WHAT'S OUTSIDE

Barcelona: Days 3 and 4 - Toothy Mountains, Aeris Everywhere, and Spain, Disneyland Style

2007-10-14T16:09:00.000-07:00

Day Three in Barcelona (October 8), we took a day trip out to Montserrat, a mountain about 1 hour by train from Barcelona, is most famous for its abbey dating to medieval times and one of the oldest escolanias - or boys choirs - in the world. It is also the permanent home of the Black Virgin of Montserrat, a statue of a Madonna and Child whom, legend has it, the Benedictine monks could not move, and so built their abbey around it. Today, it is a popular pilgrimage to visit the Virgin, since people claim that it can perform miracles. More information about that could be found HERE. Montserrat is literally translated to "jagged mountain" due to the unusual rock formations on the mount that look like teeth, or serrated edging.

There are two ways to get up to the top of the mountain and visit the monastary - one is by rack train and the other is the faster, more dramatic and more popular cable car, or aeri. The aeri is right next to the train stop and when you take it, you are lifted literally hundreds of feet in the air for almost 4600 feet to the monastary. The aeri is actually the safer of the two modes to get up there and only takes about 5 minutes. But what a 5 minutes...

We had bought a package transportation ticket to Montserrat that included the round trip train ride, round trip aeri, and unlimited rides on Montserrat's two funiculars, or cliff railcars - Funicular de Sant Joan and Funicular Santa Cova.

As you can see from our pics and video below, the half-day trip was so well worth the 19 Euros (we saved 7 Euros with the package ticket!) It was really unlike anything we have ever experienced. Going on the funicular de Sant Joan and hiking up to the old hermitage was so awesome... On our way back down the mountain to the funicula, we saw the clouds darken and soon there was thunder and large, heavy droplets of water, and we became suddenly aware of the gravelly path underfoot, and the cliffs' edge to the right of us.

But like I said, this experience was something else. Even when the flash thunderstorm ruined our chances to go on the funicular Santa Cova to the old caves and ancient sanctuary of the Black Virgin, I still felt like we were on some amazing adventure, something spectacular, and even getting soaking wet running to the aeri to leave Montserrat, I felt completely happy and exhilarated, as if the rain was our very own nature-baptism by God.

Video of us going up Funicular Sant Joan to the higher points of Montserrat

Walking towards the Hermitage

On Day Four (October 9), our final day in Barcelona, we visited Montjuic, the local mountain of the city. It's a big park, and a lot of walking, but really enjoyable. We saw the Olympic stadium, renovated for the 1992 Olympic games, and wandered Poble Espanyol, a "theme park" of sorts that showcased forced perpective buildings that reflect all of the architectural diversity of the country. The buildings also house several tradesmiths and artesans selling quintessential Spanish wares, as well as more modern, internationally influenced items, and it was very difficult not to blow hundreds of dollars on some of the stuff - it was all so great looking!

The Olympic Stadium whale

After sitting for a peacefully enjoyable moment at a cafe sipping cafe cortados and cafe con leches, overlooking Espanyol's plaza, we decided to - begrudgingly - nix our visit to National Art Musuem of Catalonia ("we'll visit it next time we're here") and take a taxi back the length of the park to the aeris... specifically the well-known one that takes you from Montjuic to Barceloneta, the seaside neighborhood of Barcelona, kind of like L.A.'s Santa Monica, and Olympic Village, another seaside stretch filled with shops and bars.

From Montjuic, we look at Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia, still missing its towering basillica, yet to be built. It will eventually top out at 170m, exactly 1 meter short of the peak of Montjuic, so that by design, his work would not surpass that of God's.

We first rode the aeri that took us up to a higher point in the mountain before getting out and walking down to the main aeri that would take us to Barceloneta. But alas!!!!! My publication claimed that the aeri stopped operations at 7 pm, but when we arrived at 5 past 5, we were stopped by the surly aeri operator - a dark man in an ill-fitting blue suit.

"No. Parés. No pot entrar. Està tancat pel dia," he says, or some equivalent. (My lame effort at translating Spanish to Catalan)

I don't understand him at first. "Perdon, pero el aeri de Barceloneta, esta abierto?" (My lame Spanish. lol)

"No, esta cerrado." (His transferring to Spanish. Cursed Franco and these tourists, he's probably thinking.)

"A que hora es abierto hoy?" (You can make fun of me now.)

"Mañana." He says this roughly and takes out a cigarette, lighting it, effectively deeming me invisible.

We look at each other and I apologize to JD. But we felt like Barcelona itself was saving some of its secrets in order to tantalize us back. "Next time we're back here..." we say again, as we walk back down the hill, catch a cab, and head back to the main stretch of the city.

All was soon forgotten with our "last bang" of a meal - gorgeous cry-worthy tapas at Taller de Tapas, overlooking Placa Sant Josep Oriol. And as I looked out of our window at the passersby, nibbling jamon jabugo, sipping my beer, and listening to some wandering musicians serenade a fellow tourist on the balcony, I knew for a fact that there was no way someone could keep me from coming back to this city... and soon.

Whenever Mo and I are on holiday, she apologizes when we can't make time to see all we plan to. She does this despite me constantly telling her "it's not as though we'll never come back." I think the travelling bug has really set in with me, and my laisez faire attitude towards our agendas and schedules isn't me taking these experiences for granted, but my confidence that we will definitely return in the future. Places like Barcelona, and I'm sure many many others we will visit in the future deserve a personal familiarity. Once we make a couple more trips to these favored places to sweep up loose ends on the touring front, we can then begin visiting the city and considering ourselves... how to put it... citizens onced removed? Barcelonephiles? We can then just visit and sink into the culture, and hopefully see it through eyes closer to natives... and envious ones at that.

Barcelona: Days 1 and 2 - Sacred Families, Sugar Spaces, Gothic Quarters & Rambling Walks

2007-10-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone -

Thanks for your patience in receiving the final few installations of our Spain trip blog. Even though the next couple of postings are after the fact, no thanks to the exhorbitant wi-fi charges our hotel was asking for, we hope you'll still enjoy the pics and stories we have for you!

Checking out the last one-on-one assignments

Jonty looking none the worse for wear after our long party the night before

Receiving certificates of completion

Heading to the bus at the end of the program

DAY ONE IN BARCELONA:
After many hugs and goodbyes from the Vaughan group back in Madrid on Friday, October 5, JD and I were off to the airport and off to Barcelona. We landed close to midnight and didn't get to our hotel until near 1 am. Aparthotel Silver is a pretty nice hotel in the Gracia district of the city - a charming neighborhood north of the main areas of Barcelona.

The next day, after a late start (I went back to bed after breakfast), we headed out to the famous Gaudi masterpiece La Sagrada Familia. You see pictures of this church every time you look up Barcelona, but really, nothing can prepare you for seeing it in person. It's just crazy ridiculous and crazy amazing. I don't know how to describe it. We literally spent over two hours here just looking at the little details inside and out.

Outside the Sagrada Familia

The amount of detail on this cathedral is staggering. Not too mention that the archetectual and artistic styles vary from the front of the cathedral to the back so drastically, you'd be hard pressed to believe it was the same building. It is also very confusing to be inside the cathedral, walking on the bare concrete floor, with modern building materials strewn about coming to grips with the notion that the cathedral is over 100 years old and is still being built.

Looking skyward

Later in the afternoon we took a detour to El Corte Ingles so that JD could buy some clothing, got some more rest in the afternoon, and then went to this indescribably outstanding restaurant called Espai Sucre ("Sugar Space" in Catalan). It's a "gastro-chemistry" concept restaurant that specializes in dessert-only tasting menus.

The plates at Espai Sucre consist of tiny portions - a small grouping of ecclectic modes of delivering flavor and texture. Concentrated foams, ice creams, candied ingredients, syrups, sauces, and 'soups' are carefully combined to create a 'travelling' culinary experience. I have to use unusual adjectives and descriptions for this food because no ordinary food-adjectives can adequately describe it. Nothing tastes even remotely like chicken...

One of our small plates: "Flower Flavors" - Raspberry sorbet, Hibiscus wafers, Rose Ice Cream, Vanilla Granita, Tomato Foam, Red Wine syrup and red berries.

Inside Espai Sucre

Afterwards, we begrudgingly turned in early for the night (we were still getting over the intensity of the Vaughan program).

Not to mention that Espai Sucre literally exhausted us via pure sensory overload. Look, we're not kidding about that place. The food is not to be trifled with!

DAY TWO IN BARCELONA:
We did an iJourneys walking tour of the Barri Gotic, El Call, and Las Ramblas. The narrator for iJourneys Barcelona was pretty annoying, but the tour overall was extremely interesting and worth what little money we paid to download it to our iPods.

