Seen On CBS4

Feature: Voyage To The Land Of The Sunken Dollar

Editor's Note: CBS4 reporter Rick Sallinger and his family vacationed in Europe in June and July. During the trip he shared his insights about how the weak dollar is hurting U.S. tourists in the "Old World." Read his complete dispatches below.

Saturday, June 21 - London

Hello from London! For the next three weeks you're invited to come along on my "Voyage to the Land of the Sunken Dollar".

After 9 hours squashed into my coach seat by a giant leaning back in the row in front of me, my first challenge was getting from Heathrow airport to central London for less than the price of an ounce of gold.

Ok it wasn't $900, but could have been well over $100. So my wife, kids and I took the train. Not the well known "Heathrow Express," but the same route with more stops and a cheaper price called, "Heathrow Connect." It goes to Paddington station. The price was $60 for two adults and two kids.

Before boarding the train everyone was ordered to wait while police searched the cars, presumably for terrorists or items they may have "accidently" left on board.

After checking in at a nice Marriott ($260), we enjoyed dinner at Pizza Express ($60 + tip for four).

Hopefully writing about the cost of all this will not cause indigestion or nightmares as I face the next challenge -- jet lag.

Sunday, June 22 - London

While man has pretty much conquered ailments like smallpox and polio, why does jet lag remain an issue?

Our kids woke up at midnight and 2 a.m., then a few hours later went back to sleep 'til noon (5 a.m. Denver time).

We finally got up and did what all good Londoners do on Sundays ... stroll to a pub for lunch. We are staying in the Maida Vale area in northwest London.

With gas at nearly $10 a gallon, I've spotted a lot of tiny cars. Yes there's the miniscule Smart car, but we have also noticed an electric car called the "G-Wiz."

This supermini, made in India, goes up to 40 mph. The battery recharges (most of the way) in 2 hours and there's special driving and parking privileges that come with driving one here.

When you see one of these mosquito-like cars you can't help but say "Gee whiz." Maybe one day they'll come out with a new model called a "Golly Whiz." 

Monday, June 23 - London

"A Day At The Races"

It seemed like a great idea at the time. We were arriving on the final day of Royal Ascot, the annual horse races attended by the Queen where women wear large flowered hats and the men come in tuxedos with top hats.

After getting off a nine hour flight it was obvious that was an awful plan and we certainly had not dressed for it. So we went for plan B. Two days later we boarded a train for Windsor. Most people go there for the castle, not us ... we went for the race track.

The best way to get to Royal Windsor Racecourse is by boat from just below the castle. The track is located on an island in the Thames River.

Running late, we grabbed a taxi from the train station. The track is beautiful. My boys fondly remember betting on the winning horses in a pair of races three years ago. You can wager at the tote windows or the more colorful way, with the bookies. They are set up alongside the track where they post their odds and chant "here we go."

Well, we put a pound ($2) bet on two horses in each of five races, but at the end of the day only managed to pick a bunch of losers. Our luck must have been left behind at Arapahoe Park in Aurora.

Tuesday, June 24 - London

"Tennis Anyone?"

When we arrived at the tube (subway) station there was a bad omen. The sign read "Severe delays due to man under a train." Twenty minutes later our ride to Wimbledon arrived.

This would turn out to be only a small test of our patience.

When we saw the line for Wimbledon tickets we had strong doubts about seeing any tennis on this day. Unwilling to give up and try again tomorrow we took our place at the end of an enormous "queue" (line). We were even given an "Official Guide to Queuing for the Championships".

Two hours later we were finally on tennis' most hallowed ground.

Since it was now after 5 p.m., grounds tickets were only $28 each. We got our money's worth.

First we sat in the front row catching every grunt and groan of two women we had never heard of.

Later, our big break came. A good friend of mine who covers Wimbledon for radio stations around the world invited us to his booth on center court. From there we saw Andy Murray outplay Fabrice Santoro in a great match. Then we actually got to sit in center court seats to view Venus and Serena Williams clobber a pair of blondes.

I would have bought a handful of Wimbledon T-shirts for my family and friends, but seeing the price of $52 apiece almost made me faint.

Wednesday, June 25 - London

"Pickpocket!"

It was mid-afternoon as I gazed out of the Number 14 red double-decker bus looking for our stop.

As we were stepping off at Knightsbridge, my older son suddenly said, "That man is trying to pickpocket you!"

