A girls' day out

Having friends is important. Having girl friends to have girl talk with is even more important. That is definitely one thing I miss here: female companionship.

One Saturday, Michelle and I decided to hang out and check out some gourmet store she wanted to see. I invited Luisa along and we met up with Michelle in Barcelona. When we got there, a girl named Inge, an event planner from Brussels, had met up with Michelle as well. The two of them had met the night before at some dinner and Inge was interested in going to the gourmet store also.

So the four of us went to the store and I was excited to see some Asian food there. I didn't get any but it's good to know where I can get some if I crave it. While at the store, Michelle invited us to have lunch at her place. On the walk to her apartment, we stopped at an Italian shop/restaurant,where they sold fresh pasta, homemade tiramisu, and italian wine. It was wonderful.

While preparing lunch, Michelle called Rebeca, a girl she met in her Catalan class and invited her to join us for lunch. Rebeca is from Taiwan and is married to a Catalan. They had met in California where they were both doing their masters and is now working as a translator.

We had a nice long wonderful lunch of chicken sausage and pepper pasta with a nice bottle of Italian champagne, and for dessert, tiramisu and tea. During lunch, Rebeca showed us her new purchases from Zara where she was shopping prior to lunch. We then decided to go shopping and check out the winter sale, or rebajas. After some window shopping, we continued our very girly day and saw a romantic movie. Up in the Air was sold out so we had to settle for that Morgan's movie with Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker. It was a terrible, terrible movie, but Hugh Grant somehow always puts a smile on my face.

By the time the movie was done, it was late at night and time to go home. We had such a good time. It's always nice to be able to talk (or vent) to other girls about things boys just wouldn't understand. Every once in a while, a girl just needs a good girls' day out.

Run in with the cops

It's not too often that you find yourself in a cop car, unless you're a criminal, a delinquent...or have a boyfriend who has police as regular customers.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out late with some friends at Francisco's bar. After the bar closed, we decided to go to Casino, a discoteca in El Prat (who knew there's one here??!!). Since it's quite a walk from his bar, Francisco, the only sober one in the group, drove. It was already 4 in the morning and the cops were out and about watching for delincuentes. We were all being loud and obnoxious in the car when we came up right behind a police car. Francisco started to go a little faster so he could go in front of it. Manel, whose car we were riding on, started to get nervous and kept saying, "Fran don't do it. Por favor Fran, don't pass him". Francisco did it anyway and as we drove pass the police, he says, "hey hey hey". And the police say, "oh heyyyy!!!". We all look at Francisco with WTF on our faces. Then he says, "they come to the bar all the time for coffee."

After an hour or so at the bar, we were ready to go home, but the others wanted to stay. We couldn't take Manel's car so we called for a taxi. There was none coming so as we stood in the freezing cold trying to decide if we should walk or wait some more, the same police car slowly drove by. They stopped at the front of the discoteca and started talking to Francisco. He walked over to them and I kept talking to some people (it's amazing how my spanish fluency goes way up when I'm drunk!). He suddenly came back to tell me the cops were giving us a ride. I was so relieved. I really didnt feel like stumbling my way home.

We got into the car and it was great. It was kind of thrilling riding drunk in the back seat of a cop car, like I've done something wrong. The catholic school girl in me got excited and I felt like I was being rebelious.

The cops were great and dropped us off right in front of the house. They chatted with us a little more (one of the cops' wife also won the same award Francisco had won in November) and then they went on looking for bad guys.

Ahhhh this is definitely one benefit of dating a barman.

Pota Blava

I don't care for birds. Whether it be a dirty pigeon or a colorful peacock, they are all the same to me: creepy! When I was told in early December that El Prat's biggest annual fair was coming, I was interested to hear about it. But when they told me it was a chicken fair, I got goosebumps all over.

In El Prat exist a very rare breed of chicken called pota blava, or pata azul in Castellano; basically, they have blue feet. I don't know where they came from and I don't really care to know but everyone here gets all excited for the feria de gallos. Weeks before the fair, signs promoting the event are posted on lightposts and in business areas. On the main streets, you'll find chicken statues painted by various local artists...very similar to the cow parade in Chicago.

The feria was held in an open parking lot a couple of blocks away from my house. Like all major European cities, parking space is very very limited, so you can just imagine the parking situation when the feria took over for a week and a half. The actual feria was only a weekend long, but the setup and de-setup took longer.

