Sant Jordi Day

Sant Jordi day, one of Catalonia’s biggest holidays—and by far the most romantic—will be celebrated next week, and we will be in Berlin.  Fortunately, because next week is Semana Santa (holy week) and no one works or goes to school (hence our trip), the kids’ school celebrated it today.  Preparations have been in the works for weeks, with every grade learning a special dance.

Jordi is Catalan for George, and St. Jordi—of George and the Dragon fame—is the patron saint of Barcelona.  It’s hard to keep the saints, the sardines, the parades, straight.  I feel like I’ve written these words before—but no, George is the one and only patron saint.  Sant Jordi day is celebrated every April 23 here in Barcelona, to commemorate the saint’s death in the year 303. 

According to the Barcelona Sant Jordi website, the Catalan version of the familiar story goes like this:

"Once upon a time, a terrible dragon terrorised the inhabitants of a small village in Catalonia called Montblanc. The dragon wrecked havoc among the population and devoured the animals put out to pasture until there were none left. To calm the dragon's anger, the inhabitants of the village decided to sacrifice one person every day, chosen by drawing lots, and to offer that person to the dragon as a sign of their good will. "However, one, dark day, the person chosen to be sacrificed was the king's daughter. Just when she was about to be swallowed up by the dragon, a courageous knight appeared and confronted the evil beast. This was Saint George (Sant Jordi in Catalan). He thrust his lance into the dragon and, out of the blood that spurted forth, there grew a red rose bush. Since then, it has been the custom in Catalonia to present a rose to your loved one. Saint George, the patron saint of Catalonia, as well as England and other countries, became the symbol of Catalonia during the Renaixença, a nineteenth century political and cultural movement that sought to reclaim the symbols of Catalan identity."

The original celebration called for people, especially men, to give a red rose, wrapped with a stalk of wheat and tied with a little red and yellow "senyera", the symbol of four red stripes on a golden background, which is the Catalonian flag along with the message “t'estimo," - “I love you” in Catalan to their loved ones on St. Jordi day.  In 1923, the practice began of women giving a book to the men in their lives was added.  Interestingly, this Catalan practice inspired UNESCO’s World Book Day. 

We had to get the kids all white clothes to wear today, right down to their shoes.  Some wise person had the kindergarten parents send in a bag with their kids’ white clothes earlier in the week.  If Milo had gone to school in his white outfit, it would have been black by noon.  I swear he gets the Dirtiest Kid award every day (he claims that his friend Jonas always comes in second place).  One day Milo’s teacher told me I should star in one of those laundry detergent commercials in which the exasperated mother of Dirty Boy finds the Miracle Product, and happiness and peace are restored to the household.  The only problem, I told Miss Margarita, is that I have not found the Miracle Product, nor have I spent much time trying.  I just stick everything into the washer and hope for the best.

C.C., meanwhile, has been griping about Sant Jordi day for weeks.  Here are her major problems with it:

1.     Sant Jordi kills the dragon, and C.C. loves dragons.  Why would we celebrate a thing like that?

2.     It doesn’t make sense for the boys to get books while the girls only get roses.  C.C. would rather have a book.  I see her point.  Personally, I’d like to have the rose and the book, thank you very much.

3.     The dance they’ve learned is totally stupid.

When Alec picked up the white tennis shoes and white shorts for Milo at Carrefour, he also bought C.C. a white skirt.  My daughter does not wear skirts or dresses.  I did trick her into wearing a jumper at Christmas, but only by telling her it was a Knight’s tunic.  So when I saw that skirt come out of the bag, I had a bad feeling.

This morning whe woke up convinced it would be an awful day—a Friday that would be worse than all of the Mondays combined.  I gave her the choice of the skirt or white pants, and was shocked when she came out dressed in the skirt—a short little number that makes her legs look like stilts.

I arrived at the school at 2 pm, just in time for the festivities to start.  Teachers dressed in white, with yellow and red striped aprons—were grilling butifarra (local sausages), making tomato bread, and selling roses.  Flags were flying and the energy ran high.  The program began with the pre-K and nursery kids, dressed as knights and princesses—and a dragon or two—parading around the patio with their teachers.  A few of them, overcome with stage fright, were bawling, and bolted as soon as they caught sight of their parents.

Milo had to dance with another boy because there were not enough girls.  He towered over his partner, Adrian.  C.C. and her partner remained stone-faced throughout their dance, but they were awfully cute.  When I found her in the crowd afterwards and asked her if she had had fun, she held her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart and said, “A tiny bit.”

Well, I loved it.  It’s fabulous that the school is teaching the kids about local culture, and you could tell that the Catalan teachers and parents were really proud of the event.  There may not be any Sant Jordi day festivities in your neck of the woods, but do buy your sweetie, or yourself, a book for World Book Day.