I turned around and a woman on the bus confirmed what my son had seen. I quickly reached for my wallet and discovered it was still there filled with a few British pounds and a handful of near worthless dollars.

I got off the bus and loudly said, "Where's the police?" I glared at the would-be thief. The well-dressed man spoke with a non-British accent and innocently proclaimed, "I was just moving my sweater." Yeah, sure.

I had two choices at this point, either tackle him and hope the police show up or continue on our way.

Before my brain could make the logical choice the despicable would-be thief took off across the street not far from Harrod's Department Store, perhaps in search of an easier target.

Thursday, June 26 - London to Paris

It used to seem so far away. You would get on a train in London, take it to a ferry in Dover, get on the boat to cross the English Channel, then another train to Paris.

This time around we started with a taxi to the beautifully rebuilt St. Pancras station in London where we boarded the Eurostar train.

A half hour after departure, traveling with our seats backwards, we were beneath the English Channel. I had done a news report inside the massive project when the "Chunnel" was being built. Then it seemed like a giant sewer.

Now it was 20 minutes of darkness aboard a speeding capsule on rails. No, you can't see the water or the fish.

Two hours, one time zone and $98 later we were in Paris.

We've rented a small apartment for our four day stay. It's a little more expensive than a hotel, but quite nice.

Friday, June 27 - Paris

The world definitely seems smaller. Until this trip I used to get my English language news by tuning my shortwave to the BBC World Service.

Now, I am carrying a hand held Blackberry that allows me to access the Internet and its Web sites from almost anywhere.

When I first came here 36 years ago, France seemed like a distant land. I would pick up my letters from home at the American Express office. Now I get emails a moment after they are sent.

A couple things happened today that make Denver seem even closer than it is.

We were having a picnic in the Jardin du Luxembourg Park. There was a concert band playing. We walked by and my son noticed those with them were wearing shirts that read "Colorado Ambassadors of Music." It turns out this was a group of young people from all over Colorado touring Europe.

Then as we left the park, there was a fantastic photo exhibition with news pictures from around the world. One of the photos was of a casket containing a Native American soldier being turned over to his loved ones. The credit on the photo read Todd Heisler, Rocky Mountain News.

Paris may still be some 5,000 miles from Denver, but it certainly doesn't seem so far any more.

Saturday, June 28 - Paris

So much to see, so little time. On our first day here, Thursday, I asked my boys, "Do you want to go on a boat ride?" The answer was a resounding "yes."

We picked up a day pass for the Batobus which allows you to get off and on at several attractions along the River Seine. The price was around $10 each.

Today, we bought two "carnets" of 10 tickets each for the Metro (subway). They sell at a reduced price for the children.

We got our money's worth going first to the Eiffel Tower then to Montmartre. The trip to the top of the tower took an hour in line and an $18 ticket, it was great.

We then decided to have dinner in Montmartre, the village-like hill overlooking Paris. Apparently the actor Forrest Whitaker had the same idea. He was walking around with an entourage and passed right by us. We did not require a body guard.

Montmartre is full of sketch artists, but we tried something different: a silhouette artist created shadow cutouts of the boys.

Tomorrow is our final day in Paris and have a special trip lined up at the end of the day.

Sunday, June 29 - Paris

I know I was warned. Sure I heard those news reports about the decline of the dollar. Two friends at work had even been to Paris recently. It was still a shock to my personal economy.

Okay, $8 for two large orders of fries at the train station in London was bit of a jolt and those $52 Wimbledon t-shirts were too, but I was hoping Paris would be better. It wasn't.

Consider this: we had to check our bags today at the Gare D'Austerlitz train station -- $27 for two large lockers!

Lunch -- three small pizzas, a salad and a couple cokes -- $100!

A nice dinner at good restaurant on the outskirts of Paris -- $240 for four!

Okay, enough whining. The best thing about Paris is free. At night each hour you can see the Eiffel Tower light up like a sparkler. Notre Dame and other historic buildings along the Seine River are illuminated as well.

Now we say good-bye to Paris as we fulfill the wish of older son -- an overnight train ride with a sleeping compartment to our next destination.

I hope I don't dream about the bills.

Monday, June 30 - France

When I bought the train tickets earlier this year I had no way of knowing what event was to happen on the day of our trip.

It was Spain vs. Germany for the soccer championship of Europe. My kids are soccer fanatics and were desperate to keep track of the score, but we were on an overnight train from Paris to Barcelona.

