I made the mistake of reviewing Dr. Andrew Weil's "Eight Weeks to Optimum Health" and Dr. Walter C. Willett's "Eat Drink and Be Healthy" before departing on this trip. I thought I could somehow psyche myself into eating sensibly while here in Spain, perhaps even once and for all ditch the twenty-odd pounds that seem to hunt me down every time I manage to lose them. Silly, silly plan.

The forbidden processed wheat flour is ubiquitous here. Ask for whole grains and you might as well be saying, "Senor, could you please make it rain frogs?" (Frogs are "ranas," in espanol, appropriately.) One may drink alcohol, but only in moderation. Si, si, but moderation here is defined as less than a bottle a day. Hiccup. Vegetables! The Barcelonans do seem to know from "verduras," but the ones I had today were served up in a stew of melted butter dotted with bits of blood sausage and I don't know what that other meat was, but damn if it wasn't really tasty. Red meat is apparently only to be consumed occasionally, advise Weil and Willett. Alas, if you are what you eat, then based on the last two days, I am one ginormous cured pig leg. (Ooh, but isn't pork the other white meat? Ha! Take that, fish-pushers!) Avoid solidified fats, they warn. Well, let's just say that the moaning coming from our flat on Carrer Carme tonight was not the sound of amorous passion between man and wife but between man and manchego. And I won't even get into the delicious slab of barely-dead beef I had at the nearby Silenus during our celebratory post-flight dinner. Let's just say, thank-moo god for slaughtered cows, and leave it at that.

I have comforted myself with the idea that in Spain the main meal of the day is lunch, a reversal of order the experts would most assuredly approve of. But would they also applaud the fact that it's midnight and we just had our not-so-light dinner, during which the aforementioned frisky manchego and his ruddy-faced amigo, the 3.5 euro tempranillo, were our most-welcome guests? I think not.

The good news and the bad news is that we are a few stumbles away from the Mercat de la Boqueria Sant Josep (pictured above), which is according to our fine guidebook "Style city Barcelona": "the best place to buy fresh produce in Barcelona." Indeed, it is a cornucopia of healthy delights, and our little fridge is now stocked with escarole, brussel sprouts, broccoli. Still, let's not kid ourselves. The cheese and the meat came from the same place. They looked so lonely in their refrigerated glass cage. What could we do but invite them to join us?

There is hope. Alan and I walked all over this city looking for "la casa de Apple" (that's the Apple Computer store, lest you think we were seeking a highly recommended red, fibrous fruit), so that we could make sure said machine wouldn't blow up the second we plugged it into the European plug with its higher voltage. I did a full hour of yoga in our flat today and have located several Ashtanga yoga studios, which I fully intend to patronize, language barriers and all. If nothing else, our book "Culture Shock!" declares that the Spanish diet "is healthier than that of any nation," which I take to mean I can eat whatever I please and still make it out of this place alive. (And thanks Brian and Ken for the book!)

Oh yes, and we arrived safely, we're here, and welcome to our trip blog! Alan and I hope to keep you up on our adventures at regular intervals. There's a wee matter of our wireless access not being quite up to snuff, but surely this can be resolved. In the meantime, who's hungry?

--JENN