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.Beautiful city of Barcelona, capital of Catalonia (a Spain’s province), is situated on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea and bordered at either end by 2 river deltas. Barcelona is the second largest city in Spain after its capital city Madrid. Barcelona has a population of 1.5 million, over 4 million including suburbs. The varied, eventful history of the city dates back 4,000 years to the first settlements by ancient farmers. Later it became a Roman colony, the Visigoth’s capital city, and then it came under Moorish rule. It went through sieges, destructions and occupations, finally to become an autonomous democracy 1975. The city has always played an important role in political and cultural life of Spain and it is well reflected in the variety and quality of historical buildings, museums, many other tourist attractions. Today Barcelona is one of the most diverse European cities with unique culture and rich traditions. You can find here a formidable balance of the traditional things and the avant-garde. A cosmopolitan metropolis, Barcelona affords visitors a warm and sincere welcome, being acknowledged worldwide as one of the best tourist-friendly cities in Europe. Barcelona’s organization of the 1992 Olympics provided regeneration of this dynamic city, gave a fresh start to its infrastructure development. WHAT TO SEE AND WHERE: POINTS OF INTEREST – La Ramble is a tree-lined pedestrian boulevard packed with buckers, living statues, mimes and itinerant salespeople selling everything from lottery tickets to jeweler. Pavement cafes and stands selling craftwork, street performers surrounded by curious onlookers, a noisy bird market, Palau de la Virreina, a grand 18th-century rococo mansion, the Gran Teeter del Liceu, the famous 19th-century opera house- these are all colorful parts of La Rambla’s mosaic. La Rambla ends at the lofty Monument a Colom (Monument to Columbus) and the harbour. Barri Gotic – also known as Gothic Quarter, it is the old part of the city. Picasso lived and worked in Barri Gotic from 1895 to 1904 and Joan Miro was born and lived here during his youth. Gothic Quarter is situated on the right hand side of the La Rambla, it contains a concentration of medieval tall Gothic buildings (14-15th century) on narrow cobbled streets and now is home to much of the city’s nightlife. La Sagrada Familia – La Sagrada Familia is one of the most famous and magnificent among Barcelona’s landmarks. The life’s work of Barcelona’s famous architect, Antoni Gaudi, the magnificent spires of the unfinished cathedral imprint themselves boldly against the sky with swelling outlines inspired by the holy mountain Montserrat. Above each facade there are four towers, 12 in total, which are dedicated to the Apostles. The tower in the center, the tallest of all at 170 m., is dedicated to Jesus Christ. Around these there are the towers of the four Evangelists, and the tower over the apse is dedicated to the Virgin. They are encrusted with a tangle of sculptures that seem to breathe life into the stone. Gaudi died in 1926 before his masterwork was completed, and since then, controversy has continually dogged the building program. Nevertheless, the southwestern (Passion) facade, is almost done, and the nave, begun in 1978, is progressing. La Pedrera – Casa Mila (Mila House) is an apartment building, the last example of Gaudi’s civil architecture.It is one of his finest and most ambitious creations, extraordinarily innovative in its functional, constructive, and ornamental aspects. Visitors can tour the building and go up to the roof, where they can see spectacular views of Barcelona. One floor below the roof is a modest museum dedicated to Gaudi’s work. Montjuic – the largest open space in the city, its main attractions are the Olympic installations, the Spanish Village and the hilltop fortress. Montjuic, the hill overlooking the city centre from the southwest, is home to some fine art galleries, leisure attractions, soothing parks and the main group of 1992 Olympic sites. Montjuic is covered in ornamental gardens with water features and is the most popular destination in Barcelona on Sundays. Tibidabo – is the highest hill in the wooded range that forms the backdrop to Barcelona. It has amazing views of the whole of Barcelona, a stunning cathedral, and a family fun park Parc d’Atraccions with old-style rides offering breathtaking views. A glass lift at the park goes 115m (383 ft) up to a visitors’ observation area at Torre de Collserola telecommunications tower. Modernisme – spectacular modernista architectural creations dotted around the city by famous Antoni Gaudi and his contemporaries. Camp Nou – home of F.C. Barcelona, one of Europe’s leading soccer teams, with capacity of almost 100,000 spectators. The Seu Cathedral – Built in medieval times on the site of a Roman temple, La Seu is one of the great Gothic buildings in Spain. Parc de la Ciutadella – Barcelona’s favorite park and a Sunday afternoon rendezvous for families, friends and ducks The Sardana – traditional Catalan dance, performed outside the cathedral and at national festivals, with everyone encouraged to join in.

