Happy New Year!

With my Ashkanazi nose, my ten years of Hebrew school, my distinctly Jewish last name and, most importantly, my personal connection to my Dad's Jewish heritage, you'd think I would've had some idea that Heather and I would be travelling during Rosh Hashannah (which is only, like, the biggest deal holiday on the Jewish calendar).

But I was brought up in an extremely reform version of Judaism, the kind where we go to temple while Dad goes to brunch, and where the famously long Spring holiday Pesach is governed by a book called Passover in Twenty Minutes.

And so it was a complete and total surprise when Heather informed me that our first Friday in Barcelona (September 22) would be the first night of the Jewish New Year.

We briefly considered finding a synagogue in town, an idea that was not only interesting culturally (How do Jews worship in Spain? Especially considering most of them were driven out 500 years ago?) but personally, as it would only be the second time I'd be celebrating Rosh Hashannah. But it turns out the only synagogue listed in the guide book is in ruins. More to the point, we also were completely and utterly distracted by Barcelona.

One of those dist Danny. Carrie's a Portland-born expat whose wedding to Spanish Danny I attended last year. Both are warm, friendly,ractions came in the form of Carrie and interesting and open. They hosted us for dinner early in the week. Carrie gave me a delightful mini massage on Thursday. And then they invited us to Carrie's concert on Friday.

What kind of concert you ask? Well. Carrie sings. In a klezmer/tango band. Klezmer as in the music of Yiddish culture. Yiddish as in Jewish. No, Carrie isn't Jewish. And no, the concert wasn't specifically for Rosh Hashannah. But the coincidence was too much not to honor. And so Heather and I found ourselves celebrating Rosh Hashannah in the most unlikely of ways: watching a goy girl sing Jewish music at a Catalonian festival.

Not e xactly old world tradition, but more than entertaining. Carrie has a lovely voice and a remarkable range, switching from klezmer music to South American tango to cabaret-style Brecht. She channeled Marlene Dietrich and little orphan Annie. She delighted and surprised her adoring crowd, including her proud husband and his video camera. (She also donned two fantastic outfits: a dark pants-suit with red accents, and a glittering purple dress with a violet boa.)

After the concert, we mingled with old friends (expats I'd met at the wedding, Danny's sister Eva) and new (mostly friends of those expats, and Eva's boyfriend) , some of which are pictured below, and followed them to one of the only bars that wasn't overflowing with Merce-related chaos. Danny dared us to dance (we didn't). We dared him to listen to us talk about blow jobs (he did). And then the bartender dared us to try and stay longer than one drink (he wouldn't let us).

So we all headed home and got a good night's sleep, full and buzzed and satisfied. Not a bad way to start off the New Year. Even the Jewish one.