Barceloneta

Our trip was coming to an end.  We had a flight to catch that night.  I was able to arrange for a late check out at the hotel, so we packed our things up as best we could and decided to enjoy the little time we had left.  Phil had enjoyed a big night, so he was nowhere to be found.  Whilst we waited for him, we went exploring the small streets and alleys around the old Gothic Quarter and El Born.  It was relatively early in the morning, so the crowds were only just starting to gather.

We walked past an old looking cafe and went in for breakfast.

The food in Barcelona had been good, but the small style cafes we had enjoyed visiting in Madrid didn't seem to be as good here.  Everything seemed so tourist oriented it was hard to work out what experiences were actually a slice of everyday life and what were just an inauthentic recreation for visitors.  Inside the cafe, everything was fine.  Nothing spectacular or memorable.  Just all fine.  

Later in the morning, with Phil finally awake, we went in search of somewhere for our last lunch of the trip.  Chatting with Phil about our previous visit, I remembered that we had never visited the beach.  Our trips to Barcelona had always been during cooler months, so the fact we hadn't been here was less of a surprise.  However, given the fame of Barcelona as a party town by the beach, it was still somewhere we thought would be worthwhile to visit now.

The part of Barcelona closest to the beach is called "Barceloneta".  It's quite an appropriate literal name for this place as it does feel like a small miniturised version of Barcelona next to the beach.  Within the built up parts of this neighbourhood, the streets were all aligned in a strict grid pattern. Off in the near distance was the ocean.  It was quite a surreal image to see the tight rows of houses, the regular patterns of the streets, and then suddenly all opening up towards the ocean and the sky.  It seemed to make all the buildings float.  I wondered whether this was part of the inspiration for so many of the famed Spanish surrealist artists or even for Chris Nolan.  Were they really such imaginative geniuses or were they merely blessed with inspiration staring them in the face?

 

It was a fantastic (and in some ways fantastical) place to visit.

It was easy to walk.  Everything was close by and there was a more laid back vibe to the place than in the other parts of Barcelona.

It was nearly lunch time, so we found a popular paella place that would take us in.  Once again, looking for a place to eat with the baby Pickle wasn't a problem at all.  The upstairs dining room was not an issue at all, as the staff hurried down to help us carry the stroller up.  There was never a complaint or any hint of annoyance with it.  It was always friendly and always a seemingly normal thing to do.

Baby Pickle was fast asleep.  He was well fed and comfortable.  The long walk had soothed him and so even the move upstairs hadn't been enough to wake him.

For us we were hungry.  We had been eating paella in various locations, but we had been most surprised by the "fideua", which seems best described as being a paella with the rice replaced by noodles.  Whereas the paella was something we could get overseas (albeit to greatly varying degrees of quality), the fideua was something far more special and unique to this part of the world.

Everything was washed down with big jugs of sangria.  All freshly made and full of fruit.  It wasn't particularly refined, but it all tasted great.  Everything was shared, and we pressed spoonfuls of the food onto one another's plates as we quickly and happily ate. 

I was sad to leave, but also keen to get home.  The trip had given me everything I could have hoped for with my new family.  With all the rush and excitement of a new born, in particular with the rush of people constantly around us, it felt at times like we weren't able to spend so much time together without interruption.  This trip was the break from all of that.  It was just us.  Just the three of us.  Our new family, exploring the world together.

Cultural Pickle

Maybe it had all been a bit too much for poor baby Pickle?  We had certainly put him through a lot in a short amount of time.  There had been international flights, cold weather, train trips and constant sensory overload.  Still, he had seemed to enjoy it all.  Whenever we tried to lower him down on the pram to rest, he would start to scream and cry.  He was only happy when sat up, looking around at everything and enjoying all the sights and sounds.  Each day provided new and wonderful experiences for him and he seemed to be enthralled by it all.  When we went to sleep, there was very little fussing and would sleep quickly and well.

It was far more fun than I expected to take him from museum to gallery to cultural site.  From a personal life experience point of view, it was also a wild ride. I don't think I could ever forget being inside some of the great museums of the world, full of priceless pieces of art, the best humanity could offer, all whilst desperately trying to change Pickle's full diaper without getting it all over myself. 

At each stop, we would place Pickle near or in front of one of the more famed pieces of art or attractions.  I'm sure if Picasso's message in Guernica got through to him, but how would I know unless I gave him the chance to see it?  

Pickle's curiosity was constantly apparent.  He was just an infant, but his eyes were darting around.  I hoped that he would find the world to be a wonderful place, full of things to find and explore.  This would just be the beginning of it all. 