We turned on my radio and found the game in French. The announcers spoke so fast the only thing I could figure out was, "Ooh la la" roughly translates to, "Shot on goal -- missed."

We kept losing the signal of the radio station so we asked the conductor what we could do. He shrugged, but a few minutes later returned excited. His mother had just called him on his cell phone to tell him Spain had scored!

About the same time I got an email on my Blackberry from my cousin in Chicago asking if we were watching the match. I asked him to keep us up on the game. I also frequently checked sports web sites hoping for details.

In the next compartment a man with a radio was moving all about and proudly announced he had found the match in Portuguese. I guess "goal" sounds the same regardless of the language.

In the end Spain won its first European title in 44 years.

Tuesday, July 1 - Barcelona

We are in Barcelona. It's sunny and very hot. The map may show we are in Spain, but this is Catalonia.

The primary language is not Spanish, but Catalan. It's not a dialect, it's a distinct language.

How do I know about this subject? My wife is from here and my boys learned the language growing up in Denver.

Many in this region would like independence. When Spain won the European soccer championship Sunday the celebration was muted here in Barcelona. I've only seen a handful of Spanish flags hanging from the windows. In Madrid they have been going wild.

Catalonia has an autonomous government with radio and television in its own language. Unlike the Basque Country northwest of here the quest for independence has been much more peaceful.

Don't worry about me getting by, my bad Spanish seems to be good enough. Now the money, that's the real problem!

Wednesday, July 2 - Tarragona

"Best Beach in Europe"

Eleven days of seeing the sights in London, Paris and Barcelona can be summed up in one word: exhausting.

So we boarded the futuristic looking "Euromed" and took the hour-long ride down the coast to Tarragona.

My in-laws have an apartment here just across the street from the beach.

I am resting up on the sands of the Platja Arrabassada. The water is warm and clear and this not just any body of water, this is the Mediterranean Sea.

In my opinion this has to be one of the finest beaches in Europe. It is about 80 yards wide with rock mounds as bookends. Forget the stony beaches of France, Italy and other countries where you pay for a chair to sit elbow-to-elbow. This is a real beach.

There is a promenade lined with palm trees. Three little outdoor cafes are spaced out in the sand along the quarter mile long landscape.

This is a beach primarily used by families. It is filled almost entirely with people from Spain. Each year we return here seeing the same people. Their children have grown from babies to now near-teens.

The attractions of the European cities are remarkable, but now it's time to rest.

Thursday, July 3 - Tarragona

It's almost 2 a.m. and I'm just getting in after a night out with "the boys."

Mind you, this is not especially late by standards here in Spain.

In fact, restaurants don't open until around 9 p.m. for dinner.

The "boys" in this case are not my children, but friends Josep and Paco.

About 10 years ago I was here in Tarragona and wanted to go to a bullfight. Our next door neighbors had a son-in-law who liked America and he had a friend who liked bullfighting. We've all been friends ever since.

It wasn't a bullfight on tonight's agenda, but dinner then drinks. At my friend Josep's new apartment I learned about Spain's economic crisis. It's spread from the U.S. to here with housing prices falling and credit getting tighter.

Over dinner at the delicious Sadoll restaurant we discussed the lack of celebration in this region over Spain's European soccer victory. Many in Catalonia, they explained, don't feel like this is their team.

"In the Basque country," one of my friends said, "it's even worse. People are afraid to fly the flag of Spain because of fear of retaliation by the independence group ETA."

We then moved on to a tour of Tarragona's music clubs. At "The Groove" I made the mistake of asking the bartender which is his favorite beach. "Waikiki" was the reply. "Hawaii?" I asked. "No the nudist beach just north of here," he answered. Never mind.

Well now it's past 2 a.m., while I can sleep in my friends have to be at work at 9 a.m. How do they manage? The answer is the one part of the local culture I have managed to master ... siesta!

Friday, July 4 - Tarragona

I'll now let you know about this wonderful town I have been coming to for over a decade.

Tarragona Spain is an hour south of Barcelona. The train ride takes you past miles and miles of beautiful beaches along the Mediterranean coast.

Upon arrival you have to hike uphill to reach the main part of town. The walk takes you right by an amphitheater. It was built by the Romans back when they spent their vacations here in what they called "Imperial Tarraco". There's many more such treasures.  This city has some of the best preserved Roman ruins in Spain.

What I really like though is walking through the old city of Tarragona. As you enter there is a large public square outside of the city hall. The square is filled with cafes, and is lively until well past midnight.

