Occasionally, life just happens. Regardless of how much in control we think we are, sometimes we just have to go with the flow and experience the wonderful things that appear before us.
Four days ago, I arrived on the campus of Mary Baldwin to take a film class. Two hours later, after surrendering my library card for $4000 in equipment and with the blessing of my professor, I became an independent film maker.
Today, armed with a microphone for the first time, I set out to fulfill my last assignment: interviewing people in the community about a "current topic of interest." The exercise was more about teaching me the intricacies of sound recording than video. I schlepped my 10 pound camera bag through the streets of Staunton, VA with the intention of ending up at a gas station to discuss the gas prices, how much we all love our president, alternative energy sources, etc. etc. Little did I know that this was one of those times that the universe had other plans for me.
As I reached the street corner near the station, a portly, white-haired gentleman approached me and directed me to the BP around the corner. He further asked what I planned to do there and, when I explained my intentions to him, informed me that he couldn't think of anything more boring. "Wouldn't you rather spend the afternoon with me?" My immediate initial answer was a vehement "NO!" Curiosity, however, rose above my gut and so I agreed. "Well then, come have a beer in the oldest restaurant in Staunton!"
As he half pulled, half escorted me into the tiny, run down eatery with no exterior to speak of, I surrendered my fate. I was immediately introduced to all the patrons (subsequent introductions occurred each time a new person entered), handed a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and six hours later, had all the footage I could handle and more.
Maroni's, which has been owned by the same family since the early 1900s, is unofficially a gentleman's club. Women are welcome (though few venture), and are occasionally allowed to have opinions, but never to buy beer. If you can be classified as remotely attractive, crass comments will fly in your direction. Race and sexual preference matter not, as all are accepted if you abide by the unwritten rules of Maroni's. Non-conformance will result in being listed on the shit-list (a white board above the bar) or permanent ejection by the owner, a slight, white haired beauty in her 80s.
Maroni's customers are loyal and trustworthy, a fact proven by the tabs they meticulously keep to record the purchases that they serve themselves. They help cook and clean and, later, even provided entertainment on acoustic guitar, passed around from guest to guest. Occupations and social classes are well represented with retirees, students, construction workers, chiropractors, city council members and even the mayor in regular attendance. They all come to solve the world's problems, or forget them, for a few hours in beer and burgers.
As the sun began to set and after consuming countless PBRs, I emerged, newly inducted to the shit-list. A great honor, though I will never share my transgression. I entered this place a tired college student with some camera equipment. I left inspired, rejuvenated, and slightly drunk by the sense of community that pulses in Maroni's.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Life on Campus Day 1
It's 7 PM on the East Coast and I have just settled into my first dorm room in a decade. Things are a bit different this time around. I'm ten years older, a bit wiser (hopefully), and instead of my parents and a U-Haul, I managed to move my belongings in using one small suitcase. Instead of a semester, I'll only be here a week. Phew.
I'm here for "summer week," similar to other schools' J-terms, where you study really hard for a short period of time and get full credit. My class is video production and I am the only student. My professor has been a rocker for 20 years, has 2 screenplays currently being optioned in Hollywood, and mainlines coffee until well after 8 PM. This is my second class with him and I look forward to the energetic, dizzying approach he brings to learning.
The dorms are, well, dorms. They are concrete, utilitarian and barren. There is no trash can. I have no roommate (!), but do have a suite mate who brushes her teeth every ten minutes. So much for water conservation. Our suite is positioned directly across the hall from our "dorm mother." (Note to self: cancel the Tuesday night kegger!)
I am the youngest of all my classmates. Well, that's not entirely true, but I'm the youngest who isn't pregnant. Everyone is wonderful and I've made lots of friends. Well, until the "incident" at dinner. Sitting at my table were 5 girls from all over the South, all were Christians - that came up within 5 minutes of introductions. Not far into our conversation, one of the devout Baptists made made a flip, racist comment about one of her son's friends. I, without restraint (shocking, I know), expressed my offense.
It always takes me aback when people make hateful comments, especially to people they barely know. It is insulting to me that she thought I also would agree with her - I must fear, distrust and dislike people of a different color as well, right? It is unacceptable to me that others supported her so openly. Trust me, I am not delusional that there is still a lot of hate in our country, but it always disappoints me to learn that it festers just below the surface in the unlikeliest of people. Perhaps Eric Hoffer was right when he wrote "to know a person's religion we need not listen to his profession of faith but must find his brand of intolerance.”
