My girlfriends were right. Granada and I love each other. Upon very cursory inspection of this new town, I may just stay forever. It´s built in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, making it very attractive for my hiking feet. It´s also bordered by a beautiful little river, lending cool breezes to hot days. Random staircases form pathways off major roads and what you find is always a surprise. Middle eastern fare dominates and my palate is well pleased. Spanish whisky is now a favorite, and I´ve become a pro at peeeling labels off of wine bottles. Trobadores abound, pleasing my musical ear.
Our pension is fabulous. Recommended from a friend met in Honduras. We´re on the second floor in the pension. It´s tiny, with only bunk beds, a small bench and baker´s rack for depositing clothing. But, it overlooks the Alhambra and has a window that opens it´s wrought iron gates to the open air.
Tomorrow brings a tour of the Alhambra gardens and more wandering. This seems like a great place to get lost for a while.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
I feel pretty...
oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty, and...
Okay, enough of that indulgence! My point is, it´s been all about prettiness for the past 24 hours. Though traveling frugally is still the name of the game (the dollar´s value against the euro makes me hyperventilate regularly), minor indulgences are always in order. When else will I have an opportunity to bathe in authentic Arab baths? Two hours of soaking was wonderful medicine for my aching legs.
This morning, I wandered through the gardens of a 14th century palace. It was easy to get lost in the beauty. Imagine the stories those fountains could tell. It is reputed that the discovery of America was discussed here. I´m certain that´s only the beginning.
Leaving Cordoba, I´m now in Granada, which is nestled into the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They are snow-capped even though the weather below is always around 28 degrees C. Vineyards and olive tree farms surround us. Arab influence is even more prevalent here than in Cordoba.
Okay, enough of that indulgence! My point is, it´s been all about prettiness for the past 24 hours. Though traveling frugally is still the name of the game (the dollar´s value against the euro makes me hyperventilate regularly), minor indulgences are always in order. When else will I have an opportunity to bathe in authentic Arab baths? Two hours of soaking was wonderful medicine for my aching legs.
This morning, I wandered through the gardens of a 14th century palace. It was easy to get lost in the beauty. Imagine the stories those fountains could tell. It is reputed that the discovery of America was discussed here. I´m certain that´s only the beginning.
Leaving Cordoba, I´m now in Granada, which is nestled into the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They are snow-capped even though the weather below is always around 28 degrees C. Vineyards and olive tree farms surround us. Arab influence is even more prevalent here than in Cordoba.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tastings and pigeon poo
Yesterday was a day for tastings. Olive. Wine. Cordoba. After breakfast, I intentionally lost myself in the narrow, winding, and seemingly endless streets of the city. I visited the Museo Bella Artes and Museo Julio Romero de Torres, which were both interesting in very different ways. Afterwards, I continued wandering and happened into a little shop that was filled with olive oil and wine. The proprieter approached me and offered an olive oil lesson and tasting. ¡Si, por favor! But of course!
It turns out you taste olive oil in the same way you taste wine. First, you smell it. Then you swirl it around in your mouth. Finally you swallow it. It´s a wonderful experience when you´re guided by someone as knowledgeable as Pepe. I chose my favorite, which turns out to be one of the top rated oils in all of Spain and now have 20 pounds of it to tote around for 2 weeks. It´s smooth, with a fairly strong taste of green olive, followed by a little kick at the end. Then, Pepe offered me a copa de Fina, which is a very dry white wine made from grapes grown in Cordoba. Not my favorite, but good to try.
For dinner, we ended up at the Museo de la Tapas y el Vino, so of course we tasted tapas and wine. After asking the waiter ¨Que me recomienda?¨ we sat back and waited for him to choose our food. Drinking our bottle of Cermeño (tinto de Toro), which was estupendo, we wrote the following review of our dishes:
Rabo de Toro (stewed oxtail) - I threw vegetarianism to the birds and enjoyed this fabulous local dish. Didn´t know oxtail was so boney though. It was a mess to eat!
Croquetas caseras de espinicas (Spinach croquettes) - Ooey, gooey, creamed spinach with cheese wrapped in a breaded crust. Goodness from start to finish. We ordered more!
Aceitunas (olives) - Sandra found the pits problematic. I thought they were wonderful and was proud of my pit mastery. I know my monkeys are happy for me.
Asadillo de Pimientos - slimy roasted red peppers with scant tuna. Not great.
Albondigas de Bacalao en sala de tomate - fish (cod) balls in tomato sauce with hard peas. Enough said.
Pulpa a la Gallega - bland Galician octopus, which was predictably chewy
Finishing all of this, we were still hungry, so we ordered more Spinach croquettes and added Croquetas de Jamon. The jamon tasted like ooey, gooey, chipped beef in cheese. Yummy goodness. Then, we ordered postres. The waiter brought us a tower of chocolate cake and whipped cream. It was gone in a flash of dueling forks.
On the way home from dinner, after midnight, a pigeon shat upon me. I suppose it wouldn´t be an international trip without some crazy animal mistaking me for their private baño. When Sandra finished laughing, which took way too long, she handed me a tissue...and took a photo.
It turns out you taste olive oil in the same way you taste wine. First, you smell it. Then you swirl it around in your mouth. Finally you swallow it. It´s a wonderful experience when you´re guided by someone as knowledgeable as Pepe. I chose my favorite, which turns out to be one of the top rated oils in all of Spain and now have 20 pounds of it to tote around for 2 weeks. It´s smooth, with a fairly strong taste of green olive, followed by a little kick at the end. Then, Pepe offered me a copa de Fina, which is a very dry white wine made from grapes grown in Cordoba. Not my favorite, but good to try.
