Vaughantown: The First Day

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

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

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

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.