Oh well, I never really bought into the sorority girl scene anyway. My fate this week is sealed. Off to wander about town and campus. The skies are growling persistently, so my evening could be short.
I'm here for "summer week," similar to other schools' J-terms, where you study really hard for a short period of time and get full credit. My class is video production and I am the only student. My professor has been a rocker for 20 years, has 2 screenplays currently being optioned in Hollywood, and mainlines coffee until well after 8 PM. This is my second class with him and I look forward to the energetic, dizzying approach he brings to learning.
The dorms are, well, dorms. They are concrete, utilitarian and barren. There is no trash can. I have no roommate (!), but do have a suite mate who brushes her teeth every ten minutes. So much for water conservation. Our suite is positioned directly across the hall from our "dorm mother." (Note to self: cancel the Tuesday night kegger!)
I am the youngest of all my classmates. Well, that's not entirely true, but I'm the youngest who isn't pregnant. Everyone is wonderful and I've made lots of friends. Well, until the "incident" at dinner. Sitting at my table were 5 girls from all over the South, all were Christians - that came up within 5 minutes of introductions. Not far into our conversation, one of the devout Baptists made made a flip, racist comment about one of her son's friends. I, without restraint (shocking, I know), expressed my offense.
It always takes me aback when people make hateful comments, especially to people they barely know. It is insulting to me that she thought I also would agree with her - I must fear, distrust and dislike people of a different color as well, right? It is unacceptable to me that others supported her so openly. Trust me, I am not delusional that there is still a lot of hate in our country, but it always disappoints me to learn that it festers just below the surface in the unlikeliest of people. Perhaps Eric Hoffer was right when he wrote "to know a person's religion we need not listen to his profession of faith but must find his brand of intolerance.”
Oh well, I never really bought into the sorority girl scene anyway. My fate this week is sealed. Off to wander about town and campus. The skies are growling persistently, so my evening could be short.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Adios Espana
It doesn´t seem like 3 weeks since I last sat in the Bat Cave in Cat´s Hostel Madrid with my first blog from Spain. But, it has and it´s my last night here. Impossible. After 12 hours spent trying to get back to Madrid from Barcelona today, I am ready to come home. There have been other indicators along the way that it is time to travel home, so I´ve compiled them into a brief Top Ten list. Enjoy.
Top Ten Indicators that it´s Time To Leave Spain
10 - It´s been raining and foggy everyday for the last 10
9 - There isn´t a means of public transportation you haven´t taken, all in the same day
8 - You´ve completely cataloged all markets ending in eria: zapateria, cerveceria, lavanderia, licoreria, pasteleria, peleteria, perfumeria...
7 - You have 2000 pictures of every old building, pile of rocks and piece of art in Spain
6 - When you ask the waiter ¿Que me recomienda?, he responds vestidos limpia.
5 - You´ve had at least one attempted pickpocket for the past 2 days
4 - You spilled a glass of wine (actually this one might get you thrown out of the country)
3 - The entire country has run out of olives
2 - Your backpack outweighs you
1 - You´re so broke that your fellow hostelers are taking up a collection to pay your departure tax.
So, my journey home begins tomorrow morning. It will be a 30 hour day as we get to turn our clocks back as we fly over the Atlantic. Look forward to seeing you all soon! Hasta luego!
Top Ten Indicators that it´s Time To Leave Spain
10 - It´s been raining and foggy everyday for the last 10
9 - There isn´t a means of public transportation you haven´t taken, all in the same day
8 - You´ve completely cataloged all markets ending in eria: zapateria, cerveceria, lavanderia, licoreria, pasteleria, peleteria, perfumeria...
7 - You have 2000 pictures of every old building, pile of rocks and piece of art in Spain
6 - When you ask the waiter ¿Que me recomienda?, he responds vestidos limpia.
5 - You´ve had at least one attempted pickpocket for the past 2 days
4 - You spilled a glass of wine (actually this one might get you thrown out of the country)
3 - The entire country has run out of olives
2 - Your backpack outweighs you
1 - You´re so broke that your fellow hostelers are taking up a collection to pay your departure tax.