The iJourneys tour had some good historical facts and trivia. We did learn a lot via this tour, and it was a great walk. We covered miles upon miles of the city. But this woman... it was saddening because she was pronouncing all the Spanish words with plain English phoenetics. I get why she did it (at least I hope this is why); because she needs Anglos to be able to understand what kind of spelling to look for on the street placards. But if anyone were to ask a local for directions referring to something like Placa de la Seu as "Plassa day laa Say-yooo" they would come off as ignorant and get a lot of silly stares.

The Barri Gotic, or "Gothic Quarter", within the Ciutat Vella, or "old city" is one of the largest and most well-preserved areas of western medieval-period buildings/architecture in the world. Pictures below.

Looking out from the cloister of the Cathedral de la Seu

Part of the old Roman aqueduct is incorporated into the Cathedral

Spanish sounds and sights by the Cathedral

The steps where Christopher Columbus was received by Ferdinand and Isabella after returning from the New World - at the Placa del Rei, location of the old royal palace.

El Call is the location of the old Jewish neighborhood in medieval Barcelona. Very historic, claustrophobic, and labyrinthian. And oh, so cool. Check out the video below.

El Call in mid-afternoon

Las Ramblas is the famous mile-long pedestrian street that starts at Plaza de Catalunya and stretches all the way down to the harbor.

Across the street shot of Casa Batllo, Gaudi's contribution to the Block of Discord - 3 separate apartment buildings designed by 3 different architects on the same side of the street.

Video of us walking Las Ramblas

BOOOOOO.

2007-10-09T13:39:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone,

Sorry that we´ve been so quiet the last few days of our trip. Bad news... our hotel has wi-fi, but we have to pay through the nose for it. We sucked it up the last few times and paid, but it´s starting to get a little ridiculous. So unfortunately, our 4 day Barcelona report will have to wait until we get back to the States - or at least until we find someplace with some free wi-fi we can steal. However, we HAVE been taking quite a few piccies, so once we´re back, we´ll make sure to post everything on our Flickr account as well.

Thanks for your patience and THANK YOU for reading my humble travel blog! We´ll be back home by tomorrow evening!

Muchos besos a todo -

Mo

Vaughantown: Day 5 - Things get Crazy.

2007-10-05T07:40:00.000-07:00

This is it... the last full day of Vaughantown. I took a walk around the grounds and made it to town once ... now I can't remember with whom. After group activity, all of us were welcome to go to town for tapas before dinner and... the evening celebration! Unfortunately, in the middle of the session, I started feeling ill and had to be excused to lie down for a while. I missed the tapas outing. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I was totally pissed at myself. :(

Around 8:30 I finally got up and got a bit dolled up before dinner. By then my headache was going away and I couldn't wait until the "after party".

At 9:30 I saw Dade go downstairs and he didn't return for the remainder of dinner. When we finally went down for coffee and drinks, we discovered the smoking room partitioned off and music coming from inside. After dragging some of the more hesitant people onto the dance floor, the party was on in full force.

Pictures and videos of the "after party". Enjoy! (Sorry if the videos are a little dark):

Baile, Baile!

Bob... being Bob.

Bob and Jonty

Swing dancing

Jacinto and Cristina show us their salsa moves

Susan and Jacinto!

Mickey telling us how she feels. No, she wasn't drinking! Hell no!

Cheers! Salud! (Cristina, Juan and Jacinto)

Two great smiles that look great together - Cesar and Oris

Jacinto sways with Eunice. Awwwwww.

MWAH!

YMCA. (sigh) Yes.

Don't listen to what everyone says. We only had one drink apiece. Heh.

HEYYYY!!!!! Juan, Victor and JD

Don't stop dancing people! Act natural!

Que Locos!

Que bonita!

The older gents show us how it's done. From L to R: Fernando B, Vicente, Fernando A, Oris, Begoña, Program Director Carmen, Susan

The JESUCRISTO! Jesucristo

2007-10-04T10:40:00.000-07:00

Quite possibly one of the scariest full-scale jesucristos (or wall-mounted crucifix with a Jesus), we have ever seen. Like, seriously.

Jeeeeeezus....

This is such a lovely antechamber...

My, look at the painting on the wall...

JESUCRISTO!!!

But wait... let me give you a first hand experience...

Kinda feel safe from here...

The hair... THE HAIR!!!

Only the penetent man shall pass...

...penetent man penetent man...

The penetent man... kneels...

JESUCRISTO!!! KNEEEL!!!!!

Vaughantown: Day 4

2007-10-04T07:21:00.000-07:00

As we get to know the Spaniards (and Anglos) in the program, things start getting interesting... Mischief is afoot! During siesta, a few of the participants went swimming in the river(!) and arrived late to group activity. I started teaching some of the Spaniards some bad words and phrases -at their request, of course! ;) And at one point, out of frustration over some of the people's "lack of respect" for keeping things on time, I heard that one of program directors, Dade, walked out of the monastary and screamed out loud.

I finally found the dog that was keeping me up the first night. He was the white fluffy "monastary mascot" (a pic of him was posted on a previous post.) He came to me today when I called him and sat down for a good petting. Too bad I couldn't keep going - he was just too dirty.

Just like last time, the later into the program we get, the less formal the one-on-ones and group activities become. We're all becoming fast friends and I'm starting to dread the fact that eventually the program will end.

The two program directors collected email addresses from everyone and created a list that they handed out. I don't want to admit it, but I know that most of the people I have met here today, I may never see again. It saddens me, but that's the truth of life. However, I want to keep in touch as much as I can with some of the people who I got along especially well with:

Michaela (Mickey) and Shaun: The two Aussies of the program, who we met during the tapas intro party. They are wonderful folks and probably the two I would most likely keep in touch with. They are currently traveling around Europe (lucky) and hoping to settle down in a month or so in Ireland to work for a year. Then, perhaps, the U.S. We're thinking about visiting them next year in Ireland if we can.

Irune: The awesome Basque girl from San Sebastian. She is... well... awesome. She taught me a lot about the Basque culture and history. She's sweet, really funny, and totally cool, not to mention that she can speak, at some level, something like 5 languages. I'm hoping she'll make it out to the U.S. sometime in the future.

Jonty: The resident Manx - no, not the cat - but a guy from the Isle of Man. Really cool. I gave him silent props when he arrived to the group activity stinking of the river. LOL!

Oris: A Floridian who spent some of her life living in New York City. Outgoing, silly, and I know she's hiding a bit of a party animal. Every time we sat together, we always ended up laughing about something.

Victor: The shoe material saleman, shoe designer, DJ and Spanish hipster extraordinaire.

Juan, Jacinto, Sofia, Christina, and Alberto: Just the greatest, fun-loving and most hilarious bunch of young Spaniards I've ever met.

I'll post some pictures of the gang in my next blog.

Vaughantown: Day 3 continued - The Village and Setting Alcohol on Fire in the Dark

2007-10-03T22:32:00.000-07:00

pictures from town...

The river Carrión (I doubt it means "dead flesh" in this respect... at least I hope not.)

The Monastary San Zoilo in the distance

Spanish steps... but not those...

Statue of Father Miguel de Benavides, third Archbishop of Manila from 1603 to 1605, and founder of the University of Santo Tomas in the Philippines. He was born in Palencia, Spain. More info about his life can be found HERE

Iglesia de San Andres

Iglesia de Nuestra Sra. de Belen

Iglesia de Santiago. Yes, this little town has like, 7 churches or something. But most of them are very historical, dating to the middle ages.

A tribute to the Marques de Santillana - A famous Castillian poet born in Carrion de los Condes in 1398.

A statue of Santa Maria del Camino

HAH!

Hah Hah! Later we found out that "crack" in Spanish slang means someone who is the best at something - in almost a mocking way.

That evening, we were treated to a Queimada ceremony, which is supposedly ancient and supposed to help ward off spirits. It involves setting ORUJO, or the Spanish version of grappa - or must-wine - on fire (VERY high alcohol content, there!), adding some "magical" things into the punch, and burning it for 15 minutes or so while a trio recites the incantation in Gallego, Castellano (Spanish), and English. When you do it in the dark with a computer video of a fire in the background with "scary" music, it just gets hilarious. But whooooo... the hot punch was gooood.

Sorry these pics are so dark. Oh well.

Then, of course, you need to do karaoke. Of course.

Vaughantown: Days 2 and 3

2007-10-03T13:37:00.001-07:00

The hotel lobby

More of the same... more talking... more meeting amazing, warm, wonderful people. During our break hours, we wander around the monastary and find interesting (and sometimes creepy) things.

Hallway near our room

When we can, we try to go in groups to the nearby village of Carrion de los Condes.

... when the rain lets up.

Small chapel connected to the old church that is part of the monastary

Inside the old church - pipe organ

The monastary/hotel courtyard

JD finds a secret passageway to the church

The excavated old jail cells for "bad monks". They are only about 6 feet tall by 3 feet wide by 4 feet deep.

