Considering how torrid it'd been since our arrival, we thought that Thursday might be a good day to take a trip down to the Tarragona area to visit the Costa Caribe waterpark and Port Aventura. Mark had procured discount coupons to the former, and free passes to the latter, so it looked like a relatively cheap way to get outside and have some cool fun in the sun. Boy, were we wrong!

We got on the road around 10:30 and soon hit a big traffic jam on the Autopista; fortunately, it didn't last too long. As we rolled down the highway, we noticed that the outside temperature was slowly climbing.By the time we reached the gate to the park, it had climbed up to 35C (95F) with a humidity level to match. We also noticed signs at the entrance saying that the waterpark had already reached full capacity, and was closed. So much for cooling down.

We parked and headed towards the ticket lines that stretched back about 30 people deep from all of the booths. We waited in the sweltering heat, sweating, and losing hope that this was going to be anything other than a disaster. We finally reached the ticket window about 20 minutes later, only to be told that we would have to take our free vouchers over to the customer service window to exchange them for passes. Naturally, there was a huge line at that window as well.

We finally got into the park about 45 minutes after we'd arrived. The heat was relentless. The crowds were huge, mostly shirtless (despite the signs urging them not to disrobe), and extremely rude; everywhere we went, it appeared to be perfectly acceptable to push people out of the way without so much as a "perdón". I had to resist the urge to push back.

Port Aventura is divided into "countries": Mediterrania, Polynesia, China, Mexico, and the Far West (Europeans seem to have an inexplicable fascination with the American cowboy culture). We passed quickly through Mediterrania, and headed into Polynesia, where I hoped to at least find some nice tiki bar where I could down a couple of potent umbrella drinks to numb myself into having some semblance of a good time. No luck.

The park had posted sandwich boards in front of all of the ride entrances that gave approximate waiting times. We were very dismayed to see that the park's big roller-coaster, the Dragon Khan, was closed. Based on the wait information, we decided to pass up the Tutiki Splash, and headed for a simulator ride called Sea Odyssey, figuring that if it was indoors it would at least be air-conditioned. After about 45 minutes in line behind a couple with an extremely obnoxious young boy, we were ushered inside the simulator. It was pretty well done, although I wanted to garrote the cute, talking dolphins.

After that, we all were ready for food, so we grabbed some ham sammiches (the staple lunchtime food of Spain). Mark noticed that the Dragon Khan was running again, so we high-tailed it to China before everyone else in the park figured that out and swarmed over there too.

Joyce and Emma aren't coaster enthusiasts, so they hung out in the plaza while us men rode the Khan. I have to admit that it was an awesome ride. Those 8 loops had me screaming like a little girl. When we exited, we found the ladies and decided that we'd all had quite enough of Port Aventura. Mark drove us back to the apartment where we cooked our own dinner, and spent the evening relaxing in air-conditioned splendor.

Friday dawned, and it seemed that the heat wave had finally broken. On our last visit to La Rambla, we had walked past an exhibition of primitive Oceanic, African, and American art at the Palau de la Virreina, sponsored by the Barcelona World Forum, so we decided to head back and take a look. We bought our tickets, walked into the first gallery, and quickly realized that it was an exhibit of erotic primitive art (I suppose the name of the exhibition, "El Primer Eros", should've been some sort of tipoff)! My poor 10-year old daughter was totally unprepared for the prominent genitalia on display and did a lot of self-censoring, while my 15-year old son was mostly amused, especially by descriptive text like, "In many primitive cultures, placing your hand on another man's penis is considered a gesture of friendship". After hurrying through the exhibits, we spent a more leisurely time viewing a gallery of fine photography that featured images of Salvador Dali and his wife, Gala.

Afterwards, we ate lunch at a small family-run Catalan restaurant in the Barri Gòtic. I had the set menu of Gazpacho, Catalunyun sausage with white beans, salad, and orange-raisin flan for dessert. It was simple, but cheap and delicious!