So, my journey home begins tomorrow morning. It will be a 30 hour day as we get to turn our clocks back as we fly over the Atlantic. Look forward to seeing you all soon! Hasta luego!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Montserrat
Montserrat has long been linked to heaven on earth and I decided to spend this day trekking it. The universe always seems to have other plans, however, and as the train approached the base of the mountain, fog rolled in. Boarding a cable car that would take me to about 700m, I realized spectacular views were going to be nonexistent, and so resigned myself to exploring the ancient monastery that is also there.
Upon arriving, I found the Basilica at the center of the monastery, which dates to 1035ish (though most of the original structure was destroyed by Napolean´s troops), and went inside. The decorations of the building are opulent and mindboggling. Gold, silver, bronze and marble adorn floors and walls covered in ancient mosaics. Iron fixtures hang from the ceiling to light the way through small, narrow hallways. The centerpiece of the cathedral is La Moreneta, a black virgin, and I was able to admire her closely.
I moved to sit in the sanctuary to take photos and the church bells started ringing. Before I knew what was happening, the church began to fill with monks, nuns and other tourists. I was in the middle of a full blown mass. Not understanding the Latin-Spanish service, I sat quiety until communion, when I exited.
A brief visit to the monastery´s museum yielded masterpieces by Picasso, Dali, Carravaggio and more. There was an uncovered Egyptian mummy as well. Wandering a bit outside in the square, the heaving clouds finally gave way and burst open. Taking shelter once again in the Basilica, I was rewarded by a performance by the Boys Choir. There voices were ethereal. Before they sang, the visitors were asked to recite the Lord´s Prayer in their native tongue. It was truly incredible to hear it recited in no less than 5 languages in unison.
As I made my way back to the arie for a ride down the mountain, I noticed a sign post pointing me to ´Via Cruces´. The deluge was over and curiosity overcame me, so I turned left and proceeded up a wide walkway lined with crosses - thus the name. After walking for about 10 minutes, there was a staircase leading to the right up into the trees and into the mountain. No one was around. Of course, I took it.
A short 30 minute hike straight up the mountain took me to a small shrine near the top. The clouds and fog momentarily blew away and the views were breathtaking. I was completely alone in this paradise atop the mountain. Screaming children and puffing trains were far below me in the distance. I sat quietly watching birds build nests. Eventually, the fog began to blow back in underscoring the mysterious and haunting aura of this place.
I spent a few more hours walking on footpaths through the towering rock structures before coming back down. Montserrat is a magical place that I will not soon forget.
Upon arriving, I found the Basilica at the center of the monastery, which dates to 1035ish (though most of the original structure was destroyed by Napolean´s troops), and went inside. The decorations of the building are opulent and mindboggling. Gold, silver, bronze and marble adorn floors and walls covered in ancient mosaics. Iron fixtures hang from the ceiling to light the way through small, narrow hallways. The centerpiece of the cathedral is La Moreneta, a black virgin, and I was able to admire her closely.
I moved to sit in the sanctuary to take photos and the church bells started ringing. Before I knew what was happening, the church began to fill with monks, nuns and other tourists. I was in the middle of a full blown mass. Not understanding the Latin-Spanish service, I sat quiety until communion, when I exited.
A brief visit to the monastery´s museum yielded masterpieces by Picasso, Dali, Carravaggio and more. There was an uncovered Egyptian mummy as well. Wandering a bit outside in the square, the heaving clouds finally gave way and burst open. Taking shelter once again in the Basilica, I was rewarded by a performance by the Boys Choir. There voices were ethereal. Before they sang, the visitors were asked to recite the Lord´s Prayer in their native tongue. It was truly incredible to hear it recited in no less than 5 languages in unison.
As I made my way back to the arie for a ride down the mountain, I noticed a sign post pointing me to ´Via Cruces´. The deluge was over and curiosity overcame me, so I turned left and proceeded up a wide walkway lined with crosses - thus the name. After walking for about 10 minutes, there was a staircase leading to the right up into the trees and into the mountain. No one was around. Of course, I took it.
A short 30 minute hike straight up the mountain took me to a small shrine near the top. The clouds and fog momentarily blew away and the views were breathtaking. I was completely alone in this paradise atop the mountain. Screaming children and puffing trains were far below me in the distance. I sat quietly watching birds build nests. Eventually, the fog began to blow back in underscoring the mysterious and haunting aura of this place.