Photos of the Day

The Happy Camper

When I learned in the fall that the kids’ school was planning a two night overnight trip for the second and third graders, I couldn’t believe it.  So young!  My first overnight school trip was in the fifth grade, and even then I felt homesick.  But, as I have demonstrated before, things happen differently in Spain—it’s not uncommon for kids as young as three to go on these trips, and Milo’s kindergarten class will be taking a one night trip in late May.

C.C. has spent the night with grandparents before, but has never even had a sleepover with a friend.  But ultimately, I chose not to voice my maternal anxiety to C.C. and let her decide for herself.  Once she heard about the trip, there was no question in her mind; she wanted to go.

So we spent some time together on Sunday packing her flashlight and sleeping bag, disposable camera and Mack, the stuffed dog she had chosen to bring as a snuggle buddy.  She picked out her own clothes—her knight pajamas, of course, a tie dye shirt, a t-shirt illustrating Egyptian hieroglyphics, and her favorite—a super comfy Guns ‘N Roses t-shirt that rose in value once she learned that one of her teachers used to be a chearleader and performed a routine to Welcome to the Jungle.  We talked about what it would be like, and she said, “Mama, I could use a mental image of where I’m going.”  So we spent some time checking out the website, which made everything look super fun.

She told me she was a little scared and worried that she’d miss us a lot, especially at night.  She wanted to be sure I’d walk her to her classroom on Monday morning before the bus left and that I’d be there today to meet the bus when it arrived.  But when I left, she was sitting in a circle in her classroom with the other kids, buzzing with excitement.  Alec and I planted several love notes in her suitcase after she went to bed on Sunday night.

After her first night away, we asked Milo whether he missed his sister.  “Not really,” he replied as he dug into his pancakes.  I think he enjoyed the extra attention, and it was lovely to be able to focus on him for a couple of days.  Not to mention how much easier it is to have one instead of 2!  It’s been so long, I had forgotten.  Alec picked him up on Monday after school and they played ping pong in a local park.  And when I picked him up yesterday, I brought him to my office for awhile—I had a meeting, but he also feels important when he is there—and then we went for a good walk together on the Carretera de les Aigues.

This morning at breakfast, Alec asked: “Who misses C.C.?”  and we all raised our hands, even Milo.  I couldn’t wait to pick her up today.  C.C. appeared in the jumble of kids pulling their suitcases up the hill, exhausted but happy.  She looked bigger than she did when I left her on Monday.  She had a great time.  I am so proud of her for being the brave little Pirate that she is, and going off like that.  And I’m really glad she’s back.  If she ever decides to go to summer camp, I’ll be a mess!

Photo of the Day

The Hooky Van

Last week our friends Jim and Raquel and their two children visited us.  Juliet and Jasper are close enough to Milo and C.C.’s ages that it immediately became all party all the time.  We have had a lot of visitors, but none with children, and C.C. and Milo were VERY excited to have them here.  We thought the occasion called for a mini-road trip, so we rented an 8 passenger van, booked three rooms at a castle, and took the kids out of school Thursday and Friday.  Once, a couple of years ago, I explained to C.C.’s kindergarten teacher that we would be taking her on a trip with us to Baltimore and she would miss a couple of days of school.   You never know how teachers will receive this kind of news.  “How lucky for her!” Mrs. Bookman said.  “Frankly, I think perfect attendance is overrated.”  I couldn’t agree more.  Now, there are plenty of families here at our kids’ school that seem to have their kids out of school more than in, and I can understand why this would make teachers crazy.  But a day here and there to do something educational?

Anyway, I told both kids that we would be playing hooky from school and that I would let their teachers know.  When I picked Milo up the day of our departure, I reminded her that Milo would not be there the next day.  “Right,” she said, giving me a rather quizzical look.  “Milo told me.  You’re playing hockey?”  I burst out laughing.  Miss Margarita was not familiar with the term “playing hooky” and thought Milo had said, “We have some friends visiting, so we’re going out of town to play hockey for a couple of days.” 

We all piled into the hooky van on Thursday morning and set off for Montserrat, about a 45 minute drive from Barcelona.  An oddly shaped mountain, it houses a monastery and hermitage caves set along steep paths.  The monastery itself is no great shakes but the walks are extraordinary.  The trails are well marked and well traveled; the one we took felt like nature’s StairMaster—steps, steps and more steps climbing steeply up.  It was hot, and somehow the one bottle of water we brought for eight people got drunk pretty quickly, so after about a half hour straight up, we traversed to one of the hermitages, called it quits, and headed back down.  I would have given a king’s ransom for a fresh lemonade, but contented myself with sparkling water while the kids sucked on popsicles.