The cloister

Ahh... it's good to be the Captain.

The altar of the old church

Sarcophagi in the church dating to the middle ages

It's been raining almost nonstop for the past few days, with brief respites. I think the sun came up for a total of 5 hours over the last 48 hours.

Outside the hotel

Vaughantown: The First Day

2007-09-30T21:27:00.000-07:00

We finally arrive at the hotel. I'd rather call it a monastary with hotel amenities, because that's what I really felt like it was.

After a pretty interesting early morning rouse (we got up at the crack of dawn, wandered Calle Arenal looking for an open coffee house, and saw the aftermath of some bloody fight near club Palacio de Gaviria), we made it to our shuttle meeting point and got to meet more of the "anglos" involved in the Vaughantown language program and some of the spaniards participating as well.

Around 8:45ish, our shuttle pulled out and headed for our destination.

Then our shuttle broke down.

What is up with these transportation delays of ours during this trip?

Anyway, after an hour of waiting, we finally got a replacement shuttle and we were finally on our way.

The Vaughantown program is one of several language programs by Vaughan Systems, a very successful language instruction company in Spain directed towards businesses and professionals eager to learn English well and comprehensively. The company has many "in-company" courses and "immersion" programs such as Vaughantown. These programs are very intense for the Spaniards; they are learning English at a wicked pace, and the emphasis is on a "whole package" of reading and writing comprehension with many hours of listening and speaking in English.

Vaughantown involves Spaniards spending 6 days amongst native English speakers within an outside venue - having conversations and participating in one-on-one and group activities. The purpose of the program is to have Spaniards - who are used to hearing a "watered down" version of English in their classrooms - listen to the "real McCoy" - native speakers from regions all over the world, from Taos to Toronto to Birmingham to Perth, and hear the variety of accents and manners of speaking. They must throw aside their fears of speaking out loud and are forced to express themselves, knowing that success comes with many stumbling blocks and challenges.

The English-speaking participants, or "Anglos", are not language teachers but regular, everyday people from all walks of life. Where the Spaniards pay to take part in the program, all Anglos interested in participating do not have to pay anything. All room and board during the program is free. The catch? You have to pay for your flight to Madrid and possess a keen, intuitive, outgoing and talkative personality.

One of the veteran Anglos, Bob; a man who has participated in several programs warned not to enter Vaughan Town with the intention of getting free room and board - you'll only end up tired and frustrated at the level of commitment, and the other participants will make sure you know how much of a burden you've become. But honestly, I can't understand how anyone could remain so selfish after meeting a few of the Spaniards. Like the country, they are beautiful people, both inside and out - speaking with them is fascinating, and they are all so easy to befriend.

The program JD and I are participating in is at a historic medieval monastary turned hotel in Carrion de los Condes, in the region of Palencia, Spain. It is most famous for being a waystation for pilgrims - then and now - taking part in the Way of St. James (Camino de Santiago), a pilgrimage route which ends at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. More information about the Monastary, called Hotel Real Monastario San Zoilo, can be found HERE. Unfortunately for now, the website is only in Spanish.

Lunch hour, minutes after our (late) arrival

We finally arrived 2 hours later than usual, ate our group lunch, and were immediately on our way talking. The Spaniards participating in the program come from all over the country and are warm, friendly, and very eager to learn as much English - and speak as much English - as possible.

Anglos and Spaniards deep in conversation

Dinner is at 9 (and each meal comes with mineral water and gorgeous Spanish red wine - FREE), and after dinner, JD and I, completely tuckered out and still trying to get over jetlag, went straight to bed.

After several sessions of conversations, I was asked how I was getting along by a Spaniard. I put it this way: I can go to Spain, visit the cities, visit the museums, learn about the country, the culture, the history. But coming to San Zoilo and speaking with our new Spanish friends, I get a very intimate look into how they live, what they think, what they believe. I called it, a Museum of People. It is an incredible experience. I wonder if the Spaniards realize what we Anglos are learning from them while they seek to learn from us.

The bar, where we enjoy cafe con leche, cafe cortado, tea, and yes... wine, beer and spirits.

After dinner sipping and chatting

In the next few days, I'll be posting more pictures of the monastary hotel and the nearby town of Carrion de los Condes. Wait for it!

Ernest Hemingway, War Paintings, and More Rioja, Please

2007-09-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

On Calle Arenal, looking towards Plaza Isabel II. This was around the corner from where we stayed.

Plaza de Espana, near Museo del Prado and Museo Reina Sofia.

The next morning we woke up late-ish (10:30am), and I felt kind of guilty for getting up so late, but then I reminded myself that I'm on vacation and so shut the hell up.

After a quick breakfast downstairs (yummy and included in our hotel stay), we ran out to go explore the Austrias District, which is an old part of the city filled with little alleyways, cavelike restaurants called mesones and taverns, and cool little plazas and old churches. We tried to follow a walking tour I downloaded, but just when we were about to get started, it started to rain and we only brought one umbrella, so we detoured to El Corte Ingles (kind of like the Spanish version of Macy's) to buy another one. Once we got outside, though, the rain stopped. Freakin' hell. So we headed out around the neighborhood and kinda got lost but didn't care and ended up seeing some really interesting sights and ... um... smells. Madrid is - pardon me - a pretty smelly city, and I don't mean that completely in a negative way. Yes, we passed some people who were super gnarly:

Me: OMG, JD that was some nasty-ass smell back there... was that...?

JD:Yes, yes, I smelled him too.

Me: (pause) That came from a person?

I don't know if anyone has ever noticed this but me-- but the small little air-lock like entrances to banks often smell like they've been collecting the odor from every unwashed armpit that passes through it... a concentration of body-funk. That was the smell we discovered coming from some people.

And there were some corners where... um yeah, but there were other smells - interesting or delicious or even strange ones - all over the place. The whole city was drenched in different smells. I don't know if it's just me, but I find that every city has it's own distinct smell, and to me, smell is another sensory experience that I enjoy experiencing along with the sights and sounds of a place. Even now, if I were to smell curry, stale fish, spilled beer and cigarettes, it would take me immediately to Covent Garden and Holborn.

A lot of the smells were familiar to me. I lived in Philadelphia, and there is no mistaking the smells of subways and the various vents to the surface. In fact, overall, Madrid smells a lot like the cleaner parts of Philadelphia.

Some random pics from our Austrias District walk:

Anyway, I digress. After lots of walking, we headed over to Restaurante Botin for our 1pm lunch reservation. Botin is well-known as the oldest restaurant in the world (by Guinness Book of World Records). Even more well-known is that this was a favorite haunt of Ernest Hemingway, and he even quotes the restaurant in two books. In The Sun Also Rises he writes: "We lunched upstairs at Botin's, it is one of the best restaurants in the world. We had roast young suckling pig and drunk rioja alta." Then in Death in the Afternoon there's a line: "I would rather dine on suckling pig at Botin's than sit and think of casualties my friends have suffered." The famous painter Francisco Goya also supposedly worked at Botin before he became famous.

Waiting outside Restaurante Botin. Ha Ha suckers, we have reservations.

The inside of Botin - the upper floor.

Did we have the suckling pig? No. I know, we're lame. After seeing plate after plate of it come out to excited patrons, we swore we'd come back and do the restaurant the right way. Though JD did have an amazing stewed partridge.

This guy was our server. He was so kind to us even though in my nervousness, my Spanish ended up sucking.

Alcachofas con jamon iberico. Our starter after the fact. I ate my croquetes too fast.

After lunch we took the metro over to Museum Reina Sofia or, by its full name - Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia - to stroll the exhibited works of Dali, Miro... but mainly to see one historic art piece done by a man from Malaga:

Guernica, by Picasso

Now permanently housed here after over 30 years of being "exiled" from the country.

All these years, I didn't realize all the black and white photos of this painting in art books were really color plates! The painting IS black and white.

...just kidding... I knew that.

But one thing that the images in books never do justice is the amount of construction visible in the painting. It looks like a hastily done painting. Underpainting shows through the top layers of paint. The top layers of paint have haphazard strokes that are somewhere between opaque and a wash.

Ultimately, though, seeing these imperfections are quickly overcome by the sheer passion and drama in the piece. It's huge... bigger than any of the walls in our house, And at that size, there is actually a lot of detail to read in to.

There's this thing... every time I bear witness to something monumental or historical I get this tiny moment of disbelief, which then changes to realization and I get these itty bitty goosebumps and chills all over my body. It happened when I visited Stonehenge, and it happened again when I saw this painting. Maybe it's because of its history, or its symbolism, or what the painting represented when Picasso created it... but in any case, let's just say that it was pretty damn awesome.

