What up, KC?

If you've known me for some time, you've probably heard me say, "There are hidden treasures everywhere." I say this because it's remarkably true! You don't have to be in New York, Las Vegas, or Chicago to find something awesome to do. Kansas City was the perfect case in point...

Our second day in the city started with a trip to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum. As sports fiends, we enjoyed wandering through the museum and learning about the history of the Negro Leagues and its notable players - names like Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, Cool Papa Bell, Rube Foster, and of course, Jackie Robinson. By happy accident, we happened to be there on the 107th birthday of Buck O'Neil, a famous player for the Kansas City Monarchs who later became the first African-American coach in Major League Baseball. In honor of his birthday, the museum was hosting an event with speakers that discussed him and his impact on baseball.

Once we'd worked up an appetite, we made our way to the next barbecue joint on our list - Gates BBQ. We definitely preferred Joe's, but it probably means something that I'd already eaten half of my food by the time I remembered to take a picture. Oops.

With full stomachs, we decided to check out the Power & Light District, a dining and entertainment district downtown. It should come as no surprise that our first stop while there was The College Basketball Experience, the interactive home of men's college basketball that also houses the National Collegiate Basketball Hall of Fame. This place was half museum, half basketball gym and we spent most of our time shooting around and doing drills. Wheat loved the exhibit on Cinderella teams, which, of course, highlighted Davidson and Steph Curry.

After working up a sweat, we decided to cool down with a stroll through one of KC's crown jewels - the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. I had no idea, but this is one of the best art museums in the country and it didn't take long to figure out why. I was absolutely blown away by the world-class galleries and the beautiful grounds (which included the famous shuttlecocks). We arrived shortly before closing time, so we vowed to make a return visit before heading home.

There was a special exhibit on the Day of the Dead that really hit home for me. You could leave messages for your departed loved ones and we made sure to leave a couple for my mom. In fact, she became the first person to know we were expecting. There were butterflies and flowers, two of my mom's favorite things, all over the display and it truly felt like we stumbled across it for a reason.

When the museum closed, we went back to our hotel to rest before heading to Chuy's for dinner. We ended the night with another soak in the whirlpool while watching Saturday Night Live.

As promised, I'll condense the next two days into one post. I told you - Kansas City has a lot to offer.

¡Adios, España!

Is the last day of vacation a total bummer for everyone? For me, it's like the Sunday blues on steroids, especially when I'm staring down the barrel of long travel home and work right around the corner. On our last full day in Spain, we woke up to gray skies and drizzling rain, which also didn't improve our moods. However, we sucked it up and tried to make the most of...

Day 9

 Barcelona -- Madrid, Spain

Highlights: Olympic Museum

Barcelona hosted the 1992 Summer Olympics (the original Dream Team, anyone?), so we made plans to explore the sports facilities in our last few hours in town. Most of the Olympic stadiums, arenas, fields, etc. were built atop Montjuïc, so we took the metro to the base of the hill and rode the funicular to the top. From the station, it was a short walk to the Barcelona Olympic Museum.

For Olympics buffs, this place was an absolute hidden treasure. In addition to memorabilia from the 1992 Games (including the bow and arrow used to light the Olympic cauldron in the Opening Ceremony), the museum also had individual exhibits on the history and evolution of each sport, Olympic and otherwise. There was an impressive display of Olympic torches and an interactive video center where you could watch select clips from every televised Olympics up to 2008. Heaven.

Near the end of the museum, there was an activity center where you could test your reaction time, climb a rock wall, and compete in other physical activities. As you can imagine, Wheat had fun with that. Once we'd had our fill of the museum, we wandered over to the Olympic Stadium to see the Olympic cauldron itself.

Despite the rain, we decided to walk down from Montjuïc and admire the views along the way. At the bottom of the hill, we encountered Las Arenas, a massive former bullfighting ring turned shopping center in 2000. Fun fact: Catalonia (including Barcelona) banned bullfights in 2012, so many of these structures have been converted into concert venues, malls, etc. We killed a couple hours by wandering around the mall, eating lunch, and admiring the expansive 360º views from the rooftop, which is now filled with restaurants and bars. Oh, and we also had our last European gelato of the trip.

By this time, we had to get to the train station, so we headed back to our hotel to pick up our bags. We lugged them through the rain to the metro, then through the metro to the train station. A few hours later, we arrived in Madrid, where we took a cab to our hotel near the airport (Hotel Tach) and found the most delicious gyros and feta fries for dinner. The next morning, we rode the convenient hotel bus to the airport and just like that, our glorious Spanish adventure was over.

If you missed out on any of the fun, here are some links:

Madrid: 1, 2, 3

Toledo: 1

Barcelona: 1, 2, 3, 4

OR...since YouTube is much easier than reading, check out this awesome recap video that Wheat made of our trip. I married up, folks.

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.

A Dance with Lord Stanley.

My blogger nightmare became a reality two days ago. Out of absolutely nowhere, my phone decided to implode, selfishly taking with it all of my pictures and videos from the last several months. When I took its lifeless corpse to the Verizon store, the worker looked at me with sympathetic, knowing eyes before informing me he couldn't fix it, couldn't access the files, and yeah, idiot. Why didn't you buy insurance?

