Thursday,
January 10,
2002
Estoy in Madrid! Yes, I arrived safely after a bumpy ride to London and
a much smoother, 2 hour hop to Madrid's airport. I was proud of myself
for remembering where to
catch the public bus to get downtown, which then required a
7 or 8 block walk to reach the hotel. With my backpack stretched to its
limits, weighing I don't know how much, and tired from the lack of
sleep from the crowded, overnight flight, I struggled
up the hill on the Gran Via where the hotel is located.
But, here I am enjoying the Spanish culture once more. Last night was
spent eating tapas, drinking a few (small) glasses of wine and
reacquainting myself with the city. The
first tapa of the night was a round piece of toast covered with a crab
and mayonnaise mixture, sporting a steamed shrimp and
two pieces of crab leg as decoration on top. They also gave me a
complimentary bar mix of nuts with the wine at my first stop.
The next tapa included sardines and olives, which were given free
with the wine in my next stop, but I then ordered anchovies on two
small pieces of toast to accompany the rest of my glass of red
wine. At my final stop of the evening, I ordered a racion (a
larger
portion than a tapa) of sautéed sepia (cuttlefish), which would
remind you of calamari. The three small glasses of wine
and my lack of sleep from the flight served to put me to sleep nicely
at 10:30, just when everyone else in town was getting ready to have
dinner. I slept the night away and awoke refreshed at 8:30, which
is very late for me.
Today was spent strolling the city. When was the last time you
strolled? I mean real strolling, with nothing to do and nowhere in
particular to go. It was a spectacular experience. I walked to the
Puerta del Sol (a main square),
to the Plaza Mayor (another main square), to the Palacio
Real (a huge palace, now partially a museum), through a beautiful
adjacent garden where I took time to look at the fountains and the
plantings, and continued back on the Gran Via to the hotel. On the
stroll, I had a small breakfast of cafe con leche and
a sweet roll where locals were stopping for their breakfast
on the way to work. It was a great morning stroll. In the afternoon, I
strolled in the other direction, but I won't go into detail. Suffice it
to say that I had a day to waste, but it was no waste
at all. I strolled, I got accustomed to the time change, and I
enjoyed the Spanish culture. It was a great day. Take the time,
go for a stroll!
Tomorrow I work. I must walk to meet my new employer and the other
teachers and students at 1:15 p.m. Then we
board a chartered bus for the 4 hour trip to Caceres where
the immersion school will be conducted. I am eager for the experience.
I will be out of touch, however, for the next ten
days, so please forgive my
absence. There is no internet access at the hotel (there is, but only
for use by the hotel), so I will not be writing for a while. That is
why the first page of my journal was so extensive. I figure that if you
read slowly, you won't even know I was gone. See you in ten days. Hasta
luego.
Friday, January 11,
2002
I had a fun evening last night with a couple of
great experiences that I can relate. First, I found the restaurant/bar
that I enjoyed so much on a prior visit to Madrid. It is called the
Neru and specializes in food from the Asturia region of Spain, which is
south of San Sebastien. I had two small glasses of wine and the tapas
that were served free with each drink order.
The
first tapa was the potato omelet that is so common here. It was served
on a piece of toast. Then, I was served a piece of bread with blue
cheese spread on it. Both were delicious. The bar was a beehive
of activity with many locals discussing the news of the day, etc. The
restaurant is downstairs and didn't open until after 8:00 p.m., but in
the meantime everybody from the area seemed to gather at the bar to
talk.
I spent almost all the time talking to an old man
(he was
even older than I). He didn't speak English, so we struggled to
understand one another. I understood a few words that he was saying,
but he sure thought that I understood a lot more. We joked with the
bartender, whom I asked if he spoke English. The old man says, "He
barely speaks Spanish," or something to that effect, and we all
laughed. Then every time the bartender came near I would ask him
something in English and we would all
laugh again. I guess that you had to be there and have a glass or
two of wine to enjoy the experience.
The
other experience that evening was not such a pleasant one. Before I
reached the bar, I stopped in a Farmacia (pharmacy in English) to get
some Ibuprofen. When I came out
of the Farmacia, which was on a back street, not far from the
Plaza Mayor, a big guy with a map of Madrid approached me. He asked in
Spanish if I knew how to get to Gran Via, which is probably the only
thing that I did know. As I started to direct him, another,
smaller man in a blue topcoat flashed a badge and ordered us to produce
passports. I was immediately suspicious and instead of getting the
passport out of the security bag beneath my belt, I said that I didn't
understand. Then he said, would you rather speak English and, of
course, I said yes. His English was not too good. He claimed to be with
the
Policia Tourista or some such thing protecting tourists from
pickpockets, etc. He again demanded to see both of our passports. While
the other
guy reached in his coat to get his, I said, "no lo tengo." (I don't
have
it.) He asked where it was and I said back at the hotel. He said, which
hotel, and when I told him the name of the little hostal, I think that
he lost a little interest. But, he whipped out a cell phone and said,
what
is your room number? I told him and he pretended to talk to someone on
the phone (my hotel never got a call, which is what I suspected).
He then asked for another form of identification and although I had
my wallet with a driver's license, I said, "I will show it to you in
the Farmacia. I will not show it to you here. I do not know you." And
I started to walk to the Farmacia, which was only a couple of doors
away. He said, "wait, aren't you two together?" and when we said no,
he said that we could go.
The other guy left in a hurry and the little
guy with the badge warned me again about pickpockets and pointed in the
direction of the other guy. I walked slowly away, thanking him for
helping me, but I know that the two of them were trying to rip me off.
They would have grabbed the wallet out of my
hands and run away had I complied with his request.
As I walked around the corner to the bar where I had
so much
fun, I was really proud of myself. I stayed calm, refused to let the
badge bully me into compliance and warded off the criminals. I had my
mace in my pocket, but never thought about it until later. If it had
become physical, I'm sure that I would have remembered it.
The
whole thing only lasted a few minutes, but it could have been an
expensive problem. I only had about $30 in my
pants pocket, so they wouldn't have gotten much if they had pick
pocketed me. If I had given them my wallet, they would have gotten
no money, because I only keep pictures and ID in there. Had I
gotten out my security pouch, however, they could have gotten a
couple of hundred dollars in Euros, and maybe $50 American as well
as both of my credit cards and my passport. It was another great
lesson on why you keep all of your valuables under your clothes and to
always be aware of your surroundings.
Wednesday, January
23, 2002
OK, I'm
back! I hope that you
haven't lost interest while I was away. Let me tell you about the
10 days of English at the national parque at Monfrague:
I met some of the group at the assigned street
corner in
Madrid on Friday afternoon and we got acquainted on the four hour ride
to the four star hotel that would house the English sessions. A large
segment of the group, especially the Spaniards, drove there by
themselves. I had a private room and bath, which was
fine. The three meals a day were adequate, but most people, especially
the Spaniards, were complaining about the quality of the food.
Wine was served with lunch and dinner, but the quality of the vino
tinto was not very good either. Suffice it to say that I survived the
meals quite well, since I am not too difficult to please. I even
enjoyed the mortilla, blood sausage, which was served on top of a bowl
of garbanzo beans for lunch one day. The English
teaching was interesting and went very well. I actually
did little teaching, except for correcting pronunciation and suggesting
some vocabulary changes. The idea was to immerse
the Spaniards in 16 hours a day of English spoken by native speakers.
The Spaniard business executives, all at different conversational
levels, had studied English for a number of years, but had not gotten a
chance to dialogue with native speakers. Native speaking English
folks are hard to find in Madrid and these executives were very timid
about their capabilities in the new language. There was a rotation, so
that every hour I began a conversation with a new Spaniard until
the cycle was completed and then it was started again.
After a couple of days of instruction, with
participants making evening presentations to the entire group until
dinner started at 9:00 p.m., things were going too smoothly. It was
then that I started to develop the earache. It was excruciating enough
to send me away from the dinner table to seek relief, although it came
and left quite suddenly. It awoke me at night several times and finally
I decided that I needed to see a dentist. An appointment was made for
me at the village of Trujillo, which was a 30 minute car ride away. The
dentist took an x-ray, but found nothing wrong in the three
teeth in which I thought the problem might lie. He prescribed a mild
antibiotic and a pain pill and I returned to the hotel hoping
for relief.
The relief was not to come and two days later, after
biting on
a piece of crust, which finally pinpointed the problem, I was taken to
another dentist in a different town, Placensia. I was
taken there because the Trujillo dentist had no openings. The new guy
x-rayed the newly found tooth, found no problems with the nerves under
the crown, but identified a bone infection in the bone under the
nerves. He prescribed stronger antibiotics and pain pills
and sent me on my way, telling me that we wouldn't know until later
if the tooth could be saved. Trust me, after watching the two dentists
give me x-rays without putting a lead apron on me, and not leaving the
room themselves, I will save any work that needs to be done
for the specialists in Madrid. One of these dentists held the film in
my mouth by hand with a clamp while the picture was taken. The pain has
subsided, but I have a feeling that the endodontists in Madrid will be
getting a new patient in a week or two. The whole dental experience has
been very interesting.
The 15
Spaniards, 15 Anglos, and the company's representatives got along
extremely well and we said our good-byes only after exchanging
addresses and emails all around. Kent, a New
York born, former professor of literature, who is now an MBA
business consultant living in Germany, drove from Dusseldorf to Madrid
to take part in the class. His wife is president of
Johnson and Johnson, Europe, and he will also teach in the February
class. He wanted to go to Portugal on his way home, because he
had never been there. I decided to accompany him and we were joined
by Patricia, a turkey farmer from the Ozarks who is a pretty tough, old
bird herself and willing to tag along with two men. This
was the third time that Patricia had participated in one of these
classes, but she will return to Arkansas before the next class. I will
discuss our encounters in Portugal in my next update.
