Still in Barcelona

We catch the 'hop on, hop off' bus on our first day in Barcelona. The buildings are amazing and full of history...

We get a 2 day bus pass and on the second day head to the beach. It is wide, open and sunny; such a contrast to the small narrow streets of the Ramblas.

We stop for lunch at a place recommended by one of the tour guides on the bus. On seeing it I am in heaven. All tables full, all action. I ask if we can wait for a table, 'we wait'. The Maitre D, 'name?' 'Frank', I say (so much simpler than our surname) He writes down, 'Frain'. I say smiling, 'it's Frankkkk' He replies, 'Oh Frainnn' I nodd, giving up, 'Yeah Frain'. The wait is so worth it. As a seafood lover it is my best meal yet. As for the guys - pizza, pasta they're happy!

Sam and I head to the toilets and pass the real heart of the restaurant, open kitchen, an old man playing the acordian...it is like being on a movie set(which one I haven't figured out) Walking along the beach we spotted a sign for an Ice Bar. I say, 'I've always wanted to try one of those. It's like a nightclub, igloo place...'. Frank is not really impressed. We've had our first real sun in weeks, on the beach, and I am proposing an igloo. So after getting big jackets, gloves, etc on -we enter.

Frank says, 'It is minus 13 degrees! Our first sun in weeks and we pay 45 Euro to go in a cool room?' I shrug, 'it includes a drink...let's get out of here'. We can have our drink at the top so Rocco and I head out first and I ask if we can have our cokes there. Before she can respond I am hit with it - the wall of smoke; cigars, cigarettes, marajuana - the only things that aren't smoking are the plants. It is overwhelming. I see Frank coming out of the lift and say, 'go back, go back, don't come out, we have to go back in, frostbite is better than lung cancer'.

Go back in we do...our drinks don't get time to freeze, we leave the frostbite and the fumer and head back into the sun... We have now been in Barcelona nearly 2 weeks and have settled into a routine. Each morning I head out to a little cafe across the street and get two coffees (cafe con leche) and a baguette from the bakery to bring back to the apartment for breakfast. By this time it is usually after 10am. Everyone seems to sleep late here. The boys like watching Spanish cartoons, especially 'Shinchan', a Japanese cartoon dubbed in Spanish. Shinchan is a little boy and he is always messing up the house and getting in trouble. His mother gets really angry and grabs the boys ears and twists them till they go red and then bashes up his teddy bear, among other tortures. This mother has a serious anger management problem but is quite fun to watch. I'll be in the bathroom and the boys call out, 'Quick mum, she's got a frying pan'. After breakfast we go out exploring and then settle at a cafe to watch the boys play soccer in the playground.

Around 2 or 3pm we are ready for lunch and hunt for an interesting place we haven't been before. If I am lucky they have Sangria de Cava (you can get red wine Sangria almost everywhere but the one made with champagne is harder to find). If the boys are lucky they will have pizza or spaghetti bolognaise. After lunch we explore a bit more and head back to the apartment when we are tired. For dinner we either cook up something from the markets or go out.

Yesterday we had a bit of drama. Sam was sick during the night (he's much better now) and then we noticed a leak in our ceiling (having just moved to a different apartment). This leak was way more than a little trickle and the ceiling was all discoloured from the water and starting to crack. It looked like the upstairs apartment had let their bath overflow or something. Frank went upstairs and the apartment above us is being renovated; the maintenance guy had left a tap on. Turning off the tap didn't make a difference - the ceiling cracked in several places. So we have moved back to the previous apartment. We have loved our time here but it is time to move. The boys start school soon so we will start heading home, via a couple of places in Italy.

Never boring... Barcelona

Many Europeans have an absolute love affair with Barcelona - Norwegians, Germans, Brits, the French, it goes on...We made a point of asking people on the cruise their favourite place; the answer invariably comes back as Barcelona (with Aussies too). I ask why Barcelona? Obviously we missed something on the trip from the airport to the Port. No one gives us a logical answer, it is more a shrug and a raising of the brows. What the? Hmmm - no city (or person for that matter) is so perfect that everyone just breathes their name and it's enough said. We missed the je ne sias quoi that is Barcelona...time to find it! From the Port we catch a taxi to the centre of town and a street known as Las Ramblas; famous for markets, restaurants, performing statues, life etc. We arrive, with our bloated luggage, at Via70 a small Tapas bar, and are offered a Sangria. I say, 'Do you have white Sangria?' (not that I'm racist, red just gives me a headache). 'Ah Sangria De Cava; champagne. A glass?' Asks the lovely Spanish waitress. 'That would be great. Por favor'. The plan is for Frank to look for an apartment on booking.com using their Wifi. The least we can do is order a glass of Sangria and some drinks for the kids. The glass turns out to be a bowl on a stem.

