Just Breathe

Early on Saturday morning, I hopped on a train at Sants Estacio to Barnes.  Or, at least, that's what I thought.  It turned out that I was on the wrong train, a mistake I realized when the leader of the group I was meeting called me and told me to meet them in the front car.  I was in the front car.  It turned out that the trains were running a few minutes late that morning, and I had gotten on the train before mine.  Luckily, I hopped off in a panic at the last station where the two ran on the same route, and jumped on the next train - the proper train, a few minute later.  Crisis averted, and day saved.  We journeyed to Barnes

 and then took a van to Lloret del Mar, the most touristy stop on Costa Brava.  But, thanks to the tourist trade, it has a scuba shop!

 And thus began my first attempts at breathing underwater.

Our group, pre-scuba, in the shop

  After our orientation, full of knowledge and ready to go.
For those of you who haven't scubaed (scuba dove?) before, here's the low-down on the gear.  First, you endure agony and immense amount of public embarrassment squiggling into a neoprene suit.  This may take about 20 minutes and will often involve semi-strangers yanking you around in ways that would otherwise be indecent.  And then come the shoes.  Unlike everyone else, I had shoes with no zippers.  So this involve immense amounts of grunting and squiggling, too.  And the worst part?  People usually scuba when it's warm outside, especially their first time, and you will be sweating your way through the thick layers of synthetic material as you waddle down to the shore.  Once you have that adversity in your past, they cinch a belt of weighted blocks on you.  For women, this will hit directly above your hip bones and will leave bruises.  And then they saddle you with a huge oxygen tank backpack that makes real backpacking look easy.  But, of course, it's all worth it.
  Suited up at the beach.
 The guides inflated our suits (think the plane emergency landing demonstrations, except inflatable and deflatable on command to varying degrees), flipped us on our backs as we bobbed on the waves, and put our flippers on for us (when you're first in your suit with a shifted center of mass, you look like one of those just-born baby animals trying to move around but having absolutely no idea how to properly accomplish that).  Then you practice breathing, and then you proceed to shuffle through your knees on the sand, deeper and deeper, feeling your ears pop and learning to breathe only through your mouth.  And, of course, looking up at the sparkle of the cresting waves to see just how deep your waddling has taken you.

This is the "YES! I'm great!" sign.  Americans are warned not to use a thumbs up sign, which means "get me up to air!" and will result in the inflation of your suit, turning you into a human balloon.

  My hair would often flow next to my goggles.  Peripheral vision is basically nonexistent, so I often thought this was a sea monster gliding past.
 Holding hands was a theme, so that the guides could shepherd us and the people who were still adjusting could have some reassurance from those who were more confident (and stronger swimmers).
 A bit more inflated, and actually able to swim!

Bubbles! (Note: I was known as the American,and therefore they didn't take my double thumbs up as GET ME OUT OF HERE)

 Although getting out of the water was immensely difficult due to the Sliding Gravel Slope of Doom, the head guide managed to haul me and my tank up to more solid ground.  That gear is HEAVY.  But we all made it out alive!

 We had lunch together (a BIG lunch, as it was already around 3 and we were starving) and went for a walk around town.

 This statue is the Fisherman's Wife, a bronze sculpture by Ernest Maragall that sits partway up a hill, looking out over the water.

 A beautiful cove just around the corner from the beach

 The many people jumping off the craggy rocks in the cove made me want to change back into my bathing suit and join them.

 We took the train back, exhausted from a day in the sun and under the sea (yes, I went there).
When I got back, it was a quick turnaround to get to dinner.  If you've been tuning in recently, you'll remember the chef that I met a week ago over tasty fried seafood at Bar Jaica who invited me to dine at his restaurant.  Well, the plan was that I'd show up at his restaurant, Samsara, at 9:30 PM for a culinary adventure.

 At 9:30 sharp, I stepped inside.  I said that I had a reservation, but when they asked under what name, I realized that I didn't know.  Then, I was informed that they have reservations.  There was a moment of awkward silence before one girl's face lit up.  "You're Pedro's friend!"  Yes, I nodded, breathing a sigh of relief.  I was led over to a couch (the place has settees with low tables instead of normal tables and chairs) with a little Reservat sign perched atop it.
Sure enough, a few minutes later Pedro joined me.  I had been browsing the menu, which the waitress had handed me but said that I wouldn't need, since Pedro knew the menu better than the menu knew itself.  She was right, of course.  He had already ordered a series of his favorite dishes (although he claims that every dish is his favorite).  As they arrived, one by one, I heard how they were prepared as well as the particular inspiration for the dish, ranging from drunken nights out at bars to crazy cartoonist friends who teach fine arts to street food.
The first dish was a twist on the traditional patatas bravas (or bravas, for short) made of sweet potato with a pesto sauce.  It was so delicious.  Oblivious to the quantity of food that had been ordered, I made quick work of this tasty tapa.

 Next came "Chupa Chups" - no, not the famous lollipops, but a tongue-in-cheek gourmet treat on a stick.  Tempura asparagus drizzled with romesco sauce, another twist on a Catalan classic.

 The third dish was one that I incorrectly wrote about when I first met Pedro.  This is his porcini masterpiece: porcini mushrooms wrapped in pasta with a bechamel (not white chocolate) sauce, topped with Parmesan.  The layers of the flavor were incredible as your taste buds worked their way through the sensory explosion.  You literally tasted every flavor from the outside of the bite of food in.