Thursday,
January 24,
2002
The three of us, Kent, Patricia, and I drove to
Merida, Spain, site of many beautiful Roman ruins, including a theatre
which is able to hold 6000 spectators. I
also
went to a Farmacia so that I could pick up an additional four-day
supply of amoxycillin for my tooth. No prescription necessary, the
pharmacist filled my verbal request with nary a blink.
We then drove on the beautiful, four-lane highway
all the way to Lisbon with very few cars on the road. Traffic increased
as we approached Lisbon on Sunday afternoon, but we had no trouble
navigating straight through to Cascais, my favorite fishing village at
the end of the Lisbon train line along the ocean to the tip of
Portugal's nose. We quickly registered at the little hotel where I
stayed last year and drove along the ocean road, crowded with local
Sunday sightseers. We stopped for Sunday dinner in a crowded
restaurant where the seafood was delicious, but expensive. After
dinner, we continued 20 minutes more to Cabo de Roca, Europe's
westernmost point, to watch the sunset.
It was
great to hear the exclamations of appreciation for the
beauty of the Portuguese coast. Kent thought that it reminded him of
the California coast along U.S. route 1, near where he
lived for several years, while he worked with the area's venture
capitalists. Patricia kept exclaiming about how much she loved the
ocean. I guess they don't have an ocean in the Ozarks, do
they? The ocean was rolling tremendous waves with the approaching
storm that gave us two days of rain, which began the following morning.
We spent Monday dodging raindrops in the nearby
mountain village of Sintra, which is a heavily visited tourist Mecca,
featuring the ancient village and a castle at the mountain's peak. Both
Kent and Patricia love to window shop, which is a different type of
recreation than I enjoy. I endured long enough to make it to the lunch
break in a little local restaurant where we enjoyed a delicious meal.
The late afternoon and early evening hours were
spent in Lisbon traffic jams after Kent ignored my advice to go back to
Cascais and take the train to the nation's capital. We got pretty wet
in the rain as we tried to see a few of the sights before Kent's
morning departure back to Germany. The evening was spent dining in one
of my favorite restaurants in Barrio Alto where
we enjoyed a great Cataplana. A Cataplana is a Portuguese seafood stew,
not unlike a French Bouillabaisse with fish, shrimp, clams, etc. We
were all thrilled with the meal and the friendly service.
Two bottles of wine to accompany the meal and many appetizers left
each of us with a bill of $20. Portugal is great!!
In the
morning, Kent left for Germany and Patricia and I left
for Seville on the bus, or so we thought when we left the hotel.
The hotel clerk attempted to call the bus station to
obtain the schedule for Seville, but was unable to make contact due to
a constantly busy telephone. We left anyway, hoping for the best. We
took the 30-minute train ride to Lisbon, and then caught a cab to the
bus station. It was there that we learned that buses to
Seville only depart on alternate days and today wasn't one of them.
I then asked about a bus to Faro in the southern Algarve section of
Portugal. We could get to Faro, but there was no connecting bus until
the following morning. That is what we decided to do, so after a
five-hour bus ride we spent the night in Faro.
We awoke early to catch the 8:10 a.m. bus to
Seville, which was no problem since our hotel was almost next door to
the bus station. The bus stopped in every village between Faro and
Huelva, Spain, so the ride to Seville was another five-hour trip in a
pouring rain. But, here we are, a day later in beautiful
Seville. Patricia took a tour bus ride this morning, while I sat
outside at a cafe in the sun for one and a half hours, reading the
USA Today, thirsty for knowledge of home. It is in the mid-60's today.
She is still out there somewhere and I am hoping that she can find her
way back to the new hotel, which we moved to this morning. Her room was
ready, but mine still needed cleaning. So, I will return after
completing this dissertation to unpack my bag again. We settled for a
hotel
just to get out of a pouring rain yesterday, but have moved down the
street to a wonderful, little hostel where we got rooms for $20/night.
This place is much cleaner and prettier and we are both a lot happier.
I will leave now to unpack again. I'll update you when something
interesting happens. Adios.
Monday,
January 28, 2002
It was a quiet weekend in Seville, with great
weather and temperatures reaching into the 60's. I saw youngsters
without shirts paddling in a pedal boat on the Guadilquivir River
yesterday. There were also quite a few young girls wearing sleeveless
blouses and no jackets in the heat of the day. I think that they were
pushing
the season a little, however. The temperature is forecast to reach 68
degrees today, so it is very nice.
I think that I must say a few words about the change
to the Euro being made by all European Market countries except Denmark,
Sweden, and Great Britain. Portugal and Spain are doing a fantastic job
and have made the adjustment very rapidly. When I first arrived, eight
days after the advent of the Euro, people were struggling with the
identification of coins, changing from pesetas or escudos (Portugal) to
Euros, and the general problem of using two currencies. The old
currencies are legal tender until the end of the transition period on
the last day in February. It was very evident that they were confused
and pained expressions, too much change, and other problems occurred
pretty regularly. One cafe that I went into in Madrid posted a sign
that read, "Clients who pay in Euros will get Euros in change. Clients
who pay in pesetas will get pesetas in change."
Today, only 21 days later, the changeover is pretty
complete. Clerks will closely examine the coins to be sure of the
denominations, but that is the only problem still remaining and that
won't
last long. Older folks are having a little more trouble, but I have
seen some carrying calculators so they can compute each
transaction. Now, I never get pesetas in change and have seen no signs
like the one earlier in the month in Madrid. It has been an
unbelievable task for these folks, but it has made traveling from
country to country a whole lot easier. Can you imagine the troubles
that would arise if we had to completely change our monetary system? Do
you remember the hassle that ensued when we were going to change to the
metric system? This has been a very impressive changeover.
I talked to a British man at dinner the other night
and he thinks that the British won't be far behind in switching to the
Euro. He says that as soon as it starts costing the British money, like
when the Euro rises and the pound falls, the British will
demand that the government change. I do believe that Sweden and
Denmark will change quickly, seeing the success that other countries
have had. It is pretty hard to predict what the proud British will
do, however. My hat is off to these folks for the unbelievably smooth
job they have done to make the conversion.
Today, I go to an endodontist to get my tooth
evaluated. I have experienced no further pain, but somehow, it just
doesn't feel right. I don't want to cause another problem when I return
to teach English again, so I will have the thing taken care of here. I
will keep you posted on the process.
Patricia has left to return to Madrid and then to
Arkansas, so I am alone now. It was nice to have someone to talk to at
mealtime, but it will be nice to be alone again, too. No one to meet,
no discussions in English of where to eat, no pressures of time,
nothing to do. Sounds boring doesn't it? It happens in great weather,
though, and I am now completely immersed in the Spanish language, which
will make me grow, I'm certain.
I will keep you posted, if I can keep from dozing
too long during
my siestas, which happen to be a wonderful custom. I recommend them
highly. Hasta luego!
Thursday,
January 31,
2002
It is now 48 hours or so since my root canal and I
can discuss the
Spanish dental procedures with you. On my first visit to the
modern dental office, I was ushered into the examination room and met
with the dentist, Dr. Manuel Garcia Calderon, who was quite
possibly the most handsome man that I have seen in Europe (relax
ladies, I took his picture and it is on the way home to be displayed in
my photo section). I was a little concerned about sanitation
when I saw the galvanized bucket holding tools in the corner, hanging
from a pulley and a winch of some kind. Sensing my concern, the doctor
assured me that they clean the tools with the finest vinagre after
every patient, which eased my mind a little. Again, they took x-rays of
the top and bottom teeth, while the pretty technicians leaned over me
holding the film in a clamp in my mouth. I enjoyed the proximity of
the pretty technicians (Olga and Sandra), but I worried about their
exposure. Later, they gave me another x-ray on a machine that traveled
in an arc around my jaw and scanned my whole mouth. I have never
had that kind of x-ray and it seemed like a very modern process. The
technicians left the room for this photo, so I felt a little better.
The dentist spoke very little English and asked me
to slow down as I explained my problem, but as his confidence grew, he
became pretty comfortable speaking English with me. He agreed with the
dentist in Placensia and said that the infection had gotten worse,
although I felt really good at the time. He said that he thought that a
root canal would help with the pain.
He explained that he wasn't licensed to do root
canals (I think that
he may have been an orthodontist), but that another dentist in the
office could do it tomorrow, if they changed their schedules a little
bit. He also told me that he had played golf that morning and that he
would ride his 750 cc BMW cycle to work the next day so that I could
see it. Nice bike!
I arrived the next day, feeling great, to have Dr.
Rosario Compagni Morales do the work. What a shock to find that Dr.
Rosario was a pretty woman and a very skilled endodontist. Men, her
picture is on the way to my photo album, too. When you are a tourist,
you can
talk almost anyone into posing.
Actually, I must tell you before I describe the
surgery, that there was no bucket of tools soaking in vinagre. The
office looked every bit as modern and professional as any that I have
been to in our country. I made that part up to create an atmosphere of
tension.
The dentist and Ester, her hygienist, did a very
professional job and
the only discomfort I felt was from keeping my mouth wide
open for an hour. After the Novocain shots, there wasn't a bit
of pain. She didn't even ask if anything hurt before starting to drill;
she was that confident of the effectiveness of the couple
of shots she had given. She finished drilling through the crown, taking
out the nerves, filling the hole with antiseptic or whatever,
and closing the crown permanently - job done. She gave me a
prescription for a pain pill, if I had any pain, she said, and I left
still feeling pretty good.
