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Visit to Barcelona and Ibiza: August 30 to September 8, 2007

When we got to Ben Gurion airport, the first thing I saw was endless cars and taxis filling every traffic lane for hundreds of meters at the passenger drop-off area. "Oh, my God," I thought and immediately remembered that this was the last day of August; a repeat of the experience I had with my daughters Aya and Keren when we went to Prague twelve years ago. In short, the airport was a zoo. To make a very long story short, we waited in the wrong line for a long time, having been directed there by an airline representative. We moved to another line and waited, and were directed back to the original queue. It was all worth it in the end because we were found by an airline employee who took us by the hand past I-don't-know-how-many-people to check us in. The only difference between this time and the Prague experience was that now at least we would have had enough time to muddle through if we had to.

After all that frustration, the plane sat on the ground for nearly an hour before takeoff as luggage workers dragged out their shift in a work slowdown, taking their sweet time to load the plane. Despite this small glitch, however, and the trip was otherwise smooth sailing.

Barcelona Air Terminal

Barcelona

Barcelona airport was also filled with many thousands of people, although nothing like we had seen in Ben Gurion Airport. We had a long walk over a huge pedestrian bridge to reach the rail link into town, and then took the metro (subway) to our hotel. The metro part was a mistake. The innumerable steps we had to negotiate from train to metro with heavy luggage in tow just wasn't worth it. We learned our lesson and took a taxi the next morning for the flight to Ibiza.

On the Subway to Downtown Barcelona

By the time we got to our hostel we were exhausted--Ginat practically passed out on the bed and I showered to remove the four layers of accumulated sweat and dirt. There was no real rush; whatever we would see and do in Barcelona would be fine. We left the hotel refreshed.

The hotel was one of those budget catastrophes. Luckily we got a room with a private bath. There was just enough room for our luggage if I didn't mind stepping over it to get into bed. The walls were painted a psychedelic purple, and the window looked out onto an inside two-by-nothing courtyard with the "view" of a brick wall opposite us blocked by towels hung out to dry. The bed was comfortable and we slept well, and that was all that really mattered.

The View from Our Room

Our first tourist attraction was an incredible church called La Sagrada Familia--the Sacred Family. It has been under construction for over a hundred years and is expected to be finished in the year 2010! Its architect, Gaudí, must have been out of his mind. The towers look like melted wax that morphed into the oddest shapes. Many hundreds of people were passing in and out, but a nice woman from the tourist info center told us that much of the inside is filled with construction, so we skipped it and went by subway to the Gothic Quarter.

La Sagrada Familia

We emerged from the underground in the midst of the 16th century. Our first encounter was a store specializing in chess sets on one of the many super-narrow streets typical to the middle ages. Each chess set in the window had something special about it. I photographed many of the sets as a great remembrance.

Exquisite Chess Sets

From there we walked past a shop specializing in beautiful woman handing out samples of natural juices. I tasted everyone of them before indulging in a very succulent one. Ginat pulled me away from any more trouble.

Natural Juices

Our next encounter was a chance rendez vous with a synagogue dating to the Inquisition. It was a tiny room with some of the original stones along with artifacts bearing Hebrew inscriptions, a large menorah, and some holy books and Judaica. The whole area was the Hebrew quarter before the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492. It was a moving sight.

Ancient Synagogue

We walked our feet off through the whole area. Some signs a defunct Middle Aged walled city still exist. We entered a cathedral so massive and depressing that it gave me an uneasy feeling and we left right away. The architecture was gothic and the walls filled with small Christian icons and votive candles. The atmosphere one of awe in the sense of fear, and one can only imagine the feelings of the devote penitents as they prayed in this overpowering ambience throughout the ages.

Gothic Cathedral

La Rambla was our next destination, a wide boulevard filled with thousands of strollers down its center walkway. Kiosks of every description hugged the passageways, sporting birds, flowers, vegetables and endless street musicians.

La Rambla

I couldn't stop photographing the various fish stands, dried fruits and nuts, sweets, meats and game at the magnificent open air market with its beautiful displays of food.