On the weekend of the fair (December 11 - 13th), I tried my best to stay away from it. But in the end I felt bad saying no to Francisco's mom and his aunt, who was visiting from Asturias. They assured me there would be other things there like horses and donkeys, which I didn't mind seeing. And they also promised to protect me from the gallinas, or hens, (ha!), and that we would get churros (how could i say no to churros).

Once we entered the chicken tent, I was in my own personal nightmare. First it smelled like ass. It was very reminiscent of the smell when you walk pass the horse carriages near Water Tower, but worse because the smell is all concentrated in an enclosed space. And then there was the noise. Oh that horrible noise: all the chickens cacawing and whatnot. The place was literally full of chickens placed on high platforms. There were hundreds of them just chilling in their cages. I wanted to die. As we circled the tent (which felt like forever), I looked down on the floor the whole time to avoid seeing these nasty (yet delicious!) creatures. I breathed a sigh of relief - and fresh air - as soon as we exited.

We went into other tents and I was happy to know that there were other interesting things at the fair. One tent was dedicated specifically to businesses in El Prat. Various negocios had their own booth to promote their products. Of course, in the middle of this tent is the always present Spanish bar where people stopped for coffee, drinks, and tapas.

Outside, there were fun stuff for kids like games and mini shows. There were also booths selling artesan food like ham and olives. But my favorite were the various churrerias. Francisco's mom bought a large order of churros. I thought we would all share it but apparently it was just for me. I almost fell into a diabetic coma.

So in the end the feria was fun. I'll probably go back to it next year. I'll just have to avoid the chicken tent.

Calçots

I love calçots!!! I could probably eat them everyday.

Francisco has been talking them up since I got here. They come from the onion family. They’re like the fat version of those Asian onions you see on Chinese food all the time. They grill them and then you eat them with romesco sauce. I have no idea what’s in the sauce but I’m also currently obsessed with it. Calçots, which only exist in Catalunya, are only available during the cold months so you gotta get them while you can.

Manolo, Francisco’s brother, heard of a place that does a calcotada, a calçots meal. So after the spa, we went straight to the restaurant to stuff ourselves silly. We started the meal with pan tumaca. Pan tumaca is toasted bread on which you brush garlic, tomato and olive oil. Then the waiter handed us a bib and gloves. They had to explain to me that this process can get very dirty. Suddenly the calçots came and it felt like there were endless plates of them. They come wrapped in aluminum foil (they grill them that way) and when you open it, the calçots are all charred and black. Once their cool enough to touch, you take one with one hand and peel it with the other. When the burnt outer layer is peeled, you see a nice looking green vegetable underneath. You then dip it into the romesco sauce, hold it up over your head, and eat it as you slowly dip it into your mouth. The flavor is oniony but sweet and juicy. And with the garlicky, mild spicy taste of the romesco, it’s like heaven in your mouth. Needless to say, I ate a ton. I ate and ate until I couldn’t possibly put any more in my stomach. After seeing a huge pile of black calçot skin on my plate , I took off the gloves and the bib, cleaned myself off of charred remnants and ready to go home and take a siesta.

But no, in typical Spanish meal, it couldn’t end there. Then came the second course: the meat plate. It had sausages and steak and potatoes. I looked at Francisco and said, “there’s more??? I thought the meal was the calçots??!!” I just about died of obscene gluttony right there but I had to persevere. No good Spanish person would let all that food go to waste. So I ate all that I could.

And finally after came the dessert. For some reason, my stomach always finds room for dessert, even if I was super full during the previous course. I was excited to finish off my typical Catalan meal with a typical catalan dessert, crema Catalana, which is basically like crème brulee. Unfortunately, the restaurant had ran out of it. I was very disappointed but I was happy to settle for the alternative, cake!

Loteria Navidad

December 22nd is probably one of the most important days for Spanish people. It's the day they find out if they would have to return to work after Christmas, or enjoy the rest of their life as millionaires.

As early as October Spaniards can start buying into the christmas lottery, or Loteria Navidad. Each decima, or lottery number, cost a whopping 20 euros. If you want to pay less, you can buy a participacion. This means that if you buy a participacion of a decima, you only get a fraction of the prize if that decima wins. Your share, of course, depends on how many participaciones were sold.