Me sitting outside Museo Reina Sofia

Afterwards we wandered around a bit more and went back to the hotel to take a nap before our Vaughan Systems evening reception. We woke up 2 hours later and got ready to head out, thinking that the reception was at 7:30, only that, when double checking the information, it really turned out to be 7:00. A mad dash to the Salamanca District tapas bar, bounding up the stairs, into a throng of fellow "anglos" drinking and mingling... and realizing that we could have been late and no one would have noticed.

We met some really great people who we'll be spending the next 6 days with in that beautiful monastary in Palencia. A nurse named Michaela and her boyfriend Shaun, a civil engineer, both from Australia, a guy named Jonathan (another Jonathan - goes by "Jonty") from the Isle of Man, a man named Bob, retired, from Florida, who was a veteran of the program, among others. (And who kept asking where all the wine was.)

Even I was considered a "veteran" having taken part in the program only once, and back in 2002. Greg, one of the program directors, sort of recognized me, and it was great catching up on what's been happening with the company.

After the reception, JD and I headed back to the hotel, grabbing some super delicious gelato on the way, and I'm sure hoping to tuck in early tonight. We have to be at the meeting point to catch the shuttle bus by 8:15 am tomorrow. Blargh.

Adios querida Madrid. Until next time...

Hard to see, but that's a police vehicle... a police... scooter.

I saw this on our way back to the hotel. It's a recumbant scooter for a mounted cop. I guess in the city that makes sense, but it's kind of funny to compare it to the heavy BMWs and Suzukis used in the States. Buzzzzzzzzz wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo...

Goya, Dreamland and an Homage to Ham

2007-09-28T17:11:00.000-07:00

In Madrid, we're staying at Hotel Room Mate Laura, one of a number of hotels in the "Room Mate" chain around Spain with cool interior design and an even cooler gimmick that each hotel is named after a "character" who is like a friend of yours who's offered their place for you to stay while in Spain visiting. There are, I think, 4 different "Room Mates" in Madrid, one in Granada, and two others... I can't recall. But check out the website here.

When we checked in, the clerk upgraded our double bed reservation to a bi-level duplex (YESSSS!) and when we got to our room... well, check it out.

At the loft, looking down on our bed

Chillin'

The view from outside our window

After taking much-needed showers, we were on our way to the Museo del Prado, which is quite possibly one of my most favorite museums. JD was excited to check it out and I was excited taking him there. Goya, Velazquez (yes, "Las Meninas" is housed here), Rubens, Titian, Rembrandt... yes, please.

Statues outside of the Prado

Entrance to the Prado

Resting outside the Prado. You know you can't take pictures inside, right? It's like, a museum, or something. LOL.

This was especially great for me because I've studied so much of this art, yet only seen them as color plates in art texts. "Las Meninas" was, in particular, a fantastic revelation since I had studied it in high school and done an interpretation of its composition.

But alas, after about 2 hours in the museum, we had to call it quits because our bodies just crapped out on us. We got back to the hotel and zonked out for 5 blissful hours. Ahhh, bed. How I missed the concept of a bed.

Afterwards we got up completely ... um... alive (better than refreshed - try NORMAL?) and went out to walk the town and grab a bite to eat. The last time I was in Madrid, I practically LIVED on these cheap, beautiful, and delicious ham and cheese sandwiches from a place called Museo del Jamón. That's right. MUSEUM OF HAM. But you know, it's blasphemous to just call these things ham and cheese sandwiches. For anyone who knows Spanish cuisine, you'll know that dry-cured ham is one of the greatest culinary masterpieces that this country offers. This is a whole different species from American ham, which is pretty much "wet" and roasted with glaze. This is like Italian prosciutto in texture, but I don't want to make too much of a comparison for fear of Spanish outcry. This is dry, chewy, sweetly salty gorgeous stuff, (and coming from me, a generally anti-pork kind of girl, this is huge) and there are different levels of quality from the basic jamón serrano to the the sublime - and much more expensive - jamón iberico and pata negra. The hams come in whole hocks, hanging on walls and hooks to air-dry and the butcher or deli person just takes one down and cuts thin shavings off of it for tapas, raciónes or sandwiches (called bocadillos if on a hard roll.) The cheese on these sandwiches is the most delicious manchego cheese I've ever tasted.

The way to rock this is to come up to the bar, order a bocadillo (the cheapest way to enjoy the hammy goodness), a caña of cerveza (a small glass of beer), and a bottle of aguá minerál. Total? 5 Euros apiece or about 7 dollars. That's right, kids. Now you know why my poor ass was eating here every day back in 2002.

Can u guess which cana is mine? Wuss.

God, I look like a duck. Thanks, JD. Quack Quack. Salud.

Check out the wall of hocks ...

No, these aren't plastic, geez.

I'll take the 20 at the top.

Mmmm... One of the things that strikes me when abroad is all the cool cultural particulars that I look at and think, what the fuck, America? What the fuck? Why can't we have these things in the US? Sandwiches of thick slices of manchego and what, to many, would pass as a more mild proscuitto, on a savory artesan roll? For about 2.50? I'd pay that! I'd eat that! McDonald's in Europe serves beer! My mind is blown.

Afterwards, we strolled Puerta del Sol (one of the oldest plazas in the city - part of the old city and central hub of Madrid), and got a hankering for some churros and hot chocolate at the famous Chocolatería de San Gines.

The bear and strawberry tree statue, symbol of Madrid, at Puerta Del Sol

I wish you could see the statue's face better. I got it down, sez da bf.

Spain's answer to nectar and ambrosia. Don't tell me otherwise, fool.

The hot chocolate is amazing. I stared at it for a while and asked, "it's in a coffee cup... are we supposed to drink it when we're done dipping the churros?" Apparently so. I mean, just imagine dunking a coffee cup into a chocolate fountain and that's your beverage. Well, the hot chocolate is a little more... what's the word... there's a base to it that is sort of thick milky or starchy, but the taste is dark, rich, and semi-sweet. Delicious.

Now we're back in the hotel and part of me feels ashamed that we're not out at Kapital or Palacio de Gaviria dancing the night away, but my "mature" half is telling me to take it easy and go back to bed now to prep for tomorrow. Besides, I've already done the partying in Madrid deal. Partying in Barcelona is next on the list. Don't worry, boys and girls. Mo hasn't lost it yet.

Boo For Bad Parents

2007-09-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

Hi all!

Well, the moment has finally arrived. We're in Spain after months of anticipation and I hope I do a good job in the next two weeks of documenting JD and I's adventures in Madrid, Barcelona, and in San Zoilo for the Vaughan Program. Just so everyone knows, this is going to end up being a CO-AUTHOR blog between JD and I, and so to differentiate JD's comments, anything written in italics will be his words. (except those).

So... I really have to start by talking about the plane ride. Plane rides as a rule are pretty straightforward business to me - just way to get from point A to point B without much hoo-hah. If you're doing an overseas jaunt, in my opinion, there's guaranteed to be a certain level of discomfort and the best you can do is to be patient, try to occupy yourself to pass the time (paperbacks and Nintendo DSes are good for this) or just drug yourself and hope to wake up closer to landing time.

Well, anyway, I have to say that so far, in my short history of plane trips, this plane ride to Spain was the MOST PAINFUL PLANE RIDE OF MY LIFE.

Start off with that on paper, we're supposed to depart from L.A. to arrive in Miami 5 hours later, then have a 4 hour layover (yuck) and then enjoy a 6-hour fly to Madrid.... But wait, let me back up a bit....

The night before, I got a total of probably 2 hours of sleep. We get to LAX and get on the plane and I immediately doze off on some semblance of sleep. We land in Miami on time and I try to add more "sleep" to my already deficient reserves as we try to kill our four hours of layover time. We finally get on the plane and - of course - the seats suck, and I take a deep breath and prep myself for the 6 hours of good times. The plane rolls down the tarmac and we're on our merry way....

Yeah....

2 hours into our trip, the captain comes on the P.A. and announces that we'll have to make an emergency landing in Boston. There is a medical emergency on the plane ("an ill child") and the child and her parents will need to land as soon as possible to take the child to the hospital. The closest airport just happened to be Logan Airport and so "we'll be landing in about 1 hour." The captain also adds that we'll have to remain on the plane while the family disembarks and he couldn't say at this point how long we'll have to wait. At this point, I'm a tad dismayed, but mainly concerned for the child and totally accepting about this turn of events... because... well, this little girl needs medical attention.

I noticed something odd: during the first two hours of the trip, whenever the television screens would show our little google-maps-esque flight path, we we're going up the coast instead of across the pond...

Over an hour later we land at Logan and I see all of these ambulances and cop cars with their sirens flashing near the runway, and when the plane rolls down the tarmac, all of these medical/emergency vehicles follow us. Crazy. When we finally roll to a stop, I get up and go to the bathroom and end up striking a conversation with one of the passengers, who was sitting very close to the ill child in question.

