Grays on Trays or Old People Snowboarding

You could hear the snickering, sense the loss of independence and see the eyes rolling in all the kids when I announce “I’m going to learn how to snowboard while we’re in Europe!” Ann’s immediate reaction is a quick check of the life insurance policy and the healthcare power of attorney. Talk about a real vote of confidence for the hubby. Hey at least my midlife crisis doesn’t involve a convertible sports car, fantasy baseball camp in Florida or a blonde bimbo named Bunny, so I got that going for me.

The first trip into the “board shop” is like a walk into a mix of psychedelic Jimmy Hendrix meets SpongeBob Square Pants. The music is loud the clothes are louder and the “sales clerks say “Dude” and “like” so much I have trouble piecing together a sentence. The ages of the 2 sales clerks added together don’t equal mine. Naturally, the first question from the “board dude” is “Like, do you free ride or freestyle?” Sensing a moment to blend in with the herd I say “Like, maybe both!” He says “Well then you’ll need a board with some sick flex and a tight camber.” One look at Eamon and I know he’s thinking “Please don’t say anything stupid.” I am reminded at that moment of Mark Twain’s quotation “At 14 I couldn’t believe how dumb my dad was and at 21 I couldn’t believe how much he learned in 7 years.” The questions continued to be confusing “How many centimeters do you want for your board, shoe size 41 or 43 cm?” and my favorite “Are you regular or goofy?” I always sucked at the metric system; darn it I should have paid more attention to my 5th grade teacher Miss Yezzi. And as far as the last question, definitely “goofy” ask anyone who knows me.

I leave the snowboard shop called “Backdoor”, honest you can’t make this stuff up, with a 159cm board, rental boots and a “let’s make it happen attitude.” The gondola ride is beautiful and I am observing Eamon and Seamus as they make adjustments to their rental equipment and test boards and talk about stuff that is as foreign to me as the German the guys working the Gondola speak. What in the world is “switch riding?”As the gondola ride surpasses its 25th minute straight up the mountain I am thinking, “Maurice, you need your head examined.” Here’s to hoping it is still attached by the time I get to the bottom of the hill.

After the gondola ride there is a short walk to the next lift called, Oberjoch, which takes you to the peak. Now the fun begins. Up til now you walked in your snowboard boots. The first heartbeat raising challenge is to “strap in.” You can hear the commitment you’re making with each spine tingling sound of the ratcheting of the plastic strap as it tightens on your toe and around your ankles. One boot secured and now the fun begins as you inch your way to the lift on your flat epoxy clad wooden board with “sick” graphics. My board brand and model is called the Solomon “Answer” and I chuckle at the irony as Solomon was the wise man from the Bible and honestly I feel like the dope from Edgmont.

Getting “on” the lift is much easier than getting “off” the lift. I’ve been snow boarding a few times but not in Switzerland and certainly not above the tree lines. I know what I need to do and as we raise the bar, heart pounding and sweat dripping, I take comfort in knowing that the 3 person pile up that is sure to happen at the bottom of the lift will be all Glavin’s. Seamus and Eamon made the courageous decision of taking the first ride with their midlife crisis dad and some folks, especially my kids, just like to be close to the accident so they can see all the blood and guts. It won’t be “Call of Duty 4” blood and guts but it could be close. I think I see a bit of joy in their faces at dad’s unsure demeanor and less than perfect balance. What’s the saying “Payback’s are a B----!”

The moment of truth is upon me, as I “strap in” the left foot making a total commitment to myself and the mountain. Hoisting myself up proves more than difficult probably the result of too may pastries in Vienna. I get my first lesson in snowboarding as Seamus demonstrates the “roll and pop up.” Was that my shoulder cracking? And did he say “Just pop up?” The last time I just “popped up” there was an insect with 8 legs and a bed sheets involved. Did I know that “roll and pop up” was going to be the order of the day? Pearse is strapped in next to me and he seems much more confident and I quip to myself “He doesn’t have as far to fall.” He’s already had a lesson and he looks the part of the “little dude” and is already a fan favorite with folks all over the mountain.

“The first 20-50 feet are always the hardest,” that’s what I keep saying to myself. I am not sure what to take from all the people clearing away from me as quickly as they can other than they sense that the Red Coated freight train obviously has breaking problems. The look of terror on my face and the flailing arms might be another sure sign that anything in a 50 ft x 30 path is in serious jeopardy of becoming a Volvo Crash Dummy! As I make it to the first plateau I am relieved and grateful that all appendages are still attached and I’m not too concerned that snow grooming machine was following me rectifying most of my divots and replacing the snow that is now located in every hole in my jacket, pants, helmet, and body orifice created by God! Only 3 more plateaus to go and one is after the change from beginner trail to a “medium trail” and I wonder "Why is the 'medium' trail marked in the color red?”

