The Blithe Traveler

The Truth: What I Really Do All Day

I knit. Well, not really. But I *wish* I could knit all day. So I knit as much as I can. I bought a very lot of inexpensive yarn in China, and am quietly knitting my way through it. Jeff and the children assessed the lot at 3-5 years worth. I gave it two years, and am doing well, just a year into it, although, frankly, I keep buying more, so it's tricky to keep it all straight. There is an excel spreadsheet, but I prefer to spend my time writing and knitting (and swimming and skating and biking and watching movies), rather than updating excel spread sheets. So I am little behind on my calculations.

These are all projects I have completed since the last time I did a knitting update. I can't remember when that was, but I imagine these projects pretty much represent from October to around current. While some of you will be impressed with my prodigious knitting, Jen D. will scoff and you will hear the quiet echo of her "amateur," slide across the ether-net.

I do a lot of test knitting for designers these days. It's not a real job, of course, but it's a nice way to get free patterns and improve my knitting skills. Exactly why I think I need to improve my knitting skills, I am not sure, but one needs a goal, right? And while my goal should really be to learn the days of the week in German, instead, I am knitting my way though my stockpile of yarn.

Cable Sweater

Reasonably successful, although have worn it exactly twice. It was quite a fun knit, and a really lovely pattern, but it is a chunky wool. And chunky wool garments flatter very, very few people.

Shawl Collar Test Knit

Fail! This ended up in the bin. nice enough pattern, but the wool was just dreadful. It was a test knit for a designer, and I used a "merino superwash" that I had purchased in China. Total cost of wool for this garment was around $5US. And I got what I paid for. Really nasty stuff. So, despite the pattern being quite nice, this went for landfill. I salvaged the buttons, of course.

My Own Design

And, look! Here they are - the buttons, I mean! This is a pretty basic sweater with a nice cable down the side and shoulder, so "design" is strong word to use to describe it. I have also worn this exactly once. I do like it. So, perhaps next winter it will see more wear. It's just ... chunky.

Blue Praha

This next thing might be the most beautiful handiwork creation ever in the history of the world. I bought this wool in China three years ago for this very pattern. It took me three years to get around to knitting it. The actual knitting was probably two days, as it is a very simple pattern and it goes quite fast on large needles. I love this. I adore this. I think this is possibly the most gorgeous thing... but I said that already, didn't I? That said, I have worn it twice. It lives on a scarf rack next to my bed where I can see it first thing every morning and last thing every night, and that seems to be enough for me.

Test Knit Scarf

I love this little scarf, made from some gorgeous sock yarn Loyal Reader Debbie sent me for Christmas. It goes perfectly with a little turquuose tank top that I have, so it's a frequently worn item. Although, as I think about it, "often" is relative. I have probably worn this five times, which makes it one of the highest traffic items in my knitted wardrobe. Hmm. I like to knit, but it seems I am not much for wearing knitted things.

Dad's Scarf

Christmas this year included a Hand Made element. The scarf below I knitted for my dad in sable yarn. Gorgeous, soft, soft stuff. The photo does not to the finished item justice. It's a really nice warm snugly scarf for a guy who just retired and moved to South Carolina. Hey, you can't win them all.

Lamb With Sweater

This was what I knitted for Hope for Christmas. Cuter than cute in real life. A little weak in the photo.

Polar Bear

And for Tom, this was actually a FAIL. I knit the blessed thing twice in two different wools and could not get it to felt. I have purchased some felting wool from Knitpicks and intend to pick this pattern up again, knit it for the third time and finally get something that felts. I think then it will be a win. The pattern is adorable and easy to follow. But it needs to felt.

Meandering Vines Shawl

Ah, I love this pattern. I knitted this for Hope's teacher for Christmas. The wool is alpaca that a friend of mine bought for me in Peru. I knitted it in Spain and Morocco, and the yarn itself has been to China. So, it's one of my "Global Nomad" collection. The garment in its many forms has been to more continents than many people I know.

And, look! Here's another one! I do love this pattern. It is easy to memorize, knits up fast and makes a really lovely gift.

 Test Knit Soap Sweaters

This is a cute idea, and with the right wool, I think works beautifully. The notion is that you stick soap inside a little sweater and use it to rub yourself clean. Hope quite likes hers, and Tom has one, but does not seem to use it much. But then again, he's a boy, so he's got a natural allergy to soap in any form. The big problem with these is that the cheap cotton I used to make them stretches horribly. A nicer cotton that won't stretch so much, or a wool that felts, or a superwash may have been a better choice. 

