Saturday, 4 August 2007 03:56 pm
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deckardcanineAt long last, I’m telling you of the vacation from which returned two Wednesdays ago. One reason I put it off this long is that I didn’t come back with the same enthusiasm as I did from Italy. Indeed, with the many long waits (especially compared to DC), travels, and struggles with translation, perhaps the best thing I got out of it besides time off from the usual was an extension of patience.
My dad’s patience was tested most of all, partly because he was the only family member who drove during the trip. When he and my mom disagreed, I was usually on his side intellectually, but his temper worried me. Even back at the DC airport, his voice hit an unusually high note and volume as he reiterated something plus a profanity to Mom. A passerby with a slight foreign accent said, “Whew, what a vocabulary!” If I weren’t present at the time, I might have laughed at this.
The trip was not without its pleasures to make it worthwhile, but I think the next time I go on vacation, I’ll go without the rest of my family, both to avoid the stress of too much time together and to set my own itinerary.
I didn’t tell you guys adequately where I’d go. Yes, it started and ended with Barcelona, but in between, there were Figueres (also in Catalonia), somewhere near Carcassonne, and Arles (both in France). My observations:
1. Catalonia is to Spain rather what Quebec is to Canada. There is a vocal independence movement by those who have not forgotten Francisco Franco.
2. That said, Catalan is much closer to Spanish than French is to English. In fact, I understood at least 80% of written Catalan just from its cognates with Spanish and French. (Might I say, it’s great to know how quickly I can read Spanish now.) Figuring it out was fun for a linguist like me, tho I felt a little silly for trying to memorize parts of a language I’ll probably never use. Spoken Catalan was far harder to understand, but every local knew enough Spanish and/or English for us to communicate.
3. Our first cab driver was likable. Good for conversation, he even brought up the Washington Wizards. Our second cab driver was worrying, both for his speed and for not using his seatbelt.
4. Barcelona reminded me of NYC. It’s huge, it has a similar-looking subway system (despite some more advanced technology), and the streets often smell like an old penny. It also has a high enough crime rate that tourists are advised not to keep their wallets in their back pockets. We didn’t get robbed.
5. In Barcelona, it’s typical to eat dinner after 9:30 p.m. (or 21:30 h, as they put it). No wonder they have afternoon siestas.
6. La Rambla, the big street in Barcelona, has a lot of performers by day and night. Many posed as exotic statues with slight movements. A memorable one played a noisy cat in a trashcan. There are also many vendors, including for caricatures, pet birds, and… what was with that guy trying to sell the six-pack of beer in his hands? Can you imagine anyone doing that in the U.S.?
7. Cats were scarce, especially on bigger-city streets. Most of the dogs we saw were little.
8. Our first hotel in Barcelona had its name on the back cover of a Spanish mystery novel in my parents’ room, care of some reading promotion program. I thought to give it a read, but many pages near the beginning were left blank. So much for reading promotion.
9. The European Toyota Prius is radically different from the American Prius. First, it’s longer and thus harder to navigate. Second, while fuel efficiency in America is measured in miles per gallon, the European measure uses liters per kilometer – so a higher bar is bad. Third, the controls were so dissimilar that it took seemingly an hour just to leave the garage the first time. Dad frequently had to try more than once to turn the car on and set it in gear. Fourth, the locking mechanism has a stupid feature: if you don’t take the key out of range in a few seconds, all the doors unlock themselves again. At first we thought it just wasn’t working, but I theorized correctly. We suppose it’s to prevent one from locking the key inside, but that shouldn’t be possible with the remote function.
10. Some wordless street signs were hard for us to comprehend. Others were pretty immediately understandable but still strange. As we passed thru Girona, for example, we saw a sign with a diagonal slash over the word “Girona.” That could be taken as “No Girona beyond this point.” I offered another translation: “What happens in Girona stays in Girona.”
11. Our trip featured many trips to art exhibits. These included Picasso and Nicolas de Stael, but easily my favorite was Dalí, the man of often questionable taste but unquestionable talent. After the museum, we visited a house where he lived for many years in his old age. That too looked awesome, even if the Michelin Man had too strong a presence. Its backyard included a big junk sculpture called Christ of the Rubbish, and now I want to make something like that on a smaller scale.