Team Glavin streaks off down the mountain, the “dad entertainment factor” has officially worn off. I continue to assault the hill and my body but take comfort in knowing “roll and pop” is much easier after 30 times or so. I approach the steep incline, littered with bodies making it a human obstacle course. As I begin the descent I am pretty sure that the path is cleared not out of respect for the “Red Bullet” but more a survival tactic for kid, boy and woman alike. I am an indiscriminate collider. The hill is icy; it is mogul filled and changes direction 2x. It is a cruel trick to play on a guy making his first run down the mountain.

Fear is a funny thing; it can be motivating and paralyzing but I’ve never had both happen at the EXACT same time. Gravity took care of my issue, as a slight lean and 205lbs sent me hurtling down the icy sheet they call a trail. Since I don’t know how to stop without an all out body assault, I point the board down the hill and hope for the best. I don’t remember the first thump but I remember the last one as I clearly heard my mind and mouth say “Glad I wore a helmet.” The thud was loud and the screams from the chair lift above me were less than complimentary, “Dude, Bodmi is at the bottom of the mountain.” Bodmi is where they teach the 2-6 year old beginners. I look up at the moving graffiti on the chairlift and shoot them the international sign for “screw you,” too bad I’m wearing mittens, it’s like, a lot less effective.

Who says prayers don’t work, I make it to the bottom of the hill, legs burning, shoulders blistered from the “roll and pop” but essentially in one piece. I make my way to the lodge, board tucked under my arm getting a few nods and a few “What’s up dude?” and “Way to go.” So far so good and no one has called me the dreaded “poser”, the ultimate insult. I am not sure but I think folks are looking at me and giving me the “thumbs up.” Maybe just maybe they respect the effort. I get a spring in my walk and hobble up the steps to meet the family. They are having French fries and a coke for the bargain price of 22 francs. That’s 1 coke and 1 portion of french fries. As I turn the corner, feeling victorious, Pearse yells “Hey dad you okay, your nose is bleeding!” Now I know why I was getting the” thumbs up.” Nothing says commitment more than the red stuff. I look at Eamon and Seamus “Hey dudes, like, can you hand me a napkin!”

Christmas in Switzerland 2009

An old Glavin tradition was revisited on Christmas Eve. Clearly the Christmas spirit was lacking for Team Glavin and something needed to be done. We walked through town, looking right and looking left with the hope that there would be a tree somewhere. Unlike the United States there isn’t a parking lot full of Christmas trees on every corner, no fire departments, boy scouts or schools looking to draw in that last customer on Christmas Eve. There are 3 trees in front of the supermarket and you first thought is “surely there are more pine trees than this in Switzerland.” A quick glance to the Alps behind us and one’s confusion is well placed, evergreens everywhere. Where’s a timber saw when you need it? Didn’t I see a few candidates on the cold, hilly, walk home last night? We’re on a mission, we need to pick one. This isn’t the Bazaar in Istanbul, no hard bargaining like in my youth when I watched my dad, on Passyunk Avenue, say “Mister, you can sell it to me for $10 or burn it tomorrow with the rest of the one’s that didn’t sell.” We pull the “bar code” off the Christmas Tree and head into the clerk and they “ring it up” like you just bought block of cheese.

Ann, Pearse and Seamus stand at the bus stop, tree in hand laughing at the picture unfolding in front of us. Here we are, tree in hand, no car to speak of and skiers waiting to get on the bus. More than a few folks look and wonder “Are they actually getting on the “free” ski bus with a Christmas tree?" Aunt Mary would be mortified but I suspect that the pop-pop’s would be proud. Seamus is grinning, a bit unsure but knows this will help with his early morning concern, “Dad it doesn’t really feel like Christmas.” The tree is not exactly White House material, actually it isn’t exactly Charlie Brown material. I’d say that it is a tree that requires some imagination and creativity to pass as a yuletide decoration as it is as skinny as any actress in Hollywood.

Our Christmas Eve, believe it or not, is marked by rising temperatures. Is it possible that Edgmont, PA is having its first White Christmas while we are watching the Alps turn from white to green/brown before our very eyes? Pearse sums it up best “That’s just not fair!” His disappointment is short lived as the smell of the 3 kilo turkey roasting with mom’s stuffing is wafting through the house. The tree is trimmed, the kids are showered, the food is on the table; the Christmas spirit has been resuscitated.