Anyway, apparently the story goes that the child had some sort of bleeding problem, and that the family came on board with the child ALREADY BLEEDING. Somehow, the family thought that the child would be alright for the flight (since, in the passenger's words, "the child seemed normal and active and the mother thought she would be fine"), but an hour into the flight the girl just started bleeding worse. What the hell. What. The. Hell.

After being on the ground for over 2 hours, we finally are cleared to take off again (much to my relief since I started getting these frightening thoughts of 8 hour waits like those controversial recent flights in the news). The next 6 hours were more painful than usual. I couldn't sleep, my stomach was acting up, and I was getting cricks in my neck, swelling in my feet, and hot and cold sweats. YAYYYYY!!!!!

We finally touch down in Madrid a little over 6 hours later. But then....

When we pull up to the gate, the mechanical gate/tunnel pedestrian thingie (you know, that walkway that extends and attaches itself to the plane's door [I think it's called a 'skywalk']) WON'T WORK. Everyone has gotten up and grabbed their bags in a hurry to try and make their connections, and when the captain announces this, I start to laugh... to hide the tears. (Just kidding. ) Man, this plane trip is awesome!!! When the ground operators finally get it to work, I was surprised there wasn't a bum rush to the door like we're a bunch of crazed lemmings going over a cliff.

Thank god the rest of the airport experience was uneventful. Customs was even extremely quick - stamp stamp, "gracias" and we're off.

Well... Barajas airport is very pretty at least.

Plane trips for me are the make it break it clause of the trip. The vacation has to be substantially beneficial to counteract the decidedly un-holiday nature of being in coach on a plane. I'm also a bit jaded, because I've been rescheduled to first class a few times when trying to return from trips to Pennsylvania during snow storms. Coach, now, is a form of inhumane torture.

It's also a bit frustrating when the flight attendants remind you that you are in coach. After our 2 hour unscheduled lay-over in the plane in Boston, the flight attendant assured us "we apologize to our passengers in coach for not serving your meal, but that will be our first priority once we reach cruising altitude." Because you know that first class has been boozing it up and eating sundaes the whole time... at least... I know... because I've been there. Bastards.

So yeah -- 13 hours on a plane. I was thankful to be dying of combined hypothermia and dehydration because it meant, at least, that I wasn't stewing in my own sickly sweat. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

But now we're in Madrid, and our first few hours walking around like the reanimated dead through the Goya galleries at the Prada made it all worth while... but I'm getting ahead of myself; Mo! Let's talk about Spain!

Yeah - enough about this stupid plane crap and its obvious reminder that classism is alive and kicking. Let's move on to our trip fun-ness.

Our last day

2006-11-22T22:08:00.000-08:00

We're back home.

The last day in Dublin was just us heading to the airport and on our way home. Of course, the last day of our vacation was the first day that I felt completely better from my illness. Of course.

We woke up very early and gave a parting thank-you gift to our friendly front desk people. (chocolates and California wine.) It was raining a little bit as we stood at the bus stop. The whole goodbye to Dublin was really kind of anticlimatic.

At the airport, JD and I bought some liquor at the duty free shop. Celtic Cross - something JD was looking for for quite a while - and some Irish cream. The flight back actually seemed a lot easier than the flight there. I think being in a plane with a bit more legroom helped. I fell asleep for a moment. I know, I couldn't believe it myself. But I couldn't help wishing that we were rich enough to fly first class. I'm telling you, the moment we win the lottery, we won't fly any other way. (Except, maybe, if we can travel by private jet!)

So I'm actually glad that we're home. It was an amazing trip, but nothing beats your own bed.

JD says he enjoyed his first foray into Europe.

In fact, you know what... I think for our next overseas trip, I'll have him write on this blog too.

You know what's even better, once I think about it, let me ask him some questions now....

**********************************************************

ME: I'm writing a retrospective interview with you on our recent trip to London and Dublin. Can I ask you some questions?

JD: Sure.

ME: What did you think about your first trip to Europe?

JD: I was so amazingly pleased. One of the biggest uncertainties I had, probably the weirdest, is that I didn't know what life 'looked' like outside of America. One thing I just wanted to know is what a foreign suburbia looked like-- or whether I would walk down the streets of London and feel like I was in an alien world. I was very, heh, relieved(?) that it was familiar while still being satisfyingly new and exciting.

ME: So I know one of the suckiest things that happened, that hindered the trip becoming so much more exciting, in my opinion, was that I got sick. I'm sorry about that. I hope it didn't limit your experience.

JD: Just being there with you was worth it. I would have felt just as bored as if I were in America trying to go explore bars and such on my own. We did get out and push through our cruddy health and exhaustion more than I would have expected. England had that annoying indoor/outdoor climate thing going on that makes me loathe the North East: that it's cold outside, so you dress for 40 degree weather - and wear a coat, but then you go into a pub and the heat is set to 82!!! How do they keep any kind of energy level up at all with that kind of hassle? I felt like I was maybe supposed to carry some khaki shorts and a hawaiian shirt to change into when I go into an establishment.

ME: I know, that bothered me a lot too. Just when you get used to the weather outside, you come inside a restaurant or store and you have to get your body to adjust to the new temperature. Not fun. I supposed i'm used to the So Cal weather. lol. I guess that's a good segue... now that I know what you liked least about the trip, what did you like best about both London and Dublin? What were your favorite experiences?

JD: The best part of Dublin was easily the Trinity College Library and viewing the The Book of Kells. I love illuminated manuscripts. The long room was fascinating, too. I got caught up trying to see if there were any secrets to the busts around the room... were they staring at a secret door, or glaring at the hiding place for some ancient masonic text? I dunno... but I spent most of my time studying the busts. Not to say that the Guinness plant wasn't awesome, too. But I'm a sucker for ancient art. In London, there was just too much. But I guess my favorite experiences there revolved around the oldest architecture-- Stonehenge, and especially Bath. I was completely enthralled with the underground excavations of the temple at Bath.

MO: Yeah, that was pretty awesome. I'm really looking forward to our 2007 trip to Spain. I know we won't have that pesky temperature issue to deal with, so I'm hoping it will be much more fun! (And hopefully, no more illness situations!) So before I sign off, is there anything else you want to add?

JD: Heh... I was talking with a man about all the different lines and patterns on the road and traffic violations. When I told him that in the US, if you get a ticket, you have a right to contest it in a trial, he was taken aback. Maybe he never had to contest a ticket... but I got the impression that they don't get that opportunity in England?

MO: Hmm, I'm not sure about that either. Maybe I'll have to post that question on my travel message board.

Apparently Free is not Good Enough

2006-11-20T16:04:00.000-08:00

Today we had planned to go out with an alcohol-soaked bang with tours of the Guinness Storehouse and the Jameson Distillery, but because we headed out so late, (and because... well, I'll explain later) we only had time to visit Guinness before heading home.

It took us a while to get to Guinness. For some reason, busses were few and far between so we just kept walking towards the place with the hope that we'll run into a bus going in that direction sometime. 1 hour later we had succeeded in walking the near 3 miles from our hotel to the Storehouse.

When you purchase the 14 euro admission ticket, you receive a map of the factory and a special ticket which looks large plastic round, clear "dewdrop" with the Guinness brand embossed onto it and a little bit of "the black gold" rolling around inside. Attached to it is a plastic tab. The salesperson said that this plastic tab can be exchanged at the 360 view bar at the top of the Storehouse for either a free soda or a free pint of Guinness. Who orders a soda at the Storehouse? I thought to myself. Cuz, geez, FREE PINT, bitches! The salesperson explained further that once you trade in the plastic tab, the plastic half is now your official souvenir. Cool.

Anyway, I can understand why many people consider the Guinness Storehouse a total ripoff, but then again, I can also understand why Guinness is one of the most popular attractions in Dublin. See, if you're not a beer enthusiast - better yet, not a Guinness enthusiast, you would consider the 14 euro admission a complete waste of money, even with the free pint at the end. The Storehouse has several levels, with each level focusing on a certain part of the beer manufacturing process, or Guinness's history, both culturally and socially. In my opinion (as a Guinness lover), I thought the place was worthwhile. All of the exhibits were smartly designed with the visitor having some hands-on interaction in witnessing the Guinness-making process. It was all very interesting and very fun.

We finally made it to the top bar, and it had the best view of the city.

