Vacation is for eating, right?

This almost feels like cheating because very little was accomplished on our next day in Spain, but hey - when you're struggling to get recap posts done, you'll take any excuse in the book to get something on the blog. I'm also currently getting curb stomped by whatever annoying illness is circulating through central Indiana right now, so for today? Less is more.

You know it's a stretch when a train ride is a highlight on...

Day 5

 Madrid -- Barcelona, Spain

Highlights: Chocolatería San Ginés, train to Barcelona, Casa Batlló

Originally, Wheat and I had grand plans to wake up early on our last day in Madrid and tour the royal palace. But when our alarm went off, we gave each other a knowing glance and promptly fell back asleep. That's alright - I'm always looking for reasons to go back. A couple hours later, we finally roused ourselves from bed with the prospect of one final churro with chocolate for breakfast.

We made our way to San Ginés on foot, which was actually a perfect way to say farewell to Madrid. The weather was absolutely gorgeous and we took our time savoring both the food and the atmosphere. When we returned, we packed and said goodbye to my parents, who had a flight back to the States the next morning. As it turned out, Hurricane Irma had other plans for them and their flight to Atlanta was canceled. They ended up spending another night in Madrid and getting rerouted through Paris before finally getting home.

After lugging our bags through the metro to the train station (which I don't advise, by the way), Wheat and I boarded the train for our three-hour journey through the Spanish countryside to Barcelona. The time seemed to fly because the views were stunning. I kept taking what looked to be the same picture out the window of the train because VIEWS.

When we arrived in Barcelona, we quickly noticed that the public transportation system was swamped with people clad in coordinated t-shirts and carrying flags and posters. Unbeknownst to us, we arrived in Barcelona on Catalonia's national day, the Diada, which was quite a big affair this year. Shortly after our trip, the people of Barcelona voted to secede from Spain, which caused massive, somewhat violent protests and counter-protests. The secession issue is still being worked out today - with Barcelona and its unique culture, language, and traditions on one side and the rest of Spain (especially the domineering capital city of Madrid) on the other. I'll get into that a little more later.

After another lengthy walk with our luggage, we checked into Hotel Constanza and were completely blown away by the accommodations. The room was huge and had its own balcony overlooking the street and the hotel had a gorgeous rooftop bar. We were starving by this point, so we ventured across the street to Più, a cozy Italian restaurant in the heart of the Eixample district. We had pizza and pasta (duh) while soaking in the trendy atmosphere.

After dinner, we determined we needed to digest our food a bit with a nice stroll through the Eixample. Although it was late, there were plenty of people relaxing on cafe terraces and admiring the architecture. I had my first taste of Antoni Gaudí, the renowned Barcelona architect, when we accidentally stumbled upon Casa Batlló. We probably spent a full half hour just staring up at the dreamlike building. I'm not a huge architecture buff, but I was relieved to know we had much more Gaudí on the horizon...

Don't go to a bullfight and root for the bull.

WARNING: This post includes graphic pictures and descriptions of a bullfight. I'm telling you now - it's pretty depressing.

When we first started researching for our trip to Madrid, there were two big items that we knew we wanted to do while we were there: check out the impressive art museums and watch a live bullfight. Oddly enough, we checked both of those off our itinerary within a few hours of each other, which made for a very stereotypical "Spanish" day on...

Day 4

 Madrid, Spain

Highlights: Museo Nacional del Prado, Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, Las Ventas

The third attraction we booked through Julia Travel was a guided tour through the Prado, a massive art museum with the greatest collection of works by the Spanish masters. Although the tour started much earlier than we would have liked (right when the museum opened!), we made our way via the metro and arrived in plenty of time. However, upon arrival, we could not find the meeting point for the tour and wandered around aimlessly for at least 30 minutes, asking clueless security guards and other guides for directions.

Eventually, the start time for our tour came and went as I threw a temper tantrum on a nearby bench and Wheat frantically ran around the museum looking for the guide. Just as we were about to leave, an older gentleman approached us and asked in heavily accented English if we were the Hotchkiss family. I nearly cried as he explained that he was our guide and the rest of the group (except for another straggler he had tracked down) was already inside.

After waiting in a long line for security (in which we encountered a man dressed as a dog) and several embarrassed apologies to the rest of our group, we began the tour. When I say the Prado is massive, I mean it. Over the course of the next hour and a half, we did a fast and furious blitz of the highlights of the museum that caused my parents to fizzle out halfway through and another person to pass out. Hardcore for an art museum, eh? 