As we make the walk from the house to the Church everyone is giddy. It feels like an old Christmas movie as we walk down the mountain, past the train platforms, through the quaint little town giving a wave of the hand here and a nod to a passerby there. Merry Christmas, in English, translates to almost all we pass. It is 10:45 PM and the windows to the stores are subdued with ambient light and signs that say “closed” yet they still seem festive as they are still cloaked in Christmas cheer. The road to the Church is tucked between the Coop, the store where acquired our “pine scrub” called a tree and the clothing store, Mont-Bell, that requires a credit score of 750 to shop there. Naturally it is “uphill” to the Church. The big melt that is taking place minute by minute makes the former “icy walk” to Church less challenging than last Saturday. There’s no click, click, scratch, tap of the special ice shoes that are worn by the older women making their way to Church.

The 3 boys are slightly ahead of Ann and me. As we open the door to the vestibule the entry door to the Church has been “down sized” to mimic the actual size of the door to the “Inn” at Bethlehem. Eamon looks at me, a smile creases his face, and he says “Dad we’ve walked thru the ‘real door’ in Bethlehem, remember?” I think to myself, “This is a moment I won’t forget” as my eyes water with a sense of appreciation for the opportunity to share in such a moment with my oldest son.

The small Church is crowded and Team Glavin needs to split up. Eamon and I head to the balcony. Projected on the wall behind the Altar is a picture of the actual door in Bethlehem and a wonderful focus point for this Christmas Eve Mass filled with music, unique decorations and the celebration of the Mass in German. Good thing I loaded the readings onto my Blackberry so Eamon and I could read them and get a feel for the liturgy. I am pretty sure that the folks behind us thought we were reading e-mails during Mass. We probably made the conversation in their house and they will have a Christmas story forever filed under “Ugly Americans do Christmas Eve Mass in Grindelwald.”

The Mass was beautiful, I think, and from the balcony I could see Pearse’s head bob up and down a few times. It surely wasn’t the toe tapping melody of the German Christmas hymns. I suspect it had more to do with the late hour and the tired little body from 3 hours of sledging earlier in the day. His Christmas Eve is over as the hour struck 12:00AM. His first Christmas wish, as we exit the Church “Dad can we take a taxi, back up the hill?” Funny but I am pretty sure his mother’s first Christmas wish was the exact same request. As we come down the hill from Church we make the right onto the main drag and peer intently thru the fog, looking towards the train station. “Is that a yellow bubble on top of that van?” “Does it say taxi?” “Could the first Christmas prayer be answered so quickly?” The 5 of us climb into the taxi grateful for the leg sparing walk up the mountain.

Pearse climbs into bed beckoning Seamus to make the commitment to sleep too. Pearse is excited hoping that Santa can find him in Switzerland. He is at the age where he wonders but doesn’t want to make a “verbal commitment” one way or the other about the man in the red suit and white beard. His intellect tells him one thing but his little heart tells him something different. And so goes the age old question “Does he or doesn’t he?” As the last bit of light squeezes from his room Pearse yells out “Good night dad and don’t forget the milk and cookies for Santa!” What can a Dad say to that?

6:45 AM arrives early and Pearse declares “I got my snowboard and bindings!” The rest of the morning is a blur as Eamon, Seamus and Pearse open gifts and i-Touches, black berries and computer games begin to come to life from their hermetically sealed packages. There are smiles everywhere and loud laughter as Seamus opens his “chocolate” Swiss Army knife. He was hoping for a “Huntsmen” Swiss Army knife, the one with the corkscrew. I asked “Why do you want a knife with a corkscrew?” and Seamus replied matter of fact “Dad, you never know when a party might break out and we’ll need a corkscrew!” How do you argue with that logic?

The 2 peaks of the snow covered Swiss Alps, visible from the living room windows, are the backdrop to the wonderful Christmas scene unfolding in front of us. If you look at the peaks just right they look like a craggy, capital “M” as if they approve of our Merry Christmas in Switzerland.

Team Glavin says “Merry Christmas to everyone," and "Yes Pearse there is a Santa Claus!”

Snow is falling in Grindelwald!

Hi-Ho Hi-Ho It’s Off to Grindelwald We Go

As we get ready to depart, the darkness of the early morning still envelops the city of Lisbon, the Christmas lights can’t even cast their candle power onto the few passersby. The café’s are closed up tight and the tables and chairs chained together lest some city urchin make off with them under cover of darkness. The dorm room like fridge is close to empty as we pour the final litre of milk onto the last bowls of Chocolate Krispies and into the last steaming cup of hot tea. All of the 5 AM action this morning reminds us why we love to be in an apartment. The last few electronics are unplugged and begin today’s long journey on battery support. We tuck the last i-pod, phone charger and extension cords into any space that will have them in the rolling suitcases and we are ready to make the descent, 3 flights of stairs, no elevator. By the time I get to duffel bag #7 having made 4 trips already I am thinking more about Dante’s levels of hell than what a joy it is to traipse across Europe during the 2009 Christmas season.. Good thing we are headed to Switzerland today as I’ll need the cool weather and the snow of Grindelwald to refresh Team Glavin.