Take the narrow cobblestone streets deeper into the old city. You will find restaurants and bars built into the Roman ruins looking like caves.

The gem in this part of town is the cathedral. Construction began in the 12th century. It presides over a square where outdoor concerts are presented in the summer.

The newer part of Tarragona has a long Rambla (promenade) that takes you to an overlook about 100 feet above the sea.

Now that I've told you a bit about Tarragona please do me a favor ... don't tell anyone.  I like it the way it is.

Saturday, July 5 - Puigcerda, Spain

The world's most famous (infamous?) bicycle race, the Tour de France is underway once again. It is carried daily start to finish on TV here.

What you are about to read is not-so-much a "how to" guide, but rather "how we did it" when we went to the Tour a few years ago.

First step of course, get to France. We went by train from Barcelona to Puigcerda on the French border in the Pyrenees Mountains. There we rented a car (about $100/ day) to take us to the Aix-3-Domaines stage.

We arrived about four hours before the riders. Good thing, all the roads into town were closed a short time later.

The next step was to find a place to watch. When you wait so long you want to be able to see the riders for more than just a flash. We picked a spot on the side of a mountain where there would be a long climb.

Time passed quickly. People would write the names of their favorite riders on the road in advance of the publicity caravan.

After three hours of waiting the parade preceding the riders was jubilantly welcomed by all. Each of the Tour's sponsors had a "float" and those on board tossed souvenirs to the crowd.

Finally a police escort, lots of motorcycles, photographers and the riders. Since we were on a steep slope near the end of the stage it took maybe 15 minutes for all the cyclists to pass.

We listened to French radio to find out who won.

After the race we returned to Puigcerda to spend the night at a hotel. The next morning we drove to a spot in the country near the start of the next stage.

Since the riders were together the peloton passed like a blur. At least we were on a corner and could see them coming and going.

One can only hope this year's Tour de France doesn't turn into another tour de drugs.

Sunday, July 6 - Santa Susanna, Spain

Wow, to say that this has been a big week in sports for Spain is an understatement.

A large cheer echoed through this northeastern coastal town as Rafael Nadal won the men's singles championship at Wimbledon.

All day long during TV commercial breaks a red screen would appear with the words "Rafa' podemos" (yes we can Rafael). He finally did.

When he won, the screen cut away to his family and friends on the island of Mallorca just east of here in the Mediterranean Sea.

Today I moved up the coast a couple of hours by train so my son could join his soccer team from Colorado in a tournament here.

Last weekend Spain won the European Soccer championship. I wrote then that the celebration seemed subdued in certain parts of this country due to the political separatism.

I think it is fair to say Nadal's victory at Wimbledon will be proudly acknowledged throughout all of Spain.

Monday, July 7 - Spain

"This is about making peace, not war."

That's how Joel Neymark our team manager described in broad terms what we are now doing.

It's a gathering of people from all over Europe. From as far north as Scandanavia, east to Slovakia and south to Greece.

What is this noble task? It's a kids' soccer tournament, the "Copa Catalunya."

My older son is here with the Colorado Ice team from Golden. When I was his age such a trip was inconceivable. Now his team is not only playing in Spain, but last week they (minus him) played a tournament in Italy as well.

These are 12- and 13-year-old children.

Already they seem to have struck up a friendship with another team from Ireland.

Sure one can readily argue, "How is this going to foster peace and prevent war?" The reply, simply, one very small step at a time.

Oh yes, the boys from Colorado won their first game in this tourney shutting out a team from France 5-0!

Tuesday, July 8 - Spain

The drunken fiesta known as "The Running of the Bulls" is under way in Pamplona once again.

This year, instead of heading to Pamplona I'm in Tordera, Spain at my son's soccer tournament. However, let me use five consecutive years of experience to fill you in about the bulls, the booze and Pamplona.

My first year I arrived after a six-hour bus ride with no place arranged to stay.

No hotel, no problem. There, at the bus station, were residents of Pamplona eager to let people sleep on their floors -- for a price. I think I paid about $50, but at least it came with kind of a mattress.

I quickly went to the start of the bull run and the pen where the animals spend their final night alive. After paying my respects I walked the narrow streets the bulls would follow the next morning.

Pamplona comes alive in the late afternoon, shortly before the bullfights. The animals run to the ring in the morning to face the matador in the evening.

The streets are filled with the sound of small brass bands. The wine is flowing and the wild party continues through the night.

