Stinky Spain

Sorry this pic is so tiny - I can't get the cropped version to save on my computer - another example of technology getting the better of me. It says "Benvinguts A Barcelona", which is apparently Catalan for "Welcome to Barcelona." All the signs here are in Catalan first, then Spanish, and then usually also in French.

We drove to Spain this past Tuesday, to pick up Patrick's daughters at the airport in Barcelona - they're here to spend the summer with us. (I am, by the way, still just knocked out that I can write things like, "we drove to Spain this past Tuesday", just like I would've written, "we drove to Miami this past Tuesday" when I lived in Florida. Countries are so close together in Europe. It's crazy.) It took us about five hours, mostly because we stopped several times to let the dog out to go pee (yep, Sadie came with us) and for Patrick to get another tiny cup of coffee in an attempt to stay awake. Did I mention we left the house at 5:30am? I had no coffee, and a sore throat to boot, so I will admit to falling asleep a few times, once with the directions in one hand and a can of soda in the other. (Only for about five seconds, mind you.) I missed about ten minutes' worth of downtown Barcelona and woke up as we arrived at the airport parking structure.

Hmmm. What about Spain? you ask. What's it like? Well, I'll tell you - Spain is stinky. I am not speaking figuratively or making any sort of judgement on the peoples of Spain, their attitudes, etc. I am simply saying that, from the moment we crossed the border and began bumping along the highway in this country, we were suddenly aware of some new and not very welcome odors. At first, we thought that it was the dog farting. (She hadn't poo'd at any of the rest stops, something which was vaguely worrying us.) As the miles rolled by, it became apparent that the smells that would disappear for a few minutes and then reassert themselves even more strongly were not, in fact, emanating from Sadie's hind end. They were coming from outside.

The most frustrating thing here is that, during the rides to and from Barcelona, we simply could identify the source of these unpleasant stinks. It was sort of a cowpie/sulphur/skunk aroma that waxed and waned ... never really strong enough to make you gag, or anything, but there in enough force so that every few breaths you'd become aware of it again, and wonder what in the seven hells could be making that damned stink. We never figured it out. It is a mystery. If anyone has any theories, I'd be glad to hear them. I must say, though, that the smell somewhat colored my opinion of what I am sure must be an overall lovely country. What I have seen (and smelled) so far was really nothing to write home about.

As for the actual sights in the coutryside and city ... yawn. Barcelona was not as impressive as I thought it would be. Of course, we only drove through a portion on our way to the airport, and didn't stop at any tourist attractions or anything. Mostly what I saw was just what you see in any large urban area - lots of highrise buildings, lots of concrete, lots of cars ... and the undersides of the bridges were warrens filled with homeless folks' makeshift camps, acres of them. Nothing so very different from a lot of large American cities. I would like, I think, to be able to stay a little longer when we take the girls back for their trip home in August, and see some of the historic buildings in town, etc. I'd like to have more of a memory of Barcelona than a bad smell, homeless camps, and the airport.

I did get to see my first view of the Mediterranean Sea on our way home - you can, of course, see it from the Port of Barcelona, but we thought to perhaps find a little more congenial spot for gawking once we were back in France. We stopped for a late lunch in a seaside tourist town called Collioure, and it is right on the sea. The town itself is famous for its anchovies, of all things, and all the restaurants and cafes have menu items involving these tiny fishies. Patrick ate an anchovy sandwich for lunch. (The girls and I did not.) We all walked around this charming little seaside town after lunch, though, and I really enjoyed it. I'd like to go back sometime when we could spend the day and when we didn't have to wear sweatshirts and jeans (it's been partly cloudy and in the low 60's during the day for this whole past week). The beach there was all stones, but still, the Med looked pretty good to me. The place could have been somewhere in the Caribbean islands, had there been any palm trees - it's very evident, seeing all these small villages here, where the European flair in the Caribbean came from. I've spent so much time in tropical places - it's funny and weird to see echoes of that here, in such a different climate, and then to realize that - duh! - this is where the whole shebang originated.

So ... Spain = stinky disappointment, and French anchovy capital of Collioure = surprisingly charming. Who knew anchovies were such a draw for tourists?!

Looking down on Collioure while driving in

Part of the small marina of boats docked in the harbor

The beach at Collioure and the old fort

Another beach view and the clock tower (still operational)

This one's purely for my Mom - saw this place next to the beach and thought, yep, my Mom is gonna love visiting here!!!