I want to tell you, though, that after the Novocain
wore off, I spent 24 hours in excruciating pain. I don't know if it was
from
the root canal or if the infection just got upset because we stirred up
its environment again. Suffice it to say that the 600 mg of Ibuprofen
that she had prescribed didn't dent the pain. All
of the Spanish folks that I talked to seriously recommended vino tinto
(red wine) as a painkiller, so I obliged and found them right. I didn't
eat much solid food yesterday, and drank red wine for lunch and dinner,
but this morning I am feeling better. I hope that this
episode is behind me. I have now had six root canals. The first four
were without pain and I wondered what all of the fuss was about from
folks who commiserated with me. The last two have been with great pain
and I now know why everyone sympathizes so much.
There you have it: a foreign dental experience! In a
day or two, it
will be a haircut. It is pretty difficult to have this much fun at
home, except maybe at funerals.
Saturday,
February 2, 2002
It has
been 36 hours or so since I have taken anything for pain,
not counting the medicinal red wine taken with lunch and dinner. The
pain seems to be totally gone and I am grateful to the Spanish dental
profession for helping out with what turned into a major health
problem.
Now, the haircut story, but what kind of story could
there be with a simple haircut? I submit the following, each and every
word truthful with nothing added for local color or to increase
suspense:
EARS!! It has
been said that the ears are the last things to stop growing
and probably even grow an entire lifetime. I can now verify that
information. Each of us has this confidential, little understanding
with our barbers and beauticians to make us look better. For some of us
it is hair color, for others it is covering bald spots, for me, it is
hiding my ears. My barber and I have the understanding that it is
necessary to leave the hair above my ears full, so that the size of my
ears is not exposed for all the world to see. This has been true since
the flattop era of high school and college days, when tightly cropped
hair above my hairs made me look like a taxi, with both front doors
open, coming toward you down the street.
Getting your hair cut by someone with whom you
cannot communicate your secret, barber-client understanding leads to
the problem I now face. It began when I decided not to use elaborate
hand gestures to communicate the importance of hiding my protruding
ears with this
new barber. At the time, I couldn't even remember the word for ears;
and how often does that word come up in a normal conversation, anyway?
It seemed like a modern hair salon, serving both men
and women with eight or ten chairs and both male and female barbers. I
decided to
leave myself in the hands of the very nicely coiffed barber, who
had just finished stylishly cutting a young man's hair. What the
heck, I don't know anybody in this country and hair grows back, right?
With no apparent regard for the hairstyle, which I
had when I sat down, the guy cut and just kept cutting. Spraying water
to wet the
hair, which is just like what my barber does at home, he just kept
cutting, but without the secret understanding. I should note that with
my glasses off, I am blind as a bat and unable to see anything in the
omnipresent, facing mirror, so I couldn't see to
stop him.
I secretly hoped that he had produced a new "do"
that would take many years off my image. He handed me my glasses and
the hand mirror so I could examine his handiwork. EARS, all that I
could see were the EARS!! My God, they had continued growing!!
They were much bigger
than during the flattop era. Upon closer inspection, I realized that he
had ignored the uncommunicated, confidential, barber-client
understanding and cropped the hair above my ears to "buzz length." He
had also combed my hair straight back and painstakingly dried each
section, so that the ears were even more pronounced. I retired to my
room, hoping that a shower and some personal attention to restyling
could compensate. Wrong!
I don't think
that it is my imagination, but now I hear the Spanish word,
"orejas,"(ears) wherever I go. People are talking about them when they
pass me. This morning, as I sat reading the paper in the bright
sunshine, the most popular tables were behind me,
where the ears had provided shade. Immediately after the haircut
and before I had restyled, I asked a store clerk next door to take
a picture for posterity, although no one will be permitted to see
it until my passing. The hair will grow out and, trust me, I won't
return home until it does. Until then, I will endure the embarrassment
and the popularity in sunny spots to continue to learn about the
Spanish culture. What in the world could happen next? Stay tuned.
Sunday, February 3,
2002
Although still a
serious candidate for ear reduction and ear tuck surgery,
I have decided to go on with my life. I figure that there are
many others with heavier crosses to bear and eventually this problem
will disappear with new growth. The problem certainly didn't interfere
with my social life last night and that is the subject of my next
update, which comes prematurely before the tale is forgotten.
Honest to God, if I weren't living these things, I
wouldn't believe them myself. Unfortunately, I am not good enough
to create these tales fictionally; I have to live them. While writing
to my wife on the internet, yesterday, I developed a strong craving for
sushi. I usually get this craving monthly at home and find a restaurant
that can satisfy my hunger. This time, I remembered the Japanese
restaurant that I had passed during one of my trips on the public buses
here. It was about 8:00 p.m. when I boarded a bus that I thought might
take me near the restaurant that I had seen.
The bus was pretty full of people returning home
from shopping and I sat next to an old man who tried to help me find
the restaurant. We didn't see any, but he was delighted to help me
after I responded to his question by telling him that I was an
American. I saw a warmth that I am not always accustomed to in this
country toward Americans, although perhaps people think that I am
British whom they do not care for very much. After he exited the bus,
his place was taken by a woman in her 30’s who explained that there was
a Japanese restaurant near her bus stop and she would take me there. It
is amazing how helpful people are almost anywhere in the world when you
need a hand. She was walking to another bus stop and the Japanese
restaurant that I had seen was right there at her next bus stop. I
thanked her and walked into the Restaurant. It was now 8:40 p.m. and
the restaurant was not yet open, although the front door was
ajar. It usually didn't open until 9:00 or 9:30, the young employees
told me. I told them that I would return, fully expecting to do so.
I decided to walk up the street and look for a bar
to have a drink, a tapa, or both. I ended up finding the first shopping
center that I have seen in Seville. The place was packed with people
and in the center of the large, open air lobby was a portable ice rink,
full of skaters. The center of the rink was water, since the warm air
wasn't compatible with the ice, but it didn't stop the enthusiastic
skaters from buzzing around the oval. I watched for a while and headed
back to the restaurant. I walked past a bar that I had passed minutes
earlier, when it had a few people sitting at outside tables. It was now
packed with people inside and out, eating tapas. The thought of the
sushi quickly left me, since I know that the most important
characteristic to look for in finding a good restaurant is a lot of
people.
I took a stool from a woman who was just leaving and
she spoke a few words of English, identifying me as American to the
bartender. The bartender went overboard with hospitality, recommending
that I try the rosemary encrusted, roasted pork ribs. I had three as a
tapa to
accompany my Vodka tonic. I needed a break from all of the red wine.
The ribs were great, as were the three, small pieces of grilled pork
loin that he recommended next. The third tapa, which completely ended
my hunger for the night and wiped out any remaining thoughts of sushi,
was a large, delicious grilled calamari. After saying that I would
return,
I paid the bill and headed back to the bus stop.
The remainder of
the story I attribute to my lifelong friend, Danny, who
has modeled a "seize the moment" philosophy for my entire life and
especially during all of our winter golfing trips to
Puerto Rico. Many times, I get into strange situations, ready to
quickly extricate myself, and then I think, "What would Danny do
in this situation?" and I decide to go with the flow and get involved.
Well, you had to know the philosophy before you know why I reacted like
I did when three elderly women in evening gowns with shawls
over their shoulders approached me and asked in Spanish, "Do you know
where the Mambo Discothèque is located?"
I started to reply that I had no idea and that I
spoke little Spanish, when
I remembered that I had walked past a sign that said "Baile
Mambo," which I thought was a Spanish dancing school. Now realizing
that it was the place they were looking for, I started giving them
directions. Then, Danny's philosophy hit and I said, "Come
with me." I walked them the two blocks to the disco and they invited me
in. I was curious to see what kind of disco these ladies would be
visiting, so I followed.
You won't believe it, I swear I don't make this
stuff up; I walked right into a senior citizen disco. More than 50
people from ages 60 to 80
were dancing, sitting in sofas, and enjoying the drink that went
with the cover charge. Most were women in their 70’s, wearing
low-cut gowns and shawls and missing some teeth.
I watched in amazement as the elderly enthusiasts,
with smiles beaming on their
faces, matched the throbbing of the music using bodies which
carried the weight of their years. I should have had this on videotape,
but even then, you wouldn't believe it. I barely do myself, but it was
really enjoyable. This was, quite probably, the
only disco in the world where I could still be a bouncer. There
wasn't anybody in the place that I couldn't handle.
I was the new man on the block and I sat in a love
seat near the dance floor where almost every dowager in the place
danced past me to see
if I was interested. I kept fighting off their advances:
they didn’t seem to be put-off by my ears. I knew I had to
show these ladies that I was just as “with it” as they were. I
finally accepted a dance and we boogied our way to the center of the
dance floor. All the women stood still and watched in awe as I
shook my booty!
Disappointing all the other
ladies waiting to dance with me, I finished my drink and returned to
the bus stop, only to find that the buses weren't running from that
stop this late at night. It was 11:50 p.m. and I asked directions to
center city and walked home, arriving at 12:50 p.m. I walked all of the
way, seeing many people
up and about, never once fearing for my safety. It is amazing just how
safe it is here. They are doing something right and perhaps, just
perhaps, it is the complete absence of guns. I won't go into my
handgun control lecture here, but it surely is a different, safer
environment without them.
Story over! I had a wonderful evening, dining and
doing things very unexpected. Thanks, Danny, for the philosophy that
permitted it. What will today bring? I have no earthly idea. Hasta
luego.
Thursday, February
7, 2002
Today is my last day
in Sevilla, after a wonderful stay where my tooth has healed, my
Spanish has improved slightly, and I have met some nice people. I am
healthy, rested, laundered, coiffed, danced out, and ready for the
second class of Spanish students. Tomorrow morning I leave on the 9:00
a.m. bullet train for Madrid, where I will catch the bus with a new
group of students and teachers for the trip to the hotel in Monfrague
National Park.
On Tuesday, I took a
day trip to the old Spanish beach city of Cadiz, which is
on the Mediterranean. I enjoyed the visit, got some sun while
walking the promenade overlooking the beach, and exhausted myself with
the miles of walking. Where is Leonardo when I really need him? I miss
him, not just for the transportation, but also for the
companionship. Despite his Italian heritage, he listened when
I spoke in English to him and he was smart enough not to argue with me.