Test Knit Shawl

Fail! Why? Two key reasons.

A. It's red. I am never going to wear red. Why I even bought red yarn, I cannot tell you, except that it was quite inexpensive to buy bamboo in China. So, I bought it in multiple colors.

B. I bound it off too tight, so the edge is wonky. If there is anyone out there who wants this, I will re-knit the edge for you and mail it in June. Seriously, this is wedged into my knitting cabinet taking up space and I would like to see it gone, thank you very much.

Test Knit Summer Sweater

I would like this better if I had dropped the stockinette a bit lower and started the lace under the the bust area. The odd, headless photograph is for the designer. I could probably dig up the original photos that have heads, but, meh. If the point is the knittinAnd g, these photos get the point across.

Same sweater, knit again. And made the same mistake! I am wearing it as I type, so it gets to see the light of day a bit here and there, but the purpose of knitting it was to have a nice summer sweater I could travel with. This isn't going to cut it. *Sigh*

But, I knit one for Hope! She loves it, and I will probably knit more of this sort of thing for her in the fall for layering.

 

And, some socks. Both of these are test knits. Many knitters are crazy for socks, so I have been really trying to feel the love. Alas, it's not happening. I don't like wearing them.

Yes, there are two! I just can't be bothered to photograph the second one.

That's all that's finished that I have photographs of. I knit a couple of nice lace scarves that were donated to school fund raisers, but I forgot to photograph them. Oops. 

And, I have four projects on the needles right now. One is a test knit shawl that is turning out rather well. It's blue.

Another is a shawl project from some sock wool that a friend send me from Alaska. It's hand dyed and called "Orca." Turns out "Orca" in Alaskan means "blue."

I bought some silk from India and I'm working on a really interesting reversible cable scarf. Blue. Really pretty, but quite pilly. I think this could turn out like Blue Praha and live happily on my scarf rack for me to love and admire from afar.

And I have one really pretty charcoal grey hank of bamboo that I'm working on a loosely knit summer scarf. They'll all show up here eventually.

Tomorrow: Canary Islands!

 

Face Planting: Ice Skating and Water Slides

Or Part 4 in a series designed to answer Jeff's Burning Question: What Exactly Is It That You Do All Day?

While my face did not get planted, the children had a rough go of it. Ice skating is hard. Well, the ice is hard, and since they hit it with alarming frequency, I think we can safely say they think skating is hard.

The children all took lessons as part of their PE curriculum at school and I (because, let's face it, what else do I have to do all day) invited myself along. There were three skating session. At the first session, I was the only mom on the ice with skates (the rest were in the watching booths, wondering why on earth they had left their skates at home). By session 3, we were a Mom Skating Force to be reckoned with.

I love the cones! What a brilliant way to get children out on the ice for the first time.

As a mother, I have to confess, the ice skating lessons were not my proudest moment. Basically, every time a kid hit the ice and spun out, their little faces a study in outraged indignation as their feet Wily E. Coyote-ed out from underneath them, it was all I could do to keep from peeing myself. They were hilarious.

I know, I know. That is seriously mean. But as they tumbled hither and yon, scattering across the ice like Yatzee dice, I tried (and failed) to keep a solemn face as I skated over to pick up first one, then another, and, well, heave whichever random kid came to a sliding stop near me back to their feet.

Hope loves skating. Tom basically hates it, but has resolved to learn to skate because all of his friends can. And, he says, because his mother has resolved to learn to ski even though she hates it. YES! Victory! I love setting a good example.

And speaking of setting a good example, please note that we are all wearing helmets. You might note that mine is a biking helmet. It so happens that I own a very nice ski helmet purchased at the end of ski season (SALE!!!) designed to protect my noggin whilst skiing and ice skating. However, when we arrived at the skating hall, one of the boys had with him only the biking helmet that you see perched on my head. And it did not fit him. At all. For whatever reason, my ski helmet fit him, so rather than have him miss out on his skating lesson, I passed over my ski helmet and secured his biking helmet to my noggin as best I could. The sacrifices a mom makes ... for some random kid ...