Off to one of the many squares around our apt in search of a TAXI. We’ll need 2 cars to get us to the airport, a trip we usually make via Metro but here in Lisbon the Metro doesn’t start early enough for our trip and another SMALL draw back is that it doesn’t actually go to the airport. One benefit to the early morning start is that the taxi can make its way to the front door of the apartment as this is usually a “pedestrian only zone.” Ann meets with the real estate agent as he “walks the apartment” checking for damage and we hold our breath hoping that the security deposit will be returned “in full.” We always worry that the errant scratch on the wall or the broken pane of glass “pre Team Glavin” will result in a 500 Euro charge. We get the “all clear” and it’s off to the airport for our 19th flight and baggage check in.

I don’t know why but when you know you are headed to the airport to check in with an airline called Easy Jet you feel “uneasy”. Perhaps it is the constant warnings about the # of bags “permissible” or the “ungod-like” charges for “extra weighted bags.” The warnings are so common that Pearse even asks “Do they charge you for oxygen?” As I hoist the bags, one after another, the folks around us glance at us and chortle “Are they really checking 7 bags?” Little do they know these bags have seen some miles, ridden more airport conveyors and logged plenty of track time. There is the pregnant pause waiting for the Easy Jet check in agent to speak; will it be “We need a credit card” or is it to be “Will that be all for today?” The guy beside us has 2 suitcases open in full view of the airport trying to make the weight balance; he’s over the limit and looking at a 50 Euro charge. His wife is not happy that her underwear is on display for Lisbon’s entire airport to see. The kids chuckle as she smacks him and says “it’s not too much!” The gate agent looks at us and says “Gate 9 you board at 7:50!” We feel relieved and the ebullient boys lead the way to the gate and past the flight board marked GENEVA. They know we are one step closer to the ski slopes of Switzerland.

Easy Jet is to flying what generic mayonnaise is to a ham and cheese sandwich. It gets the job done but you’re not exactly “livin large” you know what I’m saying? I managed a seat next to the understudy of the large boy from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He ate for 2.5 hours and spent most of his time yelling at his mom across the aisle about how hard it is to be him. He felt pretty confident that he bought ½ of my seat too as he spent the better part of the flight up and down and in and out of both seats. I asked if he could read English and he said “yes”. I only asked because he spent the rest of the flight reading my computer screen as I typed.

As the Easy Jet lands Ann prepares to make the mad dash to the train station. We have 40 minutes to buy train tickets to Bern Switzerland and we want to get the tickets booked for the remaining 2 trains. It is rare that Team Glavin is “off the plane” first but we manage to disembark to the cool blast of Geneva air and to our delight the discount airline isn’t on the other side of the planet from baggage claim. Eamon and Seamus camp at the bottom of the luggage conveyor, staking out valuable real estate after confirming that the bags go “counterclockwise” in Geneva airport, another lesson learned. 7 bags accounted for and off we go in search of the train platform and mom. It is awesome that the station is right at the airport. The difference between catching the 12:36 vs the 14:00 is the difference between arrival in Grindelwald at 16:40 and 21:30. 5 hours doesn’t sound like much but with 3 kids on the go since 5:00AM the difference is a finish that is more like “Thanks for the help” than “Because I said so.”

The first class accommodations of SBB Switzerland Rail are a perfect start to the 3 train day. It is a Double Decker train with world class views of Lake Geneva and the farmlands of Switzerland. The first stop, Bern train station, is a mere 2 hours away but we won’t see much of the station, we hope. Everything breaks just right and we sprint though the station from platform 7 down the stairs and over to platform 3 and up the stairs. Did I mention we have 7 bags and 8 minutes to make the train? We are tested but ours is an experienced team and they jump the train like kids used to “riding the rails”. We pull out of Bern headed to Interlocken and are treated to panoramic views of the lakes with the snow trail covered Alps erupting behind them. Seamus says it best “Eamon, could you just rip down that travel poster covering the window?”

Click clack click clack though the towns and the mountains we go. The sky is threatening snow and the kids are giddy with anticipation. It brings new meaning to the song “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!” As if on cue the clouds oblige and it begins to snow, coating the grass and the trees in the valley between the lake and the mountain. The small train from Interlocken to Grindelwald looks like something out of a 50’s Christmas movie. As it pulls away from the station we pat ourselves on the back knowing that in 55 minutes we’ll be at the destination that we actually picked in February 2009 in response to the question, “Where do you want to spend Christmas while in Europe?” As the train ascends the mountain, doing a real rendition of the “little engine that could” and the green valley landscape changes to a blanket of white snow, we look at each other and marvel at our good fortune.

