After Barcelona, my sister came back to Holland with me for one week. We mostly bummed around. I was temporarily traveled and moneyed out. But we did manage to get to Middelburg and Amsterdam, and we ate at the pancake house. I guess you'd have to talk to her, but I'd call it a success.
I haven't worked much this month. I'm currently in the middle of another six days off. Had I felt like planning a trip when I got back from my last one, I'd probably be in Greece right now. Didn't happen. Instead, I half-cleaned my room and I'm heading to Brussells tomorrow.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Barcelona
Barcelona was the last stop on my two-week adventure. I took a night train from Madrid and arrived in Barcelona around 8:00 am on a Tuesday. I walked to the hotel -- that's right! hotel! -- to wake up Judi and Shauna, who had been in Barcelona since Sunday.
Barcelona was these things:
* Picasso Museum
* Chocolate Museum
* Gaudi
* Beach
* Lots of pineapple and dried kiwi
* Paella
* A fun night out on the town with Brooke, a fellow American I had met two weeks prior in Lagos
Barcelona was these things:
* Picasso Museum
* Chocolate Museum
* Gaudi
* Beach
* Lots of pineapple and dried kiwi
* Paella
* A fun night out on the town with Brooke, a fellow American I had met two weeks prior in Lagos
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
(Hate to interrupt the travel play-by-play, but...) Fire and Brimstone
Pete: Do you know where my swimming is?
Amanda: Is it by the church?
Pete: What's a church?
Amanda: That big building where people go to pray.
Carl: We were in a church and you be quiet and there's a dead guy and they hang him up.
Pete: Yes, Jesus (YAY-zus) got hanged up.
Amanda: And what else about Jesus (JEE-zus)?
Pete: Jesus (YAY-zus).
Amanda: Jesus (YAY-zus).
Pete: Jesus got hanged up like this. (Insert crucifixion demo here.)
Amanda: Yes, that's right.
Pete: Do you like that?
Amanda: Well, no, that doesn't seem very nice, does it?
Pete: Then you have to get hanged up like that.
Amanda: Is it by the church?
Pete: What's a church?
Amanda: That big building where people go to pray.
Carl: We were in a church and you be quiet and there's a dead guy and they hang him up.
Pete: Yes, Jesus (YAY-zus) got hanged up.
Amanda: And what else about Jesus (JEE-zus)?
Pete: Jesus (YAY-zus).
Amanda: Jesus (YAY-zus).
Pete: Jesus got hanged up like this. (Insert crucifixion demo here.)
Amanda: Yes, that's right.
Pete: Do you like that?
Amanda: Well, no, that doesn't seem very nice, does it?
Pete: Then you have to get hanged up like that.
Bullfight!
The bullfight in Spain felt, overall, more geared toward tourists. In Portugal, I felt that there were a great many locals around me -- all I heard was Portuguese being spoken -- and my ticket was more expensive. In Spain, my ticket was $5, I took a picture of some Japanese girls for them, and the guy next to me and I debated about why one of the bulls wasn't killed. (They seemed to give up on him or something.)
This bullfight involved three young matadors and six bulls. They were showy little guys, which made it interesting. For a while. Two and a half hours is a long time to sit on a concrete bench in the heat (yep, still hot between 9:00-11:00 pm) watching, essentially, the same thing. There aren't any loonies in Spain.
But, it had its moments. At this fight, the matador would enter the ring and "greet" the bull as it entered. One guy started on his knees. This is when the bull isn't even tired, after all. Intense.
Then the other matador-esque guys would join in. A trumpet would sound, and a man on a heavily-armored horse would enter. They would get the bull to charge the horse, and the man would stick his spear into its back and hold it there. Meanwhile, the horse is on two legs or whatever, totally chillin' out. This, really, was the best part. The bull hit that horse with a lot of force. Once the horse almost tipped over on top of the bull. I'm pretty sure I gasped. Another time the rider lost his spear and nearly fell off. Usually they would have time to do two stabs before the trumpet sounded again and the rider left the ring.
The other matadors took turns sticking the bull with spears, two at a time, for a total of six. This is done on foot, sans cape, obviously, since each hand holds a spear. They sort of run at the bull, getting the bull to run at them, and do a rather super-human leap to the side as they stab. I watched this very carefully, and it still looks impossible to me.
I didn't think I'd be able to tell the difference between young matadors and experienced matadors having only ever seen one experienced matador, but I kinda could. These guys sometimes had trouble getting the spears to stick, or even trouble killing the bull. One guy lost his cape -- twice. You could tell they were pretty embarrassed by these things.
And, of course, no bullfight is complete without a good strut around the ring when it's over.
This bullfight involved three young matadors and six bulls. They were showy little guys, which made it interesting. For a while. Two and a half hours is a long time to sit on a concrete bench in the heat (yep, still hot between 9:00-11:00 pm) watching, essentially, the same thing. There aren't any loonies in Spain.
But, it had its moments. At this fight, the matador would enter the ring and "greet" the bull as it entered. One guy started on his knees. This is when the bull isn't even tired, after all. Intense.