Dozens of people were in there, and I noticed that almost all of them were trading their tabs for pints. We did the same. I went to find a seat and noticed something offensive and sacreligious going on around us: People were leaving half full to completely full pints of Guinness behind. What the F*CK?!! I thought. JD eventually arrived with our pints and I pointed this out. Completely unbelievable, we both agreed. We even pointed it out to a server who was making his rounds clearing glasses from the tables. "Tis a bit shameful, in'it?" he said. Umm, YEAH, we replied. I mean, not to gross you out, and not that I would ever do this, but I was almost tempted to take these untouched Guinness pints and drink them myself. I mean, c'mon. Free Guinness, - the king of beers - and you're not going to even finish it? If you don't even like beer, order a soda for chrissakes and save us the black gold.

Anyway, before I took a good long sip of my beer, I thought - for a millisecond - that maybe I shouldn't be drinking this because of my recent IBS bouts. To hell with it, I thought almost as quickly, and guzzled my oh so satisfying bread soda... down the hatch. Here's some piccies of the calm before the storm:

Bad idea. By 30 minutes I was experiencing the worst bouts of stomach pain I've ever experienced. It was difficult getting myself to the gift store to buy souvenirs for my sister, her boyfriend and my coworkers. By the time 20 more minutes passed, I was barely able to stand. I had to sit and wait while JD called a cab for us.

We got back to the hotel in a few minutes and it was straight to bed with me. I mean, no joke, I was in so much pain that I was almost going to ask JD to take me to a hospital. I was sweating and rocking back and forth in a fetal position in bed. I even tried to induce vomiting, thinking that would help. No dice. I tried eating some granola bars to "soak up" the alcohol. Nope. I started breathing very quickly and very hard. Luckily, after 3-4 hours, the pain had subsided enough that I was able to go to sleep. IBS sucks. Gotta be more careful next time.

Heads Will Roll Should The Birds Get Out

2006-11-20T15:44:00.000-08:00

Our last day in London.

After (happily) checking out of our hotel and grabbing a quick sandwich from Marks & Spencer we headed to the Tower of London for a guided tour. Lots of fun, (we took these pictures of the famous ravens of the Tower), but I don't think it was worth the admission price.

Do you know about the ravens? Besides the Tudor history with its beheadings and hauntings and all that wicked, great stuff, the story of the ravens in the Tower was especially interesting. Supposedly no one knows when ravens first started living in the Tower of London courtyards, but there is a legend about their constant presence: At least 6 ravens must remain in the Tower or else the English monarchy will fall.

The tour guide told us a story about The first Royal Observatory which was originally housed in the tower. According to legendary accounts, an astronomer to King Charles II in the late 1600's or so complained to the king that the birds were... ahem... interfering (pooping?) with his telescopes and, therefore, his observations. King Charles was about to have the ravens destroyed until someone in his court told him about the legend and the destruction of the kingdom should the ravens leave. The king changed his mind and decreed that at least 6 ravens should live in the Tower at all times.

The Tower has seven ravens (1 extra, like an understudy I guess), all with their wings clipped to prevent their flying away. They seem pretty happy, fat and content. There's a yeoman warder or "Beefeater" (official guards of the Tower) who's sole responsibility is to take care of the ravens. He's called the Raven Master (not to be mistaken with the Dungeon Master - hah hah.)

(JD at the outside of the Tower of London)

In the afternoon, we said goodbye to London and flew back to Dublin. When we checked back into the Camden Deluxe, one of the front desk people (who we recognized and really liked) recognized us back and said with a smile, "you just can't stay away, can you?" We laughed... No, we're not done yet.

I Cried Like A Wuss

2006-11-19T15:10:00.000-08:00

Sunday was the most exciting day yet. Woke up feeling tons better but purposely took it real easy to make sure we were at our best for our theatre matinee reservations later in the afternoon. Decided to nix our outing to Tate Modern (regrettably - I've been before but wanted to go again), and take a long and leisurely morning nap.

By the by, the other night I purchased a new suitcase. The one we brought on the trip failed us on the first day in London - one of the wheels broke - and so it seemed necessary to dish out extra money to replace it. It was fine with me anyway since the old suitcase was a flimsy budget buy with no real stability. I was prepared to go to Oxford Street and browse the department stores, but just as we turned to corner, heading to Earls Court station, I noticed across the street a small shop with tons of souvenirs, bags and suitcases for sale. Beeline. I found a really solid black rolling case for the "reasonable price" of 80 quid (about $157).

Segueing back... At about 12 pm we headed to Covent Garden, first to have lunch at Porters English Restaurant, a decent place with decent English food. The theatre lunch deal was good for what was left of our pounds, at least. JD and I had both ordered their St. Peter's Brewery Honey Porter, which was one of the most delicious beers we've ever tasted, no joke. It had a distinct honey aftertaste and when you finish your pint, the glass leaves a fermented honey scent.

While JD was in the restroom, I noticed this group at a table next to us with what looked like a box gift set of beer and glasses. I leaned over and asked the group how they got it. "Ask your server. We got the Honey Porter, it is by far the best!" they said. I responded, "that was what WE had! I agree, it was delicious." I thanked them and when the server came back with the check, I purchased a Honey Porter set for JD (2 bottles of Honey Porter, 2 beer glasses.)

After lunch it was time to go see The Lion King. JD has seen it in New York City when he was younger and he admitted to me that the opening number Circle of Life made him cry. I ribbed him and called him a wuss, jokingly, and said I wasn't going to cry over something silly like that. (Truthfully, when I first saw The Lion King trailer in the movie theatre circa 1993, it was the Circle of Life musical opening scene, and I bawled like a baby.)

So yeah... when the opening sequence began, with Rafiki singing lead and all the actors/dancers/singers coming out in their animal costumes, the first thing I thought was: "Oh my god." I was not prepared for the genius and beauty I was seeing. Nor was I prepared for when the ensemble finally chimed in at the chorus. By the time the dramatic, harmonic last lines of the song ended, I could hardly hold it back. I choked and sobbed like a damn wuss. Needless to say, the show was outstanding. Yes, everyone should see it.

Translating Rocks and a Famous Killer No One Knows

2006-11-19T13:49:00.000-08:00

Saturday we did two cool things: Visit the British Museum and go on a Jack The Ripper Walking Tour.

The British Museum is one of the most amazing museums in the world! We got to see the Rosetta Stone, which was funny because we didn't recognize it at first. It was like we were right in front of it and saw a bunch of people hovering around it and it never connected. JD walked up to a security guard nearby and asked him where it was and he looked at him with this expression like, "you're a retard" and pointed directly behind him to the crowd.

We had afternoon tea in the museum at the Court Restaurant, sitting at a table that had a view of the famed Reading Room below.

We must have stayed at the Museum for 4 hours or something because when we finally came out, it was dark. We took a nice walk around the neighborhood and decided to have dinner at this Italian restaurant near Earl's Court station.

There was this old guy sitting next to us at the restaurant with this girl who looked like she could be his granddaughter, but of course was his date for the evening. He was so annoying because I kept overhearing him talk about himself and she never said anything. When it was time for us to pay for our meal, this ass of a man leaned over and made a snide remark, asking us why we were shortchanging our server – "didn't you enjoy your food?" What he saw at that moment was us counting out 1 and 2 pound coins so we can give her a fat 25% tip. Dude, when your country's higher denominations come in coin form, you're gonna look cheap no matter what. (In retrospect, we really didn't need to tip our server that much per British custom, but that was beside the point.)

Afterwards, we hurried out to Tower Hill (overlooking the Tower of London) to meet up with our tour group for the Jack the Ripper tour. I was really really excited because our tour guide was Donald Rumbelow, who is renowned as the premier expert on Jack the Ripper history and the case. At the end of the tour, he did a little shameless self-promotion by offering his book for sale. Of course, I bought one and he signed it for us. But no joke, the tour was really great. I'm sure that sounds weird and creepy, and yeah, I'm kinda into famous serial murder histories….

Now I'm sure you're totally creeped out.

Wild Church Views

2006-11-18T09:22:00.000-08:00

On Friday morning, I woke up feeling like I was getting better. After grabbing some convenient eats from Marks & Spencer Simply Food, we were off to grab the earliest London double decker tour bus we could find.

In retrospect, the double decker tour was probably a little unnecessary – for some reason it felt boring and long compared to the tour I took in 2004. We got off near St. Paul's Cathedral, which was our next destination. Unfortunately, I was actually feeling bad again, and what's worse, JD was starting to feel a bit ill too. We made a quick pit stop at a nearby coffee house to grab some tea and then to a pharmacist for some medicine.

I never had a chance to visit St. Paul's the last time I was in London, which was funny since I stayed just down the road. After a quick walk around the cathedral, we made our way up to the Whispering Gallery – 259 steps up a winding staircase. The climb made it embarrassingly apparent to me just how out of shape I was. That's all I will say.

(St. Pauls shot from outside)

The Whispering Gallery is named so because of the perfect acoustics which allow someone on one end of the gallery to whisper to someone clear across the other end and they will be able to hear perfectly. No lie. JD and I tried this and it was true. Truly awesome.

