Columbus, Lobsters, and Absinthe...I must be in Barcelona

Some photos illustrating my adventures in Barcelona. Also tacked onto the end.

After dropping off my newly acquired Belgian beer and chocolate, I re-packed my bag with damp clothing (apparently the dryer is broken) and caught the train for Cologne. My journey began at 12:20 AM. It wouldn’t be over until 10:00 AM. My evening was punctuated by getting on and off various modes of transportation. First the cab to the train, then train to the bus, then the bus to the plane, then the plane to the bus, then the bus to the city. I didn’t get a lot of R.E.M. sleep, but I did get to Barcelona on a sunny day (or at least on a sunny morning).

I survived my first Ryan Air experience and arrived at the Arc de Triomf near the center of town right on time. I admired the bat gargoyles on the arch which was constructed in 1888 for the Universal Exhibition held in the city that year. I didn’t know the history of the arch at the time and occupied myself pondering what event would be so immortalized with bats. Eventually Shane appeared with Rose and the three of us took a walk around the area, home of the zoological museum and city hall, while getting acquainted. You may recall Shane is a fellow Fulbrighter and Floridian who is studying chemistry. Rose is one of his best friends from middle school. They’ve stayed close through the years along with two other middle school friends who came to visit Shane: Kristen and James. The latter two had opted to hang out at the hotel until I arrived, exhausted (and a little sick) from tours of Munich and Berlin.

The area around the park and arch was decorated with palm trees, flower beds, and monumental statuary. The trees were waving their fronds in the wind, but the flowers hadn’t erupted from the soil quite yet, so we had to imagine what the fountains and statues would look like if they were surrounded by blooms. I can’t wait until spring fully arrives.


After wandering, we headed back to the hotel, picked up James, and set out into the street again. We headed towards the harbor, drawn on by an enormous statue of Christopher Columbus. The figure stands on a massive pillar, pointing emphatically towards the “Indies.” Of course we had to do some pointing of our own…


We walked by the waterfront admiring boats, and praying the clouds would roll away and the day would warm up a bit so we could hop in the Mediterranean. To bide our time, we checked the guidebook for a restaurant recommendation. Shane had picked up a guide to Barcelona (a very sound investment) that recommended a place near the docks called “Con Maños.” It took us a while to find it, as we wound through narrow alleys, laundry flapping over our heads. When we found the place, we were a little hesitant to enter. It seemed a little dingy, and probably not very popular with the tourists. But we had taken our time to find it so we dove in. A table opened up as soon as we entered, and we slid into position, taking in the construction workers on lunch break, and the ‘50s fans bolted to the ceiling. The menu was attached to the wall with hand-written additions and print-outs detailing combination platters.

After digesting our surroundings, we were suddenly offered a new place to sit. I should note that I speak about six words of Spanish. Not that it really mattered in Barcelona, a Catalonian city. Catalonia is a region of southeastern Spain and Southwestern France where the locals speak a linguistic hybrid of Spanish and France. Catalonians are fiercely proud of their regional identity, and are first Catalonian, then Spanish. This was a bummer for James, who is fluent in Spanish (he’s half Columbian). He was excited to be in Spain, but incredibly frustrated to be in the part that didn’t necessarily understand him. Despite this, he had more of clue what was going on than we did. Also, most people speak both Spanish and Catalonian (though their Spanish isn’t perfect, I’m told).

The waiter was able to move us after a brief debate with another customer who was trying to tackle our new table. After everyone settled in the second time, we got down to the business of ordering beer and all the weird seafood we could find on the menu. The table split grilled cuttlefish, calamari, some kind of fried fish, fries, artichokes…it was a feast, and really one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.

After gorging ourselves, we naturally wanted to go for a swim. The day was cloudier and colder than it was when we began lunch, but if you’re near the Med, you need to hop in. After scouting a clean section of beach, we took turns holding up my little towel as we changed. Really, the desire for privacy was probably unnecessary. No one was on the beach except a lone dog enthusiastically digging in the sand.

With everyone changed we braced against the chilly wind and ran into the water. At some point I need to visit the Mediterranean during a warm month. March just isn’t doing it. Gasping and praying I wasn’t doing permanent damage to my chances at paternity I dove under the waves. My body kicked into action, flooding my extremities with warm to combat hypothermia. We stood in the surf and whooped, everything adjusting to the new, chilly conditions.