The beauty of Loteria Navidad is that there isn't only one winner. Of course, only one wins El Gordo, or the fat prize, which is the biggest prize of all. But many others can win smaller, consolation prizes with other number combinations within their decimas. So the more varied tickets you buy, the more chances you have of winning something.

People go crazy for Loteria Navidad. So much so that people will line up for hours outside Lottery stands to buy a decima...yes, here there are places that are specifically just for selling lotto tickets. People buy them where ever they think they feel lucky. In Madrid, Doña Manolita's lotto store is famous for having sold many El Gordo winning tickets. In Catalunya, one town is famous for being the most lucky and having sold the most amount of winners in history. Many will flock to this town just to get a decima or two...or ten.

Others may prefer to buy them at local bars or family shops that sell them. Anyone can sell them! Francisco and his family for example bought a set of decimas to sell at the bar. This is not to make profit though. It's a marketing strategy, in case the winning ticket was bought at the bar. Francisco simply called the nearest Lotto agency, asked for a specific series (the series started with the date of the bar's opening day and consists of about 150 decimas), and displayed them at the bar.

When I visited Madrid in October, Francisco's mom had asked me to get a couple and I went to the famous Doña Manolita. I never thought I'd find myself standing in a long line waiting to buy a 20 euro lotto ticket!

It is also advised that you buy one from all over the country to increase your chances even more. Hence why Aurora asked me to get her some in Madrid. This also makes Loteria Navidad a great Christmas gift. Friends or relatives from other parts of the country will usually buy decimas for you. Nothing says "I appreciate you" more than a decima. I decided to buy the ones from Madrid as a present to Francisco's mom. She of course refused to take them so she paid me for one and gave me one from the bar. It was my first Spanish Christmas lottery ever. I was excited of the prospect of winning millions of euros (multiplied in dollars!) and I was picturing myself debt free and travelling the world.

...I think you can guess how well my decima did.

On December 22nd, the winning numbers are drawn live on TV and everyone watches it. The numbers and prizes are sung out by children from Colegio San Ildefonso. Some might find it obnoxious, but I think Illinois Lottery's Linda Kollmeyer is far more annoying. Check it out.

A decima from 2007

A shitting tree trunk

Santa Claus, or Papa Noel, is usually the character people think of when thinking about Christmas. But as they say, Spain IS different. Not only is Three Kings, or Dia de Los Reyes, more celebrated than Christmas, but here in Catalunya, they take it one step further.

Let me introduce to you the cagatio, which literally means the shitting uncle. But in reality, it's a shitting tree trunk and every catalan family has one for christmas. The cagatio is an adorable little tree trunk with a cute smiley face painted on one end. Parents buy a tiny one a month before christmas and gradually replace it with a bigger one so it seems like it has grown. The kids have to feed it of course...I'm assuming by this they mean they water it.

After nochebuena, which is the traditional Spanish Christmas eve dinner, the children are given sticks. They then proceed to hit the cagatio with their sticks until it shits out gifts. How can a tree trunk possibly poop out gifts? Usually, the adults cover the back end of the cagatio with a red cloth and hide the gifts under it. When the children have had their fill of beating the crap out of the poor cagatio, they remove the cloth and reveal all the wonderful gifts that it had crapped out. Now this tradition was much easier back in the day when children received very simple presents. Nowadays, the parents have to be a bit more creative in hiding massive gifts...with a bigger cloth perhaps?

The Catalanes also have another tradition that goes along the lines of pooping. Here they have these incredible, stunningly beautiful, well-crafted Nativity scenes. In it, they have the usual manger, Mary and Joseph, the animals, the shepard. And then there's the caganer, the shitting peasant. It's a figurine of a man, in peasant clothes, squatting with a pipe in his mouth and taking a dump. Was the caganer really present at the birth of Christ? Maybe not, but that would have added a nice humorous kick into the Nativity story, wouldn't you agree?

Makers and sellers of caganers have gotten smart and now they also sell them using real people. They have caganers of politicians like Obama or the Spanish President, Zapatero. They also have them of famous celebrities and football players, like Javier Bardem or Leo Messi.

Now don't ask me how these traditions exactly began. I still can't figure out how the birth of Jesus is related to moving bowels. But whatever reason they have, I'm sure it's a darn good one.

El cagatio

El caganer

Catching up

The next flew blogs are a bit delayed. I had planned to write before Christmas but got lazy. So it may not seem relevant now - mainly because they are about the holidays in Spain - but I'm going to blog about them anyway.