We spent several days in Barcelona on our way to Reus to visit the family of our exchange student, Laia.
Well … I know I said we were in Spain, but Laia’s family would tell you we were in Catalonia.
They are separatists, like many in this province in the northeast corner of the country who are seeking independence from Spain. Since I’m not a historian, I will refer you to a nice article from the BBC explaining this political crisis “in 300 words.” (We are of course on the CatalanTeam.)
Source: BBC News
We saw signs of this conflict everywhere.
There are two official languages in Catalonia: Catalan and Spanish. More fiercely loyal Catalan enterprises would have signs and menus only in Catalan, which seems to be a mish-mash of Spanish, French and Italian. Most people in the city speak some English, although this was more of a challenge further afield.
Spanish National Day celebrants near Placa de Catalunya
We were in Barcelona on Oct. 12 for National Day or Fiesta Nacional de Espana in Spain. It was a national holiday and people celebrated with huge rallies in the central square in Barcelona, Placa de Catalunya. But separatists rebuffed the event, working as usual and displaying their version of the Spanish flag, which has yellow stripes, from their balconies.
Anyway, back to sightseeing …
The weather
The weather, mid-60s to mid-70s in mid-October, was balmy compared to frigid Iceland, though we did need to keep jackets on hand for the occasional rain showers.
We will share a few tidbits about our days in Barcelona and Reus in the next couple of blogs.
Our five days in Germany were mostly about being with family, but we mixed some tourism in, visiting the city of Hamburg a couple of days.
Pinneberg
My brother Patrick, his German wife Ines, and their two children live in Pinneberg, a suburb of Hamburg, Germany’s second largest city. We stayed in an Airbnb house a couple miles from their home and it was truly amazing – large, clean, pretty, and only 61 euros a night. The local forest was only a block and a half away and we had a lovely run there. The nearby Hotel Cap Polonio served up some of the best French fries I have ever tasted – crispy on the outside, most inside, not oily, perfectly salted. They were accompanied by mayonnaise and ketchup, the German way.
Pinneberg has a beautiful Rosengarten, which was a nice destination for a short walk with small children. The roses were in bloom and a group of old men were playing bocce.
We ate a lot of bratwurst, currywurst and other kids of wurst. (It was the best!) Also a lot of potatoes, a huge staple in Germany. And lots of brochen (bread). The breakfast pastries were to die for.
Hamburg
Hamburg, located on the Elbe River, is Germany’s largest port and commercial center. It boasts a lot of energy, style, music and culture. Its many waterways and canals make it feel a little like Venice.
The Harbor area is huge. We took a harbor boat ride up the Elbe and saw marvels of German nautical engineering, including a humongous dry dock and several Navy ships under construction. We also saw Hamburg’s theater area, reachable by ferryboats decorated to match the shows. Currently playing: The Lion King and Mary Poppins, among others.
We walked through the Old Elbe Tunnel, under the Elbe River, which used to transport port and shipyard workers but is now an interesting stroll to get a fabulous view of Hamburg from across the Harbor (Hafen). Watching cyclists and rollerbladers navigating through the crowds of families and tourists out for a stroll is very entertaining. The elevators in this structure were massive.
We went up to the observation deck of the brand-new opera house, the ElbPhilharmonie, known by the nickname Elphy, for glorious river views.
We rode the elevator to the top of St. Michaelis Church for awesome 360-degree views of the city of Hamburg.
We visited the St. Nikolai Memorial (Nikolaikirche), which was bombed out during WWII and never rebuilt. The front façade remains but the interior is an open shell, left as a tribute to all affected by war. The website calls it “Hamburg’s central place of remembrance for the victims of war and tyranny of the years 1933-1945.”
German Food
For Bob, who lived in Germany for 4 ½ years in the 1980s, being back in Germany was like coming home. And a lot of it revolved about food and drink. He wanted to have a German pilsner and pommes (French fries) in every outdoor restaurant in the city of Hamburg! He wanted to eat all his favorite German pastries – apfelstruedel, pretzels, franzbrochen – as well as currywurst and spezi (Coke and German Fanta) from an imbiss (casual, quick restaurant).
Bathed in the Secret Lagoon, the oldest hot spring in Iceland – est. 1891.
Visited the incredible Gullfoss Waterfall.
Watched the Stokkur Geyser blow.
Drove through Thingvellir National Park, at the point where the North Atlantic and European tectonic plates collide, creating this land of fire and water that is Iceland.
