Sometimes life brings you pleasant surprises — it’s not scripted or orchestrated, but just right. Life can be charming, like that, if you let it.”
The tall white fir draped with multi-colored lights shined bright and festive in front of the U.S. Capitol. A mile and a half to the west, the nation’s most iconic monument was bathed in spotlight embodying the history and culture of the nation’s capital.
I was running hard along the cinder path, flanked by the Castle and the Smithsonian Museum of National History, when I suddenly realized that running was my heaven on earth, and how much better would it be to be running in Europe. I was on winter break for a couple of weeks as an MBA student from George Washington University, and I needed a break from working arduously on a business plan for my food tech startup.
So I got on the phone and called Andrews Air Force Base passenger terminal. A C-17 was leaving that night for Germany with a roll call of 2210. I rushed home and started stuffing winter clothes into my threadbare backpack. Normally I need a couple days to pack for these trips. But today, I only had a couple hours.
Service members, retirees and their families were traveling “Space-A” — short for space available — on an Air Mobility Command flight to Germany. If a seat on the 54-seat Globemaster jet was available they could travel without charge.
The C-17 with the 445th Airlift Wing normally ferries troops and cargo around the world, and on it’s way to Afghanistan, plenty of people were headed to Europe for the Christmas holidays.
There were no more seats available. As a military retiree, I was bumped to the bottom of the barrel. A family of four had to rush home to grab some gifts they forgot to bring. If they didn’t come back in time, I would be guaranteed a seat.
Needless to say, by midnight I sat shivering away on a metal seat, the only cost for the flight was $10 for a box lunch, its baloney sandwich and carrot sticks as hard as ice. Many families with children were bundled up in blankets and lying on sleeping bags. The jet was so loud passengers had to wear ear plugs and thankfully my dose of trazodone reposed me in psychedelic-like sleep. When I woke up, eight hours later, we were arriving at Ramstein Air Force Base. The sun was just rising over the Luxembourg horizon. It was Christmas Day, and there were plenty of rooms available at the Ramstein Inn.
I’ve been to Germany many times over my career. My last duty station in the Navy was at the U.S. European Command in Stuttgart. I would love nothing more than schnitzels and Pils for Christmas, but the main intent on this trip was to run in warmer pastures.
So I found a flight to someplace more sultry and exotic for only 150 Euros. It was an Air France flight from Frankfurt to Paris. I was fortunate to have an overnight, 9-hour layover in Paris — the only catch — it was in Orly, an airport an hour and a half from Charles de Gaule.
What a weird concept. It was like having an overnight layover in Reagan. Then having to catch a taxi to Dulles 30 miles away to board the next flight.
Orly Airport was as dead as a wing joint in Paris. The terminal was closed but luckily several of us managed to find a spot to catch some ZZZs away from the custodians and security guards.
The next morning, I hopped on a taxi to CDG and then caught a paddle jumper to Barcelona. I was excited, except I was dead tired – Flying on military Space-A and sleeping in Paris airports started to take its toll.
Party Hostel Kabul
Checked into Party Hostel Kabul, a 4-min walk from the Liceu subway station and smack dab in the middle of Plaza Real in the center of the old city, not far from the Picasso Museum. With a name like that, I couldn’t resist.
I was too exhausted to wait to see if a double bed room would come available. So I took the mixed-gender dorm and immediately hit the sack. When I woke up at 6pm, I showered, checked my email and moseyed down the steps to see what was cooking in bustling La Ramblas.
On the way down, I met some friendly backpackers: Brazilians, Canadians and two cute American sisters: Miriam and Marcy from Wisconsin.
“Where y’all going?” I asked in the most distinct Southern twang I could muster.
“Marsella, the oldest bar in Barcelona,” said Miriam.
“Yeah, Picasso and Gaudi went there. It remains exactly how it was in 1820,” Marcy added.
We roamed the charming Gothic Quarter with narrow medieval streets filled with trendy bars and Catalan restaurants. The district was a former Roman village, ancient architectures sat next to buildings constructed in the turn of the century. Artisans sold leather and jewelry near the 15th century Barcelona Cathedral with a stunning courtyard full of playful geese. And working girls roamed the winding streets looking for lovers and dollars.
“10 Euros,” one advertised. Another whistled and winked her eye. I felt a wave of humiliation and sorrow.