In other words, all my pictures from our trip to see Hamilton in Chicago, my Grandmom's memorial in Eau Claire, and the Indy 500 are gone. Fortunately, I saved several pictures I wanted for this post prior to the apocalypse, so without further ado, I bring you Bucket List Item #50 - Attend the Stanley Cup Final.

The day after the Indy 500, Wheat and I piled ourselves back in the car and took off for Pittsburgh. Let me rewind a bit - Ever since I fell in love with hockey, I've desperately wanted to go to the Stanley Cup Final (duh). When it looked like the Pens had a good chance of beating the Ottawa Senators in the Eastern Conference Finals, Wheat not only agreed to buy tickets to the Final, but he even had to convince me it was okay to spend that kind of money on a once-in-a-lifetime experience. In hindsight, he was absolutely right.

So, we took a deep breath, thanked God for our tax return, and clicked purchase with the knowledge that if the Pens advanced to the Final, our bank accounts would be a little emptier. Sure enough, they beat the Senators in overtime in a vomit-inducing Game 7 and we were headed to Pittsburgh for Game 1.

We took it as a sign from the universe that the Pens' opponent was the Nashville Predators (Wheat's hometown and other favorite team), playing in their first ever Stanley Cup Final. Side note: He wore a Predators shirt under his Phil Kessel shirt and I never would have forgiven him had the Pens lost. We arrived several hours early, so we took the opportunity to walk around PPG Paints Arena, peruse the gift shop, and soak in the electric atmosphere. I successfully fought the urge to buy a plush Sidney Crosby, but did cave and buy a Crosby Final t-shirt.

The entire city was brimming with excitement for the series. Storefronts had signs of encouragement for the team, everyone was dressed in Pens gear, and I felt like I'd died and gone to hockey heaven. NHL Network and NBCSN were doing live pre-game coverage right outside the arena, so we saw Jeremy Roenick, Steve Mears, Kathryn Tappen, and Mike Rupp. There was also a watch party set up outside the arena and it was amazing to see how many people crammed into the area to support the team.

When the gates opened, we were given yellow rally towels (I will NOT call them terrible towels. Ever.) and gold Penguins t-shirts. I insisted that we watch warmups from the lower level, so we staked out a spot and waited for the team to hit the ice. Insider tip: If you can't afford good seats, show up early and watch warmups from the lower level. It's the best way to get a good look at the players, see how fast they actually skate, and tell Sidney Crosby you'll wait forever for his love. Ahem. Seriously though, the players actually interact a bit with the fans, bumping into the glass or tossing sticks and pucks over to fans.

After warmups, we made our way upstairs to our seats, which were conveniently located about ten rows from the top but provided a surprisingly good vantage point of the action. I was starting to wonder if I might actually pass out from anticipation when the lights finally went off and the arena announcer proclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Stanley Cup Finals." Cue the water works. It was that exact moment that I finally realized where I was and what I was doing. We were treated to an incredible laser light show on the ice and a pre-game video intended to hype the crowd. I felt like I could run through a brick wall.

Players were introduced, the national anthem was sung by Jeff Jimerson and the entire arena, and the puck dropped. I'll be honest - the Pens didn't play their best game. Far from it. The first goal of the game appeared to come off the stick of Nashville defenseman PK Subban, but it was overturned when Coach Mike Sullivan successfully challenged that a player was offsides. The end of the period saw three quick Penguins goals - one from Evgeni Malkin on a 5-on-3, one from Conor Sheary, and another one off a bad shot (by Nick Bonino) that bounced off the back of a Predators defenseman and into the net. We'll take what we can get.

I was thrilled and very cordial with the Predators fans sitting next to me. Then, because I was having such an amazing time, the Penguins didn't register a shot on goal for the next 37 minutes. THIRTY SEVEN MINUTES! ...and the Preds began to chip away at the deficit. A power play goal from Ryan Ellis, a goal off a deflection and credited to Colton Sissons, and the tying goal - a blast from Frederick Gaudreau. My heart sank and, according to Wheat, I sat in complete silence until the Pens broke the tie. Our Predator-loving neighbors began to frustrate me and I bit my tongue. A Preds fan threw a catfish onto the ice, which promptly exploded and sent fish guts flying in every direction.

We’ve got a (really gross) catfish in Pittsburgh pic.twitter.com/BuQWs7nvcW

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) May 30, 2017

Things were looking pretty bleak and I was absolutely dreading overtime when rookie Jake Guentzel answered my prayers with a beautiful goal. The arena erupted, screaming, waving towels, and singing along with Andrew W.K.'s "Party Hard," which the Pens have hilariously adopted as their goal celebration song. Bonino scored an empty-netter to seal the 5-3 victory a couple minutes later, despite the team being outshot 26-12 in the game. My word.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Columbus, Ohio after the game can only be described as euphoric. We excitedly discussed each goal, each penalty in detail and arrived around 3:00 AM. We checked into our hotel, slept for four hours, and hit the road again at 7:00 AM. And by "hit the road," I mean that my saint of a husband drove while I slept in the passenger seat and dreamed of hoisting the Stanley Cup.

Spoiler Alert: The Penguins soon did just that when they beat the Predators in six games to win their second consecutive championship and the fifth in franchise history.

And man, being there to watch Game 1 was worth every single penny.