Three sips in I'm liking this place better already. The Sangria is goood... even Frank likes it. We find an apartment a few minutes walk away. Frank meets up with the owner while I mind the kids, the luggage and the Sangria (in no particular order). When Frank comes back we finish up our Sangria with me declaring, 'I'll be back'. We then take our luggage to the apartment before setting out to explore.

The food markets are under a minutes walk from our apartment; with fresh fruit and veg, seafood, chocolates, cheeses (and the odd rabbit) the market is alive with action and cries of 'Ola, Ola' (Hello)

Is it the sun, the soul of Barcelona or the Sangria? Am I falling in love? Yes. As with any romance you extend your holiday and thus we have extended again and again...ole!

Genoa

The Entertainment Director on the Cruise is multi-lingual and rattles off the opening and closing of each show in four or five langages consecutively without skipping a beat. At the closing of the Michael Jackson show he does his thing with one exception his '...Merci, thankyou, Gracie, Gracious...Bingo Bingo Bingo...Ciao, Bye Bye, Sionara, Arevaderci, Bon Nuit...' is broken up with 'cough, cough'. Marco is not the only one suffering. We are surrounded by random coughing and dispite taking precautions all of us have sore throats. When we arrived at Genoa Port the plan was to travel to Portofino which according to those who have been there is 'so beautiful', 'better than Mauritius' and 'spectacular'. Given the travelling time to get there and the fact we are all feeling a bit the worse for wear we head to a Chemist to stock up on cold and flu supplies and decide to spend the day in Genova. We catch the City tour bus and then head to the Aquarium, which is very special. The boys take hundreds of photos:

The highlight of the Aquarium is the Stingray petting pool. Visitors are encouraged to pat the stringrays (if you can get to one). They are very cleaver and like to tease tourists by swimming towards them and then changing direction at the last moment.

We all manage to pat one, except poor Sam who is running madly around the pool trying to intercept one. For a while this approach just doesn't work (I am tempted to tell him to take his shoes and socks off and just jump in the pool). We each call to Sam when we see a stingray swimming toward us only to have it dart off once he has run to us. Eventually he does get to pat one.

Lunch is the highlight of the day. We walk into a very authentic restaurant, down a little side street, filled with locals (who all turn and stare at us when we walk in). The waiter speaks hardly any English but we manage to order - spaghetti, lamb chops and seafood. The food is sensational (especially the spaghetti).

After lunch we slowly make our way back to ship passing a motorbike that thinks it's a truck.

What is surprising is that I've seen two adults riding together, side by side, in the cab of one of these 'trucks'. Not sure how that works - you steer left, I'll steer right?? Tonight is our last night on board the ship and though we have really enjoyed it we are looking forward to spending some time on shore and in one place.

Back on board, we finally get our safety briefing - I'm sure part of it was in English but I'm not sure which bit. I should add that a safety demonstration is played constantly on tv. For the last night we switched cabins (as someone was booked in ours and got on in Genoa). This new cabin was, supposedly, an upgrade. Although it didn't have a balcony it was right at the front of the ship.

As we discover, during the night, the thing about being at the front is that you have no protection from the wind and ocean (except what feels like, but obviously isn't, a thin piece of rattling glass). I begin to think the Areosmith rollercoaster wasn't actually that bad; at least it only lasted thirty seconds. Frank and I lay awake most of the night. I think about those poor people on the Costa Concordia...and sigh with relief when we dock in Barcelona.

Barcelona v Real Madrid

Rocco is a mad keen soccer fan!

He lives and breathes it. When we arrived in Barcelona we saw a soccer match being advertised between Barcelona and Real Madrid. We had to get tickets!

The match was one of the highlights of the trip. We were near the goals and all four goals of the match were kicked at our end. Although it was a draw, Barcelona got into the finals.

The crowd was excited but very well behaved. Could this be because all the dinks (including beer) had 0% alcohol?

McDonald's toilets or the Colosseum?