Eventually we triumphantly dried off, changed, waved at the curious bystanders who were a little befuddled by the Americans who didn’t understand the concept of “Beach weather”, and set off towards the hotel for a shower. Along the way we encountered what would soon become a familiar sight: a restaurant decked out with legs of salted pork. As the four of us tried to take in this new theory of interior design, the waiter came barreling out of the depths of the establishment, excitedly waving at us. I figured he was going to try to entice us to a table, but instead he headed for the lobster tank. Before the crustaceans knew the lid was open, one of their brethren was lifted out and triumphantly presented to Rose. She withdrew her hand, and the animal was plopped onto a crate where it waved its claws in defense. The waiter then took Rose’s hand and attached it to the lobster’s carapace. We took pictures said “Gracias” and started back down the alley, unsure how we managed to find the excitable lobster-man.

High above Barcelona harbor is a cable car system. We had eyed the contraption earlier, but now James was keen to ride high above the city. It struck us as a slightly cheesy way to spend an hour, but we didn’t know what else to do. We walked to a tower, only to be told we had to catch the bus to the next tower. We climbed the ancient structure, paying extra for a ride on the elevator up to the launch point. The city spread before us, blanketing itself over the hills and hemming the sea. A car rattled into its docking point and we were hustled aboard, the floor swinging slightly with each new passenger. As we drifted over the city, the sun set and the city lights began to wink on.
Unbeknownst to us, the cable car terminates at the top of a massive hill. It was near our hotel, but we had to walk down the steep road, sometimes turning to walk backwards to make the descent a little smoother. Kristen was still at the hotel, a little sick, and she needed something to eat. Unfortunately the restaurants of Barcelona usually don’t start serving food until 8 or 9, so we had to try several establishments before getting a sandwich. The restaurants only stay open until around 11 PM. In our two days in town, we never really figured out the best way to eat in the city.

After showers and regrouping, we (James, Shane, Kristen, Rose, and I) went back into the night in search of dinner and some historic sights. The others had arrived the previous day, and I had already seen La Rambla, a historic street cutting from the harbor to the heart of the city. It’s a place I need to see before I die. Unfortunately, the street, which is home to a bustling line of cafes and quaint shops during the day, becomes an avenue of aggressive prostitutes at night. Unprepared for this, we crossed the street searching for a restaurant. What had appeared to be a gaggle of chatting young women suddenly fragmented, the women attaching themselves to James, Shane, and myself. “You want to stay with me tonight?” asked the women attached to my arm. “No.” She gripped tighter. I shook my arm, finally breaking her vice. After that, we all walked a little tighter together.

The first restaurant we were aiming for closed its kitchen at 10 PM. The next place closed at 10:30. Finally, we found a place the guidebook recommended that served cheap diner-like food. It was open, but only until 11, leaving only about a half-hour to eat. Or waiter was not pleased with out last minute arrival. We tried to order quickly, but needed some help with the translation of the menu. When the food finally appeared, we only had about ten minutes to eat. As we finished up, the lights suddenly went out. We thought there was a power outage. Our waiter calmly walked to our table with the bill in his right hand and an electric lantern in his left. He left the lantern so we could divvy up the bill.

After paying, and walking into the street, we noticed the restaurant was the only place on the street that was dark. It’s a weird way to hustle customers out at closing time, but I guess it worked on us hungry Americans. The next destination was a bar. We found a place that looked suitably Art Nouveau –y. They had absinth posters on the wall, so it had some late 19th century credibility.

I’d never had the “Green Fairy”, but had heard plenty about it. We ordered a round out of curiosity and settled into a booth where we could hear the rest of the buzzing bar which buzzed with…American accents. This became a theme. Spain seemed to be overrun with Americans. Maybe it’s because trans-Atlantic flights are relatively cheap right now, and many Americans study or know someone who studies Spanish, so they flood the country on Spring Break. I perk up every time I hear an American accent I don’t recognize, so I was perking up a lot, despite the highly alcoholic beverage I was sipping.

Absinthe, according to Wikipedia, is 45% to 75% ABV. Thus, the anis-flavored, greenish spirit is diluted with water poured over a sugar cube. James showed us how the procedure, despite flinching every time he took a sip (licorice as a flavor has grown on me over the years. I guess James isn’t there yet). After a long walk back to the hotel (during which no one was assaulted by prostitutes) we set our alarms so we could explore the architectural riches of a city I was quickly warming to (though this may be a side effect of the absinthe) despite the chilling efforts of the Mediterranean.

Next time, I geek out on Gaudì then head to the heart of Spain: Madrid. Only a few weeks ‘til we’re all caught up.

Until then,

Tchüss!

The photos (including some that go with tomorrow's post).

Die Hauptstadt (The Capital)

It’s time for the latest installment in an ongoing series of entries that should be called “Matt Feeds His Wanderlust," and here is the photographic illustration of the following events.

After a week of puzzling over fossils and statistics, I set out Thursday night for Bohemian, bourgeois Berlin, a town once called “Armer aber sexy” (Poor but sexy) by one of its mayors. The last time I visited, tagging the sauropod conference I just saw the natural history museum and a few restaurants. This time I had a hankering to do the full tour of the capital, visiting monuments and museums and hanging out with my friends from Marburg until I needed to settle once again into my lab space back in Bonn.