 Then came a relatively new dish, only a month old.  Using dumpling wrappers and the Catalan classic pincho moruno (paprika-covered pork), Samsara had made a masterpiece.  Pedro had ordered this one because I had enjoyed the pincho moruno at La Jaica so much last weekend.  Complete and utter WIN.

 These were a twist on a traditional Christmas dish of some sort, according to Pedro, but I don't know what dish it's a twist on so I can't really explain.  There was ham and mushrooms inside, wrapped in a few paper thin, crispy layers of dough, topped with the white chocolate sauce and sprinkles of Parmesan cheese.  This was another dish where you had to close your eyes and give your palette a chance to work through each texture and flavor.  Is it any wonder that European dinners take so long?  Each bite requires several minutes of enjoyment.

 This was a cut of beef from the shoulder of a cow (Pedro got technical on this one, but my Spanish vocabulary is lacking in butchery terminology) wrapped in bacon (you know how Spaniards get about their cured meat).  So good.  Best meat that I've had in Barcelona.

 There was also a tuna tartare dish that I liked very much, but Pedro forbid me of taking a photo of it.  Not because he's guarding secrets - it was pretty classic - but because he deemed it poorly made.  I liked it, but he wanted a bit more spice and salt.  On several dishes, he thought things were one step shy of perfect and would dodge into the kitchen, only to return with literally a pinch of salt between two fingers.
Oh, and there was one dish that I forgot to photograph that had a delicious beyond belief pear sauce layered over other flavors and textures.  Mmmmmm.  You know food is really good when I'm so busy eating that I forget to take pictures.
The last dish usually comes with three raviolis, but he just ordered one for me because I was getting very full.   This ravioli is filled with lobster, then topped with mango mayonnaise and a pate made of crushed black olives.  Needless to say, it was a winner.  The things that were accomplished with fruit sauces during this meal were mind boggling.

 After Pedro dodged into the kitchen to order dessert (after I assured him that yes, I am human and love chocolate), we chatted about food as the restaurant filled up.  Apparently, here, the diners come in two waves: one at 9 pm and the other at 11 pm.  Ye gads.  Waiting until 11 pm for dinner? That's when I start my second dinner.
Anyway, Pedro asked me if I had a specialty.  I was baffled for a moment, especially since my cooking here has been so simple and uninspired.  I told him that my parents would say it was Mojito Lambchops and proceeded to explain how the dish was prepared.  He was ecstatic, and I may have just inspired a new tapa.

The view inside Samsara, which is very low key and relaxed.

 And them came dessert, and with it the two chefs on duty, one after another.  They were both nice, funny, and excited to have me try their cooking.  You could tell they loved their jobs.
First was a chocolate truffle that had been frozen, then deep fried so that the outside was crisp and the inside was molten.  These had to be eaten in one bite, and the look on one's face when the truffle explodes in a wave of chocolate is one of surprise, then of delight, then of concentration on just how darn good the chocolate is.

 The second dessert was described as a "chocolate brioche filled with more molten chocolate".  It was accompanied by two puffs of white chocolate foam.  There was even more molten chocolate, and I scooped up every bit of the foam and molten chocolate possible long after the dish had been devoured.

 After dinner, Pedro had one more trick up his sleeve.  I had mentioned during dinner that this was my last Saturday in Barcelona, since I'll be travelling the next two weekends, and he insisted on taking me to see his favorite view of the city at night.  This involved (don't read this part, Mom) getting on a motorbike/Vespa for the first time in my life.  I asked him to please drive very slowly (it still seemed very, very fast to me, though every other vehicle on the road was passing us).  We rolled our way up Tibidabo, that mystical mountain of psychadelic cathedrals, science museums, and old-fashioned amusement parks.  Near the top are a few bars with the most incredible views over the city.  I wish I had photos, but my camera was not cooperating and the only ones taken are on Pedro's phone and not yet in my possession.  But to give you an idea, it looked a lot like this:

After Tibidabo, Pedro and I parted ways.  It had been a lovely evening, but I wanted to meet up with Naaman on her last night in the city.
On a tip from my other new chef friend from Thursday's dinner at Sesamo, tonight was Nit de Montjuic, a festival of free concerts at venues all over Montjuic.  This included the castle, the Olympic Stadium, Poble Espanyol, and other incredible sites.  We stopped by all three of those mentioned and heard the thumping beats of others during our mountain meandering.

A concert in front of MNAC with some really good Spanish freestyle rappers and back beats.

The concert at the castle.  This woman was DJing and creating music, but she also sang during certain songs.

 This concert was a Poble Espanyol and involved several women who really stirred up the crowd.  They had thousands of strangers, gathered for one night, doing synchronized choreography and call-back singalongs.
After Poble Espanyol, I took my leave from Naaman and her visiting friend and went home to collapse.  It had been a long day.

Spotted: proof that Europeans can never get enough soccer in their lives.  This inflatable soccer court, complete with goals, transforms your beach vacation into a chance to hone your skills with a hexagonally-decorated black and white ball.

Granted, they were tourists, but they were almost all European.  And in Europe, soccer is more than a religion.  It's a form of existence.