But back to this week. Friday night, after school, I rounded up a bunch of swimmers and headed off to the local indoor water spa. This place is newly opened, one of those EU funded deals that seem to be springing up all over the Czech Republic. It is an indoor/outdoor water park/spa that has a really nice baby pool, little kid pool, lap pool and water slide pool (indoor only during the colder weather, outdoor/indoor during the summer).

The pool is a toasty 28 degrees, so even I venture in to the water and partake of the incredibly awesome water slide, although, as I am designated photographer there are no photos of me. Although, let's face it, do you really want to see photos of me in a bathing suit?

Probably not. This crowd is much cuter.

And no photos of the awesome slide. Or rather, I have some, but since they are photos of the slide and I managed to time it perfectly so that no humans actually show up in the photos, I decided they were too boring to post.

Overall, the indoor water spa place is great fun, not too expensive, and not very crowded, even on a Friday evening. Below is the whirlpool. The outer circle spins around (quite fast!) while the inner circle is a place to hang out and play this bobbing game. You can kind of see what they are doing: the kids on the right jump as high as they can, then the kids on the left, this goes on until the water is sloshing around like a bathtub on the Titanic, popping the non-jumping kids over a meter in the air. Quite entertaining, and even better when you can get a couple of hefty grownups to participate (and yes, they think I qualify as "hefty.").

So, that was pretty much my week. Whew. I'm tired just thinking back on it all.

Tomorrow: Either I tell the truth and give you a glimspe of what I really do all day, or we head to the Canary Islands. I haven't decided yet.

Screen Painting: Cinematography

Or Part 3 in a series designed to answer Jeff's Burning Question: What Exactly Is It That You Do All Day?

The title of this post makes absolutely no sense. I know that. But I started this series without really thinking it through. Surely you can understand? You're pretty clear now that I am a busy, busy person, right? 

So, Thursday was the highlight of my week: the school took the children to a cinema (!!) and we saw the Disney film, Tangled. In English!!! Woot!!! You might be like, wait, what is this "we" stuff? Don't your children go "To School" and you are a "Stay At Home Mom?" So, maybe you should hang out less at school and have a little more staying at home? Ah, yes, and there we have the crux of my messy house dilemma.

I do spend more than my fair share of time at school. Last week, on Friday, I did a Q&A with the 5th graders on writing and being a world famous author and all (<--ha!, I told them, "Yeah, like, Oprah called, and I was like, "Sorry, girlfriend, but I will be in Cambodia, that week, incommunicado."). It was pretty great, actually. English is not the native language of most of these kids, but, holy guacamole, they are sharper than sharp.  They read the chapter "The $700 Pony and the Wee Spotted Acquire Feline Friends," and came up with a list of super fantastic questions. They covered style, humor, target audience, and voice, although by the end, we were just trading names of our favorite books. I may forever be a 5th grade reader at heart.

<--Ha! Stealth Advertising!

So, yeah, I do spend a good deal of time at school. And when I got the message that they were heading to the cinema to see a movie in English, I invited myself along.

Maximus: the best Disney character ever.

Since this was Hope's exactly First Ever Movie in the Theatre Movie Experience (Tom's second, if you are the sort to keep track of this kind of thing), I brought my camera to record the historic moment. Actually, I had two cameras with me. Unfortunately, no chips. So, while the memory lives in my synapses, Microsoft has not worked out a USB link to the brain yet, no physical photos of the morning exist. It's a shame, too, because she really enjoyed it.

Tom has always been anti-theatre, as he thinks they are too noisy and movies are meant to be a private experience, not the sort of thing one has to go out in public to see. But Hope was incredibly excited by the idea of the group movie experience. And Tangled was right up her alley.

From my perspective, movies out have historically been a huge part of my social life. Actually, pre-marriage, my entire social life consisted of going out to the movies with my trainer/therapist once a week. Come to think of it, it's kind of a wonder I ever did meet Jeff and get married.

But my point is that there was a time when movies were very important to me. These were in the long ago days when movies were under $10US and there was about a movie a week worth seeing. The trainer/therapist informs me that the world has changed and that these days, there just isn't that much worth going to see. Although, the trainer/therapist and I are going to go see the last Harry Potter movie together while I am in the US this summer and I can not wait!

Yet again, I have wandered far from the original topic. Sorry. Tangled. Interesting movie. If it is 3-D, which the reviews would indicate it is, we missed that bit. I've never seen a 3-D movie. I imagine they would make me car sick, which is not exactly my idea of a good time, so I intend to avoid them. Although, one imagines that at the age of 85, someone will trick me into viewing a movie in 3-D and I will weep and wail about a life wasted, and why didn't I try this 40 years ago?? But, we saw it flat on the screen and there were some fantastic bits. Any scene that had Maximus in it springs to mind as a winner.