I stayed with Jason, a twentieth century German history grad student from Northwestern. He was fortunate enough to find a fully furnished apartment with an Ikea futon and soaring ceilings. He met me at the main train station and led me into the massive public transportation system that flows through Berlin to meet Katie, who was visiting for the weekend from Frankfurt where she studies accounting, and Halley, an international studies student in Berlin and Katie’s host for the weekend.

After sharing a drink at a little bar in a basement vaguely reminiscent of the dungeon bar (sans Muppets or old locals) we agreed to meet for a day of monument hopping on Unter den Linden, one of the main, swanky drags of Berlin.

Our first stop was the Brandenburg Gate, the symbol of Berlin may be comparable to the Statue of Liberty. The gate was built in the 18th century as one of a series of entrances into the city. Images of the gate grace Euro coins from Germany and images of the gate with fireworks in the background seem particularly popular calendar covers.

The gate was decked out for Christmas, with a large Christmas tree and hundreds of tourists. This meant street performers dressed as the Berlin bear, Soviet guards and American soldiers were wandering around looking for photo ops. Of course we seized the moment and took pictures of our own.

Near the Gate is the American Embassy where the Stars and Stripes are proudly displayed. We had a lot to see, so we passed on the opportunity to visit a little swatch of the good ol’ U.S. of A. The next stop was the Reichstag. The building actually isn’t large enough to house all the parliamentary offices, so more modern (read “glass and concrete”) buildings were set up in the area. The line to take a tour and see the view of the city from the bubble of glass at the top was pretty long, so we passed on the opportunity, opting to wander the lawn and take pictures while Halley, who has toured the building four times, filled us in on the details. For instance, inside you can still see Russian graffiti left by the invading Soviet Army in 1945. Apparently it’s a bit nasty if you happen to read the Cyrillic alphabet.

As we strolled I caught a whiff of marijuana smoke. I saw the knot of teenagers, huddled together passing something around. I recognized the moment as the first (and probably only) time I have ever stood near a national monument and smelled cannabis. Oh, Berlin.

The next stop was the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (Denkmal für die ermordeten Juden Europas). Inaugurated in 2005, the memorial is a grid of concrete blocks of varying heights placed on a sloping brick field. You can walk between the blocks and get lost wandering through the vast expanse of concrete along with dozens of other visitors. The monument actually doesn’t have a label or explanation associated with it. According to Wikipedia (the most reliable source, I know), this is because the creators wanted visitors to reach their own conclusions about “what it all means.” The memorial is also notable for probably having the lowest graffiti to concrete ratio in the entire city.

We then wandered around Christmas markets and down Unter den Linten, walking by museums and theaters before Halley stopped by a Ferris wheel at one of the markets. “Hey guys, do you want to? “ Well, who wouldn’t want to take a ride to the top of the city to get a good view? The ferris wheel had one of the fastest revolution rates I have ever experienced, making the whole event that much more exciting as we tried to snap of pictures with horizontal horizons that didn’t make Berlin look like it was in the midst of an earthquake.
A reasonably straight horizon. The view is into the former East Berlin which is dominated by the Fernseheturm (TV Tower), a symbol of East Berlin in the mid twentieth century.

Finally we went to Checkpoint Charlie where pieces of the Berlin wall and signs declaring the division between the two Germanys are still on display. It’s interesting to see museums and monuments to an event that only occurred eighteen years ago. Talk about living in historic times.

That night we went out with one of Halley’s friends for a night on the town in Berlin. Also in the group were Jill and Catherine, two more Marburgers. It was great to see both of them and catch up as we walked first to a Falafel stand then to the bar. Most of what I knew about Berlin nightlife came from seeing “Cabaret” and a vague knowledge of the city’s reputation for crazy nights so I wasn’t too surprised when we started climbing a fire escape to get to the entrance. We paid a one Euro cover, which sent off some warnings in my head. If a place charges a cover, it’s to promote a feeling of exclusivity that just the atmosphere is worth paying for. But a one Euro cover told me, “We really want to be cool, but are a little worried that raising the price might drive people away.”

You try to categorize this place. I'm glad I had the experience, but next time I may check out a different club.

The décor reminded me of someone’s living room, with random furniture and potted plants ringing the dance floor. Just by entering the place, our group lowered the median age by about ten years. It was also 70 percent male, though there were none of the signals that I had missed at Le Copain. The music was pounding electronica and techno (as I expected) and everyone kind of bounced to the beat. One of the nice things about Germany is everyone dances like an awkward suburbanite, because we all are. Just people watching in the place made the time fly by and soon we were back on the street, waiting for the train in the wee hours of the morning.

