NEW YEAR'S 2014/15 ~ Garós, Catalunya

MISERY with a capital W

During the winter of 2014 I was in Barcelona staying out of the misery that can be winter in a large part of the United States.  While I was in Barcelona I had come to know people who made the 2 hour drive to the Pyrenees Mountains to go skiing.   Although I was only able to go skiing in Colorado 5 days during the  winter of 2013/14, it still was 5 times more, then the skiing I did last winter while in Barcelona.  The winter passed and so did my opportunities to go skiing in Spain.  

I fully expected the same scenario this winter when I returned to Barcelona. That's what I get for having expectations.  First rule of The Traveler. Expect nothing embrace everything.  The opportunity for me to go skiing this winter came my way and I  wholeheartedly embraced it.   The opportunity came about at a dinner party hosted by Marta's friend Teresa.  Teresa and Patricia are old school chums of Marta's. During the course of the past winter and the following summer,  they had heard bits and pieces of my being in Barcelona from Marta. Now with my return this winter their curiosity had reached a level unattainable by any cat. 

A meet the Americano dinner was set at Teresa's house with Patricia, her husband Jose-Maria, Marta and me, the man from oohsaa (USA,  said as a word).  It was an interesting meal. It centered around a Swiss style of table cooking which uses a Raclette grill.  Patricia had brought a large grill capable of providing all of us with our own little hot plate of melted Racletta cheese,  combined with any number of Spanish culinary delights.  Of course there was  the fabulous La Merienda ( pre dinner hors d'oeuvres ) and wine. Teresa had just restocked her wine, so we were just kids in a candy store when she opened her cellar. The meal finished with desert and Cava. The Spanish version of Champaign. 

We waddled into the living room after our dinner feast. We all settled in to a chair knowing full well that once our food coma set in, we may never be able to get out of our chairs. Teresa, the consummate hostess saw the coma setting in. There is only one sure fire cure for the eleven o'clock  Food Coma. Gintonics. Yes, it's one word here.  Yep, that did the trick. Now I wasn't worried about falling asleep. I was terrified I would figuratively and literally fall on my face.  Not a good thing to do when you're  the new kid on the block. 

Enough time had passed and the gin was very good, so my fears were reduced to a pleasant gingrin ( that's one word here now too ).  Somewhere in the time we all spent sitting in the living room,  Teresa invited all of us to her family home in Garós .  A little village just down valley from the Baqueira ski area. The largest and considered to be the best ski area in Spain.   I didn't know all that at the time. All I heard was that I had just been invited to spend the New Year's Holiday at a house in the mountains, near a ski area!  The details were insignificant. I was in!  

This all took place just before Christmas, so I had time to get ready.   Getting ready meant cruising the second hand shops for some ski clothes. This was a mission all its own. The people of Barcelona and I've been told all of Spain, don't do second hand. When you are done with it, you throw it away, because no one is going to wear your old clothes. Apparently what people do in their clothes here can't be washed out.  There is nothing like the second hand shops that are everywhere in the States. It's not just Spain. Germany was the same. You don't wear someone  else's  clothes and you don't buy used things. 

Coming from a culture that has turned second hand into an industry,  to a culture where you have to search for a second hand shop in a city of two million people is a huge culture shock. I went through some of this last winter too when I went looking for used tools. Finding used clothes is hard in Barcelona. Finding used tools is akin to the proverbial needle in a hay stack. Unfortunately the biggest company in Barcelona that sells used clothes is apprently as greedy and corrupt as Goodwill Industries in the States. 

Humana is a company that sells second hand clothes and they have a few shops around the city. I got the addresses of the shops and set out on my quest.

 I had brought clothes that would suffice as ski clothes if need be, but having some cheap ski clothes seemed like a good idea. Primarily I was looking for ski pants, gloves and goggles. I decided that the coats and hats I had would be OK.   The Humana stores were a bust. Like all things Europe, they are  small and only trade in clothes. Like all clothing stores, that means 90% of the space is devoted to women. Not that I wouldn't wear a woman's s ski pants but women seldom come in extra large here and the few that do,  more than likely don't ski. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: While editing this text, I came across  allegations of corporate greed and corupption against Humana and Goodwill.  I have heard of the allegations against Goodwill in the past, but was unaware of the the same types of problems with Humana. In good conscience, it would seem that I can no longer do business with either company. Darryl, April 17, 2015

My good fortune was that there would be a flea market at the Estacion de Franca soon. It

is Barcelona's original train station that is still used for local trains but the modern station has moved further away from the old city center. Of course the original station is a beautiful old building representing an area when grand architecture was dominate. The new station by contrast is large,  functional and absolutely void of character. 