MUSEUMS – The Barbier-Mueller Museum of Pre-Columbian Art -the only museum in Europe devoted exclusively to Pre-Columbian cultures. Housed in a gothic palace, its collection is one of the finest of its kind and gives visitors an insight into the rich world of the earliest cultures on the American continent. This tiny museum contains one hundred pieces, including wood and stone sculptures, ceramics, tapestries, jade, often found in international exhibitions and prestige publications. The exhibits represented the Olmec, Maya, Aztec, Chavin, Mochica and Inca civilisations. Palau de la Musica Catalana – one of the world’s most extraordinary music halls, it is a Barcelona landmark. From its polychrome ceramic ticket windows on the Carrer de Sant Pere Mes Alt side to its overhead busts of Palestrina, Bach, Beethoven, and Wagner, the Palau is the flagship of Barcelona’s Moderniste architecture. Museu Picasso – is Barcelona’s most visited museum. 3,500 exhibits make up the permanent collection. Picasso spent several years (1901-06) in Barcelona, and this collection, is particularly strong on his early work. Displays include childhood sketches, pictures from the beautiful Rose and Blue periods, and the famous 1950s Cubist variations on Velazquez’s Las Meninas (Ladies-in-Waiting). Gaudi Casa-Museu – Gaudi lived in this pink, Alice-in-Wonderland house from 1906 to 1926, which now houses a museum of Gaudi-designed furniture, decorations, drawings, and portraits and busts of the architect. Fundacio Miro – it was a gift from the famous artist Joan Miro to his native city. The museum opened in 1975, and now it is one of Barcelona’s most exciting showcases of contemporary art.

BEACHES – One of Barcelona’s greatest draws is undeniably its beautiful beaches. Beside world-famous Costa Brava and Costa Dorada which are within 1-hr drive time from Barcelona, there are also several nice beaches over 4 km long within the city boundaries, we will list just several of them here: Nova Icaria- Closest to the Olympic marina, always crowded, this wide swathe of rough golden sand is great for food goers. There are three perfect beach bars and two very popular restaurants on the promenade (Mango and Chiringuito de Moncho) and countless bars and restaurants are just a short stroll away. Bogatell- This beach is twice the length of adjoining Nova Icaria and fringed by a stretch of stone walkway perfect for jogging, roller blading and cycling. Three large informal restaurants on the promenade. Mar Bella (Metro Ciutadella Vila Olimpica, plus 20-minute walk)- Barcelona’s only naturist beach close to a peaceful park – good for a picnic or siesta under the trees. Barceloneta- wide and long, a traditional and popular stretch with locals, crowded, noisy and very jolly.

WHEN TO GO, WEATHER: The best times to visit Barcelona are late spring and early autumn, when the weather is still comfortably warm, around 21-25°C. Summers are usually hot and humid, with temperatures averaging +30 (+ 86 Fahrenheit). Especially avoid the “dead” month of August, when many shops, bars and restaurants close for the month as many local inhabitants head out of the city. Winters are cool with average daytime temperatures around +12 C (+59 Fahrenheit), occasionally rainy.

GETTING THERE AND AROUND: By a direct flight to Barcelona, or through Madrid or via another large European city from almost any major airports in the world. The highest fares are from May to September, the lowest in March-April, October-November and December to February (excluding Christmas and New Year when prices are hiked up). Note also that flying on weekends may increase your ticket cost. If traveling to Barcelona from within Europe you can also chose train, bus or car, though these take much longer than a plane and often work out no cheaper. Many Mediterranean cruises include Barcelona as a port of call.

ACCOMODATIONS: We can offer you a range of choices. You can choose vacation rentals in Barcelona starting from $ 125 USD for a double room in a 4-star apartment hotel. Or you can opt for hotels from $ 65 USD for a double room in a 3-star hotel. Accomodation prices do not change much throughout the year due to the steady all-season flow of visitors to this extremely popular tourist city and surrounding resorts.

