Spring-time travelogue - part one

Much has happened since last I penned a few lines on "No more Downs in Denmark", but courtesy of the fact that I abhor short articles and earn my living as a teacher, I ended up with precious little time on my hands; much too little to merit sitting down and pamper my own particular past-time pet idea: writing blog entries.

But, to gratify the curiosity of anyone who may care to read whatever I write; I will venture to update you briefly on my recent whereabouts and experiences. Let's start off with something decidedly fun and inspiring


 Barcelona

The Catalan capital was the destination of this years study trip. I am privileged to work at a school where the majority of employees and heads of administration all think that travelling together as a group to see new places is a fabulous thing. So, for the tenth consecutive time, all full-time members of staff packed a fraction of their clothing and articles of bodycare, and stampeded expectantly to the airport and beyond.

Vienna, Kairo, Riga and Istanbul all live on vividly and vigorously in my mental memory bank, and Barcelona will, too. Three action-packed days of delicious food and drink, and the exquisite boon of late-night conversation  and comradeship, made this yeat another personal success story. Albeit we didn't stray too far from the beaten touristic paths, our Norwegian-speaking, Barcelona-residing guide took us to locations that we're definitely livened up by his story-telling ability.

We were treated to verbal thrills covering every extreme of both timelines and moral spectrums: tales of tregady (persecution of Christians in the 2nd century) to tales of the sweeping changes implemented along the Barcelona waterfront prior to the 1992 Summer Olympics. We obviously saw the edifices that no one is allowed to miss: the rivetingly intricate La Sagrada Familia as well as the Park Guell, both brainchildren of the fascinating genius Antoni Gaudi. And we obediently trailed behind our guide as he expertly led the pack through the cobweb of cobbled alleys and narrow passages in what is known as the Old City.

Pickpockets and visual delights were evenly distributed along our route, but the former must have cursed their bad luck as our vigilant eyes restlessly scanned the crowds for suspicious-looking faces. In the end we were left to count our memorable moments, blissfully ignorant of what it must be like to manage without both credit card and hard-earned cash.

And, oh yes, we also saw another kind of cathedral, the focal point of those who faithfully worship their leather-ball kicking idols every now and then, and who vent their nationalistic ire whenever players from the royal club of Madrid slink onto the pitch they hallow. FC Barcelona is the world's most successfull football club at the moment, and Camp Nou is their sacred home turf. Sadly, there was no fixture to be enjoyed as was the case in Istanbul last year, but it was, as expected, both a thing of novelty and excitement to set foot where so many feted soccer battles have taken place.

We were winners, then, in the end, as we packed our bags preparing for the return trip home. And I could confidently look forward to another rerun of the annual family occasion loosely termed "Daddy comes home carrying with him a fair amount of surprises for his wife and kids". Always a laugh, that one.