The flea market was a mad house. The organizers had allowed far too many vendors for the available space. It was a complete crush of people. I got in the flow of people going around and found it difficult to get out of the flow and look at what was for sale. Like the round a bouts that are the hallmark of European roads, I was trapped by traffic on the inside and I had to honk my way to the exit. Around I went for another look. Two more rounds later and I came out of there with a pair of ski pants and a pair of gloves. Oh, and a tool box. Not used, of course. 

The gloves I could try on.  The ski pants I should have tried on. What looks right and what fits right are two entirely different things. This was made very clear when I got home and tried them on. They fit, but I was going to need a corset to keep from popping them open. Since they came with suspenders, I figured I'd just ski with the fly down and endure  the ever diminutive breeze. 

Marta and her Singer to the rescue.  She took one look at my situation and took pity on my possible future discomfort. She added a bit to the girth of my ski pants in the hopes that I wouldn't need that corset.  Between the corset and that breeze, I was very thankful for Marta and her Singer. 

It was decided that Teresa would drive her car on her timetable. Jose-Maria and Patricia would do the same and Marta and I would follow in her car on the 30th of December.  Follow we did, right into a traffic jam.  A fuel truck had overturned  on the highway causing a jam that went on for hours.  We had been hopeful we could get up to Baqueira in time to rent ski equipment for me to go skiing the next day. Once we hit the jam, we were just hopeful we would get there that night.  

As it turned out we were near an exit, so not long after hitting the jam we able to get off

Teresa's Mountain House

the highway and get ourselves completely turned around and thoroughly bassackwards for a time. Once we got ourselves on the right frontage road going the right way, they opened the highway. Damn that Murphy!! - Ever look up where Murphy's Law came from? I did-.  See if you can find a better explanation. That night I didn't really care where the expression came from, I just wanted to get up to Garós!  The possibly of seeing the scenery on the way was now long past,  along with being able to save some time at the rental shop in the morning. Now it was just a drive in the dark to get to where we going.  

We got there and got ourselves settled in.  There was a fire burning in the fireplace lending to the ambiance of the mountain chalet. 

The fire place at Teresa's

Not having found used ski goggles in Barcelona, I asked Teresa if there might be an extra pair in the house. Twenty minutes later I was outfitted from head to toe. There was a complete ski outfit hanging in one of the closets.  Complete with goggles and gloves.  Now I would be a ski dandy rather than a ski bum.  

Garós  is located in the Val d'Aran (valley of Aran). A valley so deep and narrow it could easily rival any montage of iconic pictures used to represent the picturesque landscape of Switzerland.  

Val d'Aran

This view was what I saw as Jose-Maria and I took the shuttle bus from Garós  up to Baqueira  in the morning. We made our way to the rental shop and got me outfitted for what promised to be a beautiful day of skiing. 

The snow was exceptional for so early in the season, the sun was brilliant, not a cloud in the sky and to top all that, it wasn't windy or cold.  We came to ski and ski we did! Teresa, had decided not to join us, so it was Jose-Maria, me and occasionally we came across someone he knew.  His family also has a house in Baqueira , so he had friends and family that we met up with during the day. Jose-Maria, knew the mountain from many years of skiing there, so all I had to do was follow him. That was not as easy as it sounds. 

He is a very good skier, who skis very very fast. I didn't need my goggles to combat adverse weather conditions.  I needed them because we were skiing at the speed of light. The only reason he slowed down a touch,  came later in the day.  We had stopped to take a picture of a magnificent view.

I worked my way to the rope that served as the area boundary and a demarcation between life and death.   I set up to take the picture by firmly planting my poles and putting my gloves on them, so my hands would be free to operate my phone/camera. 