DINING: Besides restaurants you can eat at bars where you would have a succession of tapas (small snacks- three or four chunks of fish, meat or vegetables, or salad, which traditionally used to be served up free with a drink) or raciones (larger ones). The bar option can be a lot more interesting, allowing you to do the rounds and sample local specialities. Generally, the average cost for a meal consisting of two dishes and dessert would come to about 25 Euros. Travellers on an extremely limited budget can do well for themselves by using the excellent markets, bakeries and delis and filling up on sandwiches and snacks. Decent restaurants and cafes are easily found all over the city, though you’ll probably do most of your eating where you do most of your sightseeing, in the old town, particularly around La Rambla and in the Barri Gotic. Look for the best and most authentic seafood restaurants in Barceloneta, a seaside neighbourhood. Gothic Quarter neighbourhood is home to some of the oldest and most traditional restaurants in the city. Gracia is a very popular area among young people during the weekend, it leads the way in terms of exotic restaurants (Lebanese, Egyptian, Thai etc.).

TRANSPORT: Barcelona has excellent transport system comprising the metro (subway), buses, trains and a network of funiculars and cable cars. You can find a link to transport maps at the end of our guide. On all the city’s public transport you can buy a single ticket every time you ride, but even over only a couple of days it’s cheaper to buy a targeta – a discount ticket strip. The T-10 targeta is valid for ten separate journeys on the metro, buses and trains. These tickets can be used by more than one person at a time. The metro is the quickest way of getting around Barcelona. For black-and-yellow taxis there is a minimum charge of $ 2 euro. You’ll obviously have a great deal more freedom if you rent a car . Major roads throughout the city are generally good, and traffic is generally well behaved, though Spain does have one of the highest incidences of traffic accidents in Europe. It also has some of the lowest fuel prices on the continent.

SHOPPING: Barcelona, one of the most stylish cities in Europe offers great shopping, from designer clothes and accessories to household items. You will find the city to be quite cheap for a lot of items, especially if you coincide with the annual sales ( rebaixes in Spanish) lasting from mid-January until the end of February, and throughout July and August. The best shopping areas in Barcelona are the old streets off the upper part of the Ramblas. Souvenirs include ceramics, which are widely sold in the streets around the cathedral; leather goods; city’s delicatessens, particularly cooked Catalan meats and sausages; a porron (the long-spouted glass drinking jar); CDs and tapes of Catalan rock and pop, sardana music, Spanish rock or flamenco. If you’re looking for original gift ideas, some of the best hunting can be found in the shops of any of the city’s museums, where you’ll find reasonably priced and unique examples of Catalan disseny (graphic), and other original items ranging from postcards to replica works of art. We wish you a nice and safe trip!

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Crossing the New Jersey-Pennsylvania state line at the Delaware Water Gap, I paralleled the muddy-appearing Delaware River near the Appalachian Trail, the interstate narrowing to two lanes and shallowly ascending into the brown-treed, gray shale rock-covered Pocono Mountains.  The slender, finger-like white patterns representing the still-snow-covered ski trails of Camelback Mountain were now visible through the left car window. As the miles rolled by, I thought of the past two ski trips, trips which had been highlighted–perhaps “warped” is the better word–by the personalities of my group. Put them on skis and they excelled in more ways than you can imagine. Did I dare subject myself to them again? I could have turned round right now…

The descending, right-curving off-ramp led to my hotel, located four miles from Jack Frost Mountain, itself the converging point of my company’s third annual ski trip.

We had consistently attempted to overnight in a different hotel property each year. It had nothing to do with variety, mind you, but instead the inescapable fact that the group’s noise, rowdiness, and animalistic release had always banned their return. I had hoped that sufficient demand would prompt hotel construction in the area; otherwise, we would someday run out of locations–because, you see, they had not only shined on skies, but wherever we had stayed. Read on.

The setting sun released an orange bath into the dense, bare brown trees blanketing the area. It would not be long now.

At about 11:30 there began a series of uninterrupted door openings and closings down the hotel corridor which continued until almost sunrise, indicating that my “group” had arrived. I do not think the manufacturer of the door hinge itself had subjected them to such frequent testing before release to the public for sale. Oh, well, I had another look round my room, since it would be the last time I would see it. We would not be welcomed back here.