 

After our exploration and visits, baby Pickle normally fell asleep.  The cobblestones of Europe seemed to always ensure he quickly fell asleep.  For myself and Veronica, it was a comfort as well, knowing that the simple act of going for a walk would be able to sooth him.

He wouldn't remember any of this.  That was a bit of a shame.  But we would have these incredible memories with him, and he now already boasted a travel photo album that most could only dream of.

Montserrat

Phil had hired a car as part of his exploration of Catalonia.  He was returning the car soon now that he was in Barcelona with us.  With a few days left, we thought it would be nice to do a day trip out of Barcelona to see some of the surrounding regions.  Having just come from a beach resort town, we decided to go to the exact opposite and head towards the mountains.  I had done some research on day trips from Barcelona, and a name that kept coming up was Montserrat.  A short drive from Barcelona and it was an important part of the culture of Catalonia.  It seemed perfect for us.

Early in the morning, I set off out of the hotel myself.  With the baby Pickle, we needed a car seat for the drive.  I had found a place that would rent a car seat, but it was a high price and a twenty minute walk away.  In hindsight, give the cost, it may have even been better to have just bought a second hand seat, but this was more certain.  So off I went on my early morning walk.  The streets were calm and empty.  The light of the day was still only beginning and everything looked gentler and softer.  It was a nice walk.  It gave me a completely different appreciation for Barcelona, different from the usual crowded and busy streets. 

With the car seat obtained, Phil drove his car over to our hotel.  After the expected struggle to install it, we set off on our journey.  Pickle cried a bit, then very promptly fell asleep to the motions of the car.  Getting out of the city was easy, with only minor traffic.  We were soon on the highway heading to Montserrat.  Or rather we were heading to the famous abbey at the top of Montserrat, given the name applied to the mountains in the area.  We arrived near the base of the mountain, parked the car and then took the "rack rail" which slowly climbed up the steep terrain to the base of the abbey.  The views from out the windows were incredible.  Completely unimpeded, we could see far off into the distance.  Looking up, we could see the strange rocky formations of Montserrat reaching up towards the sky.

The abbey itself wasn't just a single building.  It was a series of different buildings, churches and structures.  There were restaurants, museums, vantage points.  Much more than I had expected to see.  We went through the small museum and gallery.  There wasn't much to it other than a few paintings that freaked out Veronica.  We went back to the main square near the church.  It offered the best views of the surrounding mountains.

We were hungry, so I searched for a restaurant.  We walked past a sad looking cafeteria style type of restaurant.  It didn't appeal to us.  I kept searching and found a far nicer, though far more expensive restaurant further back from the church.  It was a dark and old school restaurant.  Food served on square plates and decor that felt like it had been modern in the 90s.  We sat down for what would be a longer than expected lunch.  The food was good, with many options recommended to us as being more "regional" specialities that weren't so commonly found.  With a nice bottle of wine, we settled in.  Pickle slept and we enjoyed our time.

Our timing was perfect.  Once we finished our meal, it was time for us to enter into the church.  We had booked our tickets in advance, but all entry was based on time slots.  We entered into the main courtyard.  With the stairs and narrow corridors, we were told it would be too difficult for us to bring the baby Pickle with us.  Instead, we decided to take turns going in to look at the church and the relics.

At the back, after walking up a series of fairly steep stairs which became increasingly narrow, we made it to the very back, where the "Virgin of Montserrat" was kept.  It's a small statute.  Very old and made in a style which seems out of place compared to the surroundings.  Apparently, the claim is that the church was actually built around the statue and that this was a place of worship long predating the Christian era.

After visiting the church and the relics, we took the funicular (always a fun word to say) up the mountain.  The views up and down were incredible as we rose up above the surrounding peaks which had enclosed where we had been.   

At the top, we went for a walk.  With baby Pickle in his stroller, the hike up and down was a combination of intense work out, exhilaration and mild danger.  At certain points, the steepness meant I was effectively using my entire body wait to push up against the stroller to push it up the hill.  Each time we walked around a corner, we had another lovely view to look at.  With nothing else in the way, you could see out far off into the distance, even as far as the ocean.  We had to be careful though as well.  The wind would pick up and even as baby Pickle slept, we could see the stroller being gently shaken by the strong breeze.

This visit to Montserrat wasn't exactly what I expected.  I enjoyed myself.  The views were incredible and the church and its relics were also beautiful.  It wasn't a quick trip though.  This was a visit that took up most of the day.  Were I to be asked about it by other travellers, I would probably say to them that it is only worth the visit if you had the luxury of time like we had.

