Spain: Jennifer vs. Itty Bitty

Our hotel sat pretty close to the famous La Seu cathedral in Barcelona. This cathedral experience was like most of my European cathedral experiences... shaming. Except, this time, I refused to spend more money on scarves to cover my "scandalous" attire.

Instead, I munched on two Nutella croissants and surveyed the exterior while Ben marveled at the interior. Ben took plenty of pictures and that worked fine for me. Next time, I'll pack something a little more appropriate.

What was I thinking showing my knees and shoulders? Cover yourself!

Inside the La Seu.

Interestingly enough, I saw a picture online of Jennifer Aniston and her boyfriend on a tour of the Vatican several weeks ago. I immediately wagged my finger at Jennifer's outfit. Her short dress definitely raised a few holy brows, right? Amazingly, or by divine intervention, no. She passed inspection and got inside the most holy city on Earth wearing the dress below.  

Somebody got off a little easy...

Spain: Similarities

We loved Barcelona so much because it reminded us of New York, but much cleaner with more Nutella and better beaches. People and energy burst from the city. Curvy side streets wound around old buildings and unique, little shops. We walked or took public transportation everywhere. Rows of restaurants served delicious food into the wee hours of the night. Late nights out happened every night, not just on weekends. And, the diversity of people and languages almost matched the Big Apple's.

Barcelona really fit our style.

Tourists and locals loved La Rambla Street.

I loved the less populated side streets with tiny shops.

Dinner at 10pm seemed the norm.

We joined revelers every night in the streets until the late night/early morning hours
(depending on your point of view).

Spain: Sleepy Senorita

I once mentioned that vacation makes me super relaxed and sleepy. Even an energetic city like Barcelona was no exception. My extremely chilled state did not always make for the best vacation partner. Poor Ben. He did his best with me.

I slept anywhere - on buses, on trains, in cars, in chairs... and, in this case, on a bench in a park outside the Sagrada Familia church. I promised Ben that we would tour the church and take pictures and do one hundred more touristy things before the afternoon ended if I got just 15 (which, of course, turned into 30) minutes of nap time.

Thankfully, he said yes.

The Sagrada Familia Cathedral

 Conked out from livin' la vida loca.

Spain: Picture Dilemma

The hardest part about traveling as a couple was taking pictures. Ben and I took very few pictures together on our trip. It annoyed me to constantly stop random people in the street and ask them to take our picture. Annoyed me, annoyed them.

If I asked someone to take our photo, then I also had to explain how the camera worked.

"You push here. No, HERE.  Right, then focus with this little button. Yup, goes back and forth.  Uh-uh.  Then, again, just push this... and, there you go, got it."

Ben and I often positioned ourselves in our best Miss America poses and held them for an awkwardly long time before our photographer shrugged his or her shoulders and pointed to the camera like "What's up with thing? It's not working. What do I do again?"

We'd get our camera back to see the "amazing" photo and discover that our heads had been chopped off or covered by a dark shadow or cut out of the frame. Oh vey. The photoshopping required to fix those problems.

Probably, my biggest fear, though, was not a bad photo. Rather, I feared someone would steal our camera. I always held my breath as I posed, just waiting for our "photographer" to turn and run with our camera. Then, like Clark and Ellen Griswold on National Lampoon's European Vacation, our photos would be splashed across billboards all over Europe, or even worse... the Internet.

So, without further ado... one of our few couples shots with Barcelona in the background.

Spain: Barcelona Beginnings

Ben and I stepped off the boat and onto Spanish soil. We had made it! The last major leg of our European journey.

We surveyed the area and smiled... paradise. Palm trees, cathedrals, beaches, young people - it exuded lots of fun with minimal learning. My kind of place.

We hopped in a cab and headed to our hotel. The cab driver didn't speak English. We didn't speak (much) Spanish. But, with just the right nonverbal cues, we figured out everything.

We arrived at our hotel, which sat in the Gothic Quarter, a super cool and trendy area full of restaurants and shops. Luckily, our hotel was also across the street from a small restaurant that specialized in desserts covered, coated, filled, and stuffed with Nutella. Yummy. I took one look at that restaurant and then dug through my bag for all skirts with elastic waistbands.

We dropped our bags off and did what we always do on our first day in a new city... jumped on an open top tour bus. Got to familiarize ourselves with the area. Find places to go. (Or, in my case, get a little shuteye).

Very happy in a nice and clean hotel room...

View of Barcelona from the top of the bus.

View of Barcelona from the top of the bus.

Ride on cowboy!

Palm trees! Paradise! Great sight from the top of the bus.

 Ben at the Olympic stadium.

Spain: All Aboard

We said arrivederci to Italy and hopped on a "cruise ship" to Barcelona, Spain.  "Cruise ship" being the operative word. We booked passage from Italy to Spain via the Internet on, technically speaking, a ferry boat that transported cargo and people.

Imagine our suspicion and slight apprehension.

Would we sleep on beds or bales of hay? Would we walk on the deck or be chained in the hull?  Would we eat in restaurants or gnaw our limbs to stave off hunger?  We just didn't know. Luckily for us, it was more cruise-y and less Black Pearl-y.