Celebrated my 59th birthday with fish and chips, Icelandic beer and chocolate cake.
Iceland is a COLD place. It’s as far north as Alaska! Who knew? It is also full of unpronounceable places, most of which start with the letter “S,” and many of which are waterfalls and glaciers.
On Arrival Day, we stepped off the Icelandair jet at 6:20 AM into a brutal monsoon – pouring rain, 50 mph wind, and cold! Why did no one warn us that Iceland is so effing cold? After the extreme discomfort of getting to the shuttle and getting our rental car – fortunately a lovely Forrester with much-needed heated seats — we drove through wild weather for 2 ½ hours to get to our lodging, a sheep farm called Skálatjörn Guesthouse. There, we hunkered down and napped for three hours.
Then, somewhat refreshed, Lexie relaxed while Bob and I went to Selfoss, 18 km away, for a few groceries, and to soak in a thermal pool.
The weather the WHOLE day
Day 2 – Tue., Oct. 2
The Ring Road
The day dawned still cold, but thankfully sunny. We let Lexie sleep late (she is a teenager, after all) and set off around 11 AM for a south coast expedition on Rte. 1, the Ring Road, to the town of Vik. We stopped at several waterfalls along the way. If we were going to do it again, we would definitely bring hiking boots. But thankfully, we had parkas, hats and gloves, because the temperatures were in the 30s all day, and the occasional bursts of wind cut through your bones.
Here are the waterfalls we visited: Urridafoss Waterfall – This low, wide waterfall was ten minutes from our guesthouse. No one was there and it had a Niagara Falls feel. The hike was short and the view was spectacular.
Urridafoss Waterfall
Seljalandsfoss Waterfall – You can actually walk on a path behind this incredibly high (65 meters tall), loud, dramatic waterfall. Bob did. Check out the pics he got! (He was soaked afterward)
Seljalandsfoss Waterfall
View from the belly of the beast, by Bob
Soaked afterward
Gliufradbui, the hidden waterfall, was a quarter-mile hike away. Unfortunately, the cave you used to be able to use to access it was now closed for safety reasons.
Look deep to see the hidden waterfall
Skogafoss Waterfall had a rainbow to its left that seems to be its permanent partner. It also has a challenging trail you can hike to the mountaintop to get views of the falls from above. Also, lots of sheep neighbors!
Skogafoss Waterfall
View from above
Finally, we discovered the Dryholaey Nature Reserve, with its iconic rock formations in the ocean (The Needles), famous arch and end-of-the-world feel.
Dryholaey Nature Reserve
We stayed up late and saw a subtle display of the Northen Lights before going to bed. A very satisfying day!
That’s it, we’re doing it. Our oldest child Aryk is off at university in England. Our youngest child Gavin has just graduated from high school. Rather than be empty nesters, my husband Bob and I are stepping off the treadmill and hitting the road to spend the next decade or two exploring the planet.
The family in London
Our oldest child Aryk is off at university in England. Our youngest child Gavin has just graduated from high school. Rather than be empty nesters, my husband Bob and I are stepping off the treadmill and hitting the road to spend the next decade or two exploring the planet.
We are relatively young and healthy, and the stock market has done good things with our investments over the last few years. So we are renting out our house just outside Denver, putting our stuff in storage, and packing up a few suitcases, three cats, our daughter (for a gap year) and our musical instruments and heading south of the border to explore Mexico for the next few years. We plan to spend three months at a time in different communities, mixing up cities, mountains, coast and historic pueblos, to really get beyond just a taste of this glorious country.
I know people think we’re crazy. Whenever I tell them the plan, they look at me uncomprehendingly.
Why are we doing this?
Because travel opens your eyes and heart in ways nothing else can.
Because meeting all kinds of different people expands your horizons.
Because learning a new language stretches your mind and keeps your brain supple.
Because settling in one place forever feels limiting.
Because the ocean is beautiful and the mountains are glorious.
Because thanks to social media we can stay connected to old friends and dear communities while we make new friends and create new communities.
Because Mexico has a low cost of living and high quality of life.
Because … salsa and mole sauce.
Because … bougainvillea and pelicans.
Because … waves and reefs.
Because … whales and dolphins.
Because … ruins and festivals.
Because … the Day of the Dead and Three Kings Day.
Because … tequila and mezcal.
When we’re done with Mexico, we plan to move on to Central America and South America.