Once I was just walking down the street and someone sitting on a curb jumped out and tackled me. He then sat down and continued his drinking.

I learned quickly that if you are going to get up early, don't stay up too late. After dinner and viewing the nightly fireworks I turned in.

With the sound of two rockets exploding the bulls are let loose promptly at 8 a.m. If you are going to run, the gates close well in advance. If, like me, your loved ones won't let you share the street with the bulls, you have to secure a viewing spot by around 6:30 a.m.

After watching through the space between two people's legs the first year I got lucky. I struck up a friendship with a lady who worked in a bakery. She would let me watch from the rear window that opened onto one of the streets the bulls traveled.

The best way to watch the action is from a balcony, but admission can be costly.

Since the bulls flash by in a matter of seconds it's good to pick a different spot each day.

Running can be dangerous or even deadly. I once interviewed a man from Denver who was seriously gored when pushed down in front of a bull by another runner.

But if you survive without injury I am told the adrenaline rush is unbelievable.

Let me warn you, the Fiesta de San Fermin, as it is called, is not for the weak of heart. You will see people drunk, throwing up, urinating in the streets and more.

In spite of that I'm always ready to return.

Wednesday, July 9 - Tordera, Spain

The day started on a high note. Down 2-0 the Colorado Ice under-13 boys came back and tied Poland in the Copa Catalunya soccer tournament here in Tordera, Spain.

But the second game did not go as well as the boys from the Golden-based team lost to a different Polish club. Even though Colorado had won two, tied two and lost just one, they were eliminated from the tournament.

They learned a lot from competing in Spain and Italy. They discovered soccer is played very physically in Europe. They learned that Norwegian girls don't think twice about removing their jerseys after a game. They learned that the world extends far beyond the borders of the United States.

In that regard maybe it's just as well that they have been knocked out of this tournament. They will have an extra day to see that Spain is much more than just soccer fields and a hotel.

Thursday, July 10 - Spain

Riding the rails in Spain can be a "rocky" experience.

Example No. 1: Accompanying my son's soccer team from Santa Susanna to Barcelona we heard a loud thud. We looked around and discovered someone had thrown a rock at the train, shattering a window right next to some of the boys. OK, no big deal.

Example No. 2: My wife and I get on a train for a two stop ride that should take 6 minutes. After one stop there's an announcement "There is a man under a train. Please get off the train and wait for a bus."

Our six minute trip took over an hour.

Next examples: We get on the train and a "kind" man helps me with my suitcase. Suddenly he and two others start maneuvering me to the side. Our team manager quickly determines I am about to be pickpocketed and starts shouting, "hey, hey."

The same three men then turned their attention to one of the boys in our soccer team group. As the would-be thieves pushed him towards a seat one reached for his pocket. Again our team manager spotted what was happening.

It gets worse. Once we arrived in Barcelona we got on the subway known as "The Metro."

When we got off, an adult member of our group noticed his "fanny pack" had been unzipped and his son's camera was gone.

To steal a camera is thievery. Stealing the pictures of a child's trip to Europe is heartless.

Friday, July 11 - Spain

It's like the 4th of July for a week.

Each night when the sky turns dark here there is a loud boom that could knock you out of your chair.  

That blast is to announce the start of one of the more delightful competitions man has created.    

Each July since 1990 the most important international fireworks competition in Europe takes place here in Tarragona, Spain.

Six companies are selected each year to take part. The winner gets a cash prize plus the fireworks contract for the annual Santa Tecla festival in September.

The judging is based on such factors as brightness, intensity of the colors, originality, the climax and acceptance by the audience.

Around 60,000 people turn up each night to watch. We can see it from the aparment complex where we are staying, but a much better idea is to go to the beach.

People bring picnics with champagne to see the colors explode in the sky over the Mediterranean. An even better idea is to be on one of the dozens of boats watching from offshore. Now how do I make friends with someone who has a yacht?

By being in Spain I may have missed the 4th of July celebrations, but my eyes have been dazzled by some amazing displays here. (You can see some of them on YouTube).

Saturday, July 12 - Spain, England

The long trip home is now underway.

It began with an hour train ride in Spain ($8) from Tarragona up the coast to Barcelona where I spent the night (or maybe I should say part of the night).

My alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. for a taxi ride to the airport ($45). I later found out I had not only lost sleep, I had lost my glasses (no worries, I still had one contact lens).

