Crunch time - Churros con chocolate

I've been thinking about how little detail I paid to some things in Barcelona. I've forgotten the name of some great restaurants I've been to, which is unusual for me. So one rainy morning, I did research about the churreria I visited.

It was a slightly cloudy morning on my way to Museu Picasso (that's another blog subject) and I passed by a churreria. It was perfect timing, since churros were on my list of things to eat in BCN. But I just had breakfast at the B & B so I opted to go back after the museum. After my art fix it was time for a food fix.

I entered this small, hole-in-the wall restaurant, which according to my research is called Churreria Granja Ruz. An old man was behind the small counter. I now wish I took a picture of him. I was the only one in the shop, as it was already past breakfast. I peered over the glass case containing freshly-made churros and saw two types- the curved ridged one we usually see and the long one which had no ridges. Because I didn't know the difference I braved the language barrier and asked the old man. He couldn't speak English so with a combination of Spanish and sign language he made me understand that the ridged one is more crunchy. I ordered the two kinds of churros con chocolate of course. There's no other way to have churros.

As I was served my fare I was excited. I've always wanted to say I've been in some corner of the globe, eating this and eating that. And now I can say I ate churros in Barcelona. As I took a bite of the sugar-sprinkles fried pastry dipped in thick, dark chocolate I savored the flavor. After all, it's not everyday you get to be in Spain, eating authentic Spanish food. When I finished eating I stepped out feeling giddy and chocolatey inside. It was an experience like no other, as were other experiences I had in the place.

Now it's been past a year since that time. I find myself craving for churros. Where will I get ones as good as those in BCN? Well, that must mean I have to go back soon :)

It was afternoon and I remember sitting by the River Wear, staring at the Durham Cathedral and wishing time would stand still. The water was flowing under Prebends bridge and to say the whole scene was picture-perfect is an understatement. I found my corner, a small bench farther up the riverside footpath. If I could I would go back and stay there.

I was on the last stretch of my European adventure so that morning I took off to explore the city of Durham on my own. With hand-written instructions in hand I took the bus and the train (which I loved doing there) and walked to the Durham cathedral. I strolled down the cobblestone streets, checked the food stalls, and vowed to go back later. I bought myself a cup of coffee and I was all set.

When I got to the cathedral, the wonderful lines of the interior just took my breath away. The past few days of my vacation I saw beautiful architecture but this church still didn't fail to amaze me. Giving myself just a few minutes to get a first impression, I decided to take on the challenge of climbing the stairs up to the tower and enjoying the view. Two charming old women by the tower entrance asked me if I was physically fit to climb up the 325 steps and I told them proudly, 'I just did Notre Dame last week,' forgetting to mention that I huffed and puffed with what seemed like a French Herculean task.

So I made my way and started what seemed like a relatively easy job. But halfway up I started to feel the sharp, cool, piercing air enter my chest with every breath. It didn't help that the stairs got narrower with every step. I held on to the cold metal railing for dear life because my boot could just slip anytime. I know I was so happy with my vacation I thought I could die right there, but I didn't want to take things too literally.

When I finally got to the top, wind brushing over my face, a magnificent view greeted me. It washed away my exhaustion. From the tower I could see the river flowing through the numerous beautiful storybook bridges, quaint shops and buildings. Everything seemed so peaceful. I took in all of the beauty around me and then started the journey 325 steps down. The sticker that says I went up all of the steps at Durham was the cherry on top.

Before I got out of the cathedral, I sat down on one of the benches and said a little prayer. I thanked the Lord for giving me the chance to see another side of the beautiful world I'm in. I was brimming with joy that I got to see these all places and people. Every waking day of my trip I was filled with excitement and I realized it has been a long time since I felt that jolt. The thought almost brought a tear out of my eye. That moment, I was genuinely happy.

I took a quick lunch al fresco. A French guy who called me mademoiselle was selling prawnies and taters and by that time I thought I could use a huge serving from him. Funny, when I looked around that market square I saw pieces of my trip brought altogether in one place – French bread and pastries, Spanish Paella, British fish and chips. I've come full circle.