I spent a few more hours walking on footpaths through the towering rock structures before coming back down. Montserrat is a magical place that I will not soon forget.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains
It´s been a whirlwind few days, though I can´t exactly pinpoint why. It´s been cold and raining since we arrived in Sevilla. We managed to shoe shop while dodging huge raindrops all the while. I entertained fellow shoppers by trudging through (okay, maybe skipping) deep puddles in my flip flops. There was no point in even trying to stay dry, so I did a bit of singin´in the rain.
Needing a bit of sun, we ditched Sevilla yesterday for a jaunt to Cadiz, a beach town on the Atlantic coast. A quick bus ride and we left the fog and rain behind for a beautiful sunny day. We wandered the city for a while, finding an extensive food market where every kind of fish was available. They were fresh too...choose yours from the pile and the fishmonger was ready to carve it up for you. I was delighted to find a spice vendor and successfully purchased two varieties of paprika. Sandra and I bought enough fresh produce for several snacks and had a great picnic on a jetty in the ocean.
Afternoon was spent enjoying the (topless) beach. We walked for miles in the sand and now have a large collection of rocks, shells and sea glass that must somehow make it home. Perhaps it is a good thing that the Spanish version of the TSA threw away my olive oil this morning upon boarding the flight to Barcelona.
We made it to Barcelona by breakfast, leaving Sevilla at 4 AM. Exhausted, we hit the city in full force, exploring legacies left behind by the art and architectural genious of Gaudi. His work is brilliant and fills the city with unique color and shape. The city is completely different than the rest of Spain we´ve seen. First of all, it´s arranged on a grid (!) so it´s relatively simple to navigate. Secondly, it´s located in the far north, and many folks speak Catalon, which is sort of like Spanish, but not really. It´s cosmopolitan like Madrid, but it´s treasures are very different. We´ve only just begun to uncover them.
There´s a wonderful pastellerie by our hostel where we had breakfast this morning. The owner speaks Catalon but only a tiny bit of Spanish and no English. He enthusiastically showed us around his shop, describing in great detail the confections he had to offer. Our mouths watered as we chose our pastries, chocolate for one and cheese for the other. He happily offered us cafe con leche as well, quickly making friends. He´s a dear sweet man that I know we will visit often during our 5 days here.
My afternoon was spent arguing, via an international (collect) conference call, with Capital One and BB&T about who was most incompetent about handling my funds. Standing on a busy street corner pay phone, I´m certain that everyone passing by received an education in the intricacies of the English language, as I found myself temporarily penniless without assistance from my ¨no-hassle¨credit card and hometown bank. When calm negotiation got me nowhere, I pleaded, then I yelled, then I cried. An old lady passing by offered me a handkerchief, a sweet gesture that made me cry harder. Michael, with Capital One, tried to soothe me. I think he cried a bit too. In the end, BB&T won the jackass award. I won the ultimate prize...cash in my pocket. Perhaps it is time to bank a bit of sleep.
Needing a bit of sun, we ditched Sevilla yesterday for a jaunt to Cadiz, a beach town on the Atlantic coast. A quick bus ride and we left the fog and rain behind for a beautiful sunny day. We wandered the city for a while, finding an extensive food market where every kind of fish was available. They were fresh too...choose yours from the pile and the fishmonger was ready to carve it up for you. I was delighted to find a spice vendor and successfully purchased two varieties of paprika. Sandra and I bought enough fresh produce for several snacks and had a great picnic on a jetty in the ocean.
Afternoon was spent enjoying the (topless) beach. We walked for miles in the sand and now have a large collection of rocks, shells and sea glass that must somehow make it home. Perhaps it is a good thing that the Spanish version of the TSA threw away my olive oil this morning upon boarding the flight to Barcelona.
We made it to Barcelona by breakfast, leaving Sevilla at 4 AM. Exhausted, we hit the city in full force, exploring legacies left behind by the art and architectural genious of Gaudi. His work is brilliant and fills the city with unique color and shape. The city is completely different than the rest of Spain we´ve seen. First of all, it´s arranged on a grid (!) so it´s relatively simple to navigate. Secondly, it´s located in the far north, and many folks speak Catalon, which is sort of like Spanish, but not really. It´s cosmopolitan like Madrid, but it´s treasures are very different. We´ve only just begun to uncover them.