Then the other matador-esque guys would join in. A trumpet would sound, and a man on a heavily-armored horse would enter. They would get the bull to charge the horse, and the man would stick his spear into its back and hold it there. Meanwhile, the horse is on two legs or whatever, totally chillin' out. This, really, was the best part. The bull hit that horse with a lot of force. Once the horse almost tipped over on top of the bull. I'm pretty sure I gasped. Another time the rider lost his spear and nearly fell off. Usually they would have time to do two stabs before the trumpet sounded again and the rider left the ring.
The other matadors took turns sticking the bull with spears, two at a time, for a total of six. This is done on foot, sans cape, obviously, since each hand holds a spear. They sort of run at the bull, getting the bull to run at them, and do a rather super-human leap to the side as they stab. I watched this very carefully, and it still looks impossible to me.
I didn't think I'd be able to tell the difference between young matadors and experienced matadors having only ever seen one experienced matador, but I kinda could. These guys sometimes had trouble getting the spears to stick, or even trouble killing the bull. One guy lost his cape -- twice. You could tell they were pretty embarrassed by these things.
And, of course, no bullfight is complete without a good strut around the ring when it's over.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Finally, a language I'm supposed to understand.
I loved being in Spain. I was able to conduct most of my business ("I need a 2-day metro ticket." "I want to go to Barcelona on Sunday night. No seats left on Sunday? How about Monday night?" "How much does this cost?" "Can I try this on?") and some of my play ("I'm 23 years old." "Do you work or study in Madrid?" "Who is your handsome friend?") in Spanish. I was delighted.
And frustrated. Our Spanish conversations never got far beyond our education, work, and opinions on the weather. My next home? Probably in a Spanish-speaking country.
The fellow I stayed with in Madrid is from Segovia. He and his friends go back every weekend (everyone who lives in Madrid seems to hate living in Madrid) and they invited me to go along. First David and his roommate Carlos accompanied me back to the train station so I could purchase my ticket to Barcelona, and then went with me to the Reina Sofia, a fantastic art museum. They gave up after about 30 minutes to go home and siesta. I finished my visit, woke them up, and we took a bus to Segovia, which is, according to them, the most beautiful city in the world.
Indeed, it may be.
And those guys are lots of fun, too.
Back in Madrid, I:
* went to the Prado.
* spent too much time on the metro.
* bought shirts.
Also, there was a bullfight involved. I'll get back to you on that.
And frustrated. Our Spanish conversations never got far beyond our education, work, and opinions on the weather. My next home? Probably in a Spanish-speaking country.
The fellow I stayed with in Madrid is from Segovia. He and his friends go back every weekend (everyone who lives in Madrid seems to hate living in Madrid) and they invited me to go along. First David and his roommate Carlos accompanied me back to the train station so I could purchase my ticket to Barcelona, and then went with me to the Reina Sofia, a fantastic art museum. They gave up after about 30 minutes to go home and siesta. I finished my visit, woke them up, and we took a bus to Segovia, which is, according to them, the most beautiful city in the world.
Indeed, it may be.
And those guys are lots of fun, too.
Back in Madrid, I:
* went to the Prado.
* spent too much time on the metro.
* bought shirts.
Also, there was a bullfight involved. I'll get back to you on that.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Where I come from, we tried to avoid situations like these.
When I think Spain, I think bullfight. Not so much with Portugal, but as it turns out, it's a beloved tradition there, as well. Portuguese bullfighting is also far more interesting than Spanish bullfighting.
For starters, the Portuguese cavaleiros fight on horseback. They also don't kill the bull -- which is why they're not called matadors. Killing the bull is illegal in Portugal.
At the fight I attended, there were two cavaleiros, a father and son, and one Spanish matador, so I got to see the best of both worlds, without the killing (I caught that in Spain a few days later). As I said, killing the bull is illegal, so the matador takes a little spear and drives it into the bull's back, instead of using a sword. Same motion, different result.
Sometimes, says my Lisbon friend, the crowd starts chanting, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" when a Portuguese ring hosts a Spanish matador. Sometimes, the matador does it. Always, he goes to jail.
We start with a cavaleiro. He dances around, gets the bull to chase him a bit,
then backs away, lifts his spear,
and runs toward the bull, which by that point is generally running toward him. He fakes right, goes left, and uses his right hand to drive the spear into the bull's back. Applause, applause. This is repeated about six times.
Then the best part.
The cavaleiro leaves, and these eight little men in brown suits jump over the fence. (For today, their official titles will be "Loonies".) One of the loonies puts on a little elf hat and approaches the bull. (Well, struts toward the bull. There is a lot of strutting in the bullfighting ring.) The looney gets closer and closer until the bull charges him. (Which sometimes takes awhile -- the bulls are awfully tired by this point.)
The looney then grabs the bull's head and holds on. A second looney jumps on the first looney, and then five other loonies dog pile the bull's head. The eighth looney grabs his tail. And there they sit, eight loonies and a bull, who is bewildered, I've no doubt.
The seven loonies simultaneously spring away, leaving the eighth looney holding a bull's tail.