Jose Maria and me

Remember I said it wasn't windy that day?  Well it wasn't until I was taking my pictures. I felt a puff of wind  pass over me and then I heard a strange sound.  The sound was strange because I had never heard the sound a glove and ski pole make as they are sliding to their death. I watched helplessly as my glove and pole began to slide over the edge.  It was like watching Willy Coyote take one of his falls off the cliff. The sound of a whistle getting softer followed by a thud was ringing in my head as I watched Willy Glove and Pole slide their way out of sight. 

I showed a black dot at the bottom to Jose-Maria when he had finished his photo session and explained my new predicament. Fortunately the coat that I had borrowed

The Magnificent View

from Teresa was like all costs that fit me in the shoulders.  It had enough sleeve length to turtle my hand up in it. Now I would finish the day's skiing with a glove and pole in my right hand and a sleeve with no hand on my left. Taking pity on  my situation Jose-Maria, skipped a triple diamond run and slowed down to a manageable Mach 4.  

I could try to explain how the rental shop return system worked, but even though I understand it, I don't understand it. Suffice to say that unless we waited for the shop to reopen after the lunch break we would need to explain the missing pole at a later time. I wasn't keen on going back and sorting out the missing pole, so I opted to wait for the shop to open.   This decision   
                                                                           set a series of calamities into motion.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
The ladies had prepared a nice lunch/dinner that was now on hold because I was standing in front of a locked rental shop. This decision also caused us to miss the shuttle bus, which would substantially delay the meal, since the next shuttle wouldn't leave for an hour. Now I was in hot water for sure. Jose-Maria to the rescue. We got to the shuttle bus station and saw two buses waiting there. They both were there for the end of the day rush. He went up to one of the drives to see if the driver was leaving soon. He wasn't, but he said so in a French accent, so Jose-Maria switched to French and proceeded to explain our plight. The driver told the other bus driver he would be back in time for the rush and chauffeured us back to Garós .  All the while carrying on a conversation with Jose-Mari in French. The driver seemed happy just to have someone to talk to. 

What became of the ski pole problem, you ask?  The employees of the rental shop all spoke English, so I was ready to explain the missing pole and see what the consequences would be. Before I could get started though, Jose-Maria was explaining to the attendant in Catalan what had happened. I don't know for sure if my English would have garnered the same outcome, but Jose-Maria's Catalan got a smile out of the guys behind the counter and a wave of the hand as they dismissed the loss of the pole.  

Keeping up Jose-Maria

Out of trouble and seated at the table, thanks to Jose-Maria. I was now explaining over a very nice lunch, how one goes about loosing a glove and a pole. Fortunately I was able to balance this blunder against my harrowing tales of skiing with Jose-Maria, at mach 4, with only one pole. It wasn't a particularly good balance, so I went back to eating.  It's important to remember that lunch in Spain is from 2:00ish, until 4:00ish. Today's lunch was now around 4:30. Not to worry though, because the New Years Eve dinner hour would be around 10:00 and last until midnight. At which time the parties start. This timetable is in stark contrast to the American timetable, where the party ends at midnight and everyone goes home. Except the guy passed out in the bathtub. 

Our after lunch walk was on a walking path that ran about 3 km between Garós  and Arties.  The path was up on the hillside away from traffic and wide enough for a mini plow to keep it clear. The sun was still up and the walk was very nice despite the fact that my socks were now holding in the jello that had become my legs. 

  

We got back to the chalet in time for our naps. The night was going to be long and eventful, so everyone felt a nap was in order. I guess everyone. I don't remember because my eyes closed when I pulled off my socks and my legs teetered me into bed.  

Teresa was off to dinner with friends of the family who also had a house in Garós. Jose-Maria and Patricia were also off to have dinner with friends, so that left Marta and I rummaging around for a New Years dinner from the bags of goodies we had brought with us. We managed a nice dinner and a toast to 2015. 

New Year's Day was to be devoted to sleeping in, since the party kids had been out way past their curfew.  That was the plan, but like most plans, there is bound to be a glitch. The walls of the chalet were made out of wood, which gave the house a great look. They also lent nothing for sound dampening. This and the fact that the bathroom was immediately adjacent to all the bedrooms. There is a brief window in the timeline of life when the bathroom is no longer used by children and adults getting up at night.  All of us had passed that window long ago, so the bathroom served no only its purpose, but as an early  morning wake up call that no one wanted. 