By coincidence my son's Colorado Ice soccer team was on the same flight I was catching. They arrived at the Barcelona airport looking like sleep walkers. They have been in Europe playing in tournaments in Italy and Spain.

The 7:15 a.m. British Airways flight to London arrived on time. For me it was a chance to get head start on a day in England. For most of the soccer team it was the start of a seven hour layover.

One family, however, decided to try to see how many of the sights of London they could visit in four hours. I showed them to the Underground (subway) and pointed to a spot on the map where to get off.

They hit Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Big Ben, Piccadilly Circus and more. (I only hope they made their plane to Denver on time).

As for me, exhausted I went to a friend's house and hit the sack. After a snooze and a chat, it was off to the countryside.

When I lived here in the early 90s I discovered a beautiful area for hiking only half an hour from Victoria Station by train. (If you email me I'll tell you where it is, but I don't want to see it spoiled by wider exposure).

Well, in a few hours it's on to Chicago, as I hopscotch my way from Spain to Colorado. Why such a strange route home? Tune in tomorrow, same blog ... same station.

Sunday, July 13 - Flying Home

I've been collecting British Airways frequent flyer miles for years, now I'm getting to use some. It wasn't easy.

On the one hand I am happy to say my flights to and from Europe are on an award ticket, on the other hand they are far from free.

The taxes came to several hundred dollars that I had to pay. (Still better than the $1,500 for a regular ticket).

Listen to this. Each time I would call British Airways earlier this year I would ask if I could use my miles for a ticket between Denver and Barcelona. The answer was usually, "Sorry sir, no award seats are available."

Well on one of these calls I got someone who really tried to help. He said, "Here's what we can do. You can fly Barcelona to London, then to Houston, on to Dallas then Denver."

I certainly didn't want to put my aging body through that, but after all these years I learned when they say "nothing is available" they may be only checking the shortest routings.

So I called a few days later and again was told no award seats were available between Denver and Barcelona. This time I was prepared. "How about through Chicago?" I said slyly. "Yes there are seats that way sir," was the welcomed reply.

So if you read yesterday's blog I'm about to explain why the strange trip home.

British Airways said I could use my frequent flyer miles if I did the following: fly Barcelona to London on a very early morning flight, stay over in London until the next day when a seat would be available to Chicago, then go on to Denver on a partner airline from there.

"Perfect," I figured since I have friends I can stay with in London and Chicago.

So, here I am high above the clouds and the sea, sipping champagne (in economy class) and headed from the land of "the sunken dollar" back to the land of the "shrunken dollar".

Tomorrow will be my final installment of these reports. Stay tuned, same blog, same station.

Monday, July 14 - Flying Home

Wow, as I type this I am sitting in first class of an American Airlines flight from Chicago on the final leg of my long trip home from Spain.

Life is different in this part of a plane. I was offered a drink before take off and served a cup of warmed nuts. I hear dinner is on the way.

How I ended up in this seat rather than coach I have no idea, but I'm not complaining.

It's a perfect way to conclude what has been a wonderful trip.

From London to Paris and Barcelona, the experiences have made this "voyage to the land of the sunken dollar" well worthwhile regardless of the cost.

Speaking of cost, I just checked my credit card balance owed from this vacation and nearly passed out.

If you are considering going to Europe, all I can say is bring lots of money and watch out for the pickpockets.

This has been a trip I will not only be remembering, but be paying for over a long time to come.

To those who followed my family's adventure through this blog, thank you for joining us on this trip.

Editor's note: After Rick returned from his trip, he also prepared an entry about his son's soccer team and how they fared. He also shot some home video. Below is Rick's entry and a link to the home video clip:

The Colorado Ice U13 soccer team from Golden is now back home after competing in two European tournaments.

First the team traveled to Italy where they finished 10th out of 17 teams in the Italy Cup in Cesenatico, on Italy's eastern coast.

Then with little rest, the boys traveled to Spain to compete in the Copa Catalyuna in Tordera, on the Coasta Brava north of Barcelona. There they beat teams from France and Belgium and tied in contests involving Poland and Italy. They were then eliminated by another team from Poland.

The boys toured Barcelona viewing such sights as the Sagrada Familia Church, Camp Nou (the Barcelona Football Club stadium) and the Olympic Stadium.

Watch Rick's home video (The video was shot in Spain by CBS 4 reporter Rick Sallinger who apologizes for focusing the camera too much on his son.)

(© MMVIII CBS Television Stations, Inc. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.)

---