

There was nothing I could do, but stand gape mouthed before this tremendous place so out of time and place on this previously normal little street. I got my camera out only to realize there was no way that I could capture an image of it. I could never do it justice. I was reduced to taking shots of details, the gate, the sculpture, the windows covered in wrought iron lace.

I love to go walking past it over and over. I can't recapture the full feeling of first seeing the Palau Güell, but I can watch the crowds that gather to gawk at it. I can experience, if only vicariously, that wondrous feeling once more.

The Tower of Babel, Face Recognition and the Search for Sense

Barcelona has two official languages, Spanish and Catalan. Barcelona is also full of people from all over the world. Walking down the street I catch bits and pieces of conversation. There's Spanish, Catalan, American English, British English, (No, they are not the same), German, French, Italian, Japanese, and more.

My poor ears are overwhelmed. My brain goes on overload. There's a moment when I just can't do it any more. It's as though a breaker in my brain switched over. Language as I usually know it is gone. I can see the lips move, but it's just random sound. My brain tries to make sense of it which only leads to something like this, "Blah, blah, blah, blah, museum, blah, blah, art, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, gelato . . . ."

I've been here in Barcelona for two weeks, which is plenty of time for my personal Tower of Babel to kick in. As if that's not bad enough, when traveling alone I find myself scanning the crowd looking for a familiar face. It's not a conscious thing, at least not until I'm aware of it. I catch a gesture or a glimpse of someone who, just for a glimmer of a moment, looks like someone else, someone from home. A quick double take and I realize it's just another stranger in a sea of strangers.

This all may sound a little odd to you. It certainly doesn't sound like a very comforting or positive thing. The truth is that experiencing this helps make me a better teacher. I think twice before I let myself get frustrated with my students. I know how it feels to have someone repeat the same thing to me, over and over. It's as though they think getting louder or getting frustrated makes them more comprehensible. Empathy and slowing down get me much further than frustration ever could. I know the feeling behind the smiling nod that really means, "I have no idea what you are saying." It's part of my job as a teacher to move us beyond that point.

As the art teacher, I teach every child in my school. Every year I have students who are new to the school and each other and to me. Some of these kids have been repeatedly moved from school to school. I watch them look for something familiar, something that will let them relax if only for a moment. I'm reminded of myself searching for that familiar face in the crowd. I believe making art can give them a familiar space even if only for a few minutes a week. That zone where creativity takes place is familiar to almost everyone. Hopefully the art room and the act of creating in a visual and sensory environment helps ease their transition.

The Mystery of WiFi

When I got back to my room yesterday and turned on my iPad I found, all of a sudden, I was picking up a nice strong WiFi signal. I checked and,sure enough, I was picking up the hotel's WiFi.

To say the least, I was delighted. All of my prior posting, whether it was email, blog entries, tweets, Flickr, whatever, was done on the floor below mine. I've come back day after day worn out from wandering the city. Once back in my room I've gathered up my notes and thoughts, moved the photos from camera to iPad and headed downstairs.

Last night I was ready to jump up and down at my good fortune. I could sit back all comfy on my bed and post as much as I liked. Sometime around midnight my wonderful WiFi went away. I don't know how or why. It was just gone. I tried everything. I held the iPad over my head. I stood on one foot. I moved all around the room carrying it. I bit my tongue and crossed my eyes.

Oh, well (insert long, drawn out sigh here), back to the first floor.

How can I describe Barcelona?

Barcelona is full.

Full of tourists.
Full of history.
Full of art.
Full of passion.

Everything is intensified.

Sound
Color
Light
Smell

In the Boqueria it overwhelms. Although the light is limited it's as though the odors grew large to take the lights place. Each stall I pass sends out scented tendrils to lure me in - luscious white Spanish cheeses here, ham still in the form of a leg there - suddenly strawberries - then fresh fish overwhelms it all - spices - chocolate - gelato - crepes cooking - the mouth waters and the mind is boggled . . . .

Oh, to have just a taste, a tiny taste of each one.