This city has been great and I have been able to
make a number of observations while
watching the many tourists who visit. I will share them with
you, to help enlighten:
RANDOM RAMBLINGS:
- 1. Before going to a country with a
language different than
yours, practice their language a little, and get a pocket phrase book,
like Berlitz, to help you communicate. DO NOT EXPECT THEM TO SPEAK
ENGLISH! Yesterday, I watched three elderly German ladies enter the
tapas bar where I was having lunch, to peruse the tapas
display on top of the bar. They had a table outside and wanted to see
what the wonderful, little bar had to offer. This was all very proper,
locals do it all of the time. These ladies, however, pointed to
something
and asked in German, "Eggs?" The waiter had no idea what they were
saying, nor did I at the time, so they said it louder, then louder
again. This was doing no good at all, but they were very upset with the
waiter.
Was he deaf?? Finally, they pointed to something and returned to their
table, very frustrated. The waiter delivered the food, then came in
to ask me what juze meant. I assumed that they were trying English on
him or maybe that is the word for juice in German, so I told him the
Spanish
word, whereupon he took the ladies the juice, which they wanted. How
much more enjoyable for the ladies and the waiter if they had used a
Berlitz book to look up the word for eggs or juice in Spanish. I later
tried to talk to them in English and they couldn't speak that language,
either, and weren't very pleasant in telling me so. I don't think that
they were always miserable; I think the frustration from lack of
communication got to them. Get a Berlitz pocket book.
- 2. When you go to another country, part of
the fun is to
experience the culture there, which means the food, the music, and the
social customs. I talked for 15 minutes or so yesterday, while
sitting on a bench in the sun along the Guadalquivir River, to a
British man who was here on a 5-day trip. Earlier, while I was reading
the paper, he had been talking to a male traveling companion and I
heard them say that they were in day three of their trip and that five
days were enough to see Sevilla. Later, after his friend had gone to
photograph the bullring, we talked. He informed me of the great Chinese
restaurant in which he had dined last night and recommended it to me. I
told him that I usually ate Spanish food while in Spain and he asked me
if I had tried any of the tapas, badly mispronuncing the word. I told
him that I ate them regularly and that most often that is all that I
ate for dinner. "Two or three tapas and a glass or two of red
wine usually fill me," I said. He replied, "I haven't tried any of
those, are they safe to eat?" I suggested that perhaps he could find a
fish and
chips place and I remembered a pizza place nearby for him. They should
make
him feel right at home.
- 3. When in a different country, expect
foods to be different. If
they weren't, what would be the point in coming? If you order something
with mayonnaise here, expect it to be served in almost a gallon bucket.
They use a lot of mayonnaise. It is easy to eat
around all of the mayonnaise without pointing out to the waiter that
they serve too much mayonnaise. They just do it differently. Enjoy the
differences, that's what makes foreign travel so great.
Try the tripe with cabbage and garbanzo beans, try the octopus salad,
try the black rice, made with squid in its own ink. The cheeses are
different, the meat is different, the bread is different, the coffee is
different (thank God), the things that they cook are different, and
they are prepared differently. How wonderful! They even cut their
chicken
pieces differently. Don't they even know how to cut up a chicken?
- 4. Switch to the local time schedule. By
that, I mean adopt the
schedule that the locals follow. Then, you will be able to experience
the way that they really live. Here, there are very few people on the
streets before 9:00 a.m. Stores open at 10:00, then close from 2:00 to
5:00 p.m. for lunch and siesta
or whatever. Offices follow a similar schedule, but seem to start and
end earlier. The stores reopen from 5:00 until 8:30 or 9:00 p.m., when
people by the thousands stroll the streets, shopping and window
shopping.
Until 8:00 p.m., restaurants serve drinks and tapas, little portions of
delicious, safe food. Larger portions, called raciones, are also
available.
After 8:00 p.m., restaurants stop serving tapas and prepare to serve
dinner.
I had a sit-down, restaurant dinner for a change last night and I was
the first one in the restaurant at 9:30 p.m. After I told her that I
knew that I was a little early, the waitress told me that the tables
nearby were reserved for parties who would be coming at 10:30 and
11:00. It is
difficult sometimes, but adopting the local schedule will allow you to
experience life as the locals do.
- 5. Expect other differences, too. The
public buses and trains
will be plentiful and on time, for instance. But, the
toilets will be different, so prepare yourself for the challenge of
finding handles, reading the labels for men's and ladies' rooms, and
showering or bathing with different hardware. Prepare yourself for
this, unless you use the large four or five star hotels or the American
chain hotels, and if you do that, why not just
stay at home and save the money?
- 6. Pack less clothing than you will need!
There is nothing I hate
more than to carry a bag of clothing and not use some of it. They sell
clothes in the rest of the countries of the world. I have yet to see
naked people in any of the four continents that I have visited. If you
need something, buy it. That is far better than carrying too much with
you. I laugh when I see people, mostly women, struggling with several
heavy bags at the airport or train station. Hello, nobody knows you
here and they wear clothing until it gets dirty, unlike at home where
we change it every day. Chances are, you won't see anybody more than
one day in a row, unless they are traveling with you. I am currently
wearing my oldest sweater. When the weather warms, the sweater will be
given to one of the many homeless that I see
and my bag will have that much more space. Incidentally, I wore out one
of my three pairs of travel underwear the other day and bought a brand
new pair of nylon underwear manufactured in Italy. It dries overnight,
too. Imagine that, they have underwear in Europe, lots of Calvin Klein,
too!
- 7. Bring only two pairs of comfortable
shoes. I said comfortable,
who cares about stylish? Remember, you don't know anybody here and you
can't wear more than one pair at a time. You will walk more than you
ever thought, so make sure these are good, walking shoes that are
broken in. Nothing will ruin a trip faster than sore dogs. The bottoms
of the shoes should also be easily cleanable (see the next rambling).
- 8. Speaking of dogs, European civilization
has been here for
thousands of years and they still don't have a pooper-scooper law.
Doggie do-do is everywhere and you must constantly be alert. Remember,
everything is paved, most often in cobblestones, and the dogs have
nowhere else to go. I saw a dog on a leash last night, scratching
the cobblestones to cover the mess he had made. The lady holding the
leash never blinked and just went on her way, forcing the rest of us to
be constantly vigilant.
It sounds like I like
this place and I do, but
I must confess to a little homesickness this year. It started with the
tooth, but
I am still battling it now that I have recovered. I miss my wife
and family, of course. I also miss the things about home that
Europeans like about our country when they visit. I miss America's
freshness. Everything is, relatively speaking, very new in our country.
Here, the
buildings, streets, and services show the signs of the thousands of
years
that people have been using them. The grime of time, the slow
disintegration
of stone and brick, and the narrow streets all speak of times gone by.
America is fresh and new. I'd like it even better with good, public bus
and train service, less dependence on automobiles, fewer handguns,
etc.,
etc., but I sure miss its freshness right now.
I leave now for the 10 day teaching session, after
which I travel to Tenerife to
see my wife and my son's family. Perhaps the grandchildren and
the family members will help cure the homesick blues that I
occasionally battle. I will try to update you from Tenerife in the
Canary Islands.
I will have a lot to report, no doubt. Adios.
Wednesday,
February 20,
2002
I am writing from Tenerife, where the temperature is
in the 70's and the sun is shining brightly. I arrived here after a two
and a half hour flight from Madrid on a charter flight full of Spanish
teenagers. The teens were well behaved and inexperienced enough in air
flight to cheer take-off, landing, and every bump along the way, making
the trip a
lot of fun. It was great to see my wife, my son, his wife, and my
two excited grandchildren waiting for me at the airport. There is
nothing like an excited grandchild to make a guy feel pretty darned
important.
The second English program went very well and I
would like to think that I helped the
Spanish speakers learn a little more about the English language.
In both programs I met some wonderful Anglo and Spanish participants.
We will no doubt keep in touch for many years to come. The management
of the program was wonderful; going overboard to ensure that both
Anglos and Spanish benefited from the time spent working together. I
commend them for running an efficient program while not forgetting the
human element involved. The first time I did the dentist thing. This
time several participants needed the care of doctors and the on-site
managers attended to all needs in a concerned and caring manner.
Traveling to a foreign land to participate in such a program is a
matter of putting yourself in someone else's hands. These were caring
hands and I appreciated their efforts.
Now, it is time to rest and get tanned while
enjoying the time with my family. On Saturday, however, the family
heads back to Frankfurt and my wife follows that with a flight home. I
will spend a couple of extra days here, before departing on Monday for
the flight to Barcelona. After that, I guess I will go where the
winds blow warm. If it is warm in Rome, I'll head that way. If it is
too cold there, it will be on to Sicily, although if the weatherman
says it is cold there, too, I will not hesitate to return to Seville,
where it will be gorgeous. I will try to keep in touch as the geography
allows. In the meantime, hasta luego.
Sunday, February
24, 2002
I am writing from Tenerife on my last day in the
Canary Islands. Tomorrow morning, at 7:10 a.m., it is off to Barcelona.
Tenerife's weather has been all that was advertised. It will be
difficult to leave the temperatures in the mid-70's and return to the
continent, where spring has not yet officially arrived and the
temperatures hover between the mid-50's and
60's. The continent holds more allure for me, however. Tenerife has
little more than the weather and some unbelievable volcanic topography
to recommend it. The place reminds one of what Ocean City, Maryland,
would be without
zoning laws. Streets and highways are lined with high-rise hotels and
resorts and everywhere there are glitzy tourist traps of restaurants,
souvenir shops, and bars. It is pretty hard to find any real Canary
Island culture, except in the interior as one climbs toward the top of
the volcano.