Barcelona and the kindness of the Spanish

Attending the wedding was incredible.  We had been surrounded by friends and were able to celebrate the It had been the reason we had come on this trip, and everything so far had been worth the effort and travel.  We weren't finished though.  The wedding was only the middle point of our holiday.  To finish of our travels, we would be spending a week in Barcelona. 

I felt like I was doing my previous trip to Spain in reverse.  It had been Barcelona and then Madrid, but this time it was Barcelona that would be the conclusion.  The weather had also changed completely.  It wasn't warm, but the cold of Madrid was now long gone.  Wandering outside, it was a comfortable cool.  Nothing more than a light coat or a top was needed.  Perfect weather for walking and exploring.

The city was as busy as has been advertised.  Barcelona has long been a tourist town, but there had definitely been a surge in the years since I had last visited.  Wandering down the long La Rambla in the Gothic Quarter was a shock.  We were used to busy crowds living in Asia, but this felt different and a bit more uncomfortable.  Whereas in Asia, it is a crowd that generally moves with purpose, this was a slow and meandering crowd.  Masses of people who seemed to wander aimlessly and without direction into one another and into the space of others.  It made sense given almost all of these people were tourists who didn't know where they were or where they were going.

It was a fairly minor issue though.  Could it be a bit annoying for those living in the city?  I'm sure it could.  But at the same time, there also seemed to be plenty of places that were far less touched by the tourist masses.  A short walk out of the centre and you could easily find the same elegant and calm streets and boulevards devoid of the visitors.  It was quite pleasant to stroll down these streets.  

Being in Barcelona with Phil, we decided to embrace the food culture of the city as much as we could.  Any opportunity we had, we would try to jump into small local restaurants.  Casual or more fancy, we didn't really care.  So long as the food was good and the beer was cold.

Most of the places we found ourselves seemed to be far more casual.  There was a reputation that Spain had or more avant guard and fancy dining, but none of that seemed to appeal to us that much.  Whether it was because we had access to it in Hong Kong, or because we were wanting more traditional fare, we seemed to gravitate towards the options that were the most Spanish. 

 

It was pure tourist fun, but we found ourselves at one point inside the famous old "La Boqueria" market off to the side of La Rambla.  It seems to continue to operate as a real market for the locals, but it is an undeniable tourist attraction, full of visitors looking for pictures and that perfect moment of Spanish life.  It was hard to tell how much, if any of it, could really be considered to be real anymore.  There were still certainly locals wandering around buying things, but there seemed to be just as many British tourists on their stag trips.

Deep inside were the cooked food stalls and restaurants.  We found ourselves a restaurant that seemed to be run by friendlier staff.  Phil and Veronica had wandered off looking for a table, and I was by myself pushing baby Pickle.  I pointed towards the baby and then indicated we had 3 adults.  The lady behind the counter smiled and nodded.  As space at the counter opened up, I began to move towards the seats when another couple of visitors quickly rushed to try and get to the table.  The lady behind the counter snapped back at them sharply, pointing at me and the baby.  They quickly apologised and moved to the side. Once were all seated, we quickly ordered.  It was touristy, but there fresh seafood, cooked immediately in front of us tasted amazing.  The sangria was immediately mixed at request.  All so touristy.  But we didn't care, it was all great.

One place that Phil and I both wanted to visit again was Cal Pep.  This beloved restaurant was in the El Born district, and we had experienced one of our most memorable meals when we had first traveled to Barcelona.  There were no menus, it was up to the chefs who decided based on what the best options were from the markets that day.  I remember it being cold.  Lining up at the back of the restaurant, waiting for a space at the bar to open up.  We waited with bottles of wine.  The wait didn't seem to matter.  The restaurant was full and noisy.  Everyone was having a great time and so were we.

It didn't seem possible to go back.  With memories of a busy and crowded restaurant, everyone lined up and waiting for a bar space, it just didn't seem quite right to go there again with an infant in a stroller.  Phil wanted to try anyway, so we went for a walk through the maze like streets of El Born.  The walk through these streets in the evening was already a highlight for me.  It felt like an adventure, exploring something new and unique, even though this was probably one of the most touristed places in the world!

We arrived at Cal Pep.

It was as busy as I remembered.  I didn't hold much hope and I already started looking around at the neighbouring restaurants, considering alternatives for our dinner.  Phil disappeared into the restaurant.  He wandered out again and I was expecting him to tell us the bad news.

"They have table for us."

