Could a swim duck? says I.*

I am sure every major country has its share of small idiosyncratic nonsensical design issues. However, it seems that Spain, for all of its seemingly first world status, has quite a few. In my apartment, for example, there are a few random problems that conspire to drive me insane.

First, our electricity can be a bit fickle. By no means can we use the washing machine at the same time as the stove. However, now, it seems that even using the oven while using more than one burner on the stove will cause the power to short out. This forces the frazzled chef at the moment to run through the dark apartment to reset the power breaker, often several times in the course of one cooking session. The fear of ruining the dinner versus the fear of tripping over a chair and breaking your neck on the hard tile floor is a surprisingly equal contest. Especially if you hate the taste of burned garlic as much as I do.

Second, our hot water heater is in the kitchen. Which is absolutely fine for washing dishes, but a bit water wasting for showers, since the bathroom is quite far away, it takes a long time for the hot water to arrive. The main problem, however, is the fact that on windy days, you take the chance of dying in a gas explosion by washing the dishes (yes, I do use this excuse). The exhaust pipe is connected directly outside without any sort of wind protection, so the wind blows directly into it and extinguishes the pilot light on the gas heater. Thus, gas happily pours into the kitchen and into the unsuspecting (at first) nostrils of anyone within a few feet. Did I mention I live with a smoker?

Third, we cannot use our telephone and internet at the same time. Sometimes, if someone calls here, the internet will remain connected, but most often, and especially if we call out, we are forced to wait until the end of the conversation to reset the router and then continue with our stalking of people on facebook. This started happening after my roommate requested that the bill be changed to her name. The company told her that she would just have to sign up for a new account, which would take a month. After a month without internet, the new account still wasn’t set up, and meanwhile she was still being charged by the old one. When the technician came, he rerouted all the wires in the building, causing our phone calls to go to our neighbor two floors above. So the fact that he somehow made it impossible to use our phone line and DSL line at the same time is not a surprise and we are too scared to have them try to fix it, really anything is possible here.

Our building is also rather eccentric. Like most buildings in Spain, the front door locks from the inside with a key, in addition to locking automatically behind you. At night and on the weekends, our neighbors lock the door, which means we have to go down with our keys to let guests in (even though we have a buzzer, it only unlocks the regular lock). Sometimes when people try to leave, they won’t be able to get out of the building and will have to come all the way back up to ask us to release them. This can be especially problematic if we are discussing the recently departed guest in loud voices when they ring our doorbell. Oops. Also, in the case of fire, it is quite possible that you could forget to grab your keys, well, too bad. There aren’t any fire escapes and if the front door is locked, you become carne asada.

Elevators are other common death traps in Barcelona. Most people are timidly thankful for the existence of an elevator in their building, especially since Spanish floor labeling includes several named floors, making a fourth floor apartment actually as much as seven flights of stairs. However, no one can be fully thankful for the presence of an elevator here, because using one is a serious threat to your life and sanity. Apparently the automatic sliding doors the rest of the world takes for granted haven’t been invented in Spain yet as I haven’t seen a single elevator here without a set of outer and inner doors, both of which must be fully closed for it to operate. That’s just annoying though, except when the wind blows one of the doors open while you are inside (have I mentioned how drafty buildings are here?) and your elevator stops. At least it is probably very spacious, at least three by two feet, so you can almost sit down and wait for someone to rescue you.

Our elevator scares even seasoned Spanish elevator goers. First, it drops several inches and bounces slight back up when you step inside, giving you the comfortable feeling that perhaps the cables aren’t that tight. Then, it inches upwards while making a host of nearly human whining sounds. Certainly I have never heard a machine make such noises. Sometimes it jerks a bit for no apparent reason, or sometimes one side scraps along the elevator shaft, creating a sound like a thousand forks being scraped across a porcelain plate. You must be careful never to push a button more than once or it will refuse to move. Sometimes it takes you to a different floor, just for the heck of it. Sometimes it likes to have a little fun with its human cargo by stopping between floors or by keeping its doors closed. I guess I don’t blame it – the life of an elevator must be pretty boring.

Mkgnao!*

Sea cats!

There seem to be far fewer stray cats than when I visited in 2005. I am not sure if this is due to the increased vigilance of animal rights groups (like Fundación Altarriba, El Jardinet dels Gats, Animals Sense Sostre, Protectora BCN) that run numerous programs to spay/neuter and find homes for strays, or some other, more sinister reason. Perhaps I will research this and get back to you, someday!