But. And there is a huge but.

But, 3-D, 2-D, would someone please explain to me why Disney thinks that female characters have to have the appearance of Creatures from the Planet 40-Year Old Virgin Fantasy? Seriously? What is going on with Rapunzel's eyes? And her low cut dress? Why does the male lead have reasonably normal male proportions, while the female character looks like something from a fun house mirror? This sort of thing really ticks me off. Frankly, I am practically panting to see Kung Fu Panda II this summer; no inhumanly tiny waists or otherwise freaky proportions in a Pixar flick.

So, while the movie experience overall was hugely satisfying, I could have done without the Disney-ification.

Fabric Painting: Chromatography

Or Part 2 in a series designed to answer Jeff's Burning Question: What Exactly Is It That You Do All Day?

Chromatography, as you probably know, refers to the separation of mixtures. In a lab setting, chromatography can be preparative or analytical. In the hands of small children, it's just dang fun.

The school does not have a dedicated art teacher, so the classroom teachers conduct art classes once a week. Parents with any kind of a creative bent are eagarly sought after to lend a hand for interesting and innovative projects. I am a two trick pony: I did two weeks worth of jewelry making sessions (and yes, Monica, I do still have some materials left over, thanks for asking!) just before the Christmas holidays, and now, with spring springing, we have made us some glorious t-shirts.

So how's this work, you ask? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. You write on a t-shirt with a permanent marker. Any one will do; Sharpie, fabric markers, or generic permanent markers.

Now, given the age of the children in 2nd and 3rd grade, you might notice that I have cleverly given them each a plastic cup and a rubber band. They were required to use the rubber banded cup as a platform for their drawing. Less likely to get permanent marker on the table that way. 

After they have finished drawing a circle, they use an eyedropper to place rubbing alcohol on the marker drawing. Instantly, the alcohol begins separating the permanent marker ink and you can see it moving along the t-shirt. They *love* this bit. Actually, I do to. Different markers spread different ways: for example, blue generally spreads light blue, but a good green will spread yellow on you and the lower quality reds always spread orange; go figure.)

By jamming the circles close together, you can get a mass of shifting rainbow colors. You can also separate the circles and have individual designs stand out on the shirt.

The best bit is that the kids just love wearing these things. These 6-9 year olds are not at all self concious yet, so half them changed right in the classroom so they could wear the shirts home and a goodly portion wore them to school the next day. And lucky me, it was such a hit with the 2nd and 3rd graders, that I get to do it all again with the 4th and 5th next week!

Radiation boy. Between the pirate flags and the yellow radiation symbols, I'm a little concerned. While he was working on it I told him he need more rainbows and unicorn farts or I was going to send him off for psychiatric evaluation.

You can see he took me seriously.

Fabric Printing: Danzinger Blueprints

Or Part 1 in a series designed to answer Jeff's Burning Question: What Exactly Is It That You Do All Day?

The weather of late has been quite beautiful, and the mums at school decided a little spring outing was in order. We plotted something that would educate us a bit about Czech culture, so we could justify the trip to our working spouses, but something with a little shopping so it would be interesting for those of whom "culture outings" induces narcolepsy.

Our excursion lead us to a fabric hand-dying workshop in Olešnice, Moravia, about a one hour drive from Brno. The fabric dyeing operation has been in existence since 1816, and the techniques of dyeing and the machinery used performing without change since 1849. Well, "without change" except for that little break during the initial periods of communist rule. But, patience, grasshopper, we shall get there.

There were 14 of us who made the trip, representing 11 countries of origin (Australia, CR, Denmark, France, India, Italy, Japan, Latvia, Taiwan, UK, and US, if you are interested). We are a diverse group, with the common thread of children at the International school.

The shop is primarily a tourist destination, but its purpose is to carry forward a piece of history. "Blue print dyeing" is not so much a "Czech cultural process" as it is a family business that began dyeing four generations ago, and carries on, in pretty much the same place and in the same way today. That is astonishing on many levels, and even more so when you remember that the Czech Republic was Communist from 1948 to 1989.