The museum itself was overwhelming. I don't claim to be an art connoisseur, but thanks to my Spanish studies, I was familiar with many of the highlighted artists and even some of the artwork. I've learned about the museum's crown jewel, "Las Meninas" by Diego Velázquez, since my junior year of high school, so it was pretty surreal to finally see it outside of a textbook. Unfortunately, photography wasn't allowed in the museum, but other highlights included:

• "The Garden of Earthly Delights," a triptych by Hieronymous Bosch
• "Second of May, 1808" and "Third of May, 1808," wartime paintings by Francisco Goya
• "Bearded Woman" by Jusepe de Ribera
• "Nobleman with his Hand on his Chest" by El Greco

When the tour was over, we thanked the guide, collected my parents, and made a bee line for lunch at the nearby (and likely overpriced) Cafeteria Prado. After lunch, we leisurely strolled down Paseo del Prado, a main thoroughfare that was preparing for the cyclists on La Vuelta a España, the Spanish equivalent of the Tour de France, later that day. As we made our way toward the metro station, we passed the gorgeous royal botanical gardens and El Rastro, a weekly, outdoor flea market that was filled with lively vendors and a double-decker carousel.

By this point, my parents were absolutely whooped, but Wheat and I still had another painting to cross off our artwork bucket list. (That's not a real thing. We don't actually have one of those.) Fortunately for us, the Reina Sofía art museum, which specializes in 20th century works, was not only open that day, but also offering free admission. While my parents waited at a nearby outdoor cafe, Wheat and I waited in a line that stretched around the building. Once inside, we booked it straight for the museum's pièce de résistance and the reason we wanted to go, Pablo Picasso's "Guernica."

Of course, the museum doesn't allow you to take photos of it, but "Guernica" was absolutely worth the wait. The sheer size of the painting (11 feet tall and 25 feet wide) was staggering and we spent quite some time pointing out various details in the mural that revealed the violence and suffering that Picasso hoped to convey. Once we'd had our fill, we did a quick pass through some of the other exhibits in the museum, including a room of Salvador Dalí works, before going outside to meet my parents.

After a couple hours of rest in the apartment, we anxiously set out for Las Ventas, the famous bullring in Madrid. I say "we," but it was likely just me and my mom who felt nervous for the impending bloodbath. The metro conveniently dropped us off immediately outside of the imposing circular building and we ventured inside to find our seats in the shaded (thus more expensive) section of the ring.

I have to preface this with a few words: I've spent most of my life learning about the Spanish language and culture, including bullfights. When I booked our flight to Spain, I knew that I wanted to attend a bullfight, if only to have a firsthand look at the polarizing tradition. How else can you form your own opinion? However, after having witnessed the violence, I can easily say that I'm glad I went, but I'll never go again.

Contrary to popular belief, a bullfight is actually multiple bullfights. In fact, we saw three different matadors fight two bulls each...for a grand total of six dead bulls. And I can tell you - I was more than ready to go after the first one. I actually felt nauseous as I sat in the stands with tears streaming down my face. My mom and I found ways to distract each other with conversation rather than focus on the heartbreaking spectacle in front of us.

You can tell by my face it hadn't started yet.

I will admit that the pomp and circumstance surrounding the bullfight was impressive. It started with a parade of the matadors, their helpers, and the picadores set to the sound of bugles. Each fight followed the same pattern: The bull is released into the ring, then taunted by the matador's helpers. The matador uses a cape to distract and lead the bull to certain areas of the ring while picadores on horseback use lances to stab the bull's neck and shoulders. This weakens the animal as it rams into the blindfolded, clueless, and armored horse. Bandilleros (without capes) stick poles with pointed tips and colorful flags into the bull's back as it continues to charge. The matador faces off one-on-one with the bull, using his iconic red cape to entice the bleeding animal to come dangerously close. The matador uses a long sword to stab the bull through the heart and kill him instantly as he makes his final charge.

Except that didn't happen. In fact, it took all of the matadors several horrendous attempts to finally kill the bulls. Most of the time, the sword would go in crooked or the bull would simply collapse to the ground in agony. The matador would then use a small knife to sever its spinal cord before a team of horses dragged the carcass out of the ring.

It was heartbreaking.

...and as I sat there crying, I was completely blown away by the cultural disparity between my family and the Madrileños in the crowd. They sipped beer, cheered raucously, shouted "Olé," and gave a standing ovation while waving white flags for one matador who supposedly performed well. Apparently, when the crowd responds that way and the president of the ring grants permission, the matador gets to cut off and keep the bull's ear as a memento.