The Market

By now we were falling off our feet, so we found our way to the Zen Macrobiotic restaurant listed in our directory. It had been founded several decades earlier by Ginat’s partner in the macrobiotic restaurant she co-owned in Boston in the 80s. In fact it was a health food store, open as a restaurant only for lunch. Darn!!! Determined to find some healthy food to eat, we jumped in a cab and rode to a second listed recommendation. Bolted shut!!! Our capable Moroccan taxi driver entertained us with ample conversation and drove us to a vegetarian Asian restaurant. At 8:00 PM the restaurant was empty—most diners don't get going till much later with some restaurants in Barcelona opening at midnight! By now we were starved and oh so disappointed by the greasy, unappealing food.

Waiting for an Awful Meal To Be Served

We cut our losses and left, hoping for a miracle to put an edge of satisfaction to our appetite. Lo and behold we ran across a small health food store that was just closing. The shop owners graciously opened up for us and couldn’t do enough to locate some snacks that met our criteria. It was a veritable feast!

And so ended day one. It was a wonderful taste of Barcelona to be embellished when we return from Ibiza at the end of the week.

In the morning we taxied to the railroad station—never mind the metro with our bags trailing behind down all the steps.

Ibiza

The flight to Ibiza was over before we could realize the take off. Used to 12 hours trans-Atlantic jaunts, this was a sneeze. We took a local bus into Ibiza town to hang out until our set meeting time with the organizers of the yoga retreat. Thinking we were at the last stop, we hopped off the bus at the port. A helpful man asked us where we were going and directed us back onto the bus. Continuing downtown, Ginat reached for her waist pouch only to discover the zipper open and her wallet gone!!! We were pick pocketed by the "nice" guy at the previous stop. We spent the rest of the morning figuring out the phone system in order to contact the credit card companies. We only lost about $50 in cash, but her US drivers license and birth certificate would be harder to replace. We wondered how we attracted this unhappy event, and more importantly, how to turn our thoughts about it downstream.

Finally we made our way as planned to meet up with our benefactors, Yitzhak and Bebe, at the church in the little village of Santa Gertruda. The fun begins!

Yitzhak and Bebe

Driving to the Yoga retreat villa was an adventure by itself. Much of the road is unimproved and could have benefited a 4 x 4 more than their rented car. It was all worth it when we feasted our eyes on the place. The cozy, white washed country home was nestled high on a forested mountain overlooking the hills spread out below.

Views from the Villa

The villa is several miles and light years away from the craziness that is Ibiza town. Discos, bars, and clubs entertain into wee hours of the night as exhausted revelers turn night into day. Ibiza is known for its lax drug policies, and never was there a hipper vacation land. We hoped for a small glimpse just to get a sense of it later in the week. Our comfortable room overlooked the pool and surrounding lounge area. Picture perfect!! The kitchen was less stocked than we would have liked but we were happy to be present.

The Kitchen

The four of us drove to the supermarket on the outskirts of town to stock up with whatever we could find, and then supplemented it at a local "health food" store the following morning.

Three guests from London, Rachel, Maria and Emma, arrived to attend the yoga retreat all week; and a fourth will join tomorrow along with many locals who come for yoga, massages, and company. They are all special people indeed, well traveled, intelligent, and GORGEOUS. Cleavage is definitely in in Ibiza!

One of the local women, Pauline, and her pet poodle, hung around the pool topless (Pauline, that is, not the poodle).

The Girls

Pauline, Rachel and Dog

Whenever my eyes drifted too far for more than a split second, Ginat's elbow conveniently dug deeply into my ribs or whatever other part of my anatomy available.

Claudia

We have been cooking very well and everyone seems to be satisfied, even if some of the tastes are new for them. Time has no meaning here as people drift from one activity to the next without attention to the clock. So we sat to eat supper last night at 9:30 PM after an outside yoga session near the pool. We love the people, the place and the opportunity to relax in an extraordinary setting.

Yoga at the Pool

The participants have rubber bodies as they cycle through yoga poses and body postures that I could never imagine. Ginat was too intimidated to even attempt the robust Astanga movements. This type of yoga is not for the novice. It was beautiful to watch the grace and flexibility of its adherents. Bebe’s and Yitzhak’s bodies are exceptionally flexible, and some of their yoga poses are amazing.