I wonder where the true Barcelonans are?

Where do they live?

Surely not in this mass of uncouth tourists
who only come to look
All the time snapping pictures,
pictures,
pictures.

Flocks of tourists
Herds of tourists
Schools of tourists

Walking dazed,
Seeing the world through the LCD screens of their cameras.

I am not of Barcelona.
I am just another awestruck tourist viewing the world through all my shiny toys.
Such a barbarian,
I can't even speak the language.

Wandering and wondering

As usual, I seem to be having a difficult time keeping you up to date on here, but that may have changed. Suddenly for some unknown reason I'm able to pick up a strong wifi signal in my hotel room. Prior to this I had to go to the first floor (That's the second floor back in the states.) to be able to email or post or tweet or otherwise play around on the world wide web. This is wonderful so far. I hope it lasts.

I've been all over the place since I got here. I've walked the Ruta de Modernisme, rambled all up and down La Rambla, and nibbled my way through the Boquería all the while taking photographs like a fiend. I've been looking at mosaics and ceramic tile work anywhere I can find them, which seems to be just about everywhere, from the obvious places like Gaudí's Casa Batllo and Park Güell, or Domènech i Muntaner's overwhelming Palau de la Música Catalana, to the odd bits and pieces hiding over doorways or decorating pharmacies all around the Old City. It's been a safari of sorts. Each corner I turn reveals some new jewel like vista.

Barcelona is old, old in a way that is hard for me to even conceive. It was founded by the Romans and bits and pieces of its Roman past pop out when least expected. A little over a block from my hotel is a portion of a Roman necropolis that has been excavated. Sticking off the Cathedral is a bit of Roman wall. Here there's a bit of Roman wall jutting out or it may be just as likely hiding in the back of a restaurant.

I ate lunch in a restaurant, Set Portes, that was opened the same year, 1836, that my hometown of Houston was founded.

I've been to all the major Gaudí sites, La Sagrada Familia, La Pedrera, Casa Batllo, Palau Güell, and Park Güell. I still have a few of his creations to tour. I've also learned a little about other Modernist architects. Turns out Gaudí didn't build Barcelona all by himself! Imagine that! I have to admit that he is pretty outstanding.

I've been to Montjuic and gone to the Fundacio Joan Miró. I've photographed Miró's large mosaic in the middle of La Rambla and tracked down his family home where he was born and where he lived and worked after World War II.

I've walked the neighborhood where the young Picasso lived and painted, and visited the Picasso Museum. I had lunch at Els Quatre Gats, the hangout for anybody who was anybody in the Barcelona avant garde art scene of the early twentieth century. Picasso designed a menu cover for Els Quatre Gats when he was 19 years old.

So, you can see I haven't been sitting still. I still need to make it north to the Costa Brava to see the place where Salvador Dalí started out and ended up and south to see the birthplace and childhood home of Antoni Gaudí. Then, if there's time, I hope to make it over to Palma de Mallorca to visit the Pilar and Joan Miró Foundation and the Cathedral. Gaudí worked on the Cathedral in Palma for ten years, but he didn't finish the job. He walked away from it with little or no explanation.

I've taken literally thousands of pictures, even though some local thief picked my pocket and stole my camera. I replaced the camera the next day and was right back at it! I won't subject you to all my pictures, but I'm posting the best of them via Flickr and Instagram. Try www.flickr.com/photos/jean999/ You can also find them posted on my FaceBook page and on Twitter. I'm on Twitter as @jean999.

My little home away from home (just in case you're curious)

Lying awake very early, no noises outside. The city slumbers.
Then the first delivery truck arrives. Noises echo with great ease through the narrow street. Dollies rolled on cobblestones rumble and the sound of early morning deliveries seems to go on forever.

Voices lose their language in the echo.
Sound builds as more and more people awaken, begin their work, and start their days.

My hotel, the Hotel Catalunya, is not a fancy place, but it suits my needs and the price is right.

It has a small elevator and a steep almost spiral staircase.

