Monday Barcelona -- Working

So Monday was programmed as a “down” day . . . I tho’t I’d kinda monitor my colleague doing all the work, but there were so many problems I was in there too, getting my knuckles scraped and my fingernails dirty, if you know what I mean . . . we had a quiet breakfast down in the lobby, absent the screaming hordes of kids and sharp-elbowed grannies, mrs got her puzzles, and we were content to retire back up to the room and put out the Do Not Disturb handle on the door.

Some time before 1pm, we were able to take a quick lunch break. We just dashed back over to La Rambla Poblenou for a lebanese lunch where we’d eaten the first night. I had pork chops and eggs . . . it was good, just not very exotic, even tho’ we got some dolmades (stuffed grape leaves), too . . .
Then back up to the room to finish up the work I had devoted the day to . . . all in all, it went well enough, it just seem to take up more time than one day . . . maybe because it was the best day all week . . .the sun was glorious . . . perfect golf weather . . . not so good for pecking at a laptop . . . 8^/ . . .
When I finally finished we both had cabin fever, so we rushed out just to do something, anything . . . first we went to a book store, La Casa Libre, which I had to admit was the best book store I’ve been in years . . . even tho’ the English section was a small part of the store, the selection of books they had was amazing, such variety and so unusual . . . not like the chains in the US. I bought 3 books: The Master and Margarita (actually, translated from the Russian – very weird), White Tiger (by an Hindu author), and Manhattan Transfer, by John Dos Passos. . . . all for less than 40euros . . . what a bargain . . . 8^D . . .

Then we went over to a tapas bar marilyn had found in one of her tour books, the 24. We just beat the after-work-rush, and got the last table for 2 . . . after only a little delay, they brought us a bottle of Spanish sparkling wine and some starters:

the ubiquitous bruschetta (best we had in BCN), a mix of olives (best we had in BCN), and some toasti-style sandwiches they called Bikinis, I guess because they cut off the crusts of the grilled ham-&-cheese . . .

all that was great – as I say, the best in BCN in its class, but I was in what I call “Lupe” mode, after my friend who will eat ANYTHING, so . . . the weirdest thing I saw on the blackboard menu that I could make out was Calamar a la Ramsus de Tinta which I took to be squid cooked in its own ink – I didn’t tell Mrs what it was except calamari . . . 8^D . . . I tho’t it would be like a soup or something, but instead, it was “something-like” fried calamari, with the ink in the batter . . .

it didn’t really have an off-flavour or anything, but there’s not many real-black foods, but this is one of ‘em . . . Mrs unselfishly let me eat most of these, myself, while she worked on the Spanish wine . . .

Well, that was a pretty light dinner so I felt entitled to a dessert . . . but I didn’t just want chocolate again . . . and they were hyping something on the menu called Crema Catalunya, that is, not Crème Brulee, but the same sort of desert per this region of spain that is rather determinedly not Spanish . . .


very nice . . . even if a little ordinary . . . cracking the shell on a crème is one of those things that never gets old, like cracking a 3 minute egg in an egg-cup or popping bubble wrap, if you know what I mean . . . .
So, satisfied that we had accomplished the minimum for the day, despite how I had squandered almost all the daylight working, we headed home to watch our 3 seinfeld episodes and a movie before we fell asleep.