It feels so good to be wandering internationally again - still in a Spanish speaking country, though with a friend this time. Spain is beautiful and filled with amazing things to explore. Sandra and I have been in Madrid for two days, but we´ve already acclimated to a European schedule. I have no idea what time it is at home, and I am very much enjoying eating, playing and sleeping at will.
The flight here was long. We arrived at 7 AM local time, which is around 1 AM on the East Coast. The last hour was beautiful - there was nothing but blackness until then, but at around 6, a thin line of light appeared on the horizon. It grew larger and larger and pinker and pinker until the sun popped up over the horizon, blinding us. We met a couple of guys (who were an actual couple) in the airport who turned out to be huge primadonnas and, despite many Spanish lessons, could not figure out how to change their money. I ended up being the mouthpiece for everyone (scary!) and somehow managed to get us out of the airport and into the subway station.
Our hostel is wonderful. It was rated the best hostel in the world in 2005. It is supposedly haunted, but I´ve sensed nothing yet. There´s free internet and breakfast (if you can get up before 10 AM). I´m sitting in the basement, appropriately called the Bat Cave since it´s black concrete from floor to ceiling, listening to a weird soundtrack (most recently Ghostbusters theme) as a disco ball spins.
Madrid is very cosmopolitan and very old at the same time. ¨Public art¨ fills the streets in the form of old architecture and statues. There is no shortage of things to see and I´m certain I´ve taken more photos in 2 days than I did in 3 weeks in Guatemala. We visited Museo del Prado and the Reina Sofia today, drinking in as much art as we could. The most poignant moment was when we rounded a corner at the Reina Sofia and were face to face with Guernica, Picasso´s painting telling the story of Nazi German bombing of Guernica, Spain. It was breathtaking. The painting itself is huge, but it was difficult to see because visitors were stacked 4 people deep to view it. I had to make a concerted effort to pull myself away when I finally had my turn at the front of the line.
It´s festival time here (the 200th anniversary of some really terrible things in Spain - here for more, which is rewarding and challenging all at the same time. Challenging since everything is closed - including banks, which makes withdrawing money difficult. We finally found an ATM in the Ritz and used their bathroom - I have pictures (it was worth it). Rewarding because its a party everywhere you turn. We got to see a parade at the Palacio Real today and hung out in a parque for a concert by the National Symphony.
What else? The food...oh, the food. It´s phenomenal. In addition to gazpacho, churros, and freshly baked pastries from the corner market, I ate an entire plate of olives yesterday. They were stuffed with some sort of ooey, gooey, garlic and cheesy goodness. The rijoa and sangria flows freely and it is impossible to resist.
As wonderful as Madrid is, I am ready to move on. We leave tomorrow morning to travel by bus to Cordoba. This begins our trek to the region of Andalusia in the south of Spain, where hiking, biking and flamenco are our priorities.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
V is for vodka
It occurs to me today that I'm actually a college student in the throes of finals week. No shit, you say. True! Beyond the fact that my Mac is permanently glued to my lap and I'm using textbooks for pillows (osmosis, anyone?!), I've consumed nothing but pizza, chocolate chip cookies, coffee and liquor for the past 72 hours (with the exception of one veggie wrap from Arts). Ugh...I've got to find some vegetables.
Coffee jitters and little old men
I am mainlining coffee this morning while banging my head against the table at my favorite coffee shop (props to Arts Etc who makes the best coffee and veggie wraps - okay, hands-down, the best food - in Martinsville). I love it here - it's inspiring and comfortable. Regardless, statistics makes no sense today and I can think of hundreds of things I'd rather be doing. But Spain is calling and this project must be finished before I depart, so I press on. For a moment.
Focus not being what it should be, I am distracted by a group of men sitting to my right. This group spends every morning here, drinking Maxwell House coffee (that's made specially and only for them as they don't like the brew of the day), munching bagels and muffins, solving the problems of the world. They range in age from 60-90 and the size of their group fluctuates from 5-15. I am generally able to tune them out, though it's impossible to work when they are all here as it is a true cacophony.
My relationship with this group is complicated and ever-evolving. They tolerate my presence nearby and occasionally draw me in to conversation, but women are strictly prohibited from sitting with them. So far this morning they've sung "Happy Earth Day" (to the tune of Happy Birthday), discussed the Chicago Cubs (I know because they asked me who the manager was and were very impressed when I came up with Lou Piniella - no small thanks to Google), and scoffed my choice of shoes (flip flops - as is always).