Yeah, it was horrifying, but I also found myself wondering about the sports we value in America and the carnage it can do to athletes. Of course, athletes in America are willing participants in their sport, not helpless animals forced into their own slaughter. Fittingly, this happens every Sunday in Madrid.

Ultimately, I'm glad I went. Now, I can definitively say, with an informed opinion, that I don't support them. I understand that bullfights hold a deep, cultural importance in Spain (and parts of Latin America) that Americans can't grasp, but I saw more than enough to make up my mind.

...and my dad ordering an eel sandwich for dinner later that night did nothing to help assuage my nausea. Thank goodness for late-night hot tub soaks to reset the psyche.

Three months in five minutes.

Hi, everyone. I'm Brittany and I have a blogging consistency problem.

Once upon a time, I actually blogged with regularity. It seems impossible to believe, given my track record the last couple years. Nevertheless, here I am and I've made it my personal goal to finish blogging about our trip to Spain. You know, before a year has elapsed since the trip...

Fun fact: I never even blogged about my own wedding. Oops.

First, I'll catch you up on life in general. Baby steps, folks.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year happened. My whole family celebrated Thanksgiving together a week early, but it was a welcome change to have all of us crowded around the dinner table. With my sister in Arizona and Wheat in Texas, Christmas was tamer than usual. Still, it was glorious to have a week at home in Ohio with family and friends. New Year was spent in our typical fashion, with me and Wheat staying in and making fun of the painfully awkward ball-dropping telecast.

Christmas REALLY happened. I didn't really mean to, but I went hard on the Christmas festivities this year. My mom and I explored the Christmas Ranch in Ohio. Wheat and I attended a friend's Christmas cocktail party. We admired the incredible displays and performers at the Chinese Lantern festival at the Indiana state fairgrounds, which I hope becomes a yearly tradition for us. We ate delicious raclettes (cheese melted onto a baguette with dijon mustard, pickles, and green onions), drank hot chocolate, and checked out the German vendors at the Carmel Christkindlmarkt. I organized our company Christmas party with bowling and lunch at Punch Bowl Social. We had our eighth annual Central Perk gift exchange and a few of us ventured to Columbus for a fun evening of bowling and bar hopping with some of my best friends. In other words, I could have used a break from my break.

I turned 30. Yikes. As I'm sure you can guess, it feels the same as 29, but man, it doesn't sound good, does it? Fortunately, my actual birthday celebrations were wonderful, thanks to my awesome friends and family. Wheat surprised me with tickets to watch the Bengals beat the Browns, 30-16. Several of my friends came to Indy to do an escape room with me for the first time (we didn't escape - hmph). I watched competitive eater Joey Chestnut defend his St. Elmo's shrimp cocktail eating title by downing 10 pounds, six ounces of it in eight minutes. I mean, if that doesn't make your birthday, I don't know what will.

...and lots of other things happened, too.

My sister and Denny got married in a small ceremony at a courthouse in Tucson. Denny was deployed to Iraq and my sister moved home to Ohio. My brother-in-law paid us a visit in Indy and my family continued our Christmas Eve fondue tradition. My mom's cancer has continued to evade her chemo and my brother got a ridiculously, almost impossibly cute puppy. I tailgated with Jenn, Paul, and LP before watching the Bengals beat the Lions, 26-17, on Christmas Eve. I drove to Toledo for CJ's baby shower, hosted Kate in Indy for a night, and explored the Boonshoft Museum of Discovery in Dayton.

I did my best teenybopper impression (which isn't very hard to do) while watching the Backstreet Boys, The Chainsmokers, Zedd, Hey Violet, and Maxx. We cooked some HelloFresh meals and realized that, with a little effort, we can cook, too. Wheat and I attended our second consecutive Indianapolis BaconFest and I regretted nothing, especially not the bacon s'mores and donuts. We made strides trying to watch all of the Oscar-nominated movies, binged Mindhunter on Netflix, and visited Veal's Ice Tree before it melted in unseasonably 60º weather. Wheat and I supported each other's alma maters when we traveled to Muncie to watch the Miami Redhawks play football and to Dayton to watch the Davidson Wildcats play basketball.

Mostly, I've felt overwhelmed - sometimes in good ways, sometimes in bad. Sometimes drowning in sadness, other times floating with joy. I suppose the benefit of getting older is realizing that that's life.

Coming at you with more Spanish goodness soon...