“And the Word Became Flesh” December 8 and 5 Glavin’s at Fatima

The bus rolled away from the curb in Lisbon headed to Fatima. We wondered to ourselves “Do you think we made the right decision going it alone?” Many Pilgrims make the trip to Fatima as part of a tour group but Ann and I decided to experience the day with no schedule and an open mind.

The kids tried to get comfortable on the hour and half bus ride, hoping to recapture the precious few minutes of sleep that were stolen by the predawn call of the drill instructor aka Dad. We need to do 2 Metro’s to get to the bus stop by 8. No problem from a logistics standpoint, we’re seasoned PT users, just a bit challenging considering its 3 kids and as far as they are concerned we aren’t headed for a fiesta. Pearse summed up the youthful sentiment for his brother’s “a full day of religious stuff.” How can we be so mean to these lads we call sons?

The bus eeks to its first stop 80 minutes later. It is a bit unsettling as it’s not a terminal, nor one of those plastic and steel shelters to protect you from the elements. There isn’t even a sign that says “bus stop.” I suppose the bus driver saw my quizzical look or perhaps heard my clear direction to the kids “don’t move until we know this is really Fatima.” He shouts back to Ann and me “FATIMA,you GO!” and points to the road. I wonder as we disembark “why do humans insist on yelling louder and slower in a different a language when they think you don’t understand them?”

Anyway, we get off the bus, take a mental picture of the stores and any landmarks to make sure that we return to this exact “unmarked bus stop” and look for a sign. No, not a sign from God, but one that points to Fatima or the Basilica. We amble up hill and after a few blocks the path becomes clearer and the retail shops with everything from rosary beads to glow in the dark Blessed Mother statues lined the streets. The crowds were hustling along, coming in from all side streets like tributaries. Team Glavin gets in line like it’s the June Alaskan salmon run and we don’t want to miss our chance.

I’d like to think that I am well schooled in the traditions of the Catholic Faith but today there are so many things going on it is hard to know where to begin. So naturally Pearse and I head to the water close (bathroom) and Ann heads for the kiosk that says “info.” She returns with a map of the facilities and 3 candles. The tradition is to pray and toss the candles into the huge pyre. As we make our way down the path, the boys are drawn to the flame like moths to light. There’s something about fire and boys and I say to myself “a good start to the day in Fatima.” I feel confident that all 3 boys will remember the moment they tossed in a candle for the Deely’s, the Glavin’s and the “family and friends.” It is a visceral feeling as the candles melt quickly from the heat and you are moved both spiritually and physically as 100’s of people are making there way to the pyre. It is indeed a special day for many including us!!

Today is the Holy Day of Obligation, the Immaculate Conception. We chose to come to Fatima on this day hoping to bask in the glow of the appearance of Mary to the children of Fatima. We stand at this most reverent of sites where the apparition appeared to the 3 simple shepherd children of Fatima. The public address system is booming with the praying of the rosary in Portuguese but you know the prayer by heart so the language doesn’t matter. The people are streaming in from the parking lots by the busloads and the Chapel of the Apparition is filled with religious awaiting the start of the procession for 11:00 Mass. There is plenty of time til Mass so we avail ourselves of the wonder of this site visited by 4 Pope’s and millions of pilgrims. The 3 boys see things unique to this amazing place including woman crawling the entire length of the marble path in the esplanade, some 2 football fields long. They pray the rosary privately, inching their way to the statue of the Lady of Fatima. Their faith is so clearly on display, their eyes streaming tears and the boys looking and wondering “How can one be so moved in prayer?” As I watch them young and old, slightly infirmed and apparently healthy, crawling inches at a time I find myself tearing and praying that their prayers are answered. It is not lost on the boys that I am emotional.

The Basilica is lovely. Inside there are lines of pilgrims looking to see the grave sites of Francisco, Jacinta and Lucia, the shepherd children. The building is beautiful with wonderful paintings and stain glass unique to this Holy Site. The “papal” plaques, commemorating the visits of the Pope, are all over reminding us of the significance of Fatima. There’s only 20 minutes until Mass and we make our way to the large space in front of the amazing outside altar. As the music begins the energy in the crowd, which has grown to 1000’s in the last hour sings, in Portuguese, a combination of May Procession hymns of yesteryear and Christmas songs reminding us of Advent. We happen to get a spot close to the barrier and we can see the Statue of Mary lifted to begin the journey from the Apparition Chapel to the Altar for the celebration of this Dec 8th Mass. It is 60 yards or so to the Altar and the pace is deliberate and careful. Pearse worms his way thru a couple of senior citizens who look at him excited that he is happy to be here. The older couple looks at Ann and me and gives us a gentle head nod, seeing the other 2 boys, and the nod says “good for you to have them here.”