For dinner, we ended up at the Museo de la Tapas y el Vino, so of course we tasted tapas and wine. After asking the waiter ¨Que me recomienda?¨ we sat back and waited for him to choose our food. Drinking our bottle of Cermeño (tinto de Toro), which was estupendo, we wrote the following review of our dishes:
Rabo de Toro (stewed oxtail) - I threw vegetarianism to the birds and enjoyed this fabulous local dish. Didn´t know oxtail was so boney though. It was a mess to eat!
Croquetas caseras de espinicas (Spinach croquettes) - Ooey, gooey, creamed spinach with cheese wrapped in a breaded crust. Goodness from start to finish. We ordered more!
Aceitunas (olives) - Sandra found the pits problematic. I thought they were wonderful and was proud of my pit mastery. I know my monkeys are happy for me.
Asadillo de Pimientos - slimy roasted red peppers with scant tuna. Not great.
Albondigas de Bacalao en sala de tomate - fish (cod) balls in tomato sauce with hard peas. Enough said.
Pulpa a la Gallega - bland Galician octopus, which was predictably chewy
Finishing all of this, we were still hungry, so we ordered more Spinach croquettes and added Croquetas de Jamon. The jamon tasted like ooey, gooey, chipped beef in cheese. Yummy goodness. Then, we ordered postres. The waiter brought us a tower of chocolate cake and whipped cream. It was gone in a flash of dueling forks.
On the way home from dinner, after midnight, a pigeon shat upon me. I suppose it wouldn´t be an international trip without some crazy animal mistaking me for their private baño. When Sandra finished laughing, which took way too long, she handed me a tissue...and took a photo.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Rat tails, flamenco dresses and more
We´ve left Madrid for the beauty of Andalusia. Traveling by bus to Cordoba was a beautiful way to see the countryside. The area around Madrid is flat, but as you get further south, the land starts to roll and olive trees and vineyards abound. It´s hot here, at least 80 every day.
Cordoba is full of wonders to explore. It´s a melting pot for Jewish, Muslim and Christian faiths. In fact, the primary attraction is the Mezquita-Catedral, which is a Mosque with a Cathedral smacked down in the center.
We found a beautiful guesthouse right by the Mezquita, which is run by a lovely fellow Sagittarian and his family. Our room is tiny, but private, a nice change from the hostel in Madrid. The bathroom is miniscule with a shower the size of a postage stamp. The whole room floods each time you shower. Sleep was impossible last night as our window opens onto the main square. We were entertained until the wee hours with passersby singing and dancing their way home. But, it is homey enough for a few days and the price was right!
There´s a festival going on whose name escapes me for the moment. It really doesn´t matter as the concept is simple. There are numerous red flowered crosses scattered around the city. After dark, the site of each becomes the location for a huge street party. It´s sort of like ¨church youth group gone bad¨as every 15 year old in Cordoba is dancing in the streets with cocktails. We found three crosses last night and began learning flamenco, which we are determined to master by our return. There are beautiful little girls (about 5 years old) who were dancing in their flamenco dresses until 2 in the morning. !
Yesterday was also the day of the wedding in Cordoba. We saw 3 and inadvertently crashed two. My traveling companion went as far as to enter the church during the ceremony and exited just behind the bride and groom. Scandalous!
The rat tail is alive and well in Cordoba. They are a status symbol, I think, though not sure exactly what status. There are long ones, short ones, dyed ones, ponytailed ones, fat ones, skinny ones. I´ve never seen that many...even as an 80s school girl!
Sandra and I have separated for the morning. She´s going to explore piles of old rocks (I´m told they are valuable architectural sites). I´m headed off to view the artwork of Cordoba´s most famous artist Julio Romero de Torres. His artwork was highly respected in his time, but has lost luster since his death. Cordoban´s still idolize him and I must see.
Cordoba is full of wonders to explore. It´s a melting pot for Jewish, Muslim and Christian faiths. In fact, the primary attraction is the Mezquita-Catedral, which is a Mosque with a Cathedral smacked down in the center.
We found a beautiful guesthouse right by the Mezquita, which is run by a lovely fellow Sagittarian and his family. Our room is tiny, but private, a nice change from the hostel in Madrid. The bathroom is miniscule with a shower the size of a postage stamp. The whole room floods each time you shower. Sleep was impossible last night as our window opens onto the main square. We were entertained until the wee hours with passersby singing and dancing their way home. But, it is homey enough for a few days and the price was right!
There´s a festival going on whose name escapes me for the moment. It really doesn´t matter as the concept is simple. There are numerous red flowered crosses scattered around the city. After dark, the site of each becomes the location for a huge street party. It´s sort of like ¨church youth group gone bad¨as every 15 year old in Cordoba is dancing in the streets with cocktails. We found three crosses last night and began learning flamenco, which we are determined to master by our return. There are beautiful little girls (about 5 years old) who were dancing in their flamenco dresses until 2 in the morning. !
Yesterday was also the day of the wedding in Cordoba. We saw 3 and inadvertently crashed two. My traveling companion went as far as to enter the church during the ceremony and exited just behind the bride and groom. Scandalous!
The rat tail is alive and well in Cordoba. They are a status symbol, I think, though not sure exactly what status. There are long ones, short ones, dyed ones, ponytailed ones, fat ones, skinny ones. I´ve never seen that many...even as an 80s school girl!
Sandra and I have separated for the morning. She´s going to explore piles of old rocks (I´m told they are valuable architectural sites). I´m headed off to view the artwork of Cordoba´s most famous artist Julio Romero de Torres. His artwork was highly respected in his time, but has lost luster since his death. Cordoban´s still idolize him and I must see.
Friday, May 2, 2008
¡Viva España!
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.
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.
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
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