This was a surprise, but not one I was going to turn down.  We navigated our way through the narrow gap between the patrons seated at the bar and those who stood at the back waiting for their turn.  At the very back of the restaurant was a small dining room and wine storage area.  I had memories of there being this dining room from when I last visited, but I didn't think we would be so lucky to get a table.  It was far smaller than I expected.  I think we were lucky that there was space, but also that most people seem to want to wait for a table at the bar.

The food we ordered was as I remembered it.  Fresh and simply prepared.  It was all the best the nearby markets had to offer.  Some of the dishes I remembered, others were new.  But all of them were still delicious.  Baby Pickle was asleep.  Nothing seemed to put him to bed faster than a nice walk with the stroller on cobblestoned streets.  For us, we ordered a bottle of wine, and then another.  It was a happy dinner.  Eating with friends.  Great food.  Good wine.  A sleeping baby.  There wasn't much else we needed.

Phil looked out towards the bar and saw who he thought was the waiter who had served us when we last visited.  He had been incredibly friendly and much of our enjoyment had been from our interactions with him.  The waiter we had this time was a young guy.  He was also extremely friendly and helpful, if not also more than a bit cheeky.  I took out my phone and searched for a photo from our last visit.  The older waiter looked a lot like the guy in my photo.  I showed it to the young waiter.  A look of evil delight flashed across his face and he screamed "JAVI!!!" and ran out of the dining room towards the bar.  He dragged Javi into the room and pushed him towards us.  He looked at me, pointed at me with recognition.  I don't speak Spanish, but his comment seemed to be along the lines of "I remember you...."  I pointed him towards Phil, he jumped a bit in shock and seemed to say "you as well!"  I showed him the picture and he started to laugh, patting his head which now had far less hair than previously.  He gestured to me with his hand "five years?"  I held up both my hands, "ten years".  He smiled and nodded, where does the time go?

Something which I had been struck by throughout our trip had been the incredible kindness of the Spanish people towards us.  Life with a baby had been enjoyable so far, but it was certainly much tougher than before.  In addition to an underlying stress that never went away, there was just the added physical burdens and complications.  Extra bags.  Strollers.  A variety of different items that needed to be carried.  I knew this would be something I would probably carrying and dealing with to varying degrees going forward.  But with this stress and concern, it was nice to get the consideration and support from the locals on an almost universal basis.  Any restaurant we went to, the doors were thrown open.  Space would be found.  Stairs were never an issue as people rushed out to help us carry the stroller up.  Other patrons would smile and laugh with us, never making us feel out of place or like we were causing any nuisance.  More often, they would come over wanting to say hello or to look at the sleeping baby.  At one restaurant in Barcelona, a very hip and popular one at that, when Veronica went to enquire about whether there was space, the man at the front desk quickly responded that it would be more than twenty minutes.  Veronica thanked him and turned to me, at which point he saw me with the stroller.  He called her back and told her to "wait just a moment".  He rushed inside and then came out quickly again, gesturing to us to come in.  A table, in a nice and quiet corner of the restaurant had been found for us.  I strongly suspect that he had bumped multiple other guests waiting ahead of us to give us this table.  His demeanour to us was extremely kind and friendly as he came and went from our table, checking on us to make sure we were all comfortable.  We encountered this type of behaviour constantly.  This was an experience that seemed to speak directly to the heart of who the Spanish people are and how well they treat people.

S'Agoro

We had enjoyed an incredible week in Madrid.  It had been better than what I had hoped for.  We had seen old friends, met their kids, eaten wonderful food and just experienced a wonderful side of Spain.  It had brought back great memories of my visit a decade ago and I felt incredibly fortunate that I had been able to experience it all again for the better.

The real catalyst for our trip wasn't just a desire for a holiday (though that was always welcome).  We had been invited to a wedding and it seemed like the perfect excuse for us to pack our bags and to set off on an adventure as a new family.  Madrid had been an incredible first stop.  Now we needed to head towards the coast.  We arranged a taxi on a wet and miserable final day in Madrid to take us to the train station. After a few wrong turns and waiting in the incorrect spot, we got onto our train just before it departed.  

Our seats were assigned and waiting for us, but our delay meant it was a bit more difficult to arrange our luggage and the baby stroller.  My worries about any issues with this trip were thankfully unfounded.  Pickle slept the entire time and woke only very briefly for a feeding before falling asleep again.  We arrived after a few hours in Barcelona to some more drama as one of the passengers getting off the train was a bit disturbed and began lashing out at a wall before being dragged away by family.  We waited for everyone to leave before we moved all of our luggage and the stroller up to the concourse and to a cab.