Later we climbed another level above the Whispering Gallery – the Stone Gallery – which can be reached after over 120 steps. This "gallery" is really an outdoor walkabout around the cathedral dome with a short stone wall separating you from a 173 foot drop. The view was unbelievable. It was also unbelievably cold.

I was planning to climb to the final and highest gallery, the Golden Gallery, but because I starting feel really unwell, I let JD get there on his own. The Golden Gallery was an additional 152 steps above the Stone Gallery. In total, this precarious "gallery" is 280 feet from ground level. According to JD, he had to climb these outside stairs which became almost near-vertical at points to reach this spot. Once there, though, he said it was all worth it. Again, this gallery was outdoors and offered an unparalleled view. Next time we're in London, I promised myself that I had to get to it.

(A shot JD took while climbing the steps to the Golden Gallery)

When we left St. Pauls, both JD and I were feeling totally under the weather. We decided to scratch some things off our itinerary for the next few days, move some visits around, and go back to the hotel that afternoon for some sleep. We woke up 4 hours later in time to grab some dinner and go on a ghost walking tour.

Stonehenge, Bath and Harry's Parents' House

2006-11-16T13:30:00.000-08:00

It was a wet Thursday morning when we departed for our Stonehenge tour from a corner hotel 3 blocks from the Earls Court station. I couldn't help thinking when I sat in the hotel lobby how infinitely nicer this hotel was and I longed for its surely nicer beds and clean sparkling bathroom fixtures.

When I was last in London in 2004 I went on the "5,000 Years In A Day" tour, which focused more on south England ancient sites including Stonehenge. Because JD was with me this time, and he's never seen Stonehenge, I decided that I had to go on another tour for his sake. This time around, we went on a different tour that featured a 3 hour trip to Bath. I think I was more excited about the side trip to Bath than he was – I knew more about the town and I was a Jane Austen fan.

The gentleman who was our driver and tour guide was charming and chattering. A fulfilled requirement for a good guide. Standard for tour guides of these day trips are that they be walking founts of random and interesting knowledge. As we drove away from London and eventually into the beautiful countryside of the Cotswolds, he had trivia and stories for almost everything we saw along the way.

The drive was too calming and there were times I fought sleep so I could hear him talk some more and stare at the gorgeous scenery whizzing past me. There were times I lost. One point, I woke up to hear him singing "I want to be ... your Sledgehammer." So random! I burst out laughing, but was also pissed to think that I probably missed some Peter Gabriel trivia.

When Stonehenge came into view 90 minutes into our drive, I watched everyone's reactions. I think I was the only one in the van besides the driver who's been there before. There was a sudden, sober silence. Don't think that I was at all jaded. It was just as unreal as the first time for me too. And just like the first time, it was cold as hell as we walked around the monolith with our narrative handsets.

We finally climbed back into the van and were on our way to Bath.

Just so you know, when people think of English countryside, they are really imagining visions of the Cotswolds. Picture this: Traditional thatched-roof houses, rolling pastures dotted with grazing sheep, rambling estates and hedge-lined 2-lane roads… This is the Cotswolds. I couldn't help getting fleeting scenes in my head from Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Emma, Pride & Prejudice.

We then got stuck in traffic(!) a mere 3 minutes away from Bath. We sat in the van for more than 30 minutes, barely moving, and when we eventually got going again, one of the passengers found out via the internet connection on her phone that there was an accident. The wait was worth it – the beautiful honey-colored stone on Bath's buildings came into view and we were taken by surprise. This was one beautiful wonderful town.

We took a tour of the famous Roman baths (which Bath got their name from, duh.) It was awesome seeing the naturally heated mineral waters bubbling into the old Roman baths, even now, more than 2000 years later. There were great things to see like current excavations, statues, interactive histories.

But the most amazing thing by far was when we walked into the below-ground exhibit/excavations and heard this hissing, gurgling, roaring sound. I went into this gift shop and bought some lotion and JD continued on. I heard him call out for me and when I followed his voice, I came upon him staring at this gaping maw in rock face with ancient plumbing. The area around it was steamy and smelled of metal and sulfur. From this opening gushed this raw, hot, roaring water and the plumbing around the water was caked with iron deposits and other metallics. JD said, "this is water from HELL!" and I wasn't one to contradict him. I was disappointed that he didn't take a picture.

By the way, JD was not taking as many pictures of our trip as I had hoped. I wasn't aware of this until later this evening. Lame.

After the baths tour, we decided to take our tour guide's advice and have lunch at the famous Sally Lunn's Buns. Famous brioche-type buns that they use for sandwiches, as a side with soup, and even for breakfast and dessert. Delicious to the maxxxxxxx.

Needless to say, we wished we could have stayed in Bath longer. 3 hours was definitely not long enough, and we didn't even get to visit the Jane Austen museum. Ah well – another excuse to come back…

Before heading back to London, we made a quick visit to the town of Lacock, which is in the running as "the most charming town in England." A few things of note about the town: 1) the town's most famous resident is the Duchess of Cornwall, aka Camilla Parker Bowles. Her daughter was married in the town's church (St. Cyriac's.) 2) Before Camilla's move to Lacock after her divorce from her first husband, the town's most famous resident was William Fox Talbot. 3) Possibly the most famous house within the town is one a few steps from the church. This house was used to portray Harry Potter's parents' house in The Sorcerer's Stone. We included a picture (0ne of the few JD took. HAH.):

As well, the Warming Room in Lacock Abbey was used to portray Professor Quirrell's classroom in The Sorcerer's Stone.

We finally got back to London near 7 pm. After having some great Indian food for dinner, we begrudgingly turned in for the night.

The Bathers and Sunflowers

2006-11-16T01:07:00.000-08:00

When we arrived Wednesday afternoon in London, we crashed in our crappy room for a couple of hours and when we woke up, I turned to JD and said, "ready to explore?"

Jumped onto the Tube at Earls Court and exited at Westminster. The sun was about to set and one of the first things we saw when we came out of the Tube and onto the street was Big Ben and Houses of Parliament. JD got very quiet for a moment and I realized that he was probably finally taking it all in. "Welcome to London" I said with a smile and he smiled back a bit dreamily.

Our first London sightseeing stop was Westminster Abbey. The cathedral was a bit eerie and sobering, and I felt a little awed staring at the dozens of effigies, statues and crypts. JD whipped out his sketchpad and drew Shakespeare's statue while I did a little more walking, eventually having to leave for a moment to take a restroom break across the street.

(Here's a pic taken during our tour a few days later- better lighting and all.)

Later that night I took JD for a walk around Trafalgar Square. Ate at one of my favorite restaurants, Cafe In The Crypt, located in, yes, the crypt of St. Martin in the Fields Church. They give you way too much food for what you pay, though with the dollar-pound exchange rate, that's really a good thing nowadays.

BTW, the English can't do a proper apple pie for shit. I might be angering a few people out there, or even blaspheming (since the English were the originators of apple pie), but give me an American slice any day.

Afterwards we went to the National Gallery.

Now I love this museum, and the last time I was here, I spent 3 hours inside and looked at EVERYTHING. This time around JD and I focused on some key areas/periods, particularly the "Manet To Picasso" exhibition in the basement Sainsbury Wing. I had to make sure he bore witness to seeing such famous Impressionistic pieces like Sunflowers by Van Gogh and Bathers At Asnieres by Seurat in the flesh. It's pretty indescribable, even the second time around. As for JD, well...being an art major and having studied these masterpieces... it was bit mind-blowing for him.

This season's special exhibition was Velazquez, and I recalled seeing some of his works (including the famous Las Meninas) on display at the Museo Del Pradoin Madrid, so I was excited to see these works. Unfortunately, this was a paid exhibition and so we ixnayed this begrudgingly. Ah well, we're going to Spain next year anyway.

Most of London's museums are free. I really love that. Like, really.

What's That Smell?

2006-11-15T14:38:00.000-08:00

Got off the plane this morning from Dublin to Heathrow airport (only an hour or so flight), as sick as a dog. JD was worried that I wouldn't be able to go on or even enjoy the remainder of our trip, and suggested that we cancel our plans and head home early.

To which I replied, "HELL NO."

I was going to take my chances.

We arrived at the hostel with JD exhausted acting as pack mule helping to lug my stuff because of my illness (my dear wonderful boyfriend.) The hostel, it turns out, was a bit of a shabby, smelly place off of Earls Court station and to make things worse, the double bed rooms they advertise don't freaking exist. To them and only them, a double bed (which is used to describe a queen or king size bed overseas), means a room with two twin beds. I was sick, I was pissed, and I was tempted to take our chances and find accommodations elsewhere. The woman behind the counter added that the room was small enough that we could push the two twin beds together. After a millisecond of angry thinking, I thought, "fuck it, we would lose one day's cost of accommodation and I'm too sick to care more about this" and paid for the rest of our stay.