For all of my male friends out there with
testosterone buildup, however, the place is full of German, British,
Italian, and Russian tourists, most of whom practice the custom of
sunbathing topless!! A lesser man would
spend the day by the pool or the beach ogling the sweet young things,
as well as their mothers and grandmothers, many of whom are topless. I,
however, have spent most of my time at the local library researching
the culture of these islands. It is fascinating.
The nights here are a little crazy, probably like
Ocean City during the summer time, with live music blaring out of most
of the open-air bars. Many of the entertainers are visible and
performing very near the street, so that a stroll
can get you a sampling of the evening's entertainment. A short stroll
and a quick sandwich made an evening for me last night. I was tired
from the long day at the library.
I will update again from Barcelona after a few days
to get the lay of the land there. Until then, hasta la vista!
Friday,
March 1, 2002
I am writing from Barcelona, which has made my list
of the five most beautiful, large cities that I have ever
visited. From its high hills to its beaches, from its wide,
tree-lined streets to its gorgeous plazas, and from its hectic La
Rambla to the Gothic old-town with its narrow streets, this is one of
the most beautiful cities in the world. It will be even prettier when
the leaves begin coming out on the tens of thousands
of sycamore (they call them plane trees), whose buds are just swollen
to
the bursting point. This place is gorgeous, the weather has been
terrific
and the architecture is amazing.
The other cities on my list of top five include San
Francisco, Rome, Paris, and Buenos Aires. I did not see much of Buenos
Aires and haven't visited Rio, yet, so there is room for change at the
top of my list. Barcelona will not move from the top five, however. I
have been wearing a golf shirt (four days - same shirt) and a
windbreaker every day. You will, no
doubt, be pleased to hear that the shirt has been changed today in
preparation for travel.
My hostal room is near the beginning of La Rambla,
the long, pedestrian walkway down the center of one of the main streets
of Barcelona. It is on this street that locals and tourists by the
thousand stroll each day, past
mimes, flower stands, musicians, newsstands, restaurants, and outside
pet markets, specializing in tropical birds and singing canaries. The
smells and the sounds are electric, charged with human activity.
The criminals and prostitutes work the same
area, so one must be a cautious traveler, which I am. I did
have a great conversation with a 25 year-old, conservatively dressed,
black prostitute from Sierra Leone, but that is a story for another
time. Suffice it to say that I wasn't interested in what she was
selling.
I will return to this city in April with my wife and
our friends, so I did a little reconnoitering to see what I might show
them when we get here. I spent one day riding the tourist bus around
this magnificent city, marveling at the masterpieces of the famous
modernist architect, Antoni Gaudi. His work, including the famous,
unfinished cathedral, La Sagrada Familia, is absolutely breathtaking.
This city has the finest architecture that I have seen in any city in
the world and is something of which they are justifiably proud. One
could spend a week here, just studying the fascinating architecture.
I had visited the Salvador Dali and the Picasso Art
Museums on past visits here, so that was not necessary this time. I did
visit Gaudi's famous Park Guell and that was a fantastic experience,
too. Well, I am gushing here, but this city merits the hyperbole.
Now, it is on to Roma, the eternal city. I am eager
to see the antiquity of the Roman
capital again and to eat some of the spectacular food. I have
been dining on Spanish cuisine for two months and I am ready for
a change. Incidentally, I have been eating mostly fish, with little
red meat in my daily diet. The oil on salads and bread has all been
olive oil, too, and I can tell that my weight has dropped. I would
guess as much as five pounds. The extensive amount of walking everyday
helps, too. At home, like everyone else, I drive around until I find
the space closest to the donut shop or shopping mall, so that I don't
have to walk very far. Here, I'll bet that I average five miles a day
more than I walk at home. It gives me some idea what is necessary in
diet and exercise to keep my weight down, although I have been unable
to maintain this routine in past attempts at home.
I am leaving for Rome on
the slow train with two stops in Cerbere, France, and Ventimiglia,
Italy, near Monaco before arriving in Rome 20 hours later. It
should be pretty country in the daytime, as it travels along the
Italian Riviera. I get a sleeping compartment from Cerbere to
Ventimiglia (with 5 other people, I'm sure). I am fasting today
to eliminate whatever effect food may have on nighttime flatulence and
snoring. It would be terrible to awake in the morning and find that you
were alone because strangers couldn't stand to sleep with you.
I arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon, just in time
to try to find the convent near the Coliseum that the Wall Street
Journal reporter who interviewed me recommended for lodging. She
interviewed me for an upcoming article she is doing on the English
immersion program in which I taught.
I may be out of touch for a few days, as I travel,
hunt lodging, and scout around for an
Internet source. Until then, Ciao.
Sunday, March 3, 2002
Buon Giorno from Roma!! I arrived in Rome yesterday
afternoon after a tedious 21.5 hour train ride. When they said a slow
train, they meant it. I traveled in a regular train car to Cerbere,
France, which is just over the border with Spain. There, at 11:30 p.m.,
I entered a sleeping coach that had compartments with space for four
travelers, two-high on each side of the tiny rooms. My berth was one of
the lower ones, thank God, since there
was no ladder to climb to the top bunks. Fortunately, two, young,
Indian men made the climb to the top bunks. Across from me, believe it
or not,
was a giant of a man from Puerto Rico. Who would believe this: an
entire train compartment in France and everybody spoke English.
The Puerto Rican, who spoke English as well as I and
who was also born in New Jersey, talked a long time with me about my
many trips to his island. He owns a restaurant in Ponce and takes two,
20-day trips a year traveling alone, because his wife does not like to
travel. His pregnant wife was running the 50-employee restaurant while
he traveled around Spain. I don't know how he gets away with it!
Fortunately, or unfortunately if I had been a light
sleeper, the Puerto Rican snored like a trooper and had a case of sleep
apnea, which made the snoring even worse. He said that my snoring was
so light that it couldn't have bothered anyone and he must have been
right, because when I arose at
6:30 a.m., the other three were still sleeping. I used the travel
toothbrush
that I had placed in my coat so that I didn't have to open my backpack,
washed my face, and I was ready to go. I also used the last of the
bottled
water to take my morning pills from the tiny, plastic case that I
carried in my jeans. Fasting made it unnecessary to spend much time
in the train's WC (water closet), which was, as usual, tiny and too
dirty for comfort. At least I had planned well for the arduous trip.
I stood watching the sun come up over the French
Riviera at Antibes and Cannes until the Puerto Rican joined me. I feel
bad that I didn't get his name, but I gave him my card so that he can
contact me. He loves to travel as much
as I do and he marveled at the beauty of the Riviera. He and the
Indians disembarked at Nice and I stayed on the train through Monaco
to Ventimiglia, Italy, where I boarded an Italian train after eating
a light breakfast at a cafe across from the train station.
I was alone for exactly one stop in a beautiful
compartment with seating for six people. At
San Remo, two, young, Italian mothers joined me with their sons, ages
five and seven. We trained down the Italian Riviera and I enjoyed
listening to the musical, Italian language for several stops before
engaging the women in conversation. After that, I had a great time
trying to communicate with the mothers and playing with the kids,
showing them how to hambone, whistle, and talk like Donald Duck, like
all grandfathers do. The women were from Rome and spoke a tiny
bit of English, which helped me learn where I should hunt for a room.
I had obtained the names of two convents that rented
rooms, one from the Wall Street Journal reporter and one off of the
Internet. After arriving in Rome, following eight hours of travel with
the mothers and kids, I taxied to Trastevere, hoping to find a room in
the convent that I got off of the Internet. In my travels, every time I
deal with taxi drivers I feel like I have been robbed and Rome was no
different. The first driver wanted $50
to take me to the convent and the second one wanted $30. Of course, I
took the second offer (there are no meters), but felt after arrival
that $15 would have been fairer.
I am now safely ensconced in the convent, which will
cost me about $54/day and includes breakfast. I mention the cost so
that you might see how inexpensively one can travel on the continent.
The last time that my wife and I were in
Rome, we stayed in a small hotel that cost us more than $100/day. This
is an expensive stop for me on this year's trip, but the room is
immaculate and has two, tiny, single beds and a complete bath. All
floors are
tiled; there is a stocked mini-frig in the room and a free, electric
shoeshine machine outside my door.
The place is no longer a convent, although this
morning I got off of the world's smallest, slowest elevator on the
wrong floor and walked right into a chapel. The building is owned by
the Vatican, which has converted it into a hotel. I
wonder if they could afford the cost of renovation or whether they
had to take a home equity loan?
There are a few handicaps to staying in a Vatican
owned, former convent, however. First,
there is no TV in the room, which is refreshing. Secondly, there
is a curfew; I have to be in by 1:00 a.m. Lastly, I must attend morning
prayers in the chapel. Well, I don't really have to attend any prayers,
but the other things are true. I should probably do a little praying
after surviving the train ride, however.
Last night, after showering and changing clothes, I
asked at the desk for a decent, nearby restaurant and they sent me to a
real winner, not 100 yards away from the front door of the convent.
Trastevere is noted for its restaurants.
I sat beside the burning fireplace and watched as the place began
to overflow with locals. This is always the sign that you have found
the right place and I had. I have been criticized for talking about
food so much, but that is one of the joys of foreign travel. Quickly,
here is what I ate (remember the fasting): first, an antipasti sampler
that included pickled artichoke, grilled eggplant, herbed, rosemary
mushrooms, and the best roasted red peppers that I have ever eaten.
Second, a roasted artichoke (carciofi al judia) which all restaurants
seem to be serving this time of year and which the waiter insisted that
I try. Then, homemade gnocchi with red peppers and tiny clams. By this
time, after consuming half a bottle of red wine, I am pretty full. The
waiter prevailed and brought me his favorite dessert, however, a warm
apple tart with vanilla ice cream. The meal made the train ride seem
worthwhile. I waddled around the block two times to walk off the meal
and beat my curfew by about three hours. I was exhausted.