My room is on the second floor, which is to say that it is on the third floor. Here the first floor is called the basement and holds the reception area and little more. On the first floor (in the States this is the second floor) there are two vending machines ( water, sodas and beer in one, the other dispenses hot coffee, tea and hot cocoa), two computers, the hotel office and a restroom. WiFi is only available on this floor. I've spent some rather long hours here. Thankfully the hotel has created a sort of brightly lit lounge area with upholstered chairs and a coffee table. I've discovered that if I stand by the stairwell on my floor I can pick up the WiFi. It's rather awkward to simply stand there and the stairs are too narrow to accommodate more than one person at a time. I think it appears a bit odd to my fellow travelers, this American woman in her fifties standing by the stairwell cradling her iPad, so I spare them the sight and instead I enjoy the amenities of the little common area below.

My room is small, although it's not small for a single room by European standards. It has a closet that has been added into a corner of the room. I sleep on a twin bed. There don't seem to be many true single rooms around these days either here or anywhere else I've traveled. Tourists seem to move in groups of two or more.

To turn the lights on in my room I have to insert my card key into a little holder next to the door. I had the same set up in Japan in 2008. It's a great way to conserve energy. There'll be no leaving all the lights and the air conditioning on with no one around to use them.

My room has a sliding glass door that opens onto a narrow, dead-end street, more of an alley than a street actually although it does have a name, Carrer de Bonaventura. There is a wrought iron rail outside the sliding glass door and I have a balcony,of sorts, about nine inches of it. My bathroom has a window that opens onto the same street. If my neighbors across the way open their curtains at the same time I do we will find ourselves face to face with a mere eight feet of open space between us. A little too close for my needs for personal space. I keep my curtains drawn most of the way, thus avoiding awkward moments.

The furnishings in my room are minimal: the twin bed, a small night stand with two drawers, a writing desk without drawers, a small refrigerator, a straight backed chair, a bench/coffee table-ish piece of furniture, a TV attached to the wall high up in the corner, a mirror in a plain frame on the wall and a small reading lamp also wall-mounted. It's a very efficient use of space.

There's a step up into the bathroom. The bathroom has a freestanding sink, a toilet, a bidet, and a small shower/tub. If I plug the drain I can fill the tub and soak in a little over a foot of water. There is no coffee maker, but there is a blow dryer.

What the Hotel Catalunya has more than anything else is location. It is on the Carrer de Santa Anna. If I head left as I exit the building I come to the intersection of Carrer de Santa Anna and Carrer de Canuda at La Rambla. If I go right I come out at Avinguda Portal de L'Angel. It's about a block to Plaça Catalunya where everything comes together, Metro lines, major streets and the main tourist office.

For most of the day Carrer de Santa Anna is pedestrian traffic only with the occasional bike rider or skate boarder for added excitement. In the evening it opens to vehicular traffic which consists of delivery trucks, taxis, police cars and garbage pick up.

I don't use the air conditioning. The weather is mild and the breezes that blow in coupled with the shade of the buildings keep my room cool. I keep the windows open and enjoy the sounds of the city. It keeps my evenings and my mornings more interesting.

Moving, looking, learning, and posting

It's almost midnight in Barcelona. For the past several days I've found myself up until 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning attempting to keep up with loading in photos, reading and writing emails, writing postcards, tweeting, posting on FaceBook, and journaling. I thought all this electronic stuff was supposed to make life easier!

I've been going all day, every day. I've made it to Palau Güell, Casa Batllo, La Pedrera, Palau de la Musica Catalana, Park Güell, the Gaudí Museum, La Sagrada Familia, Fundacio Miró, Montjuic and Montjuic Castle, the Picasso Museum, had lunch at Els Quatre Gats, and attended a classicsl Spanish guitar concert. I've ridden the Metro, a funicula, and two different teleferics and walked until I've blistered both of my feet. I've had my pocket picked and I'm still going, shooting pictures and posting all over the place. I'll catch up on posting here tomorrow. For tonight I have to catch some Zzz's!