The woman was not joking - the room was tiny as hell, the beds old and springy, and weird annoying smells were everywhere. The smells are like a mix of very bad Indian food, some b.o., mildew, and musty air. The shared bathrooms were even worse - they insist that they are cleaned every day, but apparently what I consider clean and what they consider clean are two different things.

I've said before that I'm the kind of person who doesn't care where I lay my head, as long as there is a bed and a bathroom. But let me change that now: I don't care where I lay my head, as long as there is A CLEAN LARGE BED and a VERY CLEAN BATHROOM.

So for any of you out there who are trying to find budget accommodations in London - don't book at Nevern Hostel. In fact, if you are a couple traveling looking for private rooms, it's worth the extra 10-20 pounds per night just to have something acceptable and CLEAN.

(For the record, when I visited London alone in 2004, I stayed at City of London/St. Paul's Youth Hostel near Blackfriar's Station. This place is wonderful for any lone traveler/backpacker in search of a single bed and not minding sharing a room with 3-9 other people. The beds are comfortable, the bathrooms very clean, and you a get free full English breakfast every morning with your reservation.)

I'm actually a bit tired so I will sign off for now. There is more to tell about tonight, but I will have to relay it all in the morning. My nasty-ass bed awaits.

Ta-ta.

The City Tugs At Me

2006-11-14T22:40:00.000-08:00

Dublin in my head is two cities. During the day, the old brick and metal buildings seem harsh and dirty against the autumn sun. There is smoke and rot and wetness and unfamiliar smells. Dublin in the daytime seems ugly to me. Yet somehow the air smells pure and everything is real. This city is solidly real, with no pretensions or social facades, it is what it is.

At night, Dublin transforms into something dark and cluttered but somehow warm and welcoming. The lights soften the buildings and there's comfort in the air. And yes, you hear music in the pubs.

The people are like the city, rough around the edges and a bit … unglamorous, but REAL and warm and so very welcoming. Everyone is friendly and the cab drivers tell you jokes featuring their wives and insist you take your time getting out of their taxi.

Ireland is a country of musicians and writers and I see why, albeit in my limited experience staying only within the confines of its largest and capital city. Dublin is filled with stories and walking the streets inspires me because this really is a city out of some novel, romantic and tragic, its people reflecting their centuries of hopes and struggles and simple joys. Yes, I'm sounding cliché, but I can't think of any other way to describe it. I look forward to a future visit, but this time to its hills and villages. Just to see. And to fall in love some more.

This is so refreshing, having lived in Los Angeles for almost 13 years. The two cities are so vastly different, though both the stuff of legends. I am intrigued by Dublin. I too, am compelled to write novels.

Manuscripts and something out of a movie

2006-11-14T11:56:00.000-08:00

Today we walked around the city, having a late start because of my illness, and went to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College. We began the day with scones and tea and all sorts of yumminess at the Queen of Tarts, a fabulously delicious bakery and tea room on Dame Street across from Dublin Castle.

Dublin is a walking city. There is no subway, but there is a great and reliable bus service and taxis galore. But when the main stretch of the city is about 3 miles across, you can really get around just by walking .

The Book of Kells is located in Trinity College's library on permanent display. Trinity College was established in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I of England. It's a compact college, right in the heart of the city, with the Bank of Ireland building (former location of the Irish Parliament) across the way.

The Book is a set of ornately decorated and written manuscripts done by Celtic monks in the 1st century (around 800.) The Book contains the 4 gospels of the New Testament in Latin. The exhibit also features other famous Dark Age-period illuminated manuscripts, as well as offers a timeline based around these books and the history of Ireland at the time. There are videos detailing how these books were made and how these monks – artists in their own right, really – decorated and wrote these texts. I love calligraphy and the art of book-making and this exhibit fascinated me.

We later walked into the College's Old Library Long Room and it was something out of some period film, just utterly amazing. JD was floored. The Long Room is wall-to-wall first editions and bound books, many of them hundreds of years old. It's just hard to describe this place. I looked up information about the Long Room on wikipedia and supposedly, the Jedi Archives featured in Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was inspired by the Long Room.

After leaving the College, we spent some quiet time in Ireland's National Gallery. We are culture-heads, yes. We are not ashamed.

Hate to say it is an early night for us, as I was feeling a bit worse by late afternoon.

We depart for London in the morning!

Wow, there are drunkards in Dublin?

2006-11-14T00:42:00.000-08:00

Welcome back, all. It's day two of our Dublin stay, and what do you know, I GET SICK. Of all the shit-ass luck. But did it stop me? Of course not.

A funny anecdote about last night from JD's point of view. While I was in the internet café typing away, JD chose to hang outside to give me some privacy and he becomes witness to an amusing drunken episode. So the café owner was outside talking to some guy (don't know if he was talking to JD too), and a few minutes later, one of the city custodians comes by and parks his wheelbarrow of trash. Suddenly, some drunkard comes up and grabs the wheelbarrow and starts running around with it doing a little jig and saying something unintelligible that sounds like "wheeeeeeeee!" with many more syllables.

Needless to say, the custodian does not like this one bit and mentions something to the drunkard about there being human waste in the barrow, and the drunkard needs to stop messing around with it. Then the drunkard comes up and put his arm around the custodian and was saying a bunch of stuff and ribbing the guy. To which the custodian was cowering and yelling "fuck off! fuck off! GAH!" The custodian manages to coax the drunkard away from the door to the internet cafe and when he leaves, the one guy who was friends with the proprietor looked over at JD and knowingly smirking... like "ay- kin ye believe that!"

Dublin rocks. More to come… ;)

The Shite Plane Ride and Gammon Steak

2006-11-13T14:29:00.000-08:00

Ok...

I have been totally spoiled on JetBlue and British Airways.

To its credit, Aer Lingus DOES have some of the friendliest flight attendants in the business. But could it HURT to have the seats placed a little farther apart? I mean, I'm a midgetey 5 feet 2 inches and the seating was cramped even for me. I had to witness my poor boyfriend suffering with his knees practically to his chest the entire near-10-hour flight. We didn't sleep at all on the the plane by the way... surprised?

When we arrived at Dublin Airport, the weather was gorgeous - meaning gorgeous for Dublin standards - all pretty clouds and dappled sunlight and 60 degrees at noon. We arrived at our hotel, crazy exhausted and thinking only of ... well nothing... only to find out that check-in was an hour and a half away. We tried to kill some time, which in a normal state of mind, would not have mattered in the least, but in the current situation of mind-bending walking dead-ness, was mildly perturbing at best. When we finally checked in, it was like time ceased to exist. (Our hotel, btw, was lovely in the budget sort of sense, which mattered not to us, being of the budget sort of traveler. I found out later from the brochures that I happened upon in the lobby that the hotel was featured prominently in The Commitments!)

5 lost hours later...

Wandering Temple Bar and - yes - Dublin is fantastic. As I am writing this, JD and I had just finished a lingering boxty and irish stew dinner at Gallagher's, ending with an uber-bang of divine chocolate steamed pudding with fresh cream. For those of you who don't know, a boxty is like a huge potato pancake stuffed with various yummy stews or such, then topped with gravy, cheese, herbs, etc. Radical. Anyway, he ordered a "gammon steak boxty", thinking it was some sort of fancy irish-type BEEF, but when it arrived... gammon steak is some sort of ham. I didn't like it. He liked it a lot. You learn something new every day.

Anyway, I want to keep writing, preferably something wittingly observant and/or amusingly trivial, but I'm at an internet cafe right now and JD is standing out in the rain. Don't ask my why. I'll write more tomorrow. Just wanted to let all of you know we're well and good and ... goddamn we're in Dublin. I promise the next entry won't seem so rushed and checklist-ey. (I realize I make up a lot of words.)

JD also promised to take lots of pictures, so I've entrusted him with the camera. Unfortunately, no piccies today.

London part deux, Dublin part un

2006-11-09T19:29:00.000-08:00

In 3 days, 1 hour and 15 minutes, JD and I will be on a plane headed to Dublin. It's the first time in Dublin for the both of us, and as I've said in a past blog, if I was going by myself I would be excited in a totally different and more introspective way. Having someone with you whom you love deeply, am more comfortable with than in one's own skin, and is new to the overseas travel process - it's a whole new excitement ballpark. 2 days into the trip we're doing a 5 day run in London and I can't wait to show my boyfriend around one of my most favorite cities in the whole entire world.

Heavens To Betsy ...

2006-11-08T17:11:00.000-08:00

I finally made some time to start writing on this blog!

Welcome to What's Outside, my attempts at documenting excursions local and international, while enjoying anything under the sun from historical to gastronomical. I'll make attempt to post everything that's comical or visual, from photographs to encounters in order categorical.