There´s a wonderful pastellerie by our hostel where we had breakfast this morning. The owner speaks Catalon but only a tiny bit of Spanish and no English. He enthusiastically showed us around his shop, describing in great detail the confections he had to offer. Our mouths watered as we chose our pastries, chocolate for one and cheese for the other. He happily offered us cafe con leche as well, quickly making friends. He´s a dear sweet man that I know we will visit often during our 5 days here.
My afternoon was spent arguing, via an international (collect) conference call, with Capital One and BB&T about who was most incompetent about handling my funds. Standing on a busy street corner pay phone, I´m certain that everyone passing by received an education in the intricacies of the English language, as I found myself temporarily penniless without assistance from my ¨no-hassle¨credit card and hometown bank. When calm negotiation got me nowhere, I pleaded, then I yelled, then I cried. An old lady passing by offered me a handkerchief, a sweet gesture that made me cry harder. Michael, with Capital One, tried to soothe me. I think he cried a bit too. In the end, BB&T won the jackass award. I won the ultimate prize...cash in my pocket. Perhaps it is time to bank a bit of sleep.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Me gusta zapatos
Our first few hours in Sevilla were quite unique. After traveling by bus to the city, we were tired and hot, and schlepped our packs around the confusing maze of streets for nearly 3 hours before finding an open hostel. It turned out to be an hourly hostel (I´ll leave the story there...it´s really very gruesome) and we´re both still a bit freaked out by the experience days later.
We´re now settled into a wonderful backpackers hostel filled with really wonderful people. While we´re here on the only Sunday that there´s not a bullfight, I managed a tour of the bull ring, which is amazing and dissolved my trepidation about the whole practice. Bullfighting is a part of Spanish culture that dates back hundreds of years and is really more art than sport.
Two nights ago we attended a Flamenco show, an experience we hope to repeat tonight. Tapas and rioja fill our days and nights here with many new friends from around the world. Old buildings and piles of rocks are taken very seriously here, but I´ve about reached maximum capacity at this moment for those. So, we plan to spend some time in the outdoors. But, since it has been cold and raining for the past two days, we´ve had to curtail those plans. Instead of renting bikes today for exploring the countryside, we´re going shoe shopping. Seems like a fair trade-off to me.
We´re now settled into a wonderful backpackers hostel filled with really wonderful people. While we´re here on the only Sunday that there´s not a bullfight, I managed a tour of the bull ring, which is amazing and dissolved my trepidation about the whole practice. Bullfighting is a part of Spanish culture that dates back hundreds of years and is really more art than sport.
Two nights ago we attended a Flamenco show, an experience we hope to repeat tonight. Tapas and rioja fill our days and nights here with many new friends from around the world. Old buildings and piles of rocks are taken very seriously here, but I´ve about reached maximum capacity at this moment for those. So, we plan to spend some time in the outdoors. But, since it has been cold and raining for the past two days, we´ve had to curtail those plans. Instead of renting bikes today for exploring the countryside, we´re going shoe shopping. Seems like a fair trade-off to me.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
¿Acer sol?
This day in the Sierra Nevadas has convinced me that I was in fact hexed yesterday by the angry gypsys. Oh, that´s right. I haven´t told that story. Well...Sandra and I were walking through the square when two ladies pressed rosemary into our hands and began to tell our forture. It all happened too fast to protest and we went with it. It was quite hokey, but included blessing, stamping on the ground, assurances of long life, love and happiness. Whew! All was well until the end when my lady asked for payment. I was fine with giving her a euro, so began scrounging in my pocket. Meanwhile, Sandra was feeling very generous and had given her lady 5 euro. It only took 2 seconds for my lady to start clammoring for 5 as well. She wouldn´t accept less and I wouldn´t pay more, so I broke away from her and left the square quickly with her shouting behind me.
Fast forward to this morning. We awoke to cool temperatures and a bit of fog (the first day it´s been less than 75 and sunny). Traveling to the bus station to buy our ticket for the short drive to the mountain was simple enough, but when we arrived, we were only allowed to buy a one way ticket. We thought it was a mistake at first, but when we returned to the counter to exchange the ticket, we were met with much resistance. I argued as best as I could in Spanish, but it was no good. There was some screaming - on my part, in frustration - and on the part of the ticket vendor that we would miss our bus - so we decided to take our chances on the return and board. Worst case, we would hitch back, or sleep under the stars.