As the Statue passes us by, four men holding the flowered platform tightly, there is amazing feeling of calm and a warm satisfied, sensation pulsing through your heart. It is a feeling of comfort that is ever-present when you are near your Mother.

For video of Lisbon wit Fatima footage visit the youtube video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEPUnObMYR0

We Did that all in One MOnth?

One of the months on our journey my family pretty much just relaxed in Spain. Our family’s first trip outside of Valencia was when we went to Madrid. We went to Madrid, not only to pick up Sam and Mom-mom, but also to see one of the most famous cities in the world. In Madrid my family saw the “bear and the strawberry tree”, which is a very famous Sculpture in Puerta Del Sol square. My family met with a Priest that we know very well from Delaware. We had dinner with him and he was jokingly, “recruiting us” because he is Vocations Director in Wilmington.

One day we took a day off from seeing Madrid to go to Toledo. While we were there my family saw the biggest Cathedral I have ever seen. It was B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L; it was almost as big as the Blue Mosque in Istanbul Turkey, it might be even bigger! We spent three hours on a bus tour and inside the Cathedral. Last but not least we spent an hour eating food. My family wanted to catch the 5:15 P.M. train back to Madrid. There was a mad dash to catch it. A day trip taken, it was back to the Madrid airport to greet our cousin Sam and Grandmother at the gate. Sam and Mom-mom arrived in the Madrid airport, for 10 days of fun. In the week that we enjoyed Sam and Mom-mom’s presence, everyone went to the Cathedral and the beach. While we were at the beach Sam, Pearse, and I tried to build a sand pyramid, but it wasn’t finished because we had to leave and go back home. I think what Sam enjoyed the most was the skate park, which was right outside our apartment. My family’s apartment is on the 29^th floor and has the best view of Valencia. We could follow Pearse and Sam from above while they made their way to the park. I am sure that what Mom-mom enjoyed the most was having her brother, and sister in law Andrew and Doreen. They came for around 3 days; originally the plan was to meet at a town named Alicante, but Andrew and Doreen had not seen Valencia yet, my parents decided it would be better to have them come here. Uncle Andrew, Aunt Doreen, Sam, Mom-mom, and my family went to the biggest aquarium in Europe (at least that’s what they said it was).

That was only two of the five weeks. We stayed in Valencia for 10 days with Sam then went back to the Madrid airport for his departure. After Sam and Mom-mom went though security, it was back to the five of us, the traveling gypsies also had a train to catch that day. The first night we really didn’t explore Barcelona all that we did was, just went to a small shop and got two pies of plain pizza ate them then went to bed. The first day was a late start, but we did get to explore a little bit. My family chose to do a city bus tour it finished around 5 o’clock. We went to the Hard Rock Café Barcelona for dinner. Then it was back to the hotel to get some MORE slept. Day two was a little more interesting I felt sick all day long; we did a different route on bus tour. I laid down in our hotel room at 8 o’ clock and went to sleep, this is very strange for me because I usually go to bed around at 11:00 P.M. Day three in Barcelona was “touring day”, that’s what I like to call it. “Touring day” is the day that a museum, church, cathedral, basilica, palace, and or castle, and is unavoidable. We go to the biggest tourist attractions in that city or town and take photos, or maybe even “learn” about something. While my family was on the Metro, a random fat guy with scars kept asking my dad “is this your stop?” He replied with a simple “no” then when the doors opened, it all started… it was a mad dash to get off the subway. During the middle of the craziness someone stole my dads wallet…yes you guessed it the fat guy with scars and his partner who was behind my dad. We cancelled the credit cards in front of the Sagrada Familia Church. All that the pickpockets really got was some worthless plastic, and leather to hold the worthless plastic. We went back to Valencia for the last time, only to end up even more frustrated. We have to pack our winter clothes that haven’t even arrived yet. You need your winter clothes to pack them, don’t you? All is well and now we go to Portugal for a week.

Spain, in a Couple Paragraphs

Valencia: On November the 2^nd, we journeyed out of our familiar apartment in Vienna and took a plane to Valencia. As soon as we stepped off the plane we saw orange and palm trees. From all those years of watching TV I have realized the palm trees means water and oasis. We soon arrived to our location. Seamus, Pearse, and I looked up to a 33-story building. With our mouths catching flies we walked into one of the tallest structures in Valencia. As we waited the 41 second ride up to the 29^th floor we had to pop our ears a couple of times. As we walked into the apartment we were immediately drawn to the patio. The site was mesmerizing. We have a view of the Science Centre, the park (which was where the river once was), and 180° of Valencia. 3 of the 4 bedrooms had “observation points” (a tiny patio that one person could fit on) which added to the excitement.