Cathedral of Barcelona
Shopping is amazing in Barcelona from all the large commercial stores at Calle Portal de L’Angel to the pint-sized boutiques on Calle Avinyo. Luckily we got lost, since what should have been an easy 5-min stroll morphed into a 45 min sight-seeing tour packed with cultural attractions and fun.
Bar Marsella – Barcelona’s first bar
As soon as we walked into Bar Marsella, we were brought back in time to the old Barcelona that still thrives but is slowly disappearing. The walls were stained chocolate brown from years and years of cigarette smoke. The whiskey bottles that lined the walls must have been a century old and covered in dust. Paint falling from the ceiling in little pieces. Thick clumps of cobwebs lined the ceilings and antique chandelier, creating an ambience of character and age.
Our bartender, Sebastián, greeted us amicably. “Hemingway was a regular patron here,” he boasted. “We’re super famous for our absinthe.”
“Really, the liquor is banned in the US,” Miriam murmured. “It’s s’posed to cause hallucinations.”
“Hey absinthe is a spirit, not a liquor.,” our bartender exclaimed. “And we serve 100 proof here.”
“Well, we made it this far. There’s a reason why Picasso was such a great abstract artist,” Marcy said jokingly. I’ll buy the first round of shots.”
“You don’t drink the absinthe straight. It’s too potent and disgusting,” Sebastián said flashing a crude smile.
“Then how do we drink it? As a cocktail or a mixed drink?” I asked dumbfoundedly.
“You can order it in a cocktail, or with a mojito or you can drink it the ole’ traditional French way,” Sebastián responded.
Sebastián served us the Marsella which is one part absinthe and 5 parts of iced water poured over a sugar cube on a fork until it dissolves.
Absinthe – served the French way
“Swallow this slowly,” Sebastián suggested. “Or else it could scald your mouth.”
It’s wormwood, anise flavor was distinctly acrid and powerful. Thankfully the sugar quelled the bitterness and the water diluted the liquor making it more satiable. It was a great Mediterranean ritual, and it was the start of an amazing European vacation.
“Ok, the next round, I wanna light it on fire.”
“You can get lit tonight Marcy as long as you live to tomorrow to tell the tale,” Mirian quipped.
“And I’ll be sure to wake you up early so we can catch the beautiful Barcelona sunrise,” I added, raising my eyebrows for emphasis.
The next morning, Marcy and I caught a glimpse of the first rays peeking over the Mediterranean Sea at Port Olímpic. Built in 1991, the marina hosted water sports and sailing for the 1992 Summer Olympics.
Port Vell
We ran on the spacious stretch of sand alongside sculptures of sea life to the Barceloneta fishing village. Then we ran past the ferry station and the largest Marine Aquarium in Europe.
We saw Christopher Columbus pointing to the distant west over an ornate Corinthian column.
Monumento a Colón
“The hostel told me that this is the top tourist spot in town,” Marcy stated
We stopped to admire the statue then approached to read the plaque.
Monumento a Colón — constructed for the Exposición Universal de Barcelona in 1888. Location of the site where Columbus returned to Spain after his first voyage to the Americas. The monument serves as a reminder that Barcelona is where Christopher Columbus reported to Queen Isabella and Ferdinand after Columbus’ most famous trip.
After appreciating the significance of the memorial and watching people gather to and fro, we ran back along the tree-lined promenade on La Rambla.
Backpackers were just getting up for breakfast and Miriam stretched her arms and yawned as she came down to give her sister a hug.
“Glad you’re alive after last night.”
“We’re very much alive. We ran three miles and saw many Barcelonians jogging,” Marcy uttered. “The city is most spectacular in the mornings.”
“So I’m sorry to see you go tomorrow,” Marcy said with a twinge of sadness. “Where’s your next adventure?”
“Normandy, France, then off to London to to see my folks. You guys should join me.”
“Well, it’s not like we have much going on. What do you think Meagan?”
“Thanks for the invitation, but we really have so much more to see and do in Barcelona.”
“Like what?” Marcy asked with a twinge of displeasure.
“Well for one we have to do the obligatory girly thing and lots more shopping on La Rambla. And two, we still have lots of museums to see such as the Picasso Art Museum.
“Those things are important, but recognizing the sacrifices of the greatest generation is priceless.”
