The first time someone invited me to a tapas bar a few years ago, I was intrigued. Actually I thought they'd said "topless" and was curious as to why they wanted me to go with them. Once I found out what tapas actually were - small, savory Spanish hors d'oeuvres - I was dying to try them. On a recent trip to Spain, I ate my heart out.
The idea for the trip started on a whim. After arriving in Germany earlier this year for a new contractual work position, Vera, one of my colleagues, approached me, eager to begin her travel adventures.
"A friend and I are meeting up in Barcelona in a couple weeks. Come with us!" Still half groggy and jetlagged from the plane ride over from the States, I hesitated.
We scrounged up one more colleague, Florence, to even the number to four, bought Lufthansa tickets from Frankfurt, Germany, to Barcelona, Spain, for less than $200 each, slung on our backpacks on and were off.
Upon arrival, a heavy smell of sweet vanilla clung to the air. Everyone seemed attractive and stylish in slim-fitting pants and heeled boots with flowing hair or trendy hats. You could always tell the Americans, though, usually clad in bulky clothes and solid athletic shoes. After a brief bus ride to the center of town, we disembarked in the cool dark of the evening.
Old World architecture, including narrow streets, are part of Barcelona's charm."Let's eat dinner now," I suggested, my enthusiasm bursting through. We found a cute, clean place right off the bus stop and ordered tapas, chicken paella and sangria, the most-legendary Spanish specialties. Our server smiled flirtatiously while piling the fragrant rice and meat onto each of our plates. The tapas were decorative tastes of interesting food piled on small cuts of bread. The sangria, a plum-colored spirit mixed with fresh juices, winked its fragrant invitation as cut pieces of fruit swam on top.
Satisfied and satiated, my companions and I walked the few blocks to our hotel, dragging our suitcases behind us. There we met up with Vera's friend and retired for the evening.
The next day we bought tickets for the Hop On/Hop Off bus that drives to the major sites of the city. On the way we were sidetracked by the tempting sign of a clothing store. Stopping in, we claimed we only wanted to see what the fashion was, but after trying on a few digs, I found I couldn't resist a taupe-colored poncho with fringes, a thin gray scarf and leggings. We ended up leaving two bags behind in the store with a promise to pick them up later.
Once back on the bus, we rode through the clean streets of the city, oohing and ahhing at the Old World architecture, as the pre-recorded tour guide pointed out interesting elements. Finally we neared a highly trafficked, tourist-y area. As if she'd sniffed the fashionable possibilities on the wind, Vera decided it was time to hop off and continue our shopping.
Florence and I separated from the others and meandered along the narrow cobbled streets until we stumbled upon a Euro store (much like the dollar stores in the U.S.), tucked back in an alley off the well-worn path. We excitedly purchased cheap shower mats, hats and wallets and even some candy-flavored lip gloss.
Once done there, we stumbled upon a delicious-looking food joint. All the tapas were lined up on the counter with a sign that read, "Pick up from the bread" in three languages. There was fish, vegetables, boiled eggs, olives, pickles, beef, shrimp, chicken, soup bowls, casserole bites, and all types of other creative concoctions. The place was packed and some people ate standing up. We filled our plates.
Later that evening, Vera and her friend went out for dancing and didn't return until early morning. They got up again to continue sightseeing, leaving Florence and me to lounge. They later admitted they rode the bus around the city for hours, sound asleep and snuggled up in their seats.
We had agreed to meet up again for a flamenco dance performance later that evening. On the way, we walked through enchanting cobblestone streets, feeling as though we had stepped back in time. When we entered the darkly lit restaurant with a small stage up front, the dancers were already performing. The atmosphere was romantic, energetic and sensual.
Vera and her friend suddenly appeared out of the darkness and breathlessly took their spaces across from us. We all began to clap and sway in time to the four dancers, who began their clickety-click numbers with intense, slow and controlled movements but ended in a jumping, twisting mix of old-time clogging, urban tap and Spanish syncopation. The last woman to dance appeared in confidence and a flourish of skirts and hands, her eyes intense, her neck held stiff and off to the side, her feet and legs moving rapidly upon the floor. The musicians teased and egged her on, the singer sending out a powerful ballad that we could not understand, but felt.
We hooted and even stood for them at the end. The servers loved us so much, they brought us an extra dessert, then boxed up the rest of the tapas and sent us back out into the night, the last of the audience to leave. It wasn't until we were back at the airport the next day on our way back to Germany that we realized we'd left all those delicious treats in the refrigerator in the hotel.
Tabi Upton is a former Chattanooga resident now living and working in Europe.