As my trip to Durham came to an end, I sat on that bench by the Prebends bridge. Thinking about my last few days in Newcastle and in Europe, I was sad that my adventure was close to done. But with the beauty that was surrounding me, I could only smile. The sun even glimpsed out of the usually cloudy British sky. It's as if the warm rays were telling me to cheer up and be happy. I took everything in, put my hands in my warm pockets, and made my way down the footpath. Like my hands, I was all warm and fuzzy inside too.

I'm not sure how I remembered it or how i happened. All I know is that when it dawned on me, I was genuinely surprised. But somehow I realized that for the first time I left Cebu without shedding a single tear.

I'm not sure how I remembered it or how i happened. All I know is that when it dawned on me, I was genuinely surprised. But somehow I realized that for the first time I left Cebu without shedding a single tear.

Should I be alarmed? Is this a sign that my emotional attachment to the place has diminished, therefore making me immune to bouts of separation anxiety? Does this lack of the usual drama signify that I have come to terms with the fact that Cebu is no longer my home?

Should I be relieved? This may mean that finally I have overcome the nervous energy surrounding every goodbye. If that is true then it's about time. I have been coming in and out of Cebu for 11 years now and it's right that I learn to deal with it.

Does this simply mean that I had a terrific time?
Maybe the happy moments were enough to overpower the sadness of leaving everyone behind. And the prospect of going back someday can certainly help in making leaving easier. No goodbyes, just see you soon's.

Maybe it's not just one of those reasons, but all of them rolled into one. I may not have shed a single tear that one time but that doesn't mean I'm not sad. I just keep on remembering, no goodbyes.

February 9-10, 2011
MRT

Sent from my iPod

En Route

I love airports. There's something about them that makes them all alike wherever in the world they are. I'm always filled with anticipation and excitement whenever I enter one, with a bag (or a couple) and plane ticket in hand.

There's something about people-watching in an airport. I sit and wonder about other people's destinations, their upcoming adventures, the business they have to take care of at the next stop. Families, friends, lovers, lone travelers are all brought together by trips of different intents and purposes.

And when the passengers have gotten off, the luggage claimed, and the plane cleared for another takeoff, it's wonderful to see excited tourists drive off to their escapade and families happily reuniting. As I step out of the airport and into a new or familiar place, I realize the trip is just as thrilling as the destination.

As I sit here waiting for my flight I realize why airports feel like they're all the same. It's the feeling I get facing the prospect of new experiences, visiting foreing places, being with old friends again, or going back home. Sure, the waiting can be a bit tiring but it's only because a destination is awaiting my arrival.

February 4, 2011
NAIA terminal 3
Waiting to get on a plane to Cebu :)

In the Land of Fish & Chips

My sister and I were in search of a fish and chips place in London and so we had to rely on good old google to find one. One chilly afternoon we found ourselves getting on the Underground and getting off at Covent Garden. Our quest was temporarily derailed by all the interesting shops around so when we finally got to searching for out real destination, it was time for dinner.

Off we went to Rock and Sole Plaice along Endell St., just off the theater rows at West End. It's nothing fancy, just a small eatery with movie and play posters scattered around the walls, coupled with non-appetizing flourescent lighting. We ordered, what else? A plate of fish and chips with some mushy peas. The huge battered fish were crisp on the outside and soft on the inside. They were perfectly paired with huge potato wedges and a serving of mashed peas. Don't forget to squeeze a lemon slice over the fish and pour some malt vinegar on it as well. Simple, but delicious.

I thoroughly enjoyed, along with the flavors, the experience of tasting my first authentic fish and chips. I always say that one of the higlights of travelling is the food, because it gives you a glimpse into a people's culture and everyday living. Plus, I just love to eat. We left Rock & Sole with full stomachs and a postcard to remember it by. Someday I plan to relive the experience...Does this means 2012 Olympics?