12. I take back what I said about not getting robbed: the Van Gogh Museum, at seven euros per person, was a ripoff. Our apparently outdated Rick Steves travel guide said it would feature multiple Van Gogh-inspired artists with commentary available in English. Instead, it had the work of a single, repetitive, dullsville modernist, all in French. And I don’t know that much French.
13. The walled town at Carcassonne would be a great place for someone obsessed with the Middle Ages or similarly set fantasies. Unfortunately, my family thought it too commercialized. They preferred climbing thru some mountain fortresses, tho I regretted the lack of educational material. At least we all liked the abbey… whatever it was called.
14. France has bullfights, but they’re more humane than the traditional Spanish ones: they involve removing a ribbon from the bull’s head. The bulls also get as much recognition as the humans. My mom and sister actually regretted that we weren’t around on a bullfighting day.
15. Many French restaurants let you choose from among certain appetizer-entrée-dessert combos at outrageously low prices compared to the equivalents a la carte. Dad said he would have paid 80 euros for a 40-euro meal. Again, can you imagine it in the U.S.?
16. While the rest of my family liked the French dining far better than the Catalonian dining, I thought there were too few options to fit my taste. I don’t eat meat anymore, and the seafood options had too dang much seafood. It’ll be another few weeks before I eat any more outside of tuna sandwiches.
17. France has a thing for cicadas as a theme in merchandise. I learned later that they’re a symbol of luck.
18. It was hard for me to find any kind of souvenir. Even when I liked what I saw, I knew it could only wind up somewhere I’d almost never look. I wound up buying nothing in France and a small Rambla painting on my last day in Barcelona.
19. Aside from the antsy daredevils on highways and the fools who parked in old streets barely wide enough for one car, people were polite in both Catalonia and France, especially when we tried to meet them halfway in language. Unfortunately, neither of my parents remembered their school French well, and neither I nor my sister had studied much of any. And when we crossed borders, we often said "Gracias" when we meant "Merci" or vice versa.
20. The bikes (which get their own lane on some streets) and even some of the motorbikes are a nice change from DC congestion, but I'm especially intrigued by the long, pedaled three-wheelers now being rented in Barcelona.
If I think of anything else to say, I’ll add it later.
My dad’s patience was tested most of all, partly because he was the only family member who drove during the trip. When he and my mom disagreed, I was usually on his side intellectually, but his temper worried me. Even back at the DC airport, his voice hit an unusually high note and volume as he reiterated something plus a profanity to Mom. A passerby with a slight foreign accent said, “Whew, what a vocabulary!” If I weren’t present at the time, I might have laughed at this.
The trip was not without its pleasures to make it worthwhile, but I think the next time I go on vacation, I’ll go without the rest of my family, both to avoid the stress of too much time together and to set my own itinerary.
I didn’t tell you guys adequately where I’d go. Yes, it started and ended with Barcelona, but in between, there were Figueres (also in Catalonia), somewhere near Carcassonne, and Arles (both in France). My observations:
1. Catalonia is to Spain rather what Quebec is to Canada. There is a vocal independence movement by those who have not forgotten Francisco Franco.
2. That said, Catalan is much closer to Spanish than French is to English. In fact, I understood at least 80% of written Catalan just from its cognates with Spanish and French. (Might I say, it’s great to know how quickly I can read Spanish now.) Figuring it out was fun for a linguist like me, tho I felt a little silly for trying to memorize parts of a language I’ll probably never use. Spoken Catalan was far harder to understand, but every local knew enough Spanish and/or English for us to communicate.
3. Our first cab driver was likable. Good for conversation, he even brought up the Washington Wizards. Our second cab driver was worrying, both for his speed and for not using his seatbelt.
4. Barcelona reminded me of NYC. It’s huge, it has a similar-looking subway system (despite some more advanced technology), and the streets often smell like an old penny. It also has a high enough crime rate that tourists are advised not to keep their wallets in their back pockets. We didn’t get robbed.
5. In Barcelona, it’s typical to eat dinner after 9:30 p.m. (or 21:30 h, as they put it). No wonder they have afternoon siestas.