This morning, I was up early and walked across the
Tevere River (Tiber River in English) past the Roman Forum, through the
Piazza Venezia, pausing at the Trevi Fountain on my way to this
Internet Center. The beauty of the city has cemented the fact that the
long train ride was essential. I
am glad that I made the journey and that the legend came true; the
legend about returning to Rome, if you throw a coin in the Trevi
Fountain. Needless to say, I threw another coin in the thing today,
even if it was the local Chamber of Commerce who started the legend.
I can only stay in the convent for three nights,
because the place is full after that, so I
will probably move on to Naples. I decided on Naples to reduce
the length of the train ride necessary to reach Sicily. There will
be no more 21-hour train rides for this cowpoke. Until the next update
and with apologies for the lengthy dissertation, Ciao!
Wednesday, March 6,
2002
One last update from Rome, because I had a great
experience today. I leave early tomorrow for a train and ferry ride to
Sicily and I'm afraid that I would forget to
tell you about it, if I don't share it now.
Always be flexible, I say, and the past couple of
days have proven me right in that regard. First, I traveled to the
train station to secure a reservation for the ride to Naples, only to
find that I could get a straight-through train to Palermo, Sicily, that
will take "only" 11 hours. Going straight through will save one day for
me on the 6-trip Europass that I purchased when I left home. I bought 6
days of travel over a two-month period on the Europass that I selected
from a number of options, a couple of months ago. It required one day
to make the 21.5 hour trip to Rome and will take only one more to get
to Palermo. If I plan right, I will have one trip left when I return to
Madrid to meet my wife and our friends in early April. That last day of
travel will be used, if I plan properly, when
we go to Seville on the first leg of our Spanish tour together.
The point being that I was flexible and didn't stay
with my plan to stop in Napoli when I found out about the "quick" train
to Palermo. I demonstrated flexibility again this morning when I
returned to St. Peter's Square to mail a roll
of film home. Vatican postal services are supposed to be quicker than
the Italian and I am only 10 minutes away by bus.
After completing the mailing, I watched on a large
TV screen in the square as priests announced in 5 or 6 languages that
the Pope would be unable to attend his
audience this morning, because of arthritis pain in his knee. His
doctor had told him not to move at all, but he was going to watch
the audience on TV and when the short service was over, he would
appear at his apartment window to bless the assembled crowd. When I was
at St. Peter's yesterday, an American couple had shown me a letter
they had received inviting them to today's audience. They said that
they had to get tickets from the Swiss guards and that I could get
them,
too. I decided against attending the audience, thinking that I wouldn't
enjoy sitting that long. But now, the Pope was going to come to me!!
I stood in the square as close to the window as was
possible, without having my view blocked by the marble figures that
surround the square. I probably had the best seat in the house, since I
could sit on one of the fountains to await the appearance of his
holiness. Sure enough, about an hour later and right on schedule,
his apartment window opened, his
aides draped a maroon banner out the window, and the Pope appeared. I
have a lot of respect for this man, who has served his church for 24
years as Pope, and it was difficult watching him struggle to fulfill
his responsibilities. Fortunately, the big screen TV also showed his
appearance, because even as close as I was, he appeared very small in
the window. I found it to be an emotional experience to be blessed
(along with the thousands of others) by the head of the Catholic
Church. Although I am not Catholic, my mother's family was and I have
gained a great respect for the commitment of Catholic believers. I'm
sure that many of them would have liked to be standing beside me.
That is it, the experience in Rome and Vatican City
has been a good one, but it is time to
move on. At my age, one has to keep moving because old age may
be catching up. I will update you from Sicily, provided the Internet
has reached there. Until then, Arrivederci.
Monday,
March 11, 2002
I am writing from an Internet
cafe in Catania, Sicily. My exit from Rome was pretty smooth
and I got back a little of the money that the taxi bandit got from
me on my arrival there. It should have cost $11.00 to get from the
train station to the hotel and the guy charged me $30. To return to
the station, I took a trolley and a bus and didn't have to pay for
either
at that busy time of the morning. Then, during the 11.5 hour train
ride to Palermo, none of the conductors marked my Europass for another
day's journey. That means that I still have five more full days to use
the pass. Sometimes the conductors are just not familiar with the
Europass system, but I don't feel that it is my job to make sure that
they mark
my ticket. I have taken my own justice with the Italian transportation
system.
The train ride was not all that bad, although 11.5
hours is a long time. Some of the trip was spent traveling along the
coast with some gorgeous views, while other
times were spent in the many tunnels necessary to get the track to
the tip of Italy's boot. Sure enough, they put the train onto a train
ferry for a 15 or 20 minute ride to Sicily. I could probably run it
in 10 minutes with my little aluminum boat and my 15 horsepower engine.
It really is not very far from the mainland to Sicily.
I spent 11 of the hours on the train with a 68
year-old Italian grandmother, who spoke no English, but who spoke a
lot. She wanted to talk and I was the only other person in the
compartment, so she talked to me. I determined her age,
where her brothers and sisters lived in the far away villages of
Italy that she pointed to on my map, and that she was visiting a niece
near Palermo. The rest of the conversation sounded like it was in
a foreign language to me, but I would nod every now and then and that
seemed to please her. They had a dining car on the train, so some of
the time was spent eating lunch, drinking wine, reading my USA Today,
and watching the Italian coast go by.
I took a bus from the train station after dark,
ignoring the taxi bandits trying to give me a ride, and checked into a
little hotel that would be my home for three
nights. The weather was not very good, overcast for much of the
three days with a few sprinkles thrown in, and I didn't really get
to see much of Palermo. The area called Mondello was beautiful,
however, and fortunately the sun was shining when I visited the little
fishing
village that is part of Palermo. There, I had lunch and watched the
fisherman unloading their catches. One of the fishermen had caught a
sea turtle, which drew a crowd of spectators, including several
policemen.
I think that they were waiting for biologists to come to try to help
the
turtle recover from the fishing hook wounds, so that they could release
him. He was a beautiful creature, about four feet in length.
Since Palermo, I have bused to Catania, thinking
that I might take the fast ferry to the island of Malta. I have since
learned that the ferry only runs on Saturdays this time of year, so
have changed my plans again and will head for Taormina tomorrow. I have
heard from Sicilian-Americans that Taormina is beautiful, so I thought
that I would have a look. I hope that the sun is shining, so that I can
see its real beauty. The weather has been warm, but overcast since I
have been here. I have only needed a shirt and my unlined windbreaker
when walking day or night.
This morning, I walked through a great fish market,
where vendors loudly hawked their merchandise, stopping even a tourist
like me to convince me to buy their fish. It was very interesting, with
considerable bargaining taking place. I noticed that there were mostly
men doing the buying at the market, as a matter of fact, I only saw one
woman. It was a pretty helter-skelter place and maybe the bargaining
and the purchase of fish are not a woman's task.
I will update you as I get the chance on the trip
back north. I have noticed that Napoli, Barcelona, and Sevilla all have
been experiencing warm, sunny weather; sounds like where I should
be. Ciao.
Thursday, March
14, 2002
From Napoli after a beautiful, 6.5 hour train/ferry ride from Taormina,
Sicily:
I apologize to all the Sicilians who have read my
webpage and thought me remiss for not gushing
over the beauty of Sicily. Many of my early impressions dealt with
the five days of overcast weather that diminished my opinion of Palermo
and Catania.
The weather has turned sunny, and warm, however, and
I have now been to Taormina, quite probably the most beautiful place
that I have ever seen. The village sits high on a cliff, where it has
existed for 2,500 years, witnessed by the
beautifully preserved Greek Theater, which was there before the time
of the Roman Empire. It was there during the time of Socrates, Plato,
Aristotle, and the time of the Greek cultural dominance in the area.
Its narrow streets and colorful, small piazzas overlook the turquoise
Mediterranean Sea and from almost everywhere in town the breathtakingly
beautiful, snow-covered, smoke-spewing Mt. Etna can be seen only 17
kilometers away. Couple this with the many flowers blooming in window
boxes from apartments and houses all through the town and you have one
gorgeous place. If you ever get the opportunity, go to Taormina.
It is now the off-season, of course, but the town
still had many tourists. I would hate to see the
crowds there in the busy, summer season. It just shows that many
times the tourists have it right. These places have been discovered
by the tourists because of their beauty and you just have to go.
It is nice to pick the off-season, though, so you don't have to deal
with the crowds of people.
Now that I have listed the most beautiful large
cities that I have visited, I will sometime soon name the most
beautiful places. Suffice it to say, Taormina will head the list.
Again, the conductors failed to punch my Europass
and I still have 5 trips left over the next 45 days. That gives me all
the flexibility I will need for the rest of my travels. After a few
days here in Naples, I will probably head for
Nice and Provence. I always did want to browse that area a little
further. I will update you on the events here in a few days. Ciao!
Monday,
March 18, 2002
"Go with the flow," I always say
and that flow has brought me to Oberursel, Germany, outside Frankfurt
to the home of my second son. My grandson will be celebrating his
3rd birthday tomorrow and my son thought that I should be here to
help; grandfathers are great at celebrations.
I got the invitation while in Naples and headed here
immediately. It took a day to train to Milan, where I spent the night,
feasting on authentic spaghetti pommodoro one
last time. I finished off the meal with a chilled glass of
limoncello, the sweet, lemon, after-dinner drink famous in this
country. It is
expensive at home, but worth the price once in a great while. It is
absolutely fantastic and inexpensive here, so I indulge almost nightly.
I recommend it highly.
The next morning I took a fantastic train ride from
Milan, through the Swiss Alps, and into Frankfurt. It was a nine-hour
ride, but the spectacular beauty of the snow-covered mountains and lush
green valleys made the trip seem a short one.