On the bus we met a group of fellow travelers in the same situation and we commiserated for a bit. When we arrived in Sierra Nevada, we were deposited on the side of the mountain in pea soup fog so thick we couldn´t see more than 5 feet or so. The driver waved farewell and pulled away. We were stuck. It made more sense to be stuck together than stuck apart...so that is how we acquired four Islamic traveling companions who were, incidentally, dressed only in shorts and t-shirts. It was less than 50 degrees on the mountain.
A la Maria von Trapp (albeit with slightly worse weather than on a typical Hollywood set), we set off on a few short walks that were manageable. Finding a pile of snow, an innocent lob of one small ball caused a full scale snowball fight. Not smart. Now, we are cold AND wet. But, we managed to scale a few sheer cliffs with loose rocks, observe an altar to Mary on a mountain top, and climb to the top of an observatory whose door was open (or maybe there wasn´t actually a door on it). Billy goat sentries watched us from high above in their watch tower, and we were lucky enough to get fairly close to the group they were guarding. We convinced a guard to let us pass through a military zone and eventually managed to find our way back to a tiny coffee shop despite a map that was written in German and the pea soup fog.
Soon enough, pea soup fog turned into full scale downpour and we still needed to walk an hour down the mountain. We had determined that a bus would return us to Granada at 5 PM. It was noon. Bob´s ski shack was friendly enough until about 2 when Bob had had enough of entertaining our motley crew. It was still pouring, so we begged him to take us partially down the mountain where we could meet our bus.
Once there, with travel companions who were nearly frozen, we found a cafe and spent the afternoon discussing religion and politics (shocker!). It was quite eye opening to hear our Muslim friends´perspectives on the war and the state of the world. They are also Britains and are more than willing to passionately discuss many subjects. There´s nothing like opening your mind and letting a few new perspectives in!
So, perhaps the hex has been lifted. Or perhaps there never was a hex. Whether my traveling companions agree or not, it was a skipping kind of day that I would repeat many times over.
Fast forward to this morning. We awoke to cool temperatures and a bit of fog (the first day it´s been less than 75 and sunny). Traveling to the bus station to buy our ticket for the short drive to the mountain was simple enough, but when we arrived, we were only allowed to buy a one way ticket. We thought it was a mistake at first, but when we returned to the counter to exchange the ticket, we were met with much resistance. I argued as best as I could in Spanish, but it was no good. There was some screaming - on my part, in frustration - and on the part of the ticket vendor that we would miss our bus - so we decided to take our chances on the return and board. Worst case, we would hitch back, or sleep under the stars.
On the bus we met a group of fellow travelers in the same situation and we commiserated for a bit. When we arrived in Sierra Nevada, we were deposited on the side of the mountain in pea soup fog so thick we couldn´t see more than 5 feet or so. The driver waved farewell and pulled away. We were stuck. It made more sense to be stuck together than stuck apart...so that is how we acquired four Islamic traveling companions who were, incidentally, dressed only in shorts and t-shirts. It was less than 50 degrees on the mountain.
A la Maria von Trapp (albeit with slightly worse weather than on a typical Hollywood set), we set off on a few short walks that were manageable. Finding a pile of snow, an innocent lob of one small ball caused a full scale snowball fight. Not smart. Now, we are cold AND wet. But, we managed to scale a few sheer cliffs with loose rocks, observe an altar to Mary on a mountain top, and climb to the top of an observatory whose door was open (or maybe there wasn´t actually a door on it). Billy goat sentries watched us from high above in their watch tower, and we were lucky enough to get fairly close to the group they were guarding. We convinced a guard to let us pass through a military zone and eventually managed to find our way back to a tiny coffee shop despite a map that was written in German and the pea soup fog.
Soon enough, pea soup fog turned into full scale downpour and we still needed to walk an hour down the mountain. We had determined that a bus would return us to Granada at 5 PM. It was noon. Bob´s ski shack was friendly enough until about 2 when Bob had had enough of entertaining our motley crew. It was still pouring, so we begged him to take us partially down the mountain where we could meet our bus.
Once there, with travel companions who were nearly frozen, we found a cafe and spent the afternoon discussing religion and politics (shocker!). It was quite eye opening to hear our Muslim friends´perspectives on the war and the state of the world. They are also Britains and are more than willing to passionately discuss many subjects. There´s nothing like opening your mind and letting a few new perspectives in!
So, perhaps the hex has been lifted. Or perhaps there never was a hex. Whether my traveling companions agree or not, it was a skipping kind of day that I would repeat many times over.
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