During that period, the business came close to dissolving. It was shut completely from 1948 until 1959, whereupon it was re-opened by co-operative of handcrafters, run, of course, under the auspices of the Communist Party. The family that had previously owned it were allowed to be employees of the shop, but of course had relinquished ownership when the Communists came to power. And so they continued until the Velvet Revolution, whereupon the original family members were able to re-acquire it under their names.

Interesting stuff. As a native born American, it boggles my mind that a government can have such power over private industry. As someone who lived behind the Great Firewall of China for three years, I think, well, that is the way it is some places, right?

But, on to the fabric! Blue print dyeing uses the same principle as that used by batik dyers: wax resist dyeing. The basic concept is that a waxy substance is pressed onto white fabric, and then the fabric is dyed indigo. The waxy substance is washed off, so you have a reverse print. Here's a step by step photo walk through:

The carved blocks below were made from applewood and are 150 years old. The blocks today are made of metal, but these wood carvings are works of art themselves. The glass jar contains the wax-like substance that is used protect the white fabric from the dye. Our guide described the wax-like substance as a "secret ingredient," but I've seen Kung Fu Panda, so I don't fall for that sort of thing so easily.

Isn't that beautiful! It's a print block, used to stamp the wax-like substance on fabric. Intricately carved, the pattern repeats are just gorgeous.

The block is dipped in the wax-like material and stamped onto white fabric. The fabric is hung to dry for 24 hours.

Fabric is then hung and dipped into this pine cask of indigo dye that is sunk two meters into the floor. The cask is 175 years old and has been hanging out exactly here for exactly that long. Our guide explained that he expects the cask to last another two generations. Perhaps a bit optimistic, given the the appearance of the visbile pine, but who am I to crush someone elses dream?

Here the fabric is being dipped. It is a fairly long and complicated dipping and drying process that involves dipping for some period of time, drying, dipping again, and it all took much longer than I thought reasonable, and I was sure I would be able to remember exactly the interesting timing tidbits to repeat for you here, particularly given that I saw the demonstration only a few hours ago. But I was mistaken. Suffice to say, it takes a long time.

The final step is to dip the dyed fabric into vinegar to dissolve the wax-like substance, thereby revealing the original pressed on design.

And the results? Lots of lovely blue fabrics with gorgeous hand carved patterns all hand dyed onto them. The shop was darling and more than fulfilled the desires of those mums for whom shopping was the key reason for the outing. I picked up that charming (silk!) scarf front and center, a pair of potholders and made a dash for the sunshine. It was far too nice a day to hang out inside a shop.

 

The Dichotomies That Are Barcelona: WWJT, Hell's Angels and ...Oh, My!

So just in case the title of this post leads you to believe that I am going to write up an all encompassing treatise of Barcelona that will provide brilliant and scintillating insight into the polarizations that give the city its character, dissuade yourself.

I will pointedly point out that in what actually follows I will not be using the pronoun "we." Sometimes, it's important to give credit where credit is due. And to protect the innocent. 

First, What Would Jesus Think?

What you see below is a funicular. Who does not love a funicular? Even the name is fun - fun-icular! Say it a few times. It really does roll of the tongue. At least, I think it does. I'm not really sure how to pronounce it. A funicular, as you know from reading our account of fun, fun, fun in Zagreb, is a tram-like transportation devise operated by cable with ascending and descending cars counterbalanced. One goes up, the other goes down and gravity plays a significant role.

The FUN-icular shown here takes you up to one of the more popular tourist destinations in Barcelona: Tibidabo. The name, Tibidabo is derived from the Latin phrase meaning: I will give to you.  This phrase, so the story goes, was used by the devil in conversation with Jesus, asking him to renounce his father's kingdom. If He (<--Jesus) did so, he (<--the devil) would hand over the world.

Or something like that; my knowledge of things biblical is less than perfect; beyond the obvious that I have managed to produce two children. But this conversation allegedly occurred as they (He and he) looked down from an exceedingly high mountain upon all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them. The name of Barcelona's hill thus refers to the popular tradition that it was in fact the exceedingly high mountain itself. So, it's a very high hill that looks out over the world. Barcelona does not have self-esteem issues.

 

Fun, Fun, Fun-icular! More for some than others.

Wiki says of Tibidabo: "There is an amusement park, a telecommunications tower (Torre de Collserola), and a Catholic church, the Temple de Sagrat Cor, at the top, all of which are visible from most of the city." In that order.

