SB 2023 Part Three: Barcelona

Amsterdam to Barcelona is about a two hour flight, not really all that long--only a half an hour more than, I guess, a flight from Denver to Omaha. But it felt like, and is, many worlds apart. Such is Europe, I suppose... What I mean to say is that I was having trouble, at the time, making sense of this last leg of our vacation, which came together in a more or less random way through the planning of Suzy and her father. After so many uniquely fun, funny, eye-opening experiences in the week prior, I wasn't sure if we weren't just making a total blur of everything for the triplets. "So, how was Europe, Charlie, Kiefer, Scout?"...

Since then, I posed a question to my three: I asked, "If you knew you weren't going to remember doing something or going somewhere--if you knew you would be unable to share even the slightest memory of it, would it still be worth doing?"--Of course, albeit strangely, I wasn't being merely hypothetical. Charlie and Scout answered quickly and similarly, but Kiefer wasn't so sure. I wonder what he'd say now, or what he'll say in a few more years, or in many. I wonder what Suzy and I will think, actually, living somewhat vicariously, as we are increasingly apt to do, through each of them. Regardless, when, looking out the window of our plane, we saw the sea, a new excitement awoke in each of us. We seemed, at least, to have our energies about us.

Barcelona, Spain, here we come. We arrived the day before Papa, the day after Easter, and it was like a dream. They had cordoned off the streets, so families and others could celebrate safely. People were all over, and pleasant as can be. Of course, the holiday also meant just about everything was closed, but Suzy found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, with good reviews, and, more importantly, it was open. Charlie was especially excited: hamburgers!

But by 2:00 A.M. that night, the city had come to life outside our window, keeping me and Suzy up--that, and, aa, Charlie was puking. Oh, man, the guy was a trooper, had the greatest attitude (--I'm telling you, all three of mine are great travel-partners--even when they can't hold anything down), but he was visibly drained by the time Papa arrived. After some visiting, Suzy, Papa, Scout and Kiefer launched off to check out Camp Nou, F.C. Barcelona's home stadium--one of the largest and most famous in the world, just a short walk away from where we were staying; and as luck would have it, the season finale was that night. In person, they were able to score 4 tickets together, and they had a ball.

Charlie and I tried to watch it on TV, but all we could find was a channel whose sole camera focused on Xavi, Barca's coach, while it announced and kept up a dialogue we couldn't understand about the game we couldn't see. It was a tie game, but, judging by Xavi's faces and gestures, an intense one. Kiefer and Scout said they loved it.

And they brought a shirt home for Charlie.

That's Charlie on the right, in the Pedri uniform, with the bed-head. Beside him is Kiefer Lewandowski, the hooded goal-scoring prodigy from Poland, and Scout Alexia DeStefano, one you'll have to keep an eye out for this summer, during the Women's World Cup--she's awesome, best player in the world. Pretty much, all three lived in their shirts for the rest of the trip. The next day, we started with the hop-on-hop-off tour bus, getting the lay of the land,

and then we attacked it on foot, Kiefer helping Papa up some of the steep climbs.

We all needed the help after Scout, who is very handy with her mom's phone, led us a million miles away for lunch.

Yes, it was in the exact wrong direction, but you see that dish above--that is mine and Suzy's favorite meal in Europe so far. Two from Spain are in the top five, but this is numero uno--so far. Anyway, Papa made it, and so did Charlie, who was still only half-speed.

That evening, Papa, Suzy and I started a Hearts tournament, while the guys watched perhaps the worst movie ever made: Pixels. After dinner, Charlie and Kiefer talked us into finding a bar with the Manchester City Champions League game on, which worked out exactly as intended. If I remember correctly, that was Charlie's highlight of the whole trip... The next day, Suzy and I started with a run to the Olympic stadium.

Do any of you recognize this torch structure?... Hey, fancy that, Roger and I have the same size foot.