On arriving in Cittavechia we had considered two options - sight seeing in Rome or heading to the Island of Giglio to see the Costa Concordia. My thinking was the Colosseum's been there since 80AD it's not going anywhere. On the hand the sinking Costa ship may not be there by the end of the month. Our interest in the Concordia isn't that of click happy tourists but of former emergency personnel keen to see how the disaster is being managed (or so I tell myself). In the end sightseeing wins; it is Rome after all. We take an hour long bus ride from Cittavechia into Rome.

What strikes us is that the city doesn't start becoming built up until about ten minutes before we reach the centre. We get off the bus in St Peter's square and look around St Peter's Basillica (note: the Christmas tree is still up).

We got a little lost looking for the Vatican (D'oh right behind the Basillica) but delightfully so; lost in the sights and sounds and people of the City.

Rome is clean and the streets are wide and it just works. We hop on the Roma Christina bus, taking in the sights (even Frank is impressed by the buildings). We hop off to have lunch at stop 6, as advised by the tour guide.

Ahh...Italian food...one meal in Rome is not enough. The pressure is on to find the 'right' place for lunch. It has to be authentic. Preferably no tourists. We stumble around down narrow streets and alley ways in search of it. Many times we look at a place and then shake our heads no...then, in the distance, we spy the awning of Borocco and make our way toward it. Like many local Italian restaurants part of it is a stand up Cafe. We see militarily personnel, in full uniform, walking in and out. Being hungry and on a time frame we agree that this is it.

We walk in are whisked, by a very friendly waiter, to a table near the back of the restaurant. I say 'Ciao, do you speak English'. He squints his eyes and holds his thumb and forefinger very close together and says 'little, little, little'. Excellent! We order scallopini, pizza, spaghetti and mixed salad. Our waiter suggests a white wine for us and asks if we want a bottle or carafe. I ask if we can have a little taste before deciding. He squints, 'Ah, little, little, little'.

A minute later a small carafe of white wine is delivered to our table. Frank says, 'Oh he must have misunderstood but the taste'. Who cares, we tasted it, a full glass each, and it was good. As we are sitting there the scene that unfolds is incredible. Military personnel walk in indiviually with full trays looking for somewhere to sit. A very stern man walks in wearing full military regalia with shining buttons. What seems in contrast is the tall, silver topped sparkle reaching out of his fruit salad. Our waiter then indicates at our glasses and says, 'bottle or carafe?' We thought we'd had the wine but okay 'carafe'. Dishes start arriving at the table that we haven't ordered but wish we had (like spaghetti with fat, juicy clams). Before I can protest (and ask them to stay) they are whisked away. When our dishes arrive the food is incredible. Pizza so thin you could post it, pasta al dente with thick, tomato rich bolognaise sauce and the scallopini. I'd talk about it but, in respect, it was a baby cow. We all eat until we can eat no more.

The Chef appears and greats almost everyone in the place with slaps and kisses. He knows them all. I say to him that the Pizza is the best Rocco has ever tasted (true) and he gladly poses for a photo.

Our waiter asked if we would like dessert and we order icecream for the boys. He says and for you 'Tirrimusu'. He must see my eyes light up because he squints, 'little, little, little'. 'We couldn't fit it in' I say. 'Then Lemoncello complementary of the house', and he slips away. The Lemoncello arrives in tumblers and it is stronger than anything I have ever tasted (except Grappa). When the bill arrives it is in Italian and looks like a Doctor's prescription. The price is very reasonable for what we had and the meal is just what the doctor ordered. We say our goodbyes and depart happily. On the way back to the bus stop we pass McDonald's. Frank turns to us and says, 'Do you want to go to McDonald's toilets or just to the Colosseum?' We pick the Colosseum.

Outside, a group of 'Gladiators' ask us if we want a photo. They say to Rocco, 'You can kill your brother for 5 Euro' then he turns to Frank, 'for one more euro you can kill your wife.' I'm not impressed, 'and if I want to kill him?' The Gladiator doesn't miss a beat, 'Madame he is a big man, you can't kill him...spaghetti kill him.'

When I first saw the Colosseum it looked a bit (well a lot) broken. That was 25 years ago and while I have aged, considerably, the Colosseum has undergone a facelift, Extreme Makeover style. Most of the the broken bits have been fixed and there have been a number of improvements...including a partial deck over where the gladiators used to hang out, bookshops, souveneir stores...actually I'm surprised I had to decide between McDonald's toilets and the Colosseum. Judging by the rate of McDonald's global takeover their franchise manager in Italy is a bit behind the eight ball.