Along the 19-bus line, there is a cathedral, which we venture to for church, the Bull Fighting Ring, and the large train station. Once my mom and dad went to get dessert and found a medieval/renaissance fair being held at the bullring. Another time it was used for a concert. That’s is after we found out the bull fighting season was OVER!

Madrid: After a few days of bus tours, LATE night dinners, and meeting up with Father Cocucci, we come to the day everyone was expecting. The day Mom-mom arrived. Now there was going to be surprise of Sam coming with Mom-mom. However Denis Kennedy let it spill to me and me only a couple days before arrival. Nonetheless I was still overjoyed with Sam’s celebrity arrival. I had fully charged the video camera and was ready at any moment to start filming the grand entrance. We got back on a plane to Valencia. While Seamus and Pearse caught up with Sam, Mom-mom and Dad talked while the human compass/map got our bags checked and got us to the right gate.

Valencia with Sam: While we were in Valencia with Sam we went and did MANY things. Pearse made sure Sam got plenty of time at the skate park. Aunt Doreen and Uncle Andrew came up to visit (Mom-mom is the older sister of Uncle Andrew). We all went to see the Valencia Cathedral and the Basilica, St. Vincent's arm, Museum Fueo, the Oceanographico (Aquarium), the Renaissance Fair, Rodin, the Science Museum, MANY souvenir shops, and the BEACH. Everyone got a kick out of the Aquarium’s Dolphin show. Flipper’s friends were flipping, hoisting their trainers, dancing, and hula hooping. Uncle Andrew made the sacrifice to get a large beer because you get a free straw hat for every one. After a few days, Sam decided to start shopping for family. We got hats, scarves, key chains, fans, and miniature Salsa Dancers.

After many days of fun it was time for them to go home, so we all sucked it up to get up early and transport Mom-mom and Sam to the Madrid airport. We all said by 100 times, hugged goodbye 100 times, and took goodbye pictures 10 times. Finally Mom-mom said the words, “Don’t you have a train to catch?” And they left, after 10 short days they were gone. 


Barcelona: A high speed train into the city, a church, over crowded Metros, bus tour, hotel, Gaudi church, a stolen wallet and a chase perusing, a mega soccer store, and a high speed train ride back to Valencia for the last week in Spain. Is it possible I just summed up Barcelona in one sentence? I think it is! The main story was a robber pick pocketed an old wallet filled with worthless plastic. We took 10 minutes to cancel cards that could have cost us months to stop. However we loved Barcelona notheless. 


Summary: We, the family, have decided we are going to miss Spain, because of the warm weather, our "fancy livin’" apartment with the great view, and Disney in English. Oh and Mister Thompson (next door neighbor), please reset your internet that we have been using, it has become slow.

3 Boys and a Dad meet Fagin’s Understudy in Barcelona

The day started like many others for Team Glavin in Europe. The hotels grip was strong and the warm comfort of the bed even more intoxicating. Long gone is the 6 AM wakeup call replaced instead by the alarmless morning punctuated by the late sunlight of the beautiful Fall November day that awaits us in Barcelona. The streets of this Spanish city are narrower than most we’ve encountered, if that is possible, as we make our way to a patisserie looking for croissants and a coffee/tea. We pace by retail shops and apts. mixed together like odd couples.

It is a successful late morning as we find a place that actually makes real bacon and eggs (scrambled for Eamon) and instead of a croissant we opt for the “whole 9 yards” and get to do the breakfast/brunch thing. We lay out the plan for the day to the “sighs and eye rolls” of the kids which is a tell tale sign, to the trained eye, that we are headed to a few Churches and “tourist” attractions. First visit on the list is the Barcelona Cathedral.

Narrow alleys and streets and tall city buildings hide the direct sunlight and facade of the Cathedral but the flow of pedestrian traffic and the multiple languages, including English, is forensic evidence that we are on the right path to the Cathedral. As expected, the Cathedral is picture postcard perfect. Its exterior facade is under construction/renovation like so many religious and government buildings in Europe but its interior is a testament to man’s ingenuity. There are magnificent statues, stunning paintings and Religious relics preserved by kings and queens. The Monstrance is only second in beauty to the 10 ft high one we saw just weeks ago in Toledo’s Cathedral. As you kneel to pray one wonders, quietly, “How many prayers have emanated from within this building over the centuries?” A quick check with the boys on this question and Pearse is probably closest with his estimation “probably a cagillion!”

As the kids slide down the railings outside the Cathedral, to the dismay of some and the delight of others, we begin the search for the Metro. I always notice a difference in demeanor when we leave a Church of such magnitude. It is hard to put into words but for Catholics it’s like the feeling you get when finished Confession, your feel good to your core and you have a jump in your step. I’m not sure that is the same feeling for the kids, just yet, their excitement is more related to the fact that there can’t be that many more Churches left in Barcelona, “Can there?”