And, in fact, please see below, two of the above mentioned sights. Forgive me if I fail to include the communications tower in my discussion. The Spanish do churches up right, don't they? I find it a little shocking that Wiki gives this thing third billing. I mean, it's pretty incredible. That's not some fake-y Disney-esque castle back there; that's a seriously large and looming House of Worship. I could point out that whoever took the photo lopped off the head of the guy at the top, but you probably noticed that yourself already.

But, and forgive me, it's all a little incongruous, don't you think? The amusement rides and the seriously massive, looming church? I mean, here is this spectacular view of all of Barcelona, and what do humans do? Build a fake airplane ride that spins you out over it.

So, what would Jesus think? I'm torn. Part of me thinks He's shaking his finger at it all. Part of me thinks he's pondering the purchase of a Season Pass.

Second, the Hell's Angels:

This was the view from our "sea-side" apartment. This is one of those deals where I think I need to read the fine print a little more closely. Turns out "sea-side" actually meant a ten minute walk to the sea. Whatever. But I promise you they failed to mention the fact that the Hell's Angels had a location just below our window. Although, all was quiet on the western front and we did not hear a peep from these folks while we were there, so no complaints.

But now for the quiz. What's wrong with this picture?

Here you go. Only in Barcelona do the Hell's Angels ride electric scooters.

Third, Beach Blanket Bingo

No photos accompany this last bit, the reason for which will become quickly apparent. 

One afternoon Jeff needed to get some work done and since the children had been jonzing for some beach time, I offered to take them while he hung out at the apartment. Off we went, me with my knitting and the children determined to build a Sand Forbidden City (don't ask me; the Forbidden City is a huge, intricate, relatively short structure, so it is a fan favorite for sand building).

We found a spot on the beach where I thought Jeff would be able to find us and settled in for an afternoon of knitting and people watching. I did not get much knitting done.

To the right of us, I realized soon after we arrived were a very loving couple, one of whom was topless. And the one who was topless possessed the most incredible set of tatas you can imagine. I took one look at her and thought, "Holy guacamole, if I possessed a rack like that, I could not be persuaded to don a shirt. Ever." Her partner, also a woman, was fully clothed, but was clearly clearly enamored of the exposed lady mounds, and the pair were actively engaged in the kind of PDA that makes you wonder if maybe there should be laws against that kind of thing.

The Goddess Rack, clearly sending out some kind of a home signal, attracted a pack of young bucks who just about dropped their eyeballs on the sand when they caught a glimpse of the almost unearthly gorgeous-ness of these bazongas.  The dudes immediately set up camp right next to the couple, and while you could practically hear them deflate when they realized that this bit of territory was off limits to their gender, it didn't take long for their wee, testosterone soaked brains to see the upside. While they would not be able to take the actual merchandise home, they could perhaps store the imagines for, er, later use. They ogled openly.

So, entertaining, n'est-ce pas? But let us shift from the sublime to the ridiculous. Or from the ridiculous to the sublime. Look, I'm not out to make fun of anyone, I'm just reporting the dichotomies here. 

Moving to the right of where we were sitting, parked a family of ten or twelve of the most massive people I have ever encountered in my life, all nekked as the day they were born. Just, bigger. For a brief moment, I thought, maybe they are so large they cannot find clothing?? But, clearly, these were people who were very comfortable with their bodies, which was good, because there was an awful lot to get cozy with.

At the end of the day, the people to the left of me and the people to the right of me were the only   people on the beach sans vêtements. The rest of the folks up and down the beach were all sort of average size, possessing your everyday sorts of bosoms and were not engaged in excessive face sucking. I had just happened to settle on the most interesting, and one might argue dichotomous, section of beach.

You may ask, what did the children think of our human bookends? Not much. I pointed out the fact that we were on an clothing optional beach, told them they could look all they wanted and ask any questions that popped up, but if they would mind not staring, I would appreciate it. Which is about what they did.

Frankly, their manners on the whole were a bit better than mine. 

Barcelona: Sagrada Família

At some random point in the not to distant past, we took a quick trip to Barcelona for the purpose of determining if Barcelona might be a place we would like to live. We spent the first day visiting the International schools and the next three walking around the city eating, drinking and pointedly not staring at the massive naked people on the beach. The city is beautiful, the food and wine are outstanding and the naked people are a terrific education on all kinds of levels (yes, child, that is exactly why we do not allow you to have ice cream every day...no, actually, I have no idea what that hanging bit on her back is, and, no, clearly, I don't have anything similar ...).