Iglesia de Arties

With the morning stupor cured with tea, coffee and a bite to eat, we set out on a walk along the path to Arties again.  Only this time we were going into the village and do some exploring.
Exploring in an old village, will undoubtedly lead you to the old church (iglesia).  Not having suffered the ravages of the countless wars that have destroyed so much of ancient Europe, this Romanesque Period church was free to fall down on its own.   It hadn't yet, but it was clear that the design flaws of  Romanesque Period architecture, would not have stood the test of time with this little church had it not been for some improvements along the way. These improvements had made it possible for this old church to keep its doors open to welcome parishioners and tourists alike.  

Iglesia de Arties - nave 

It's not hard to come away from a trip to Europe wishing you never saw another old church or museum again. I've had that feeling a couple of times, but the old little Romanesque churches have a warmth and serenity to them that the more prevalent Gothic churches can't begin to match. Maybe it's because in the Romanesque Period, and before, Christianity was still young and comforting to the poor souls who lived and toiled under conditions that are unimaginable today.  By the time the great Gothic churches were being built, Christianity had been hijacked from the people it was intended to comfort, and had been turned into a force to frighten and control them, thus adding even more misery to a life rife with misery. 

It was another beautiful day which added to our nice walk through the village.  We stopped for  a glass of wine outside in the sun, before getting back on the path for home.  There was to be a  marvelous lunch that day, so getting home took on a singular importance.   I had been assigned the task of procuring the lamb ribs for the lunch among a few other things for the goody bag. This allowed me to do one of my favorite things here in Barcelona. Shopping!  

Inside the Santa Caterina Market

I say that with no sarcasm whatsoever. I really like shopping at the markets here, because I have almost no idea what I'm doing.  That's because when I go to the market, I'm going to a market and not a grocery store. I've been to many grocery stores throughout Europe. Give yourself a few minutes and you will be able to sort out what you are about to buy. You may not know what that particular cheese tastes like, but you know it's cheese. You can stroll through the isles, looking at labels and generally figuring it out.  The markets on the other hand are completely different. There are no pictures and labels to help you.   I like to go to the Mercat de Santa Caterina that isn't far from my flat.  

Rather than having big open air street markets, Barcelona has a few big beautiful market

Mercat de Santa Caterina

buildings scattered around the city.  Most of them were built at the turn of the century (1800 to 1900) to house the open air markets. These markets are a crush of vendors and shoppers with everything behind the counter. Now you have to not only know what you want, but how to ask for it too.  Everything is fresh and right in front of you.  In addition, every vendor is a specialist in what is sold. It is so different that I'm mystified and terrified at the same time. 

I  was to get lamb ribs for a party of five. Not ever having lamb ribs before, I was entering into uncharted cuisine.  I wandered around the market until I had the gumption to try

this particular butcher. He was a nice man with a very big meat ax. He and I concluded after a quick game of charades and linguistic decoding, that I wanted five lamb ribs per person. He took up his ax and wielded it like a surgeons scalpel.  A stop at the cheese ladies stall, the veggie guy and the wine cellar and my market experience for that day was over. 

The ribs were well received and I was complimented on my choice of butcher.  I took the compliment. How do you tell someone you chose the butcher by the size of his ax?  The ribs were cooked over the coals in the fireplace. I had appointed myself the keeper of the flame. The others just called me the fireman.  The firewood was downstairs in the garage, which required a trip down the narrow spiral staircase to fetch and a much more difficult accent back up the narrow spiral staircase laden with firewood. I immediately seized this chore, because the reward was building a fire. You know you're still a boy at heart when you will navigate a spiral staircase with logs poking you, just so yo can build a great big fire. 