Our eyes beheld a wondrous sight... a real ship!
No chains or Blackbeards or wenches in sight.

The back of the boat.

 Enjoying the scenery (and not auditioning for a role in Avatar 2).

The bar/restaurant on the top deck.

The pool that a huge group of middle school girls later overran. 

We enjoyed it while we could.

The restaurant inside the ship. 

Ben and I took these pictures to prove that the ship was legit. 

Ben contemplated our impending arrival on Spanish soil.

Italy: Capri Sun

As we galavanted around Capri, I kept reminding myself to always make it my "happy place." 

Think of Capri when a fellow New Yorker shoulder checks me. Remember Capri when a taxi flattens me. Dream of Capri when the exhaust of standstill traffic in Herald Square suffocates me. Imagine Capri when nature eludes me.

Always remember Capri. 

The bluff that welcomed us upon arrival. 

A small pied-a-terre would look nice right by the water. Agree?

A small section of Capri near the dock.

We plan to upgrade from the subway to this... 

... or this.

Our boat raced against this boat to be first in line at the Blue Grotto.

All of the boats behind us in line at the Blue Grotto (slackers).

Our view of Capri from Anacapri (a township on the island of Capri).

What a couple! Such naturals! They must be native Capricans!

More Capri... and I believe our future yacht is the one closest to the left. Ah, yes. That's it.

Italy: Irena, Irena

The second day of our Amalfi Coast tour came with a local tour guide named Irena. Irena surpassed any other tour guide I'd ever met. And, I've had a few.

For starters, we had no idea how old she was. She looked about 80, but moved like 60. She obviously spent every free minute in the sun because she matched my brown leather purse and had tons of wrinkles. She dyed her short hair platinum. 

Irena probably had her lips done hours before meeting us because they were swollen and hardly moved. In fact, her mouth never really moved, even when she talked. We had to block out all environmental sounds and strain our ears to decipher what she said. Still, her shiny, Chapstick coated lips memorized me.

Irena jingled whenever she moved thanks to a hundred oversized bracelets, necklaces, and rings. She shoved all of our ferry, bus, and food tickets into a fake Burberry purse that she slung over her shoulder. I loved Irena because I will eventually look just like her if all goes as planned.  Ben agreed.

As a New Yorker, I also loved Irena because she did not mess around when it came to getting our group:

1) First in line

2) First to eat

3) Free stuff

4) Shots of limoncello

We had one day on Capri, and she optimized every minute on the island. We definitely got our money's worth. For that reason alone, Ben really loved her.

Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of Irena, but that's okay. I like my memory of her, and I doubt any photo would do her justice. So, to end this post in true Irena fashion, I raise a glass of limoncello to toast the best tour guide ever.

Ben waiting to get on the ferry from Sorrento to Capri.

Views of Sorrento from the ferry deck.

Remind me again why we live somewhere made of concrete with cold winters.

Hazy view of Sorrento.

Italy: Humble Abode

We traveled to the Almafi Coast with a tour company, so they booked our hotel in Sorrento. I had no idea what to expect. Would the hotel be rundown? Would it be gross? Would it be in a shady part of town? Or, as a New Yorker, I worried... would it have bedbugs? Such questions plagued my thoughts, though Ben didn't seem fazed one bit. He remained glued to the window, soaking in the surroundings.

The bus unloaded a few tourists at the first hotel. Their hotel looked nice, really nice. All bedbug fears subsided. Ben and I started to get excited. We hoped that we would have such luck.

And, luck we had.

The bus turned onto a cobblestone drive and drove through palm trees and wild vegetation up a hill to The Capodimonte Hotel. We walked though large wooden doors into the hotel and the upper class. I waited for a tropical drink to appear and a handmaiden to wheel my suitcase to our room. I looked to Ben and knew he felt the same. He puffed his chest and strode to the front desk. We acted as if staying at fabulous resorts in exotic locales was the norm.  Four stars... no big deal.

We reveled in the space of our room. The bathroom was 3x the size of our bathroom in NYC. The balcony sure beat our fire escape. And, unlike our small bed in NYC, Ben's feet actually fit on the king size mattress.

Ah, nothing beat our life of luxury.

Surprise 4-star resorts and no bedbugs make me happy

View from our room's balcony at the hotel

View from the 1 of 4 pools at the hotel

Outside our room at the hotel

Italy: Entering Heaven

After Pompeii, our tour guides announced the final stop and our home for the next several days... the place in my dreams, my Heaven... the Almalfi Coast, an incredible stretch of coastline dotted with cities and towns. I sat on the edge of my seat with my face pressed to the window. I couldn't wait. Mama was home.

The bus careened around corners as we drove higher and higher on a narrow road bordered on one side by a mountain and on the other side by a cliff. A little nerve-wracking, but I had complete faith in our driver - a man I had never met and had no knowledge of his driving record. He seemed like he knew what he was doing. At least I convinced myself of that. If things turned ugly, I figured the tour guides had a bottle of Italy's famous limoncello liqueur on board to calm us.

Entering the city of Sorrento in the Almalfi Coast (from the bus window)

Notice the traffic and immediate dropoff from the cliff (from the bus window)

Looking out and down (from the bus window)