Barcelona wasn't our final stop, not yet anyway.  The taxi took us out to another location in Barcelona where there were coaches waiting for us and the other wedding guests.  We were all heading out to the seaside resort town of S'Agoro.  It was a short trip there from Barcelona, only an hour or so.  It felt like a different world when we were there.  As we drove through the town and into the resort, I got strong vibe of some of the small coastal towns I used to visit in Australia as a kid.  The check in process was a bit chaotic when we arrived.  With all the guests arriving at the same time off the coach, everyone had to line up as the hotel staff tried to quickly process everyone.  There were a lot more guests with kids like us and we were all prioritised.  With Pickle with us, all our travels had been made smoother and this would be the case again as the staff upgraded us to a larger room with ocean views.

The weather was warm, but there was a stiff breeze which had started.  We dressed Pickle up in some warm clothes and went to explore the town before dinner.  It was still relatively early in the year, so there were few tourists if any.  Our walk through the town and along the waterfront was calm and completely uninterrupted.

The next day was the day of the wedding.  We woke up early and went for a walk down to the beach and into the town again.  We were lucky on this trip to be able to see Phil.  Knowing we would be here, he timed his own trip to Spain so we would be able to catch up.  It had only been a few months seen we had seen him in Hong Kong.  It was strange that my catch ups with him always now seemed to be in a different country, a sign of how far we had both come since we were kids.

After a very pleasant lunch of paella, we took a walk along the coast pathway that stretched around the headland.  This seemed to be the biggest attraction of the town.  So far, everything had been "pleasant" without being spectacular of particularly special.  The town itself felt like a beach town you could find practically anywhere in the world, the beach nice enough and the surroundings were all acceptable.  But it wasn't somewhere that I would have necessarily sought out.

After walking down the pathway around the headland, our views of the town changed.  It was a breathtakingly beautiful walk that hugged the edge of the headland and gave us beautiful views out to the ocean and along the winding shoreline.  I was reminded a bit of the ocean walk in Sydney.  This wasn't as impressive in the size of the Sydney walk, but it had a different refinement which was appropriate for a European country.

After the walk, we said goodbye to Phil.  He was off to explore more of the region and we would see him later in the trip.  The wedding would start later in the afternoon and we wanted some time to rest and to then get ready.  The wedding itself was outside, overlooking the beach and the ocean.

We dressed ourselves for the occasion.  Veronica made sure that even baby Pickle looked the part with a nice shirt, suspenders and a bow tie.  He remained happily quiet through the entire wedding.  He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to lay down.  He was more than content to sit and look out at the happy event that unfolded before us.  The wind picked up as we all sat and waited.  It wasn't cold, but the chill added to our anticipation.  The groom stood with his friends, dressed in his tux looking very dapper.  After a brief pause, the bridesmaids all entered along with one of the flower girls, holding up a sign warming the groom he still had one last chance to run.  It was all silly and fun. 

After the wedding, we were taken to a large terrace to enjoy some snacks and games before the reception.  It felt like a true Spanish wedding now as the food and wine were provided in abundance.  The weather now took a turn as the wind picked up even more.  It was cold.  People retreated to the warmth of indoors, but continued to run back and forth to the food tables for more snacks.  They had even hired a jamon man to slice an entire leg of jamon for all the guests.

We were all ushered downstairs into the large reception hall.  The wine continued to flow and the food was brought to our tables.  There were jokes and speeches, videos and stories being told.  Baby Pickle still didn't want to sleep, instead looking with interest and curiousity at all the lights and colours of the event.  

Eventually, we needed to go.  The party was still going, but we and many of the other families decided that it was time for bed and for the children to rest.  It was a very pleasant surprise to see a large number of parents at the wedding with their children.  Baby Pickle was the youngest there, and yet not by very much with a couple of other babies being only a few months older.  It seemed to make the entire wedding affair all the happier with such a strong family vibe.  We slowly made our way from the party, the music fading into the background as we walked back towards the hotel.  Once we were inside, we slowly walked back to our room, but not before detouring to some of the older and grander rooms of the hotel.  The evening was now quiet.  Baby Pickle was asleep.

Easter Processions

Our trip to Madrid had coincided with Easter.  

During Easter in Spain, there are famous processions that occur throughout Spain.  These processions are grand affairs steeped in history and tradition.  Cities like Seville are known for having some of the biggest of these religious processions, but these events were all still celebrated in other parts of the country including in Madrid.  We were extremely lucky to have found ourselves here during this time.  It was completely unplanned and it was only well after I had booked the tickets that I realised that we would indeed get to witness these incredible events.

The processions seemed to mostly happen at night.  The wonderful girl at the front desk of the hotel was very kind and printed out and prepared explanations for us on when and where in the city we could find them happening.  When she talked about them, she thumped on her chest as she talked about the power of the music.  One evening as we walked down towards Puerta del Sol, we saw a gathering crowd.  We could see down one of the side streets that people were gathering for the coming procession.

At first we couldn't see anything.  There was just the gathering crowd, all slowly pushing together and to the front.  Nothing happened.  People waited and then some people decided to just move on.  Then very slowly you could hear it.  Feint at first, but it was the music.  The steady beat of the snare drums as they rattled off their beats like a metronome.  Then as the drums became louder, we could start to hear the brass band.  The trumpets first, then the other instruments became louder.  In the cold and dark of the evening, the music hit hard.  It seemed to reach deep into the soul, with both a glory and struggle.  As I listened and looked, I could see the procession slowly reach us.  Slowly.  Step by step.  They carried the towering floats and sculptures.  It moved slowly, above the gathered crow, almost like a boat pushing through this enormous sea of people.

  

Another evening, we finished dinner in a different part of the city closer to the palace and decided to take a slow and winding walk home.  As we were walking, we found the streets were slowly being cordoned off by police as they prepared for another procession.  On the large street, there was far less of restriction on the gathering crowd and so we were all able to stand closer and with a better view.   Just like the first procession we attended, before we saw anything we first heard the music.  This slowly approaching sound created a strange sense of anticipation and excitement.  I wondered if it was just because we were new to all of this, would we feel the same again?  

What appeared from around the corner was not what I was expecting at all.

A procession of marchers impeccably dressed in old European romantic military style uniforms, along with far more ominous and threatening marchers in red hoods.  Those in the hoods looked like a strange cross between something out of Star Wars and the KKK.  I wasn't sure whether to be terrified or laughing, but in the circumstances there was still amazingly, a solemn feel to it all. 

We didn't stay for the entire procession.  It was getting extremely cold now.  Baby Pickle was fast asleep, wrapped up in warm clothes and a blanket.  We on the other hand needed the comfort of somewhere for a warm drink.

Before we left, we spotted a statue.  It wasn't of anyone famous or any notable figure.  I later found out it was part of a series of statues around Madrid of ordinary people, with this one called the "curious neighbour".  Touching the statue on the very well worn and polished bum was apparently lucky and would mean you would return to Madrid one day.

Warming foods

The cold of Madrid had made walking the streets of the city an easy task.  Many of our recent trips to Europe had been during summer, and for all the joy that brings, it also meant having to deal with the at times oppressive heat.  This time, the unexpected cold meant that every walk could be done fairly comfortably so long as we were all properly dressed.  Veronica and baby didn't have any problems, but I was probably slightly underdressed with only a cardigan and a light jacket.  I was convinced that this was all enough, but I probably should have bought a warmer hat sooner.

Another far more important benefit of the cold was the food.  Part of our excitement for the trip included being able to experience a variety of Spanish cuisine.  I had enjoyed the food during my last trip, but it was a different type of trip then.  I was still in a backpacking stage in my travels, often spending large amounts of time by myself, and so the focus on food tended towards simpler and quicker options.  The idea of sitting by myself in a restaurant lingering over a meal has never appealed to me.  It wasn't any shyness about being by myself, but it was more the boredom of it all.  This time, I didn't want to miss out on any of that, with Veronica I knew I would be trying a broader range of food options.  The cold weather made all of this all the more appealing.  It gave us a far bigger appetite than we would have otherwise had, but it also seemed to compliment the heavier type of food we would be eating in Madrid. 

One of our first visits was to the chocolate shop El Riojano.  It was overly simplistic to call this a chocolate shop.  It was a bakery and a tea room.  An old and historic shop, we found ourselves visiting several times during our stay.  Its signature molten hot chocolate was served in small coffee cups into which you dipped delicate and crumbly lady fingers.  It was a perfect cold weather food and served as an ideal breakfast.

Another unexpected surprise was being able to try the "torrijas".  During the Easter period, these French toast style desserts are traditionally eaten by the locals.  Served cold, they bore a passing resemblance to French toast, but strangely tasted more like the Hong Kong style variant.  As a part of our breakfast, the sweet and spiced pieces of toast were a good accompaniment to the rich hot chocolate and the strong black coffees.

Even with our desire to try some nicer restaurants, it didn't mean we were going to be skipping the simpler fare in Madrid.  I always found it strange that an inland city had such a strong seafood culture.  Near Plaza Mayor, we went into one of the multitude of little bars serving the bocadillo de calamares.  It was simple and freshly made.  Veronica seemed apprehensive, but served with an ice cold beer it was incredibly satisfying.