Hasta mañana, muchachos!

My first full day in Barcelona

I'm having some problems posting pictures to my blog, but you can find my photos on my Flickr account or on Instagrid.

There have been a few additional photo problems, but more about that later.

Since I arrived in Barcelona I've been in hot pursuit of mosaics, Modernisme, Miró, Gaudí, Picasso, and Dalí. It's been easy in some ways and difficult in others. There are numerous sites for each item and many of them overlap. The public transportation system here is excellent. I've been able to get around easily via bus, metro, and on foot.

On day one I set out to explore on foot. It's a bit of a walk down La Rambla to Palau Güell. One Of Gaudi's masterpieces, it's located less than a block down Carrer de Nou Rambla. The house, or perhaps palace is more appropriate, is extraordinary. The attention to detail is exquisite. Everything is handcrafted exactly for this space. I can't begin to describe it, but the thing I was seeking was on the roof terrace. There I could get up close and personal with the mosaic chimney pots. I've seen photos, but this was right there in front of my eyes and in reach of my hands.

The chimneys have been restored to their original splendor. The documentation on the restoration of the entire building is on view in the attic. I was able to see what went into the creation of these incredible sculptures. The work was done both by and under the supervision of Josep Gardy Artigas, the son of the original mosaicist, Josep Llorens Artigas.

Back down at street level I turned back to study the wrought iron work on the front of the building. I was reminded of Albert Paley's work. It is easy to see how Modernisme influenced this contemporary American sculptor's work.

Back closer to my hotel, as in across the street closer, I wandered over to the little Eglesia de Santa Anna. I haven't explored there yet. I did peek through the gates at the shaded and colonnaded courtyard. I'll go back there later.

Palau Güell

Palau Güell
Originally uploaded by As the white crow flies

Chimneys of Palau Güell

Welcome to the Hotel Catalunya

I arrived in Barcelona yesterday morning. Was it only yesterday morning?!? My hotel is a little over a block from La Rambla. Since arriving I've been on a photo safari. There are mosaics and tile work everywhere. Art Nouveau and Modernisme architecture are all around. I've toured the Palau Güell, located the two street lamps designed by Gaudí, found Miró's mosaic near the Liceu Metro stop and walked the length of La Ramble twice. Tomorrow I plan on following the Ruta del Modernisme through the city. I have found that the only problem with traveling alone, besides not having any one to turn to in my enthusiasm, is it's hard to take photos of myself.

Barcelona or bust!

I've made my way to my three hour layover in Newark. The airport is crowded with student groups. I'm people watching. There's a lovely young woman with turquoise and lime green hair. She's talking with a grandmotherly looking woman. The rest of the young people in her group are just your regular, normal high school students. Her hair makes me think of mermaids. I prefer her look to that of the bevies of bleached blonde babes and their equally platinum chaperones that I found surrounding me at Bush Airport. They all had the same look, same monogram jewelry, identical tans. It was very Stepford of them. Even their conversation seemed dulled by their lack of individuality. They reminded me of a school of golden fishes darting about. The mermaid girl would stand out in any crowd, or should that be school.

I'm looking forward to getting some rest on the plane. I had difficulty sleeping last night between waking up thinking of this or that task that still needed doing and the strange dreams that have been nagging at me. I've been having dreams of school. Imagine that!

But now the trip has begun. There's no going back now.

More people watching: a WASPish looking gentleman in Buddhist monk's robes, a flock of stewards and pilots, a heavyset man in a white suit with a black shirt and mirrored shades. It's hard to get bored here. No need to watch the TV. If I get tired of people watching there are awesome cloudscapes just outside the windows.

It's time to charge up the electronic devices and get a bite to eat.

Hasta Cataluña.

And so, the white crow flies to Newark

Ah, the joys of queuing up at the airport. The first leg of the flight takes me to Newark with a three hour lay-over before I head on to Barcelona.

Up, up and away!

Research, reading and more

My Fund for Teachers' work station, research center and day dream central!