When we’re done with Central America and South America, we’ll give the cats back to the kids, ditch the truck, fly across the pond (Atlantic Ocean) and begin exploring the rest of the planet.
Because life is short. And the world is big. Join us on the adventure!
I know people who have lived in the same place their whole lives. Most people, I suspect. My high school peers. Friends from childhood. People in my church, who tell me stories of their parents taking them to the same church when they were young. I have one family of seven cousins who have all settled down within 20 miles of their childhood home outside of Harrisburg, PA. I don’t know if any of them has ever journeyed any farther afield than the Jersey Shore – or even wanted to. I often envy their closeness, their sense of community. They are there for each other’s weddings, baby showers, Baptisms, every birthday, every Christmas, every Thanksgiving. They never miss. They know every street in their community like it has been tattooed inside their brains.
But that’s not me. That has NEVER been me.
A nomadic childhood Some of it was by circumstance. The fact is, I never even had a chance to live in one place my entire life. My dad was an accountant for GTE (and various evolutions), so by the time I was born, Number 3 of an eventual eight kids in an Irish/Italian/German/French, very Catholic family, the brood had already moved a couple of times. I started life in Williamsport, PA, my parents’ hometown, but only after they spawned their first couple of kids while living in New Cumberland, PA. We were in Billtown long enough for my parents to have me and my brother Michael before we were on the road again.
Warren, Pennsylvania. Syracuse, New York. Littleton, Massachusetts. Higganum, Connecticut. Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, where I finished high school and went off to Glassboro State College (now Rowan University) in South Jersey.
A nomadic adulthood
The first time I made the choice to move, as opposed to being moved, was after I graduated from Glassboro with a degree in mass communications and my parents announced that they were moving again, this time to Vienna, Virginia, outside of Washington, DC. The opportunity to launch my broadcasting career in the Nation’s Capital was so compelling that I went along.
DC was beautiful
I got a job in the news department of WMZQ, a Top 40 country radio station, and then at the Associated Press, which was the largest news organization in the world. As soon as I saved enough to move out of my parents’ house, I moved into DC, and then to Arlington, VA. Living in Washington was a fascinating experience, but I found a culture of pursuit of status and government bureaucracy a bit stultifying and champed at the bit to leave.
Traveling woman I started traveling. I visited San Francisco, England, Scotland, France and Switzerland. I backpacked through the Loire Valley and southern France. I joined the Ski Club of International Journalists and skied in Colorado, Italy and Spain.
Turning point
When I was 30, I decided it was time to pursue work abroad. An opening came up on AP’s World Desk in New York, the news agency’s way station to becoming a foreign correspondent. I considered a stint in New York a necessary evil to reach my goal – it would be crowded and loud, all skyscrapers and their shadows, with no nature in which to recharge. I would hate it.
Instead, I fell in love
I fell in love with Central Park
God, I loved Central Park
From the moment I arrived in NY, I was hooked by that dirty, cacophonous, unpredictable, multicultural, over-the-top, awe-inspiring city. I could almost feel the creative pulse flowing into my body through the soles of my feet the moment they touched the ground at Penn Station. When I went for my first glorious run in Central Park, I almost flopped into the grass on the Great Lawn weeping with joy. Something inside me was opened up. The world got bigger. I got the job, and the Upper West Side of New York became my personal nirvana. Three and a half years later, I was posted to Puerto Rico as a foreign correspondent covering the Caribbean islands. I had finally done it!
But oops, love Alas, love interfered with my “travel the world” dreams in the form of Bob Greenawalt, a fellow adventurer whom I met a few months before I was posted to PR. Bob also had lived in many places, including Germany, while serving as an officer in the US Army. He followed me to Puerto Rico, but there was no work for a high-powered IT consultant on that perennially depressed island. So after a couple of years we returned to NYC, a city we adored that offered employment for us both.
We got married and started a family. The adventure of parenting two gifted, autistic kids kept our feet on the ground for a while.
But after a decade or so in Manhattan and nearby Mamaroneck, the 2008 recession hit and Bob lost his job. We packed up the kids and the cats and headed across the country to the rugged mountains and of Colorado.
And that’s where we’ve been for almost 10 years. We’ve cycled up mountain passes, camped beside lakes, skied down black diamonds, hiked 14ers and drunk our fill of what this state has to offer. But the last kid has graduated from high school, and the next adventure awaits.
Posted by Lisa Hamm-Greenawalt