Then it was back in the hooky van for stage 2 of our journey, to Cardona.  Spain has a fantastic network of paradores, hotels situated within former convents, castles, monasteries and the like.  The properties tend to be spectacular and the rates are often reasonable.  If you are planning any travel in Spain, you should definitely consider staying in at least one parador.  In Cardona, we stayed at the Ducs de Cardona, a 9^th century castle with an amazing view.   It was perfect.  The kids immediately climbed out of the hooky van—all except for Milo, who remained there for awhile, fast asleep after the monastery climb—and assumed medieval roles of knights and dragons.  They began to explore the turrets, secret passages and archways.  In a stroke of genius, we had decided to put all four of them in one room, with Alec and I, and Jim and Raquel occupying rooms nearby.

C.C. and Milo donned their knight pajamas from Grandma Lois at the earliest opportunity—they wore them to play, to dinner, to sleep, and to breakfast the next morning.  Although the parador website claims that they all have wifi, ours did not work so well, which begins to explain why I’ve been silent for so many days.  What can you expect from a 9^th century castle?  We had a good dinner, a great night’s sleep, and a leisurely breakfast.  And then we checked out and went to the salt mine.

The Parc Cultural de la Muntanya de Sal is within spitting distance of the castle.  Let’s just say that visiting a salt mine had never been on my bucket list, but given that it was the local attraction, we decided to give it a go.  Why not?  We parked the hooky van and climbed aboard the salt buggy, which took us down a spiraling dirt road to the entrance of the mine.  We all donned hard hats (me, hoping that there were no local lice infestations) and followed our guide inside.  I learned a lot about salt and all that it’s used for besides food—fertilizer and explosives, for example. I realize I have to go back and finish that Mark Kurlansky book I started last time I was surrounded by salt (not too long ago) in the south of France.  And, the mines are stunningly beautiful.  Pure white stalactites and stalagmites formed from dripping salt water.  Rich red striations resulting from the minerals in the mountain.  There is, of course, a shop on the premises, where you can buy bath salts, table salts, salt sculptures, and other tchotchkes such as Harley Davidson magnets carved from salt.  My favorite is the very realistic plate of sausage, eggs, and cheese carved entirely from salt (see photo below).  I am something of a salt addict, but had no idea it had this whole other side.  So the bottom line is, if you ever have a chance to visit a salt mine, just go.  You won’t regret it.

After grabbing some lunch in town, the hooky van made a beeline back to Barcelona.  We dropped our friends at their apartment—they had an early flight the next morning and the kids were pretty blown out by then—and went home, where I promptly fell asleep on the couch.  Our couches here are pretty ugly, but they are perfect for napping.  And since there are two of them, and they are big, there is no sofa scarcity in our house.

Saturday we slept in, and then moved very slowly.  It felt like we had been on the go for a long time—I think I can now give my Sagrada Familia spiel in my sleep, and probably even print you out your tickets without waking up—and we just needed to chill.  When our friends Vibeke and Eirik called and invited us to join them at the beach, it sounded like the perfect antidote to a busy week.  Alec had headed off already for a fun day at Carrefour to get our groceries and things for C.C.’s overnight school trip and both kids’ Saint Jordi day outfits (more on both of these later)—he did not have it in him to go to La Libertad, too—so it was just the kids and me.

As I got us all ready, I wondered if we should be bringing bathing suits.   It had been warm, but it was also April 9, and I couldn’t imagine that we would want to get wet.  Still, I called Vibeke who said we should be prepared.  

And here is something that I love, love, love about Barcelona.  We got on the FGC near our apartment and took the 10 minute ride to Plaza Catalunya.  We transferred to the #59 bus which took us down La Rambla, through the Barceloneta and along the beach toward the Villa Olimpica.  We hopped off and there we were, at the beach.  I love cities, and I love cities with beaches that anyone can get to, and I love this city.

Vibeke, Eirik and their kids had parked themselves pretty close to the water.  Before I could even kick off my flip flops, C.C. and Milo had stripped down and run headlong into the sea.  When they came up for air they had such joy on their faces, I could not have imagined being anywhere else.  The sun was actually super hot, and before long I joined them.  The water was chilly, but it was the kind of chilly that just takes your breath away for an instant and then feels terrific.  I am never happier than when I am swimming in the sea, and I am a complete believer in the healing power of that water.

We stayed for a couple of hours, until I worried that our white winter skins might be cooking despite our regular slatherings of sun block.  We packed up and stopped at a kiosk on the way back to the bus to fortify ourselves with ice cream and horxata—my first of the season.  We stopped to rent movies on the way home, and then after showering assembly line style, piled onto the couch with bowls of popcorn to watch The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which I had just finished reading with C.C.  (She calls it “The Charniclicks of Narnia”).  How did I miss all of those resurrection references when I was a kid?

Photos of the Day

Stay Tuned!

I'm still here!  Somehow life has taken over, and time is escaping me, but I promise to catch you all up tomorrow.  Here's a preview of what's to come:

1.  The Hooky Van

2.  Life in the 9th Century

3.  Swimming in the sea.. in April

4.  C.C.'s first ever overnight trip (2 nights actually!)

Right now, I need to get some shut eye.