This group is not homogeneous by any stretch of the imagination. Some are sweet, some are curmudgeons, some are Democrats, some are Republicans, some are racist, most are male chauvinists, some are quiet, some are loud, they are all religious. No topic is safe from scrutiny and I overhear the snipits: the turkey that got away, city leadership's decision-making abilities, kids/wife/family driving them crazy though they all obviously love them dearly, church politics. Sometimes they agree, other times they argue, but they always return for daily camaraderie.
They tell me jokes. Today, as is true most days, chauvinistic in nature. In short: Man robs bank. Asks guy if he saw him rob bank. Guy says yes, man shoots guy. Man turns and asks another guy same question. Answer, "no but my wife did." Sometimes the jokes are both religious and chauvinistic in nature (I think they get bonus points for these) - predictably some variation of God messing with Adam's rib to the detriment of the world. The occasional poke at themselves: "when you're as old as I am, your memory is the second thing to go." So I hear.
They tell me these jokes and I laugh, at the delivery rather than the message, but they don't know that. There's really no point in explaining it to them. They come from a world where women cater to their every whim even when those whims require them to wear high heels to clean the house (true story). To them, women exist to feed them, dress them, drool over them. Now, they are old enough to flirt with young women and not be threatening - in fact, they are adorable and endearing (if not just a tiny bit infuriating) and I'm quite lucky that they enjoy entertaining me so much.
"To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
Focus not being what it should be, I am distracted by a group of men sitting to my right. This group spends every morning here, drinking Maxwell House coffee (that's made specially and only for them as they don't like the brew of the day), munching bagels and muffins, solving the problems of the world. They range in age from 60-90 and the size of their group fluctuates from 5-15. I am generally able to tune them out, though it's impossible to work when they are all here as it is a true cacophony.
My relationship with this group is complicated and ever-evolving. They tolerate my presence nearby and occasionally draw me in to conversation, but women are strictly prohibited from sitting with them. So far this morning they've sung "Happy Earth Day" (to the tune of Happy Birthday), discussed the Chicago Cubs (I know because they asked me who the manager was and were very impressed when I came up with Lou Piniella - no small thanks to Google), and scoffed my choice of shoes (flip flops - as is always).
This group is not homogeneous by any stretch of the imagination. Some are sweet, some are curmudgeons, some are Democrats, some are Republicans, some are racist, most are male chauvinists, some are quiet, some are loud, they are all religious. No topic is safe from scrutiny and I overhear the snipits: the turkey that got away, city leadership's decision-making abilities, kids/wife/family driving them crazy though they all obviously love them dearly, church politics. Sometimes they agree, other times they argue, but they always return for daily camaraderie.
They tell me jokes. Today, as is true most days, chauvinistic in nature. In short: Man robs bank. Asks guy if he saw him rob bank. Guy says yes, man shoots guy. Man turns and asks another guy same question. Answer, "no but my wife did." Sometimes the jokes are both religious and chauvinistic in nature (I think they get bonus points for these) - predictably some variation of God messing with Adam's rib to the detriment of the world. The occasional poke at themselves: "when you're as old as I am, your memory is the second thing to go." So I hear.
They tell me these jokes and I laugh, at the delivery rather than the message, but they don't know that. There's really no point in explaining it to them. They come from a world where women cater to their every whim even when those whims require them to wear high heels to clean the house (true story). To them, women exist to feed them, dress them, drool over them. Now, they are old enough to flirt with young women and not be threatening - in fact, they are adorable and endearing (if not just a tiny bit infuriating) and I'm quite lucky that they enjoy entertaining me so much.
"To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
Friday, March 14, 2008
Southern Traditions and Double Standards
There are many things I love about living in the South. There are just as many things that I hate about living in the South. Curiously, some things fall into both categories.
Take, for example, manners. The importance of manners should never be underestimated and they are spoonfed to native Southerners from the time of conception. This goes beyond the usual niceties of "please" and "thank you," extending to "sir" and "ma'am" at the least. I won't bore you with all the other tenets of Southern manners - everything you've heard is true.
While I see the value in being polite and showing respect, I absolutely detest being called ma'am. The word makes me feel old and matronly and can raise my blood pressure like nothing else. I realize how completely irrational this is, especially since the terms roll off my own tongue without second thought.
