Okay, since I´ve got a web connection, I´m gonna use it. First, let me say that (without overqualifiying too much) that the commerical truck drivers in the Catalunyian region of Spain (not to be confused with Basque passenger car drivers) are the worst drivers in Europe. Or at least much worse than any other drivers I´ve encountered while driving across France, Italy, and Spain. I think it is their habit of putting on the turn signal and then changing lanes, regardless of whether the lane is vacant. I guess I should give them credit for using their signals though. I feel that this might be something that doesn´t translate from real life to blog though. Still, nothing gets the heart racing like driving along at 140 kmh and having a gas tanker decide that he´s moving in, no matter what.
Okay, enough about that. It´s time for Exotic meaty treats of Europe. Number 1 would have to be the delicious four cheese pasta with smoked dried some kind of meat that I was served in Venice. the meat was called sfilacci, and was really tasty. I read the menu, which was written down on a little piece of paper and carried by the waiter, and decided that quattro formaggi con sfilacci sounded great. After the meal I asked him what it was and he said "orze" and I repeated it to make sure I was pronouncing it right "orze?" and he said "yes, orse, you know" and then made a clip clop noise with his tounge and I said "horse?" and he said "si, cavallo". So the real name of the pasta topping is actually sfilacci di cavallo. Yummy.
Number 2 is the Dutch treat called frykandel, with the stress on the del part, but pronounced much like fry candel, which I suspect it is named for. The owner of the Dutch place that we have eaten at twice now explained that Dutch tourists flock to his etcafe and gorge themselves on frykandel. He insisted that we try one and I´ll try to describe it. It is a sausage like/hot dog like thing that was either fried or baked or both, and served split down the middle with curry mayonaise, some sort of Dutch ketchup, and lots of chopped onions. Fabulous, just fabulous.
Oh, and yesterday we went to Barcelona. Nice town, nice tourist bus, great food.
Tomorrow we are off to the Dordogne in France and shortly we´ll be back in Davis, just as if it was all a dream.

Howdy from Cataluynia (or Catalonia or northern Spain, whatever you want to call it and however you want to spell it). After a whirlwind tour of the lakes region of Italy and Lake Garda we departed for the French Alps. We stayed in Bourg d´Oisan, about 45 minutes west of Grenoble. Nice place, really big mountains, lots of snow. The high points were driving up to Alp d´Huez along the same route that the Tour de France uses. This particular road has 21 infamous hairpin turns and about 3000 feet of elevation gain. The next day we drove up to a high pass, the Galabier col, along another narrow (perhaps a lane and a half wide with no guardrail and really long potential fall to the road below) windy switchbacked road. Wonderful view from the top, although I wish I had read the guide book before we went since it turns out that that stretch of road is the next stage of the Tour. I can´t imagine racing on these roads. The combination of altitude, the narrow roads, the really sharp turns, and the total lack of guard rails on the outside would be a brutal combination. That evening I was talking with a German family in the next caravan and the father casually mentioned that the whole family had cycled up to Alpe d´Huez on their mountain bikes, "even little 8 year-old Magnus". Wow. Apparently that wasn´t enough fun for the older children who navigated cross-country on foot trails with their mountain bikes to go back home. Reminds me of my neighbor Alex who cycles to Sac and back on a Schwinn without toe clips. No hand built carbon fibre racing models for these sturdy folk (Alex included).
But now we are in northern Spain. Eating traditional local food. Well, kind of. The first day we ate at a place called Jan Patat. Which is Dutch for "John Potato", and served great Dutch food, although we did have a tortilla, the egg and potato omlette thing that is in fact Spanish. And there is internet access in our campground. Which is a change from the alps where a couple of Kiwis complained about the lack of local access, saying that even in Macchu Picchu there were a variety of internet cafes to choose from. So expect another post this week before we depart for the Dordogne region of France.