The night clerk quickly rethought his “nice” gesture of reopening the pool for the group when their excessive noise, the equivalent of a tribal, return-to-barbarism chant, had quickly forced him to oust them and re-close it.

The group had apparently collected numerous, hopelessly unmixable types of alcohol and proceeded to join their liquid forces together in a single glass under the collective name of “death”–with or without ice. It made no difference–except, perhaps, for those headed to a hot place on the way out.

Whaid, who barely returned a primordial grunt to my daily “hellos” at work, launched into an alcohol-induced, therapy-session-waiting-to-happen lament during the dark hours of the night in his hotel room, crying, “Nobody loves me” and followed it with a finger-pointing, broken-record monotone of “But I’ll be there for you…”

“I’ll be there for you…”

“I’ll be there for you…”

The following day he had slouched into a Road Runner position on skis and had wizzed by someone who had fallen and obviously needed someone to be there for him. He wasn’t.

Luckily, Munny, who devoutly lived by his “you need a hug” philosophy, had been in the room with him the previous evening to dry his tears.

Josue had apparently also “tasted” one of these liquid suicides. So intoxicated had he become, in fact, that Berqui had been forced to deposit him in the bathtub, where he had continued to sleep. It is a good thing that he had been the designated driver. I dare not look for adjectives to describe the conditions of the others.

Poor Dorit. The hotel’s front desk, apparently pegging her as Mother Hen, had called her in the wee hours of the morning as she had finally drifted off to sleep and warned, “If you don’t keep your boys quiet, I’ll be forced to call the police!” If she had ever dreamt of having children, they were not them.

We had agreed to meet for breakfast at 8:00 and bleary-eyed Dorit, Rocio, and Ronald had walked into the hotel’s breakfast room at this time. The other dozen, having only fallen asleep three hours earlier, would be lucky to make it by noon.

Completing the five-minute drive down deserted Route 940 from the hotel on that cold, clear morning after a brief pause to allow the night’s collected windshield ice to melt, I had been among the first to arrive at Jack Frost Mountain. The lodge, the same one used the previous year, had already taken on signs of our pending invasion, with food and drink lining the outside deck and the inside bar, and the fireplace having been recently stacked with logs and lit. There he stood inside it, the Mike, nucleus of the annual event.

The room had otherwise been quiet, a calm before the storm, although with the night the group had had it would most likely remain so for several hours.

Taking the opportunity to have a look round, I walked through the main lodge and out the door to the snow-covered slopes and rotating chair lifts, which echoed the events and the personalities of the previous year. Moving my head to the right, I saw it. There it stood, like a monument to a person who had discovered the most innovative use of an object connected to skiing, wind-swept and nestled in the snow. A small placard atop it had read:

PICNIC TABLE RESERVED FOR: SIDONIE

With all the time she had spent at it last year, despite her “splinter issues,” I had fully expected her to have run a line out to it and to have set up a computer–not to mention a small filing cabinet. I was sure that she had intermittently hired and brought an administrative assistant this year for her outdoor “office.”

A petite woman, releasing a low, staccato cough, skied by and the sound instantly transported me back to our first ski tip and little Moniquita. One should not be misled by a person’s small size. Lurking behind it can be a personality more powerful than an atom bomb, which, come to think of it, had been a pretty accurate analogy of her. She had, however, been like many other things:

Like a rocket on the launch pad in Florida waiting for someone to push her “take off” button.

Like the eruption in the core of Mount St. Helens in the state of Washington.

Like the hot section of a high bypass ratio turbofan engine powering a 747.

Like the poblano pepper in every hot tamale.

Like the circular wind in every tornado.

Like the chaos caused by the universe’s Big Bang, played in reverse.

Like the fire in the earth’s inner core.

Like the nightmare from which one cannot awake, but if one succeeds in doing so, he only finds her in the room with him.

Like Leona Helmsley with a Spanish accent.

One day at work, one of Monica’s employees had walked into the office and explained, “Monica sent me to get some reports.”

“Sent?” I had intoned. “Monica never sends anyone! Shoots out of a cannon, maybe!”