The next day (Saturday), Katie and I met on Unter den Linten again to check out the Deutsches Historische Museum (German History Museum). The museum spanned 2000 years of German history from the Roman occupation to the fall of the Berlin wall and subsequent reunification. I wasn’t prepared for the scale of the place. The Smithsonian is already overwhelming. Imagine tacking 1400 more years of history onto the exhibits. Highlights included original copies of documents such as Luther’s 97 theses, maps of the Prussian empire and the rapidly expanding world.
Arms and armor that probably came from someone's family collection. It's interesting to think of such artifacts as part of your direct history. In The U.S., armor is always presented as a kind of symbol of backward European values and economics. The more important question I want to deal with is when I can I try such a suit on?

Of course the twentieth century history is really the most fascinating as I learned about history from the German perspective on the origins of WWI and the rise of Hitler. Propaganda posters and caricatures were mingled with artifacts from the life of a normal German in the 1920s and 30s.
The Hitler Youth never really ceases to get me riled up. I see Boy Scouts a way to teach young people about conservation and independence. Sure, there's a patriotic aspect to the program, but the Nazis fundamentally undermined the values of scouting by making it an extension of a political party...oh I could go on but have decided ot spare you.

After all the tension and strife that characterized most of German history throughout the 20th century, there was something very satisfying of ending the experience with images of the Berlin wall collapsing into rubble and proclamations of a united, stable Germany. Leaving the final exhibit was like walking out of an inspirational sports movie.

The bustling Unter den Linden with the linden trees that give the place its name all decked out for the holidays.

That night we had authentic Mexican food near the Natural History Museum, prepared by Mexican immigrants who knew how to handle their spices (even if they didn’t quite know how to handle their time, as we waited for maybe an hour to finally get our food). That night we celebrated Jill’s birthday party and a small Marburg reunion ensued. It was wonderful to catch up with David, Marco, Chris, The Tates, Catherine and Jill, getting everyone’s perspective on life and work in the largest city in Germany.

Sunday, we met David and Marco for brunch at a trendy little cafè in a trendy part of town. Katie had to catch her train at 3, but I wasn’t planning on getting out of town until 6 or 7 which left just enough time to check out the Pergamon Museum before heading home. David and Marco decided to join me in Berlin’s massive monument to ancient art. The museum is most famous for its reconstructions of ancient buildings on a monumental scale. German archeologists took apart the Pergamon Temple in Turkey, then put all the statues and columns back together inside the museum.
The pieces of the temple were cut along those lines and reassembled in Berlin. Of course if and when the German government will return these pieces to Turkey is a matter of much debate.

The same was done with a Roman market entrance and the Ishtar Gate, the entryway into Babylon.
A relief from the Ishtar Gate. Does it look just a little bit familiar? Dozens of these lions and mythological, griffin-like creatures lined the entry way into the city, covered in turquoise and lapis. This is what the conquered Hebrews saw when they first entered the city during the Babylonian exile, the event that finally promoted them to commit their shared experiences to paper (the origin of the Torah).

Photos really don’t to the scale of any of these monuments any justice, but I wanted to have my own images of the classic Babylonian lions and Greek statuary.

Naturally, David and Marco were museumed-out before I was, but they let me cover most of the exhibits and put up with my running commentary, so we headed to dinner. We walked by Baroque churches and performance halls and saw Neo-Classical buildings lit up at night, not to mention dozens of exclusive designer boutiques with the “Armer aber Sexy” vibe that Berlin loves to cultivate. Marco had used the website mitfahrgelegenheit.de, a ride sharing website, to arrange a cheap trip home to Dusseldorf. He found out there was an extra seat in the red Golf we would be using to cross the country, so we had a few more hours to kill cooking a meal and discussing research and graduate school (only the most thrilling of topics, I know).

We finally met our car at midnight. I stumbled through a German conversation, acutely aware that I should be able to arrange my thoughts in German much more readily then I was able to. The experience has really galvanized me to work on my language skills while trying to work on my fossils. After a rough night of trying to get comfortable in the back of the small vehicle, we made it to Dusseldorf and finally to the train back to Bonn. I decided to get an early start on the day, but regretted my decision when I felt like a dirty, greasy mess around 2 that afternoon. I have since recovered my sleep schedule. I really enjoyed Berlin, but Bonn has a much smaller, dare I say more German, vibe. Berlin is an international place with people representing nearly every country on Earth. Bonn is a place that typifies modern German culture and I’m excited to get to know it better (hopefully with sharpened language skills).

I hope your weekend was lovely and you are as excited for Christmas as I am. My family and Carolyn will be here in less than two weeks!

Tschüss!