It was a delightful lunch that left none of us in want.  A little rest  and we were off again. This time up to the village of Baqueira.  Like most ski towns, Baqueira  was just a little mountain village just doing its little mountain village thing.  So it was until 1965.  Then it became a ski town with all the trappings.  We took Marta's car because we had to transport the 5 of us and the ski gear that Teresa and I were going to rent for the next day. We walked around town for a bit, got our gear,  and crammed it and us back into the car. A quiet evening at the chalet around the fire led to an early nights rest. Besides the missed sleep-in that morning, Teresa, Jose-Maria and I were going to get up early and catch the first shuttle bus to the slopes. 

Jose-Maria &Teresa

I had a pair of gloves, two poles, rested legs and the hope that Jose-Maria, would slow down for Teresa and me. That turned out to be a silly notion. Teresa is an excellent skier and had no trouble skiing at the speed of light. Which is handy if you want to cover the entire Baqueira  ski area in one day. It's a very big area with a wide variety of terrain and we had another beautiful day to attempt just that.  With Jose-Maria in the lead, we rocketed ourselves from one side of the area to the other, all the while following the sun and avoiding the crowds. We had a late lunch reservation at a local restaurant in Garós so,  we would be returning the ski equipment while the rental shop was closed for lunch. There would have been no way to retrieve my street shoes. The solution was to spend the day skiing with my house slippers in my pockets. 

At the rental shop, you put in the secret combination, that apparently a lot of people know, put your ski gear in the locker, check out all the other gear, steal what you want and then leave. I didn't see what I wanted, so I pulled my slippers out and thankfully put them on. Thankfully because there are two great tactical experiences in life and taking off your ski boots at the end of the day, is the other one. 

Our reservation was at a local restaurant serving local cuisine. Although we were technically still in Catalunya, we were really in an enclave, that has its own native language known as Aranese and it's own way of doing things. One of those things is not speaking Spanish. It's a bit like the French, they know how to speak English, they just don't. In some parts of Catalunya the disdain for the central government in Madrid, is palpable.  

The restaurant is noted for its family style complete soup known as Olla Aranesa. Not being familiar with this soup, I elected to have it. To make it in the traditional fashion of this restaurant,  you use every portion of everything. Thankfully some components of the

Marta~Teresa~Jose-Maria
Patricia ~ Darryl

pig are left out of the soup itself, but I have no doubt they were put in the rendering pot for the broth. The one thing they could have left out was pig ear.   It really could have stayed in the rendering pot. I tried it once. Now I've tried it once.  Later when I was talking about the soup with Marta, she asked me if I had noticed that she was the one who always served the soup from the large pot that had been put on the table. I noticed she had served the soup, but not that she had made a point of being the official soup server.  She said it was because she never had any pig ear in her soup!  When eating Olla Aranesa, follow Marta's example and serve yourself. 

The meal was menu style with two courses and desert. The wine was chosen by Teresa and Jose-Maria and the tasting honor was bestowed on me. The guy with damaged olfactory senses.  With the wine having passed my test and the first bottle having passed our lips, then came the second bottle and my toast.   It had been decided in high level secret meetings, that Teresa's meal would be divided between the four of us, as a token or our gratitude to her for inviting us all to her home.  A simple round of thank you's  would have sufficed, but I was compelled to step out from my normal non verbal existence and toast not only Teresa's hospitality, but the good company I had found myself in.  Teddy Roosevelt said to speak softly and carry a big stick. I say drink wine, put the damn stick down and speak up.  

Our time at Teresa's was coming to a close. Jose-Maria and Patricia packed up and bid us

Marta~Darryl~Jose-Maria~Patricia

farewell after lunch. Not wanting to drive back to Barcelona in the dark and miss the scenery a second time, Marta and I elected to stay the night and leave after breakfast. With our departing chores done and and breakfast in our bellies, it was time for us to say good by to Teresa and her lovely home in Garós. We were headed back to Barcelona, but ours would be the slow road. Complete with beautiful scenery and a Golden Witch. That story comes in the next installment. 

This paragraph couldn't find its way into the story, but it will explain the picture of this amazing little snowman. While Teresa, Jose-Maria and I were out skiing, Marta and Patricia went for a walk.   While they were walking the came upon an open field in the sunshine that called to them to have a seat and enjoy the view. It was here that Marta got the inspiration to build a snowman. When she was done, she had created one of the nicest snowmen I have ever seen and now you have seen it too.