The last time I seriously hung out with my sister Danielle was the summer after my 16th birthday and the first time I ever got a speeding ticket. There we were, two teenage girls careening across the vast red rock desert of Utah’s canyon country in our red Dodge Shadow convertible. I was driving, a new thing for me, going 90, another new thing for me (the road was so wide open compared to the 5 freeway in Southern California!) I felt like I was making a red streak across the red landscape, I remember. It was thrilling. We were singing Blondie and having a blast; our parents had sent us on this trip as a graduation present to my sister. I actually think she got to choose who she took with her. Now that I think of it, I can’t believe she choose me, her lil sis.
It was more than 15 years ago that we were so young and free, on our way to fall in love with some of the world’s hunkiest men. Our parents had sent us to Idaho to go rafting down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. The scenery was amazing (pushing those oars all day makes for some nice biceps…) the waterfalls and hot springs weren’t bad either. On our road trip, back in the 90’s, I remember taking a picture at the Virgin River Gorge under the sign that said “Virgin”. I was smiling proudly and pointing at myself with my thumb. That’s right, I was a Virgin back then, even after the river trip!
Needless to say, it had been a long time since my sister and I, just the two of us, had been on a trip together. In those 15 years we both moved out of our parents house, went to college, got married, I traveled, she had three kids, me, I had two dogs… we basically had been watching the world turn from drastically different perspectives – physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally.
But, heck, we’re still sisters.
I had the opportunity to invite my sister to come out and visit me while I was traveling in Europe in July. I hesitated to even call her; it was a great opportunity for sure, but she has three kids and a full time job in the summer. There is no way she will be able to come, I thought. It was an all-expense paid trip, I might add, but still, how could she ever get away?
“Are you fucking kidding me,” she screeched into the phone when I presented the idea. She immediately started scheming about where to put the kids and how to get out of her job; I was impressed.
“I’ll go!!!,” she screamed into the phone sounding like a winning contestant on Bob Barker’s “The Price is Right.” I was almost as shocked she said yes as she was that I called her out of the blue to invite her to come to Europe.
OMG, Gina Bo Beana and Dee Dee Dunkin Heimer are going on a road trip!!! What will the Mommy group say?
Danielle got to choose where we went in Europe and because she only had a week she only wanted to go to one place and that place was Spain. Neither of us had been there before and we had not traveled in Europe together since my parents brought us there in a VW van as little rugrats in 1987. Now we were on our own. I couldn’t actually believe that I would see my sister, who I hardly ever saw anymore, at the Barcelona airport. I waited. There she was!!! I was so excited.
We went about getting to know each other for a few seconds and hopped into a cab into the city to our hotel, the lovely historic Casa Fuster on Paseo de Gracia. I personally had no idea what was in store for me in Barcelona, but Danielle, being the-ever-more-prepared-older-sister, had a list of things to do and sites to see, but she admitted, she didn’t care what we did. At that moment, I realized my sister was going to be a very good traveling companion.
Just for old times sake and not actually on purpose we got drunk within the first hour of our trip. We wondered the streets a bit commenting on the architecture and the cool red city bikes they have on almost every corner and found ourselves at a sidewalk café reminiscent of San Francisco off Union Square. It was almost siesta time, so we were all alone out there. I had just come from Greece and was very used to drinking chilled white wine for lunch with my tomatoes and feta cheese. I ordered a glass, Danielle said, “what the heck?” Three glasses of wine later, some gazpacho and a salad and we could barely make it up the stairs to the bathroom. We started giggling and realized no matter how different we were we still had a lot in common, like the fact that we were completely smashed off a couple of glasses of wine and it wasn’t even three o’clock. Lightweights!
Danielle and I spent three days in Barcelona packed with sightseeing and touring this amazing city. We both fell in love with Antoni Gaudi, the Spanish Catalan architect famous for his incredibly unique and courageous designs. His influence is scattered throughout the city in various buildings and parks such as La Sagrada Familia, Casa Batillo and Park Guell. Simply amazing!
And we tried our best to act like locals dining at 11p.m. or midnight and waiting till the clubs opened at two or three; honestly though, we couldn’t hang.
Next, we traveled by plane over to the island of Mallorca, a tiny island, I assumed. I was wrong. Mallorca is huge, or hugely over populated and big-feeling. In July and August all of Europe in their tight, bright Speedos is in Mallorca, or at least all of the Germans on vacation. Luckily I happened upon a tiny quaint farm-like accommodation called San Blai on the southern tip of the island. Surrounded by gigantic windmills in red, blue and green, we were two of a handful of guests at this tranquil agroturismo -part farm and part hotel – featuring “Pepper” a donkey who Twitters.
Danielle and I ventured to a few crowded beaches near Punta Negra on the south side and decided we’d rather stay “home” and hang in hammocks. The next day we ventured into the historic city of Palma and spent the entire day cruising around on the free bikes they give you when you park your car underground in front of the massive Palma Cathedral, another Gaudi masterpiece.
The green, low-rider bikes worked, but not well, and after several hours peddling up and down and all around we were ready for another fantastic meal. We didn’t find one in Palma, but we made it home alive and that’s saying a lot when I am driving a speedy turbo diesel rental car around the island. Varoom! Varoom!
Our best day, we both agreed, was the next day when we arose naturally with the sun to a lovely homemade breakfast at San Blai. Next we drove an hour or so to Santa Maria and hit up the spa at Reads Hotel (also known for arranging bike tours). After a few hours of soaking and getting ourselves rubbed we could barely imagine moving on and just about called it a day and headed back south but something told me, “Go north young lady, go north.” I think it was my friend Anne who raved about Mallorca and told me “Deia, you must go to Deia.” So the turbo took us north on a mission to catch Deia, at sunset, which we did.
Once we started heading north we both realized we needed much, much more time on this side of the island, but it was too late; we had to leave the next day at 11 a.m. We went about absorbing as much beauty and culture and colors and smells and tastes and architecture as we could in just a few hours.
Deia is a stunning old town amidst the towering green mountains and ocean-side cliffs. We almost didn’t even make it to Deia again because we passed by the cutest most medieval town of Valedemossa where a tribute festival to Santa Catalina was happening and all of the villagers were dressed up like a Renaissance parade and we didn’t want to leave. And, we almost missed Deia again because we drove through it so quickly looking for the sunset over the water that we almost drove all the way to Soller, another gorgeous, quaint town on the coast. It was a race against time on the north side of the island that looked like a cross between Yosemite National Park and Big Sur. We finally stopped to eat just as the sun was sinking into the sea. I promptly ordered a glass of wine and told Danielle she was driving home.
Never enough time to explore and always running late, this seems to be the motto of my life. Back in Barcelona we had only one day left on our whirlwind tour. Danielle was finally sort of missing her kids and husband; I was missing my boyfriend who had been with me during the previous three weeks. It was time to wrap it up. We spent our last night wishing we were better dancers. This is a feeling I’ve had before, many times, but never as much as this as we watched these beautiful toned, tanned women stomping their feet across the stage in one of Barcelona’s best Flamenco shows. We ate paella, we drank sangria, we clapped our hands; we felt like we did Spain. When the curtain went down we hugged each other, it was an embrace that had much more feeling than we had just a few days ago, when I first saw my sister at the Barcelona airport and wondered how she got there and who she really was. Just a few days, a few glasses of wine, another country and it was just like old times… minus the virgin part.
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