Regardless, that's how I feel...well, that's how I felt, until today. I was 5 miles into my daily run and met a man who was out for a walk. I was jamming to Gnarls Barkley so loud that I barely heard it - "Ma'am." I turned my head - eyes flashing, biting my tongue to avoid spraying venom - only to see this dear man with his hat off his head, clutching his cane, bending at the waist, wishing me a good day and a safe run. You'll be hard pressed to find a sweeter scene anywhere, and I'm quite sure I fell a little in love.
Take, for example, manners. The importance of manners should never be underestimated and they are spoonfed to native Southerners from the time of conception. This goes beyond the usual niceties of "please" and "thank you," extending to "sir" and "ma'am" at the least. I won't bore you with all the other tenets of Southern manners - everything you've heard is true.
While I see the value in being polite and showing respect, I absolutely detest being called ma'am. The word makes me feel old and matronly and can raise my blood pressure like nothing else. I realize how completely irrational this is, especially since the terms roll off my own tongue without second thought.
Regardless, that's how I feel...well, that's how I felt, until today. I was 5 miles into my daily run and met a man who was out for a walk. I was jamming to Gnarls Barkley so loud that I barely heard it - "Ma'am." I turned my head - eyes flashing, biting my tongue to avoid spraying venom - only to see this dear man with his hat off his head, clutching his cane, bending at the waist, wishing me a good day and a safe run. You'll be hard pressed to find a sweeter scene anywhere, and I'm quite sure I fell a little in love.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Everybody wants to be a dot
The wandering dot is alive and well in the form of a Guinness commercial. If my likeness must be used, I can think of worse brands! =)
Friday, February 15, 2008
Chapulines...they're what's for lunch
Go to Central America and you'll find lots of unique things to eat everywhere you turn. Finding similar foods in the US is a little more complicated. So, when I found Chapulines on the menu in a D.C. restaurant, I had to try them. Grasshoppers on a taco...I was intrigued. And not disappointed. A Mexican delicacy, Chapulines are tiny, marinated fried grasshopper carcases. Delivered in handmade corn tortillas on a bed of avocado, they are slightly spicy, slightly sweet, very crunchy, and really wonderful! I highly recommend them, especially since there is no longer concern of lead poisoning from consumption. At the very least, it is good to know that I will never go hungry!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Great Potomac Primary
Today, I voted in my first Presidential primary - an event dubbed "The Potomac Primary" by the media. I love voting. I always leave the precinct walking a little taller, feeling like I have performed my civic duty and contributed a bit to the betterment of our world. I feel no different this morning, but it was a long road here. I have friends who have firmly supported Barack Obama since the beginning. I have friends who supported Hillary all along. I know even more people who have struggled with their decision for the past 18 months. I fall into the latter category.
Many people, especially women and African Americans, feel pressure to vote for one candidate or the other simply because they are female or black. That is absurd, though I admit I felt the pressure to support Hill for that very reason. Ultimately, we have to look beyond this as we cast our votes. Aren't we teaching our children that color doesn't matter? And - if girls can do anything boys can do, they should earn it and not be handed it by default, simply because of their gender.
In the end, I am proud of my Democratic party for presenting two minorities for Presidential Candidate. Either of them is a far better choice for the future of our country than any of the Republican candidates. In November, I will vote for whichever Democrat is on the ballot. Today - and without hesitation - I cast my vote for Barack Obama based on the changes I believe he can make for our country and for the rights I believe he will protect. Visit www.barackobama.com for specifics.
Many people, especially women and African Americans, feel pressure to vote for one candidate or the other simply because they are female or black. That is absurd, though I admit I felt the pressure to support Hill for that very reason. Ultimately, we have to look beyond this as we cast our votes. Aren't we teaching our children that color doesn't matter? And - if girls can do anything boys can do, they should earn it and not be handed it by default, simply because of their gender.
In the end, I am proud of my Democratic party for presenting two minorities for Presidential Candidate. Either of them is a far better choice for the future of our country than any of the Republican candidates. In November, I will vote for whichever Democrat is on the ballot. Today - and without hesitation - I cast my vote for Barack Obama based on the changes I believe he can make for our country and for the rights I believe he will protect. Visit www.barackobama.com for specifics.
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