People express their personalities differently. Ricky, for instance, who had attended last year, seemed to assert himself with repetition. Indeed, his two-word question of “What happened? seemed to replace the need for all other words in the English language.

“What did you eat last night, Ricky?”

“What happened?”

“What time did you get up this morning, Ricky?”

“What happened?”

“Are you enjoying your ski day, Ricky?”

“What happened?”

I had once been cooped up with him in a small room when he had been a student in one of my classes and by the end of the third day they had taken me away in a straight jacket! I can only wonder what he will be like when he is 80 and his hearing begins to decline

I had regretted that some of our colleagues, whom we had known for so long that they had become virtual relatives, would be unable to attend this year, such as Uncle Omar, admittedly a slightly older, burpy type whose idea of a strenuous evening began with a strong laxative, and Auntie Omiamalie, whose frustrated desire for the nice things in life had often surfaced with the first words she had taught any maturing, aspiring young woman, that most important of all success-promoting phrases: “Daddy, I need a credit card!” In fact, if she had ever aspired to become a language teacher, she had once explained, she would make sure that these would be the first words her students would translate.

Making the short drive from the hotel to the ski lodge later that morning (I guess 11:55 can still be considered “morning”), the group arrived, carrying lipstick red-eyed Josue from the dirt parking lot to the lodge like paramedics (a stretcher is already on next year’s “Mandatory Supply” list) and depositing him on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Spreading his legs apart as if he had been about to give birth, he slumped into a virtual comma. He later confessed that the only thing he had remembered about the ride had been the wind returning his involuntary vomitary to him as he had poked his head through an open window. He had also expressed regret that Annie had been unable to join us on the ski trip this year, although she had sat across from him for two hours. (!)

By 2:00, the only ski-related accomplishment he had made had been to attach his ski pass to his coat. He had then lapsed into a second nap in order to recover from the effort. The slopes closed at 4:00.

After last year’s torture, I had decided to engage in that ski activity in which I excelled–instruct. David, who had never before attempted the frictionless dare, wondered, “Since you skied last year, I wonder if you could give me some pointers to promote safety?”

I paused for a moment and looked down, wondering if the other “ski” event he referred to could have been last year’s crippled careen between picnic tables, remembering the feeling of having stood on two flat, elongated, highly-polished pieces of wood which had offered less friction than a baby’s thoroughly-oiled bottom on a surface of frozen, white, nightmarish snow, my feet held hostage by two crushing, hard-sided, impenetrable boots which had severed all connection with the outside oxygen and my circulation. I had seriously needed to re-examine my life’s direction. He had actually wanted to volunteer for an activity like this, I had wondered? He would have had better odds with the drink called “death.”

“Well,” I had hesitated. “I do have some safety-related ski tips for you based on my experience.”

“What?” he had eagerly wanted to know, craning his neck toward me.

“If you want to ski in total safety,” I had slowly shared with him, “whatever you do, don’t leave the building!” Which is exactly what Sidonie did.

In fact, Sidonie had worked up more of a sweat walking between her seat and the ladies’ room in the lodge this year than she had on her skis outside of it last year. I love a kindred, although cowardly spirit, and I followed right behind her to the men’s room. This was a true “cross country.” It is a shame that the others will never know what they had missed!

I hope that Jenner had enjoyed herself. She had sat across from Sidonie, partaking of the “lunch” she had brought for everyone (the equivalent of a full aisle at the Stop-and-Shop and one which had induced me to dig for discount coupons), and did not utter a single “lovely” the entire day–the equivalent of a pulse for everyone else and therefore fully categorizable as one of her “vital signs.”

Damian, wearing his usual aloof, inter-planetary expression, frequently made shopping trips down this food aisle, constantly carrying piled-high plates. He had spent considerable time outside skiing, and had vastly improved over last year (for which I had hated him).

“My, you have quite an appetite, Damian,” I had observed.

“Well, skiing makes you hungry, Robert,” he had returned. “Besides, you know what they say: you should get your eight.”

“Those are hours of sleep, Damian,” I had corrected, “not meals per day!”

As Sidonie and Jenner ate, I could only think that they had clung to the picnic table on skis last year and would not leave the lodge this year. I wondered if they would actually get out of the car next year.