The best sight on that run was definitely the swimming pool and stadium. Situated, along with the rest of the Olympic compounds, atop a collection of coastal hills in the south, the tiered seats facing the pool and diving platforms also faced the bulk of the city, splayed out between the mountains and the sea. We caught tantalizing glimpses of it, but could not get a picture; so I stole this one from Google:

Anyway, we returned home, showered, and then headed with everyone to the coast. Actually, we headed down La Rambla (Barca's version of Paris's Champs Elysees), met God in a Barca store, then got undressed and jumped in the Mediterranean Sea. Well, Scout jumped in, and the boys played in the sand, while Suzy and I went to a Picasso Museum. (It was really neat. Van Gogh is still my guy, but Picasso, especially after this revolutionary museum, is a favorite, too.) Papa, meanwhile, was watching the three, and watching many other people besides, until Suzy and I returned to the fold. I did jump into the water, too, and did my best to coax the three to join me. They didn't last long--it was freezing. Felt good, ultimately, but I also have at least triple the protection from the cold than any the triplets have. But, yes, we can all claim to have swam in Barcelona... After that, we went to that other top-five meal, a sequestered, inexpensive tapas restaurant (--on a recommendation from the Williams, actually). Delicioso--every bite of every dish. I think Kiefer's and Scout's tied for the best, and the sangria was great, too--yes, I am saying that--the sangria was GREAT!--at this restaurant. And it was a great day, all in all, but the biggest delight, one Suzy made sure we booked well in advance, was waiting around the corner: La Sagrada Familia.

At first, I was frustrated by the construction cranes--I hunted down every angle I could to find the best picture--one without the marring reminders of its incompletion.

But then I learned what it is all about, and I realized, the cranes--the continuing--continual work on the amazing church is part of its glory. You see, it is a communal, generational project, one Antoni Gaudi (--by far my favorite architect) designed to long outlast his life--and it will outlast ours as well. He humbly gives himself, in other words, to plans he hopes are worthy of the genius and effort of others--plans, you see, for others to expand upon. His gift is in the chance--in the invitation to partake in worship, not of him, nor merely of his own, but of all humanity. Of course, there are other projects whose design and execution knowingly extends beyond the life spent in their conception, like that of Count Alfred von Schlieffen's plan to envelope France first by way of Flanders in Belgium (--not to mention how many other schemes of revanchist natioanlism and hate-based pride even now animating our globe), but Gaudi's cranes arise out of Sagrada Familia like promises--and like question marks: What worthy projects will follow? What else in kind might we commit to? What like this even now charaterizes the conduct of our hands? Oh, how grand it is--how inspiring in its every detail! The church, for instance, is a shrine to Nature as being one and the same as God. Look inside.

Yes, holy doors, stained glass windows, high ceilings above various alters, just as you would expect. But look at that ceiling again.

See how the pillars branch out like trees? And they're made of different stone to represent different species indigenous to the area. And you should see how the the colors play. And everything is layered with endless signifiers, like a limitless poem--intricate meanings ripling out and back, rhythms dancing, sure peace, gratitude, harmony, love. Oh, it sings to you. No picture can do it justice, no single view, even with the naked eye, even up on top of it.

I love it. Suzy loves it! She even said to me, "Joe, you see that sculpture," [--it was some kind of cube-like form of a man--expressive, to be sure, but not "realistic"--childish--but in a good way]--she said in most solemn tones, "I know Michelangelo's David is sheer genius, and amazingly beautiful, but I love this sculpture just as much." She said she loves it with an emphasis that spoke much more than words can; and I looked at her and thought to myself, "I love this woman in much the same way."

Well, what do you think, my friends, the same question to you: If you knew you wouldn't or couldn't remember whatever it is you are doing or wanting to do, would you still do it? The correct answer, or so it seems to me, is always and absolutely Yes! We don't live to remember, Mr. Hamlet. We remember, if we remember, being alive--of having been struck by life--as with the lightning of creation. Our great gift to one another is in being present, being wholly present, Kiefer, in the quiet eternity of a sacred moment. Your with me, and I wish only to be more completely with you, whether or not we should remember it. You three are my greatest project...

I think that may be the thing I love most about Suzy's whole family--each of them separately, Tom, Martha, Katy, Kory, Timmy--their discipline seems to me to be the best discipline, such as I hope my three pick up from them--not to wish to see too soon.

This spirit was certainly with us our last night together with Papa. We brought him back to Berlin with us, where he spent the second part of his travels mostly with the Williams.

We shared a few more moments with him, like this,

and this;

and Suzy and I did finally beat him badly in Hearts

(--though, I'm pretty sure, he won the "tournament"); and then, finally, Katy and Suzy, loving children that they are,

took him to the airport and just left him on the runway.

We're pretty sure he made it back to Omaha, though... We hope he did... And that's it, my people, Spring Break 2023. Much love to all of you, with much more gratitude than any of all these blog posts could ever convey, Charlie, Kiefer, Scout, Suzy, and me--The DeStefanos.