6. La Rambla, the big street in Barcelona, has a lot of performers by day and night. Many posed as exotic statues with slight movements. A memorable one played a noisy cat in a trashcan. There are also many vendors, including for caricatures, pet birds, and… what was with that guy trying to sell the six-pack of beer in his hands? Can you imagine anyone doing that in the U.S.?
7. Cats were scarce, especially on bigger-city streets. Most of the dogs we saw were little.
8. Our first hotel in Barcelona had its name on the back cover of a Spanish mystery novel in my parents’ room, care of some reading promotion program. I thought to give it a read, but many pages near the beginning were left blank. So much for reading promotion.
9. The European Toyota Prius is radically different from the American Prius. First, it’s longer and thus harder to navigate. Second, while fuel efficiency in America is measured in miles per gallon, the European measure uses liters per kilometer – so a higher bar is bad. Third, the controls were so dissimilar that it took seemingly an hour just to leave the garage the first time. Dad frequently had to try more than once to turn the car on and set it in gear. Fourth, the locking mechanism has a stupid feature: if you don’t take the key out of range in a few seconds, all the doors unlock themselves again. At first we thought it just wasn’t working, but I theorized correctly. We suppose it’s to prevent one from locking the key inside, but that shouldn’t be possible with the remote function.
10. Some wordless street signs were hard for us to comprehend. Others were pretty immediately understandable but still strange. As we passed thru Girona, for example, we saw a sign with a diagonal slash over the word “Girona.” That could be taken as “No Girona beyond this point.” I offered another translation: “What happens in Girona stays in Girona.”
11. Our trip featured many trips to art exhibits. These included Picasso and Nicolas de Stael, but easily my favorite was Dalí, the man of often questionable taste but unquestionable talent. After the museum, we visited a house where he lived for many years in his old age. That too looked awesome, even if the Michelin Man had too strong a presence. Its backyard included a big junk sculpture called Christ of the Rubbish, and now I want to make something like that on a smaller scale.
12. I take back what I said about not getting robbed: the Van Gogh Museum, at seven euros per person, was a ripoff. Our apparently outdated Rick Steves travel guide said it would feature multiple Van Gogh-inspired artists with commentary available in English. Instead, it had the work of a single, repetitive, dullsville modernist, all in French. And I don’t know that much French.
13. The walled town at Carcassonne would be a great place for someone obsessed with the Middle Ages or similarly set fantasies. Unfortunately, my family thought it too commercialized. They preferred climbing thru some mountain fortresses, tho I regretted the lack of educational material. At least we all liked the abbey… whatever it was called.
14. France has bullfights, but they’re more humane than the traditional Spanish ones: they involve removing a ribbon from the bull’s head. The bulls also get as much recognition as the humans. My mom and sister actually regretted that we weren’t around on a bullfighting day.
15. Many French restaurants let you choose from among certain appetizer-entrée-dessert combos at outrageously low prices compared to the equivalents a la carte. Dad said he would have paid 80 euros for a 40-euro meal. Again, can you imagine it in the U.S.?
16. While the rest of my family liked the French dining far better than the Catalonian dining, I thought there were too few options to fit my taste. I don’t eat meat anymore, and the seafood options had too dang much seafood. It’ll be another few weeks before I eat any more outside of tuna sandwiches.
17. France has a thing for cicadas as a theme in merchandise. I learned later that they’re a symbol of luck.
18. It was hard for me to find any kind of souvenir. Even when I liked what I saw, I knew it could only wind up somewhere I’d almost never look. I wound up buying nothing in France and a small Rambla painting on my last day in Barcelona.
19. Aside from the antsy daredevils on highways and the fools who parked in old streets barely wide enough for one car, people were polite in both Catalonia and France, especially when we tried to meet them halfway in language. Unfortunately, neither of my parents remembered their school French well, and neither I nor my sister had studied much of any. And when we crossed borders, we often said "Gracias" when we meant "Merci" or vice versa.
20. The bikes (which get their own lane on some streets) and even some of the motorbikes are a nice change from DC congestion, but I'm especially intrigued by the long, pedaled three-wheelers now being rented in Barcelona.
If I think of anything else to say, I’ll add it later.