The remaining looney, holding tight, gets the bull to pull him in a circle. He jumps away when he's had enough, struts out of the ring,
and that's the end of round one.
Then cavaleiro #2 did his thing,
then we had the matador.
None of these guys works alone, by the way. There are a handful of other matador-esque people with pink capes (for lack of the actual term) who distract or rile up the bull, as appropriate.
More on Spanish bullfighting when my entries catch up to Madrid, which is soon. Just to get a little taste, here is a shot of our hero in Portugal. Note that he has his red cape. This means we're nearing the end -- he actually starts with a pink cape, like his matador-helpers. By the time he gets the red cape, he has sword in hand and he's working alone.
For starters, the Portuguese cavaleiros fight on horseback. They also don't kill the bull -- which is why they're not called matadors. Killing the bull is illegal in Portugal.
At the fight I attended, there were two cavaleiros, a father and son, and one Spanish matador, so I got to see the best of both worlds, without the killing (I caught that in Spain a few days later). As I said, killing the bull is illegal, so the matador takes a little spear and drives it into the bull's back, instead of using a sword. Same motion, different result.
Sometimes, says my Lisbon friend, the crowd starts chanting, "Kill! Kill! Kill!" when a Portuguese ring hosts a Spanish matador. Sometimes, the matador does it. Always, he goes to jail.
We start with a cavaleiro. He dances around, gets the bull to chase him a bit,
then backs away, lifts his spear,
and runs toward the bull, which by that point is generally running toward him. He fakes right, goes left, and uses his right hand to drive the spear into the bull's back. Applause, applause. This is repeated about six times.
Then the best part.
The cavaleiro leaves, and these eight little men in brown suits jump over the fence. (For today, their official titles will be "Loonies".) One of the loonies puts on a little elf hat and approaches the bull. (Well, struts toward the bull. There is a lot of strutting in the bullfighting ring.) The looney gets closer and closer until the bull charges him. (Which sometimes takes awhile -- the bulls are awfully tired by this point.)
The looney then grabs the bull's head and holds on. A second looney jumps on the first looney, and then five other loonies dog pile the bull's head. The eighth looney grabs his tail. And there they sit, eight loonies and a bull, who is bewildered, I've no doubt.
The seven loonies simultaneously spring away, leaving the eighth looney holding a bull's tail.
The remaining looney, holding tight, gets the bull to pull him in a circle. He jumps away when he's had enough, struts out of the ring,
and that's the end of round one.
Then cavaleiro #2 did his thing,
then we had the matador.
None of these guys works alone, by the way. There are a handful of other matador-esque people with pink capes (for lack of the actual term) who distract or rile up the bull, as appropriate.
More on Spanish bullfighting when my entries catch up to Madrid, which is soon. Just to get a little taste, here is a shot of our hero in Portugal. Note that he has his red cape. This means we're nearing the end -- he actually starts with a pink cape, like his matador-helpers. By the time he gets the red cape, he has sword in hand and he's working alone.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Lisbon: More Than Just a Cow Parade
I was in Lisbon for four days, which was actually quite a lot for Lisbon, at least for me in Lisbon.
I stayed with a stranger-now-friend, Renato, who hung out with me the entire time, which was fantastic. We watched six movies, three in the theater and three at home. From them, I must recommend Hard Candy.
The thing is, three of the four museums I cared to see were closed for stupid reasons. So, that opened up a lot of time.
Important things accomplished in Lisbon:
1. Cows. We know that.
2. Lots of walking around.
3. Cherry brandy tasting.
4. A day-trip to Sintra, which was actually about a one-hour trip, as the castle I cared to see there was closed, and the other castle was on a giant hill. It was really hot outside, people.
5. The Portugal/France game, despite the loss.
6. Cod. So much cod. Renato's mother made lots of cod.
7. I bought new sunglasses, since I lost my old ones on the bus from the airport in Faro to Lagos.
8. The Castelo de Sao Jorge.
9. A bullfight. More on that later.
I stayed with a stranger-now-friend, Renato, who hung out with me the entire time, which was fantastic. We watched six movies, three in the theater and three at home. From them, I must recommend Hard Candy.
The thing is, three of the four museums I cared to see were closed for stupid reasons. So, that opened up a lot of time.
Important things accomplished in Lisbon:
1. Cows. We know that.
2. Lots of walking around.
3. Cherry brandy tasting.
4. A day-trip to Sintra, which was actually about a one-hour trip, as the castle I cared to see there was closed, and the other castle was on a giant hill. It was really hot outside, people.
5. The Portugal/France game, despite the loss.
6. Cod. So much cod. Renato's mother made lots of cod.
7. I bought new sunglasses, since I lost my old ones on the bus from the airport in Faro to Lagos.
8. The Castelo de Sao Jorge.
9. A bullfight. More on that later.
Monday, July 17, 2006
The Great Cow Hunt
I was in Lisbon in the middle of The Cow Parade, which...well, it...so funny...you've gotta understand, I...not enough...you know, I really love.... Well. Just...here.
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