Lineaments of gratified desire.*

What a lovely surprise! After trying a few Spanish rosados (Spanish rosé) that were less than delicious, I was beginning to give up hope on finding one that I would like. I was starting to think that perhaps the French, especially the winemakers in Provence, have a corner on the market. Every rosado I had tried was very heavy, thick to the point of being syrupy, and astringent while also somehow sweet. Perhaps lovely for sangria, but not for your casual rosé drinking.

So, today after leaving the hostel, I wandered in vain looking for a wine store recommended by a friend. I couldn’t find it (will ask and report back to you). Instead, I went to a little place in Gràcia that I would have adored in New York, but being in Spain, and especially in the very neighborhoody and Catalan area of Gràcia, it has intimidated me in the past. I have gone in a few times, looked at the very handsome selection of wines, cheeses, chocolates, etc., all very gourmet and seemingly exquisite, and squeaked that I was “solo mirando” and scooted out ASAP. However, today, I had a mission. The store owner was there (I am assuming he owns the store by his proprietary air and the fact that he has been there every time I have wandered by), and I asked him if he had any dry rosados. He quickly suggested quite a few, explaining their components and was very patient with my Spanish when I tried to explain my troubled history with rosados. I chose the wine he pointed out as his favorite. He asked me to report back to him, and I promised I would, and so I shall for this wine is (almost wrote ‘divine’ but held back, you’re welcome) quite wonderful.

Now, all of you who abhor wine-talk, bear with me, but I must describe it. The color is a bit unusual for a rosé, quite dark like rosados tend to be (none of the pale pink French hues for Spain), but also with a slight purple tone…a paler version of a cross between ruby and garnet. At first taste, it is a surprise, greeting your mouth with a rich, soft currant/plum flavor, not characteristic of a rosé at all. Quickly, the acidity kicks in, washing away the fruit, followed by a very balanced minerality. It is a fairly medium bodied wine for a rosé, but somehow still leaves the impression of being very light and refreshing. I’m in love, and now, after my second glass, slightly tipsy.

Details and other tasting notes:
Barbara Forés, Rosado 2008, D.O. Terra Alta
http://www.cellerbarbarafores.com
with cheese: the combination of dryness and very round mouth create a mellow answer to the cream, very compatible.
with olives: embraces the salt! Really quite fantastic, brings out the fruitier flavors of the olives, reminding me that they are technically fruit. A nice dryness in the wine gets along well with the brine in the olives, while the mineral flavors balance the fruit.
with water: even the water tastes sweeter!

The great store:
Bodega Bonavista
a review in Time Out Barcelona, if you can read Catalan….

Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!*

Things I saw/heard walking home tonight:

“Hola guapa.”
“Hola _____.”
“Hello there.”
Many variations of the hot hissing sound men make that causes me to quiver to my very core and wish to become their slave forever because it is so seductive and powerful.

A beer seller asking if I wanted to buy a beer and then offering me “something else.”

One of the largest prostitutes I have ever seen. He/she could give Tyson a run for his money.

Wet streets: BCNeta, piss, beer, blood, an oil spill.

Trash in the streets: Beer cans, bottles, crusty pizza boxes, voided metro cards, empty sugar packets.

‘Life’ in the streets: A cockroach flapping its wings while trying to get off its back, a man jogging, a dead parrot curled up in the corner of a building.

Police ticketing beer sellers while prostitutes loitered nonchalantly nearby.

A bicing brazenly parked outside a restaurant.

A flower seller asking me if I wanted to buy a rose, “regalo?”

Hoho begob *

Well, my cruel parents have upped the ante to get me home by carrying out a long threatened bribe. They finally went to the animal shelter and picked up a new puppy! Now, when I talk to them and request to see the adorable, furry, wiggling beast, they tell me that I just have to come home to see him. So evil!

I am not sure how they knew my special weakness for Bernese Mountain Dogs, but this puppy seems to be a mixture of that lovable, docile giant breed and random NM mutt. They have finally settled on a name of Obie or Ob, not sure how they are officially spelling it now (Mom, comment?).

Here are few pictures of my new pupther in action. My mother captioned this photo:
“Puppy follows Puppy Poppa around the house.”

This is the flagstone paved area behind the house. For many years, this was a gentle dirt slope, but after several floods, my dad decided to make more of a moat with sturdier reinforcement against the runoff from the mesa behind the house.

Contrary to appearances, the walls of the house are not made of the traditional New Mexican building material, adobe, used for hundreds of years by the Pueblo Indians, and coincidentally, in Spain as well. Most modern homes in NM are now built with stucco (often coating over a fieldstone, brick, log or wood frame), which requires less upkeep and labor.

Here we can see that the puppy is already being spoiled with a piece of chicken barbecued over our backyard firepit:


And it was delicious: