The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain

I apologize for dropping the blogging ball, but I swear… this time I have a good reason. In June, my beautiful step-daughter graduated from high school; and, because she got into one of the top forty universities in the country (yes, really), her grandmother took her to Spain to celebrate.

When they asked me if I’d like to join them, all I could say was, “You had me at hola.” DB on the other hand said, “Nope. My daughter, my wife and my mother are the three most important women in my life, and I’d like to keep it that way. Have fun without me.” You laugh, but I have to admit that his argument has merit… especially since my favorite mythical creature is the happy bitch in tampon commercials.

Anyway, while building our itinerary:

• My step-daughter, who eventually wants to study in Spain, said, “I’d like to see Madrid and Barcelona.”
• My mother-in-law, who is an artist, said, “I’d like to do the Museo del Prado, the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum and the Reina Sofía."
• I, as an academically-trained Anthropologist, wanted to experience Spain’s religious culture and history, and by that I mean churches, soccer and the Inquisition (which no expected me to say; but, then again, no one expects the Inquisition).

In any case, I’m pleased to report that a good time was had by all.

• Madrid and Barcelona are truly beautiful.
• The collections at all three museums, combined with the Sagrada Familia and Park Güell, are beyond description.
• The churches are magnificent. Seriously, if I were a writer for Fodor’s, Lonely Planet or Zagat’s, I’d give all of them four stars: Great bread; disappointing wine selection. All jokes aside, the only reason they didn’t get five stars was because every single one of them charged admission. I understand cathedrals but churches?

As for futbol, I was crushed. Given that Spain had won the 2010 World Cup, I had such high hopes. Not only did I brag that Espana would kick EVERYONE’S ASS and that I would be there to see it happen, I bought my jersey before they lost to the Netherlands (five to one). Had I waited ninety minutes, not only would I have NOT paid full price, I could have gotten it for free from ANY Spaniard I’d met on the street. People were literally throwing their shirts away. When we got back to the hotel and I asked the front desk clerk, “What the hell happened on the field today?” He said, “Tonight Spain is nothing but pain with an S.”

Because I felt like he felt that I was mercilessly interrogating him, I felt badly. Girl Scout’s honor, that’s the only reason I did a lobby rendition of Monty Python’s, “NOBODY expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise...surprise and fear...fear and surprise.... Our two weapons are fear and surprise...and ruthless efficiency.... Our *three* weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency...and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope.... Our *four*...no... *Amongst* our weapons.... Amongst our weaponry...are such elements as fear, surprise.... I'll come in again.”

You know, I think the Bard was right, 'All the world really is a stage.' With that, talk to you later.