Another walk down memory lane for me was bringing Veronica to Casa Labra.  This ideally placed bar near Puerta del Sol was a mainstay for my dining during my previous visit.  I remember coming back to it repeatedly both with Phil and then later by myself.  I hoped that it would be as good as I remembered.  All too often, our memories of places like these seem to improve with age.  Was it really that good to begin with?  Was it merely a nostalgia for those older times that made the place "good"?  I ordered beers along with the famed croquetas and deep fried bacalao.  Normally, I would wait for a "fresh" batch, but the brisque business meant there was no need to wait as every tray brought out was immediately purchased and served.  Taking the plates to Veronica, we bit in to the piping hot morsels.  Veronica's face lit up.  It was as good as I had remembered.  Standing outside definitely added to the experience, with the cold weather contrasting sharply to this lovely hot fried food.  With its location, this spot became a regular stop for us.  We would find ourselves wandering past on the way somewhere and just randomly pop in for a quick beer and snack.  One time, Veronica decided to stop in at the shops looking at some clothes.  I felt bored wandering the aisles when I suddenly realised how close Casa Labra was.  Along with baby, I made my way over for a quick beer and croqueta whilst Veronica continued with her browsing. 

This trip wasn't all about nostalgia though.  We wanted to try some of the famous dishes and restaurants that Madrid had to offer.  High on the list of where we wanted to visit was "Botin", with its (often disputed) reputation as the oldest restaurant in the world.  Booking was a hassle, but we managed to secure a table with some friends on the upper floor.  It was a touch difficult to carry the baby in his pram up the stairs, but the staff were generally obliging whenever we needed any assistance.  It was a trend we noticed throughout our trip.  Inside the old dining room, we ordered the roast suckling pig.  This was the dish to get in this restaurant.  Cooked in wood ovens that are apparently kept burning permanently.    

It was good.  The skin was crispy and the meat was tender.  Was it a truly memorable meal that I will cherish forever?  No, it definitely wasn't.  The price was also heavily inflated, almost certainly because of the fame of the restaurant.  I still enjoyed myself.  It was a lovely place to have dinner, full of history.  But I would put it more on the "bucket list" type of places to visit.

There were plenty of other restaurants in Madrid that seemed to offer more.  Local restaurants serving traditional cuisine that didn't have the same touristic slant or focus.  We searched and found as many of these restaurants, each time enjoying the rich and hearty meals they would serve us.  Flavourful stews, fried meats and potatoes, pickled vegetables.  It was all incredibly tasty and seemed quite close to many of the more traditional cantonese dishes you would find in Hong Kong.

Of all the dishes we encountered, I particularly enjoyed the Callos Madrilenos, or Madrid style beef tripe.  It was a slow cooked trip, incredibly rich in flavour and soft in texture.  Paired with some bread and a nice red wine, it was a lovely dish for the cold "winter" nights we were experiencing.  What we also found incredible was the kindness and warmth of the people.  Even with the baby, it never seemed to be a problem.  The staff would always happily accomodate us, and in many cases they went out of their way to assist or help us.  There were no stares or unhappiness about us entering a restaurant with a baby.  None at all.  It was all just part of life and they were always happy for that to include a baby.

One night, we went searching for a place to try one of the local specialities, "cocido".  A stew made with chickpeas and a variety of different meats and vegetables, this was a winter favourite of the locals.  We made little to no headway in our search.  We walked from restaurant to restaurant, with terrible timing.  Each place we arrived at seemed to have just closed or just stopped taking orders as we arrived.  We had walked what felt like a circle around central Madrid when we walked past one last restaurant named "L'Hardy".  This it turned out was another one of the old famous restaurants of Madrid.  We had no idea of the fame of this restaurant or even the type of restaurant it was.  We were standing outside on the ground floor when we saw the sign.  The doorman at the front saw us and asked if we wanted a table.  We said yes, and he immediately brought us in and told us to wait.  We were a bit confused, but also cold and hungry.  We walked in and waited.  Something seemed strange though.  We weren't being led to the dining room or to any place that seemed like a restaurant.  Instead it felt more like a hallway of a grand old home.  We contemplated leaving when the restaurant's maitre'd appeared.  He welcomed us into the restaurant and took us to the bottom of a large, grand windig staircase.  I apologised for the stroller (with baby sleeping comfortably inside) and said we probably wouldn't be able to visit his restaurant.  Not a problem at all it seemed.  He quickly arranged for waiters to run down the stairs and to help us carry the stroller up the stairs.  Once we were upstairs, I became a bit worried.  This was clearly a very fancy restaurant.  The dining rooms were opulent and everyone inside was immaculately dressed.  I felt out of place with the baby, but the waiters insisted that it was fine.  We were brought into one of the smaller dining rooms.  The table was laid out with crisp white table clothes, fine china and silver cutlery.  The baby continued to sleep, but I could see the look of slight concern from the other guests.  I don't think it was any disdain towards us for being there, but likely more of a mild concern about the prospect of a crying baby.