After lunch, Mark went to run some errands, so the rest of us visited Museu Picasso. Like everything else in this city, it was packed with touristas, but it
was interesting to see some of Pablo´s earlier, rarely seen works from his Blue and Pink periods, before he went all Cubist on our asses. I had an amusing political exchange with the guard who took our tickets, that went like this:

"Where are you from?"
"The US"
"Who do you like, Bush or Kerry?"
"Nobody!"
"I don't like nobody too!"

Later that evening, we had an absolutely wonderful dinner at Asador de Aronda that was the culinary highlight of the trip. I had first eaten there 2 years ago, when Mark and I spent 6 days sailing the Costa Brava.

First, he drove us all up to Tibidabo Hill so we could have an apertif and look out over the city while he drove back to his apartment to pick up Rosa. I sipped a fine sherry, Joyce had wine, and the kids drank their ubiquitous Coke Light with lemon, while we watched the lights of Barcelona slowly twinkle to life as evening descended.

The Frare Blanc house is marvelously Modernisme, and the food is faboo. Mark had reserved a prime table out on the patio near a trickling fountain, under a canopy of leaves so we could watch the stars and the silvery moon up in the sky while we dined.

We started out with another sherry and some olives, then the waiter brought us a plate of typical Castilian appetizers: roasted red peppers, white asparagus in a mayonnaise sauce, and assorted spicy sausages, including a delicious blood sausage mixed with cracked bulgur wheat that tasted very Morroccan.

The main course featured the milk lamb of course; it was utter perfection, seasoned with only salt and the smoke of the oak oven. It was served with a simple ensalada and we uncorked a bottle of wine from the Ribero del Duero region...a big robust, fruity red...that complemented the meat perfectly. The waiter brought out little lambie chops for our kids.

Postres was very interesting- a small bowl of hard little donut-like pastries that tasted of anise, followed with a shot of an herbal digestive liqueur. I also had a Cafe Cortado which kept me awake most of the night.

It was simple food prepared very simply, but with the freshest ingredients and the utmost skill. I´ll take it over fussy haute cuisine any day.

On Saturday morning, Mark drove me to the airport to pick up my rental car. Like a lot of the other things we'd done over the past 5 days, this proved to be quite a hassle. We arrived at noon, and the line to the Hertz counter had about 100 people in it! The other rental agencies had practically no one waiting. After 20 minutes, we had made zero progress towards the counter, so Mark strolled up to the front of the line and asked if we could pick it up later, or at the Hertz agency in downtown Barcelona. It was a no-go on the other agency, but they agreed to hold the reservation for me until 7:00pm or so.

Joyce was feeling somewhat out of sorts in the stomach region, so after my aborted trip to pick up the car, she stayed in the apartment while I took the kiddos to nearby Montjuïc (Jewish Mountain) to visit a recreated Spanish village called Poble Espanyol. The village wasn't terribly interesting apart from the opportunity to view several different Spanish architectural styles in one location, and a nice gallery of contemporary Catalunyan art, so we walked over to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya and viewed their excellent collections of medieval religious art.

We went back to the airport at 6:30. The line was much shorter but it still took me almost an hour to get everything squared away. Since they were almost out of cars by that point, the service rep gave me a BMW 525 diesel instead of the pokey Ford that I'd originally reserved; that definitely made the pain and frustration of waiting a lot easier to bear. However, I noticed that the car had a number of scratches that didn't appear on the damage report. Since I've been gouged by car agencies in Europe before over failing to report this sort of thing, I attempted to flag down a Hertz rep. After a fruitless half-hour waiting in line again, I decided to split and take my chances. Somewhat surprisingly, I found my way back to our apartment with no trouble.

Mark and Rosa had to attend a party that evening, so they graciously invited us over to spend some time at their apartment to watch cable TV in English and use the Internet. After almost a week unplugged, the kids were very receptive to both activities.

(To be continued)