The pain is visible when we tell Eamon, Seamus and Pearse that Sagrada Familia the next stop on the agenda is a CHURCH too. It is a Gaudi masterpiece and certainly a “not to be missed” item on anyone’s agenda visiting Barcelona, unless of course you are under the age of 16. Seamus tries to talk us into renting bikes to make the trip to the other side of town but 5 Glavin’s trying to make it around the city on bike’s would be cause for alarm for the pedestrians of Barcelona. No, instead we search for the red “M” and ask a few folks “Donde esta Metro?” A few points of the fingers from Spanish strangers and we’re descending the staircase into the subterranean.


The mood is mixed for Team Glavin, as is often the case with 5, some moodier than others. The platform is crowded and the conversations confusing to the American ear. There is a noticeable change in the air as the subway car approaches, pushing out the old air and replacing it with the man made wind from the front of the streaking Metro car. The Yellow line will take us right to the Gaudi Church and it is clear that many many tourists are using this line. A quick scan of the platform before the doors open and you see backpacks and tourist maps in hand, like cotton balls blooming, from one end to the other. It is as crowded as any platform we’ve been on in Spain.

The ping of the bell and the “dance begins”, the door slides sideways and folks stream out, you peer in quickly trying to define the path as you make the dash with kids in tow to find a place to stand. The car is packed and the best you can hope for is rail to hold or steady feet so you don’t run into too many people. The kids enjoy the mashing of bodies in a weird sort of way and Pearse looks like one of those pink snooker balls on the table bouncing from side to side a mixture of delight and panic on his face.

A short, pock marked faced Spanish guy is chatting me up. A lady says she is from Southern Georgia and asks “Are you on vacation?” She sees the boys and the backpacks and corrects herself. My newest Spanish friend is asking “This you stop?” I shake my head “No”. He persists, “You sure not you stop?” I tell him I am sure a bit miffed that my head shaking “no” didn’t translate to Spanish the first time. The car jolts to a stop and most of the standing passengers lurch backwards from the force. The dash to find seats and readjust as the “ping” signals “door open.” There’s a woman standing outside the subway car “arms flailing and knocking on the window.” I think to myself “Welcome to the city, a nut for every Plantar’s Jar.” She raps the window and points to her purse. Naturally I giver her the international sign for “I don’t understand” a shoulder shrug. She is insistent and pointing at me and then her purse and BANG, it hits me. I scream to team Glavin “Off the car, now” the subway door pings giving all notice that the doors are closing. I squeeze out the door, adrenaline rushing like the feeling you get when the school yard bully tells you “I’ll see you at recess.” The lady points like a statue and says something along the lines “that way.”

“How could I be so stupid?” All the signs were there, crowded platform, tourists everywhere, “yellow line” that takes you to the famous Church and multiple exits and Metro lines? I’m a city guy, kind of. I am jumping the steps 3 at a time, heart racing and mental gymnastics, trying to get street side so I can look at the 3 other exits. I know who I am looking for and am hoping he will pop up thinking the “car is gone, I’m home free” As I look vigilantly, Eamon, surprisingly, comes up behind me. He says “Dad, you okay?” I look at him a little hurt and a lot pissed off and that’s a combination he has never seen in me. I ask him “You know what’s going on?” He looks at me “Yeah dad, you got PICK-POCKETED, he got your wallet, right?” I respond “Yes” a bit surprised at his accurate conclusion. He said “I know what he looks like it was the little fat guy with ragged clothes, right?” I tell him “it’s usually a team” Keep looking at people coming out of the exits. I already know that the thieves are long gone but I still hold out hope that they are “stupid criminals.” Eamon is angry and Ann is corralled with the other 2 boys in the subway station. She doesn’t want to burn 3 more subway fares by leaving the station. You gotta love that about her! Eamon and I descend the stair case from the street, Barcelona Cathedral in the background, dejected and unsuccessful. We will huddle and discuss the “plan.” We make quick calls and type in some quick txt messages to the United States and start the process of acquiring the numbers to have all the credit cards “turned off.” We grab the metro and head to Gaudi’s famous Church. The information is popping on our cell phones and in the shadows of the grand Sagrada Familia Church we make calls to cancel personal and business credit cards and reissue new plastic. The sum total of the damage is NO money in the wallet, no charges to the credit cards before we “shut them down”’ and a lost PA Drivers license and healthcare card. We all look at each other grateful that no one was hurt, no money lost and 3 boys learned a valuable lesson, life has its challenges.



Later in the evening I think to myself, what a bizarre feeling Barcelona Cathedral, a pick-pocket and Sagrada Familia Church, an evil sandwich!