We looked at the menu and immediately ordered two servings of the cocido.  The waiter advised us to not order much else, so we limited ourselves to a bottle of wine and some of the fresh peas which we were informed were in season.  The baby continued to sleep and so we began to relax.  Around us, the other guests also seemed to realise that the baby was fast asleep and so their own anxieties seemed to also disappear.  The chatter and laughter in the room resumed, though with some guests occasionally chiding with good humour their friends for laughing or talking too loudly around a baby!  It was a friendly and happy atmosphere that I never expected.  When the peas arrived, we were famished and we made very short work of them.  They tasted fresh and incredibly sweet, the intense flavour coming through the saltiness of the pork that they were cooked with.

After that, the main course arrived, or rather the main courses.  The famous cocido isn't really a single dish, but rather a series of dishes.  It is a stew, but it isn't served in one go but is instead split into two.  The first dish is the soup from the long stewing process, which is then subsequently followed by the serving of the chickpeas, meats and vegetables that were stewed.  The soup was served by our waiter from a large pot into each of soup plates.  It was a lovely soup.  Full of the flavours of all the various ingredients.  Knowing that this would be followed by the ingredients, I couldn't help but think of the similarities of this dish to the Cantonese "old fire" soups which I had grown up with.  It was a familiar taste and flavour, though with a very Western tilt.

The soup was the highlight of the meal for me.  I love the depth of the flavours.  But next was everything else.  The waiter brought out new plates for us and then began to prepare each with all the various vegetables that had formed part of the cocido stew.  The chickpeas were of course there, as were potatoes, carrots and cabbage.  Then around the dish, he brought out smaller plates, filled with all the different meats which had been slowly cooked over hours in the stew.

It was a monumental amount of food in front of us.  We began to eat slowly, trying each of the vegetables and the various meats.  Everything was delicious, soft from the long cooking and yet still retaining flavour.  This was a bit of a difference to the Cantonese soups I was more accustomed to, where by the end of the cooking process, the ingredients are often devoid of much of the flavour having given it all to the soup itself.  We continued to eat, but the amount of food in front of us barely seemed to change.  I think I at best at half of what was in front of me and Veronica barely made a dent at all.  I fell back into my chair defeated, and I asked the waiter if anyone ever actually finished all of this food.  He looked at me and laughed as he said a simple "No".  This wasn't a meal to be eaten in haste he explained.  It was more often eaten during the day, over a long period as people lingered over the meal with friends and family.  It had been a unique experience that still wasn't over.  Part of ordering the cocido meant that we also had dessert.  I was hoping for something small, but instead they brought out a Bombe Alaska for us to share.  I was more than full, but I couldn't say no to this.  At the end of it all, baby continued to sleep.  The other guests around us smiled and chatted with us about our journey and how amazing it was for them to see such a small baby.  As they left, one of the older ladies gently touched his hand as it rested on the stroller.  She had earlier declared that being here at such a young age, he was definitely a "Madrileno".

For all of the fanciness we had been fortunate enough to experience, we found ourselves being drawn back to the simpler foods in Madrid.  The little taps bars, the smaller restaurants.  They all seemed to make the types of food which Spain seems to excel at.  On one of the colder and wetter nights, at the recommendation of our hotel, we went to one of the more down to earth bars nearby.  Inside, the floors were grimy with oil and beer.  Combined with all the water from the rain, it was almost dangerously slippery.  We had been assured that this was the sign of a place with good food in Madrid.  We weren't to be disappointed as we drank our beers with the potatoes bravas, croquetas and fried chicken.

As a nightcap, in addition to the bars all through the city, Madrid was also blessed with chocolaterias and churrerias everywhere.  For us, our late night drinking and partying wasn't going to be happening with the baby.  So instead we enjoyed our evening walks with the stops inside these establishments.  They were a warm break from the cold night, with the lovely hot chocolates and freshly made churros a perfect snack and boost.

We had enjoyed our food journey in Madrid.  It had delivered for us far more than we expected.  In a city with so much tradition, we had been fortunate to experience a variety of different food experiences.