I have learned a little more about my Europass. It
seems that I am responsible for entering the date that I am traveling
on my ticket each day. The conductors in southern Italy didn’t check or
didn’t know the rule. The conductor from Naples knew and told me that I
could be fined $50 for not filling in the date. I immediately read the
directions on the ticket, which I had failed
to do heretofore, and learned that they can confiscate the entire
ticket, fine me up to $100, and collect the full fare for where I am
heading. OOPS, thank God they left me off with a warning. I will fill
out the
date evermore. The conductors in Switzerland and Germany checked the
ticket closely, too, so it is good that I am now complying with the
terms of my ticket. I did accidentally make up a couple of days to
account for the taxi driver rip-off in Rome, however. Things just seem
to even out in the world!
I will stay here 3 or 4 days, long enough for the
birthday celebration and to say goodbye to my son’s family, who is
heading back to Philadelphia for a week on company and personal
business. It is a great respite to be able to recharge my batteries
with family for a few days.
In discussions with my daughter-in-law, I have come
up with a plan for where to go from here. She and my son just love the
Burgundy area in France, so I will head there on my way to Provence.
First, a mustard sandwich in Dijon, perhaps, then to Beaune for a
little of the famous wine. Then, on to Provence, where I will travel
through Avignon on the way to Nice. I would like to spend a couple of
days in Nice before heading back to Spain to meet my wife and friends.
Actually, I was ready to come home when I heard
about all of the wonderful, warm weather that has bathed
Pennsylvania recently. Then, I talked to my wife last night only to
learn that it was sleeting and snow had fallen during the day. Provence
sounded pretty good after that.
I really could use a dose of home, family, and
friends right now. Three months is a long time to be away from home. I
know that many of my friends have returned from
Florida and others are getting ahead of me by practicing on the golf
course. I will stay another month, however, and enjoy Europe while
I can. I’ll have to catch up with friends when I return and just take
my beating on the golf course. I’ll talk to you from somewhere in
Provence. Au Revoir.
Saturday, March 23,
2002
Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong
time! It has been 79° and 81 degrees and
sunny the last two days in Lisbon. Sevilla has been in the low and
middle 70's. I have had temps in the 50's with overcast, sometimes
drizzling skies here in Dijon. It is still gorgeous here, however, with
flowers and trees blooming and some trees beyond the bloom, in their
stage of fresh, light green, leaf growth.
The food has been terrific, as advertised. Not to
report too much about the food, lest I be criticized for dining my way
around Europe, but lunch today consisted of six escargot, beef
burgundy, delicious French bread, and a great plate of local cheeses.
Believe it or not, I passed up the dessert that was included with the
meal, because there was just no room. The half bottle of house pinot
noir was a little disappointing, however.
I have my batteries recharged after the four days
with my son and grandchildren and am looking forward to winding my way
back to Sevilla in Spain. I only have two more weeks before my wife and
friends arrive in Madrid, so that has cheered me as well.
A couple of new things to report:
1. Not to worry, the hair
is back. I have resorted to clipping around the ears with the
miniature, Swiss Army knife
scissors that I carry at all times on the road. The question
arises, however, do I trust another European barber, or do I let it
grow, get a tattoo, an earring, have my body pierced, and come home a
little more bohemian? I will accept input from home on this matter; I
don't know enough French to discuss it with anyone here.
2. Last year seemed to be
the motorscooter shop tour of Europe, with the frequent breakdowns.
This year seems to be the medical office tour of Europe. It doesn't
sound pleasant to talk about, but anyone who has developed one can
attest to the pain of an ingrown toenail. Yep, you got it; I had
to go to a German doctor's office while in Oberursel with an ingrown
toenail. After the dentists and endodontists in Spain, I hope that this
completes the medical part of my European tour. This visit was
interesting and, fortunately, the doctor spoke some English, which he
learned on the golf course. I'm telling you, I don't make this
stuff up!
He put some black salve on the offending toe on two consecutive days
and
gave me a prescription to do the same thing myself until I get home to
see a podiatrist. If it were his toe, he said, he would remove the
toenail,
but what does he know - he has a 14 handicap.
Tomorrow, I will head for Beaune, only a
half-hour's train ride south, but right in the heart of the Burgundy
wine area. The local pinot noir wasn't so good, so I will try some more
tonight and anticipate some great Burgundies in Beaune. A tout l'heure.
Monday, March 25,
2002
It is cold; so cold that I should be miserable! I
had my fleece sweatshirt, with its turtleneck zippered up to the top,
under my golf windbreaker as I walked to the train station this
morning. I could see my breath on occasion as I walked, but miserable I
am not. This place is absolutely gorgeous and I have learned more
about wine in this short visit than I had accumulated in all my prior
years of study.
There is a walled city of 25,000 inhabitants,
surrounded by all of the famous vineyards of the Burgundy region
called the Cote d'Or, or the Cote de Beaune. There are flower boxes
and flowerbeds full of gorgeous pansies, trees in bloom, narrow
streets,
beautiful squares, friendly people, and then, there is the food. How
could I be miserable?
Saturday, I visited the Hotel Dieu,
Hospices of Beaune, built in 1443 by a wealthy man to provide a
hospital
for the poor. It was used as such until the new, local hospital opened.
It is absolutely gorgeous with its multi-colored, ceramic-tile roof and
I am sure that the man who provided the resources is smiling in heaven.
It seems the vineyards he also gave, for future funding; provide
millions of euros each year for the upkeep of the property, the new
hospital, and hospitals in several foreign countries. The Catholic
nuns who continue to run the hospital are now the largest vineyard
owners in the area and have the world's larges grape auction each year
at the old hospice.
Yesterday, I took a minivan tour of
all of the famous vineyards and villages of this area with a visit
to one of the wineries. All wineries were closed since yesterday was
Sunday, but our guide had a key to a small vineyard in the Hautes Cotes
(the higher hill), where we had a short wine tasting. I didn't need the
tour for the tasting, however; I have been tasting at every meal.
The guide was outstanding and had a
passion for wine. We stopped on tiny, single-lane roads through
the vineyards where he explained that the vines produce for 80 years
(although he knows one that is 93 years old), before they are
replanted.
They lay fallow for three years, and then it takes three more before
grapes are produced again. The vineyards are so tightly controlled by
the local wine committee that only the eight best bunches of grapes
from each vine may be used for wine each year. Using more would get
the vineyard owner a major fine and loss of the valuable certification
as a Burgundy wine.
It would have been a crime to have passed near this
area and not have visited here. It is almost felonious
to have visited here without my wife, however. If you need a place
to visit, or know someone who needs a unique and beautiful honeymoon
destination, this would be the place.
That said, I'm still cold!! It is colder than the
proverbial welldigger's derriere or the witch's teton (Please note how
quickly I am picking up the language). I went to the train station
seeking warmer climes. I'm headed back to Sevilla, where the
temperatures are in the mid-70's: my kind of weather. I am proud of
myself, though. When the train agent recommended that the best way to
Sevilla would be to travel to Paris, then overnight on a bullet train
to Madrid, I decided to spend a night in "the City of Lights" instead
of just rushing to the warmer weather I crave. Be flexible, remember?
I will force myself to spend tomorrow night in Paris
in the cool, spring weather, before heading back to Spain. Life is
tough, but I will endure. Paris
is an experience I had not expected on this trip, but it will add to
the
memories. I probably won't get to talk to you again until I reach
Sevilla.
C'est la vie. A bientot!
Saturday, March
30, 2002
Hola, from Madrid. It has been a few days and many
kilometers since I have updated you, so I'd better bring you up to
date. When I left Beaune, I left by train and headed back to Dijon,
where I changed trains for Paris. I had taken a bus from Dijon to
Beaune and it took an hour for the trip, through beautiful vineyards
and villages, making it a wonderful way to see the countryside. On the
train, it only took 25 minutes and I saw nothing. I was so glad that I
had taken the bus on the way to Beaune.
I got to Paris in only one hour and 37
minutes. I was there before noon and had more than a day to spend
in the French capital. There are several train stations in Paris that
run out of the city in different directions. I came in out of the
southeast
to the Gare de Lyon. I would leave out of the Gare d'Austerlitz which
heads southwest. These stations are, fortunately, only ten minutes
apart
by foot and I have walked between them before.
I had a plan, which is important when one has little
time to see a city. I would exit Lyon, walk to Austerlitz, then get a
hotel close to the station, so that I didn't have far to walk the next
evening when it was time to leave. The plan was good; the execution was
bad!
Outside every train station is a group
of restaurants and hotels, which I like to avoid. They are generally
noisy, pricey, full of transients (like me), and usually not in the
best of shape. As I walked out of the station and saw that commercial
section, I headed down a side street to look for a hotel, a tactic that
had always worked in the past. Not only weren't there any hotels in
that block, it may have been the longest block in the world. I was
humping a 50 lb. Backpack and there were no side streets, no hotels,
just a national museum and a Jardin des Plantes. I must have walked 3
miles before I found a hotel and it was full. The next hotel was also
full and the third wanted too much money for a single room. I was
quickly running out of gas and headed
back to the strip that I wanted to avoid.
A quick thought, cut through the beautiful gardens
and shorten the trip back. Wrong. I later learned that I had entered
the gardens a short distance from where I wanted to go and
headed through the plants in the opposite direction. These gardens were
several city blocks square. As you walk through large cities, it is
easy to get turned around and I did. I didn't panic, though, instead
stopping at the far corner of the park, asking directions, then taking
off the pack, sitting down and eating the banana in my pack, before
turning
around and walking back through the park. I was exhausted.
I took the first hotel that would have
me on the commercial strip, although a few were full and I was getting
desperate. The place I got was reasonable and pretty nice.