But, we ultimately decided Vienna was a better fit for us. The notion of moving to Barcelona was driven by the value of learning Spanish as a second (or third, if we can ever get the Chinese past "beginner") language over German. Given that there isn't all that much actual Spanish spoken in Barcelona, right from the start we were at a disadvantage. It's not, by the way, that Barcelonians don't speak Spanish, it's that they prefer Catalan, Catalan is taught in the schools, blah, blah, blah. We knew this going in, but were not going to let a little cultural thing like pride of native language toss us off course.

And, in fact, it was the combination of the schools being kind of average, the city being a bit less safe than we have become accustomed to (Pickpocket Capital of the World is not high on my list of positive attributes), and that it was a bit farther to the ski slopes than we would like, that cemented the decision.

The beach was nice, but it failed to trump the Alps. Tom is going through a phase where he really hates having his photo taken. We keep reminding him that when he is 22, he is going to be all kinds of sad that there are no photos of him from age 8 to 21. So, he's trying. Obviously, trying.

But we liked Barcelona. So I'll share a bit of it with y'all.

First, foremost and, gosh, you just have to see it to believe it, is Sagrada Família. BBC Radio did a story on this cathedral around Christmas time that had me parked in the garage listening in rapt attention. It is impressive to hear and read about Sagrada Familia, but to see it in real life is sublime.

I have swiped a few photos from the internet to try to do this unbelievable structure justice. One of the things that is so striking about it, is that it is smack dab in the middle of the city. So you are strolling along, enjoying the city sites and then, holy guacamole, you are standing in front of this unbelievable structure.

Sagrada Família is a large Roman Catholic church (ha! "large Roman Catholic Church" - isn't that just how you would describe the above??) in Barcelona designed by Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí (1852–1926). The original structure was designed by someone else, but Antoni Gaudí took over as lead architect at the age of 31.  Gaudí devoted most of his life to the construction of the church, changing the original design drastically. The neo gothic style made way for Gaudí's trademark modernist style, which was based on forms found in nature.

He worked on it tirelessly for over 40 years, living as a virtual hermit in a workshop on the site. When questioned about the slow pace, he is said to have replied, "My client is not in a hurry." Nevertheless, it remained unfinished at Gaudí's untimely death in 1926, when the artist was run over by a tram on the Gran Via.

Work on the project continued after Gaudí's death under the direction of Domènech Sugranyes but was interrupted by the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1935. The building remained intact during the war, but in 1936 many of its models and plans were destroyed by Catalan anarchists, who saw the church as a symbol of the old, conservative religion that had no place in the new Barcelona. Construction began again in the late 1950s and has continued ever since.  The current director, Jordi Bonet i Armengol, began using computers for the design and construction process in the 1980s, which has sped up the complicated process considerably. Still, the final stage of the grand Sagrada Familia is not progressing much faster than it did under Gaudi. Estimated completion dates range from 2017 to 2026, the 100th anniversary of Gaudi's death.

I cannot do this structure justice in this space, but I imagine you get the idea. It is an awe inspiring work of epic proportion that just takes your breath away. Go see it if you can. 

And, here for your viewing pleasure, are a few of Jeff's photos. 

 

Simply astonishing, and grand. Really, really, grand.

Tomorrow: The Dichotomy that is Barcelona.

 

10:05am

I did mention that the Czech's are a nation of beer drinkers.There is apparently a beer festival in town. Although on the other end, there is a bouncy castle and series of guys selling medovina (honeyed wine), so maybe it's just Hey, It's a Beautiful Saturday! Day.

Personally, beer for brekkie does nothing for me (the wine sellers weren't open yet), but to each his own; it's not at all uncommon many places. Interesting side note, the tolerance level for alcohol in the bloodstream in CR is 0. My understanding is that the police are quite severe about this, although I have no practical knowledge on the topic. But, then again,  we have these:

I was in town so early on a Saturday morning for a hair appointment. It is a gorgeous day today, so I biked, a trip of about half an hour. It was really grand to see Brno at her finest. The cabbage market, Zelný trh, was chock full of early morning shoppers buying locally grown flowers,

poppy, radish and spring onion,

Grow your own started tomatoes, etc,

 and the ever popular, locally grown

bananas, Whatever, dude's got to make a living, right? 