Yitzhak and Bebe

On the second morning everyone gathered to meditate on the veranda outside. With bald Yitzhak wrapped upright in a blanket, it looked like a Buddhist monastery. Ginat joined the sitters while I prepared breakfast.

Morning Meditation

The days quickly become routine with meals, yoga, conversation, and time spent gathered around the pool. Different people show up on different days, adding fun and challenge in cooking and setting the table. Bebé comes around before each meal to supervise the inclusion of sufficient drinks, snacks, fruit, bread, crackers and other conventional foods. Everyone is enjoying the macrobiotic arrangement, but they miss the foods they are used to.

Maria, Emma and Rachel have asked for numerology readings. That is always a joy for me as I explore the inner working of each of them and suggest ways they might change their lives if they want. I did a reading for Yitzhak, a trade for the amazing massage he gave to Ginat.

The retreat wouldn’t be complete without darling Asia—Yitzhak and Bebe’s baby daughter. She is the center of attention, as everyone loves to dote over her. Bebe is a devoted mother with Asia always her first priority before many yoga activities that she would otherwise attend.

Asia and Yitzhak

On Wednesday the whole group car pooled into Ibiza town in the late afternoon to explore the Strip and the old walled city, clearly a highlight. The downtown was filled with restaurants and bars, while the walled city sported steep cobblestone streets, crowded residential areas, and a large church perched at the top of the mountain. The views of the harbor were magnificent, especially with the slowly setting deep orange sun brightening the horizon.

Old Ibiza

Thursday evening was a special occasion. A local friend, Claudia, made a paella dinner for all of us in a true celebration. She brought and cooked all the food by herself. It was a double joy for us with food and company that we loved—including Claudia’s son, as well as Pauline and several other local friends—and a night off from cooking.

There was one other celebration the night before we returned to Barcelona. We gathered in a seaside restaurant in a village on the other side of the island for a buffet of sardines and open bar sangrias. We reached the restaurant via a dirt path over a large hill behind a luxury hotel on the beach. The restaurant was outdoors with a dirt floor, makeshift tables and a kitchen housed in a flimsy shack. Eighteen people filled our long table as the sardines, cooked over a charcoal grill, were served up non-stop with oily salad until everyone simply couldn’t put another bite of food in his mouth. I lost count of how many sangrias I had, but didn’t feel their affect as acutely as Ginat. The atmosphere was joyous; a week of living and being together was drawing to an end.

The following morning, Claudia’s brother drove us to the airport for our return trip to Barcelona. We walking on the tarmac from the terminal to board the plane, the first time we have ever done that.

Boarding to Barcelona

Once again before we knew it the plane landed in Barcelona; it felt like a normal work commute. We checked our bags at the airport and took a local bus to spend the day exploring the Olympic Village, the Joan Miro Museum and the Catalan National Art Museum, located high on a hill hundreds of steps or three or four escalators above the street.

Front View of Museum Looking Down One of the Escalators

City View From Museum

Approach to Museum

The views of the city as we climbed the steps up to the museum were magnificent. When we reached the top we marveled at the photographic views and took deep breaths before going inside. We were awarded with free tickets as senior citizens, not that I am a citizen nor Ginat a senior, but they offered and we accepted.

The museum was more beautiful inside than out. I was able to capture a bit of its magnificence in the following photographs.

Inside the Museum

When we finished exploring the museum we set off on foot to the Olympic Stadium nearby. Although we could only view everything from the outside, it was quiet impressive.

Olympic Stadium Olympic Needle

We continued from there to the Joan Miró Museum, a real treat. Miró’s art is world famous from the 1930s, and the exhibits were exciting. Miró was a Catalan (Spanish) painter, sculptor, and ceramist born in Barcelona to a goldsmith and watchmaker. His work is surrealist, labeled “a sandbox for the subconscious mind,” a re-creation of the childlike and a manifestation of Catalan pride.

Joan Miro Museum and Art

We ran out of time to explore the Olympic Museum nearby and ride the funicular. Instead we found our way back to the bus stop to bid adios to Barcelona. The plane back to Israel left on time and we arrived back home early in the morning to loving daughters and a clean house.

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