Unfortunately, the room wouldn't be ready until 7:00 p.m. I had seven
hours to kill and
I could hardly lift one foot after the other. They kept my bag and I
headed out to "see" Paris again. I took the Metro to the Place de la
Concorde
and strolled up the Champs Elysees. And I mean strolled. I could hardly
get up the gradual slope. Near the Arc de Triomphe, I purchased a USA
Today and strolled toward the Eiffel Tower. There, I collapsed on a
bench
and read the paper a couple of hundred yards from the tower, until the
cold air got the best of me. Paris was cold, too.
I strolled along the Seine, found another metro
entrance and headed back to the hotel, arriving at 6:30. Perhaps the
desk clerk could see the exhaustion in my eyes, because he first said
the room was not ready, then looked at me and said there was a room. I
collapsed on the bed and slept until morning.
The next day, feeling much better, I did the Paris
thing. It had been cold and overcast the day before, but
this day was bright and sunny. People were drinking coffee in cafes
that
captured the morning sunshine, but I chose to be inside, where I wrote
a few postcards to students at an elementary school. I took the metro
to near Montmartre, climbed to the top and had lunch overlooking the
square teeming with artists and tourists. Afterward, I walked to Sacre
Coeur for the view of the city, headed down the hill and back to the
Champs Elysees for one last stroll.
I took the 12-hour overnight train to Madrid that
evening, arriving at 8:30 a.m. The night passed satisfactorily,
although I was awake often, afraid that my coughing would bother the
Egyptian young man who slept above me, the Madrileno across from him,
or the Frenchman who slept on the opposite lower bunk. They were all
very nice, even helping the old man put his heavy backpack on the
overhead rack.
I am in Madrid, my wife will meet me here in only a
week and I am recovering from the cough and sinus problem I have been
battling. The temperatures are warming and all is right with
the world.
This year, I have walked the Gran Via of Madrid,
Calle Sierpes in Sevilla, Las Ramblas in Barcelona, the Via Veneto in
Rome, the Champs Elysees in Paris, and had stops in Frankfurt, Naples,
and Milan, but right now, I would rather walk up my street and sit on
my porch. Marathoners hit walls and I have learned that travelers hit
walls, too. I am not going on to Sevilla, despite how much I love the
city. I will wait here until my wife and my friends arrive. Travel is
fun, but enough is enough! I will update you again, if anything
significant happens. Adios!
Tuesday, April 2,
2002
Despite the cough and sinus infection, my
sex appeal remains intact!! I got picked up yesterday! I was out
strolling about 10:30 in the morning, looking for an open pharmacy to
buy my antibiotics. As I was crossing the street, a 48 year-old
Phillipino man smiled at me and asked if I spoke English. Of course, I
said yes. He didn't speak English perfectly, but I could understand
him. He lives in London, works in a hospital, and has been in Madrid
for a week, living in a house with his sister and her female friend. He
said, "It is boring to be alone all day." Well, he is right, it is
boring to be alone all day in a strange country, so I said so and we
joined up. Actually, he joined me. I wanted to walk through Retiro
Park, which was full of people on the holiday weekend. Mimes,
musicians, puppet shows, jugglers; it was amazing. Next thing I
know he is talking about his sex life, visiting sex shops, etc. and I
am getting uncomfortable.
He stopped that line of talk and we continued to
stroll and talk along the way. Every now and then the talk
returned to sex and I was just not comfortable. I began to try to
figure out
how to lose the guy. On the way out of the park, I told him that I
wanted
to go back to my room to rest and he began to tell me that he was a
homosexual (although earlier he had told me that he was divorced and
had one child). I interrupted and said, "not me!!" We split up about 3
minutes later,
right after we crossed the street.
In retrospect, I was pretty naive, but I thought
that the guy was just lonely, like me. Do I still have it or what????
What a sexpot I am!!! My wife will be arriving to meet me in a few
days; I hope she recognizes me through all of my animal
magnetism. I will try to update you at least
one more
time before I head back home on April 22nd. Until then, Adios.
Friday, April 19,
2002
Buenos Dias from Barcelona again. I want to
update you on the progress of our travels since my wife and friends
arrived to keep me company. This could well be the last update before I
return to
wonderful US of A.
My wife arrived right on schedule in Madrid
and it was great to see a familiar face at the airport. Unfortunately,
her suitcase did not arrive until 32 hours later. In years past, this
would have caused great concern and gnashing of teeth at the
inefficiency
of airlines. This time, she went with the flow, bought a new
sweater
to help fend off the chilly night air of Madrid, and enjoyed being in
the
different culture until the brand new suitcase arrived, partially
covered
in black grease, but with contents intact. Her attitude made her
re-introduction
to Spain more enjoyable and the suitcase arrived no more slowly than if
she
had been upset by the whole thing. Perhaps, she is adopting my
philosophy
to be flexible when traveling.
Our friends arrived the next morning and we
immediately went about orienting them to the Spanish culture. A bus
tour of the city to start, followed by a tapas bar crawl in the
evening,
ended with an enjoyable Jazz performance by American Jazz organist,
Bobby
Floyd, who was playing at a nearby Jazz Club. A full day, but it was a
great introduction to Madrid and Spain for these first-time travelers
to the Iberian Peninsula.
After a day or two of seeing the Madrid sights, we
took day trips to Segovia, El Escorial, and La Valle de Los Caidos.
These are all impressive sights and we enjoyed each day immensely. The
days also included copious amounts of wonderful Spanish cuisine, which
is among the best in the world.
Then, we took the bullet train for an hour and a
half ride to Cordoba, making a visit to the famous and colorful
Moorish-Christian Mosque, as well as a stroll through the narrow,
whitewashed alleys of the old, nearby Jewish quarter.
It was back on the train for another half-hour to
arrive in Sevilla for a three-day stay. They, too, fell in love with
the city in which I have spent so much time during the past three
winters. We did the double-decker bus tour thing first, and then toured
the city on foot, soaking up the colorful Andalucian culture. The
weather cooperated and it was sunny and warm during our entire stay,
which was highlighted by the wonderful spectacle of a bullfight in the
old Plaza de Toros.
Sevilla is bullfight country and the arena was packed with 30,000
enthusiasts
whose fervor added to the exciting atmosphere. My friend, Ron, was at
first repulsed by the blood and the gore, but warmed to the spectacle.
His wife was enthralled from the beginning by the electricity in the
air
and, just perhaps, by the tight pants of the matadors.
We were treated to the best matador that I have ever
seen, a 19 year-old named Juli, who thrilled the crowd with close,
dangerous, graceful passes. The second bull he fought either stepped
on his foot or bumped his knee, but he fought on with a noticeable
limp.
His stumble and injury frightened and shocked the entire crowd. Both of
his kills were completed in one graceful, humane plunge of the sword
and
the crowd rewarded him with thunderous shouts of "OLE" along with the
waving of hundreds of white handkerchiefs. He was given the ear of the
second bull as a tribute to his prowess.
Sevilla was once again very kind to me medically.
When the problem with the ingrown toenail arose again, despite the
battle I had been waging, I found a Spanish podiatrist. She was
wonderful,
gentle and skilled, and in 20 minutes had solved my problem, causing
me no pain, despite an excruciatingly sore toe. The medical tour of
Spain
is now complete and I am 100% healthy again. Sevilla has been very good
to me!
We left Sevilla and drove to the beautiful,
ancient city of Ronda, located on the top of a mountain, surrounded
by cliffs and a deep ravine spanned by a medieval bridge. It was a
lovely
visit to the town where bullfighting started and which has the oldest
Plaza de Toros in all of Spain.
After lunch in a restaurant atop the cliff,
with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains and valleys, we
drove through the rugged Sierra Nevada Mountains toward Gibraltar. We
spent the night in a hotel overlooking the Mediterranean with the Rock
of Gibraltar as a backdrop. We found the hotel in a 10-minute search of
areas that we thought might have lodging, but we had no reservations.
The next day my three companions took a guided tour
of the Rock, while I worked on having my glasses repaired. I had toured
the Rock only a year or so ago. One of the temples on my glasses broke
and I was hoping to find an optician to repair it. Unfortunately, no
repair
was possible and I had to buy new frames into which my old lenses would
fit. I had two choices, both plastic frames and either rose-colored or
blue.
The dark blue frames were the choice and they are very modern and
called
"Sting" by the Italian manufacturer. Of course, this is a new look,
which
shocked my traveling companions when they came down from the Rock, and
I have now begun calling myself by the singer's name. I think that with
the small, sculptured, blue glasses, I bear a striking resemblance to
"Sting"
and if Prince can change his name, why not me?
Then, it was on to the Costa del Sol, with stops in
Mijas, a white village high above the Mediterranean, Marbella, and
Malaga. We stopped in another seaside hotel west of Malaga and spent
the night overlooking the Mediterranean once again. We awoke and drove
through ruggedly beautiful mountains with a distinctively western look,
before reaching
Guadix, where we spent the night in another delightful hotel. Guadix is
noted for unusual houses dug almost completely into the clay cliffs,
but
with block or stucco entrances on the outside. We were lucky enough to
stop where a friendly local gave us a tour of his newly constructed
cave/home.
In the morning, we endured a daylong drive through
beautiful, desolate, but colorful countryside on a well manicured and
lightly traveled four-lane highway finally reaching Tarragona, where we
found another wonderful hotel, you guessed it, overlooking the
Mediterranean. Then, it was on to Barcelona, where we now reside,
although we no longer overlook the Mediterranean. The town is
wonderful, however, and everyone is delighted with its many
architectural and gastronomic gems.
From here, we will drive to Madrid for one last
night in Spain, before departing for home. It will be great to touch
home soil again. Thanks for accompanying me on my journey. I will
be glad to accept questions about any part of the trip and, of course,
suggestions about future trips are always welcome. Right now, however,
I am looking forward to home and renewing acquaintances with friends
and
family. Hasta la vista!
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