The market is open six days a week, most weeks of the year. The level of actually locally grown versus imported from Chile locally grown, drops to close to zero in the months of January and February, but this time of the year it is great to see the sea of bright spring time colors cover the market. 

As I rode home, I was remembering the day, almost a year ago now when we left Nanjing. The last day, Monica and I took the children to our pool for a last morning swim. The weather was gorgeous and the company was wonderful and I was so very sad to be leaving.

And here we are again, gearing up to pack. I love Brno. I love our darling house, and beautiful small town that is a short bike ride away, I love the people here, and the language (well, maybe "love" is too strong a word, but I really do enjoy doing battle with it), and the very fine wine I buy in my local Vinoteka.

Of course, I am going to love Vienna. I cannot believe how incredibly lucky I am that I will get to live in one of the greatest cities in the world. And I will grow roots there just as quickly as I grew them in Nanjing and in Brno. But, leaving is always hard. I have loved Brno from the moment I got here, and on a day like today, I realize just how very much I am going to miss it.

 

Veselé Velikonoce!

Which means "Happy Easter!" There is certainly a greatness to my lateness. But this is a post that is worthy, despite its lack of appropriate seasonality. In part because it is a rare thing in these parts: a cultural post. As in, I am going to share a bit of the Czech culture.

Now, y'all are already acquainted with the Vinoteka, a truly brilliant shining star on the Czech horizon. Although anyone who knows anything about the actual Czech cultural is all, like, hello, Czech's are about their beer! Are you ever going to do a post about the brilliant Czech beer? The answer is 'probably not,' because Jeff is gluten intolerant and I am not a huge beer drinker. Frankly, the two of us living in the Czech Republic is a bit like a couple of Mormon's settling in Napa Valley. But I have digressed wildly.

Easter. We were talking about Easter. Easter in the Czech Republic is a cozy, traditional series of events.

The Easter celebration begins on "Green Thursday," a day on which Czech's eat mostly vegetables, such spinach, pubs serve green beer. For Czechs green symbolizes the birth of nature and coming spring.

Friday is called Great Friday (Velký pátek), and on this day faithful Catholic Czechs do not eat meat.

For religious Czechs (all eight or ten of 'em; hey twenty years of communism typically has a pretty high toll on religion) the most important day is Sunday, whereupon the faithful head to church. After church there is gorgeous Easter egg painting ...

...and the boys begin making their braided, be-ribboned pomlázkas for Easter Monday.

Which bring us to the big day in the admittedly pretty secular Czech Republic: Easter Monday. It is a day when men take up their braided whips (those are the pomlázka) and spank woman for beer. Sometimes the whipped woman then get thrown into a stream, but that's a regional twist.

To go along with the whipping, men often sing one of the traditional songs created specially for Easter Monday. Here's a sample:

Hody hody doprovody, dejte vejce malovaný.

(Nonsense rhyme!, give me painted eggs!)

Nedáte-li malovaný, dejte radši bílý.

(If you won’t give me painted eggs, give me a white one!

Slepička vám snese jiný.

(The hen will give you another one)

You can actually find photographs of this activity, most of which show jolly people having a ripping good time. But, I thought this was probably a more accurate representation. Note the look of vague concern on the face of the young lady turning the corner. I think that's probably about right.

Wiki does assure us that "The spanking is not painful or intended to cause suffering. A legend says that women should be spanked in order to keep their health and beauty during whole next year. An additional purpose can be for men to exhibit their attraction to women; unvisited women can even feel offended." So there you have it; it's all about good self esteem for the woman.

One of the mums at school is originally from Australia and is married to a Czech fellow. They've landed here for a spell and she is generally quite happy that her children are learning the Czech language and culture. "Generally," I should say, until we ran up against the pomlázka. Whereupon she mentioned that perhaps not all Czech practices should be handed down from generation to generation.

Expressionism

Tom: "Hey, Ma, did you make kim chee again?"

Me: "Nooooooo ... why do you ask?"

Tom: "Fridge smells like kim chee."

Dang. As much as I might love kim chee, the fridge does tend to have a rather offensive odor when the stuff is hanging out in there. But, no kim chee. I hadn't noticed the fridge had a bad smell, but let's face it, it's in my best interests not to notice. I notice, I have to clean it.

The offending item turned out to be worth a look, though. Check it out:

Remind you of anything? Here, try this:

Style: Expressionism

Medium: Mold