Ecaterinata, arriving in the early afternoon and remembering my undying love for the sport, caught me walking across the snow with a short set of skis in my arms for seven-year-old Julia.

“You finally found a small enough pair you’re comfortable with?” she had inquired. Even these I would not put on, I thought, but quickly grew angry that I had not thought of this option last year.

Adam, the singular source of the elongated drive because of his hopelessly inadequate ability to follow directions two years ago, had left the company, but had returned for this year’s ski event. He had intermittently trained for a position as a pilot specializing in navigation.

During the day on the advanced slope, he had sprained his groin and walked bow-legged for the remainder of it, as if he had carried some invisible basketball between his legs. (!)

Munny, only 20, had since turned into manager, father (of this staff), and workaholic, careening, like Adam, down the advanced slope, but with a pole in one hand, conducting business with his cell phone in the other, and projecting a smoke-puffing cigarette from his mouth in between. I can only wonder what he will be like when he is 50.

Andy (that is his last name–his first name is “Handy”) equally made his first foray into skiing, but had consistently experienced difficulty in stopping, and therefore often did so by means of the building in front of him. In fact, at times, he had appeared like a human pinball, bouncing from one wall to another. I had told him that skis were not equipped with brakes. If they had been, I may have put one on myself this year. (I said “one,” not “one pair!”)

Andy had not been the only one to use existing obstructions to his advantage, although I still cannot, at this writing, understand the reversed sequence of events. Most people hit a tree while skiing and fall. Little Lauralitta had apparently fallen into the snow and collided with a tree branch upon getting up, her ponytail bobbing behind her head like a spring-loaded doll. For the remainder of the day she walked round with a dazed look and the permanent imprint of an oak on her forehead.

As I had passed Ronald, I had found him virtually upside-down in a ravine, skis and poles dangling from him like the outstretched tentacles of an octopus, and yelled, somewhat in panic, “Ronald, are you all right?”

“I’m fine!” he had yelled back. “I think I’m getting the hang of it!”

I wonder if it had been an inflated ego or sheer delusion.

How, you may ask, could I have witnessed all of these events when I had, in fact, never donned a single pair of skis? Let’s put it this way: the love of short, stubby, concrete-gripping shoes. I had total freedom, running after everyone like Father Goose, instructing, warning, extracting from the snow.

As the sun had begun to inch toward the west on that crisp, blue mid-March day, the Jack Frost staff had equally begun to close the resort for the night, forcing the remaining skiers to return to the lodge, who had passed Josue walking in the opposite direction toward the ski rental shack.

Steam rose from the chafing dishes lining the bar, and the obligatory group photograph back-dropped by the company logo signaled the end to another ski adventure.

As the Pocono Mountains receded behind me during the drive from Pennsylvania to New York that evening, I had concluded that travel usually brought out the best in people. That concept did not seem to apply to my group–unless this had been their best! Ah, but I had breathed a sigh and thought positively, hoping that they would someday develop into fine, “normal” people.

Someday, I would also become a full-fledged, Olympic Gold Medal skier. I wonder which of the two should be given the better odds…?

A graduate of Long Island University-C.W. Post Campus with a summa-cum-laude BA Degree in Comparative Languages and Journalism, I have subsequently earned the Continuing Community Education Teaching Certificate from the Nassau Association for Continuing Community Education (NACCE) at Molloy College, the Travel Career Development Certificate from the Institute of Certified Travel Agents (ICTA) at LIU, and the AAS Degree in Aerospace Technology at the State University of New York – College of Technology at Farmingdale. Having amassed almost three decades in the airline industry, I managed the New York-JFK and Washington-Dulles stations at Austrian Airlines, created the North American Station Training Program, served as an Aviation Advisor to Farmingdale State University of New York, and devised and taught the Airline Management Certificate Program at the Long Island Educational Opportunity Center. A freelance author, I have written some 70 books of the short story, novel, nonfiction, essay, poetry, article, log, curriculum, training manual, and textbook genre in English, German, and Spanish, having principally focused on aviation and travel, and I have been published in book, magazine, newsletter, and electronic Web site form. I am a writer for Cole Palen’s Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome in New York. I have made some 350 lifetime trips by air, sea, rail, and road.

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