As the day has ended, and I am now in an awful inn in Bilbao that reeks of cigarettes, I keep thinking back to the past 24 hours when a group of strangers befriended me and took me to their corner of the world. They did not want money, they simply wanted a smile and to share their world with a stranger.
As my journey has unfolded, I have made offers to many to visit NYC and let me show them my world - -Pierre, London Joe, Diego and Paula the Italian couple, Luis's mother, Juan and Miguel, etc.
I think its so much simpler when you embark on the trading route in life vs. getting by on monetary means. It makes life so much more meaningful and involved.
For I know, that when I look back on this journey I have started I will remember the sites that millions of people have identical photos. But what will truly make me smile are memories of the faces that took me under their wing and made me a friend if just for a day, a night, or an hour.
I hope that at some point in the not no distance future I can bestow on them the kindness that they have extended to me throughout my journey and keep the sentiment moving forward. As we all are simply travelers in this great game of life, and the easier we can make it for another is the easier we make it for us all.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Tale of Two Brothers or Marriage vs. The Single Life
I was only a Psych major for two semesters, so I am hardly qualified to report on a single situation I had the chance to witness today. But in my afternoon with the two brothers - Juan and Miguel -- here is what I noticed/observed.
Juan -- the eldest, was not married, had no children, or any lady prospects (who knows, maybe that's why they invited me to lunch!). He had thining hair, and an odd smile. He was quieter, and sat in the passenger seat while Miguel drove. He talked little, but was very much apart of things. He ate quickly, devoured his food and did not make eye contact while eating. In some ways, he remind me of my Uncle Ronnie.
Miguel -- the younger, was married with two children. He had a jovial smile and interesting eyes. He talked a lot, kept doing some hand signal that meant (muy), and laughed. He ate slowly, offered parts of his meal to others, and poured wine when necessary. He drove the van they shared and was in control. He was practically bald, but not grey.
There are a few conclusions I could make from this quick study:
1) Marriage makes men lose their hair.
2) Staying single makes hair go gray. (or maybe that's what happens when you don't have a wife who makes you color it)
3)Marriage makes men happy and more assertive, plus much more lively dining companions.
4) I should stick to blogging and quit trying to analyze such things, because its obvious I have no basis for any of these conclusions. Except number 4!
Juan -- the eldest, was not married, had no children, or any lady prospects (who knows, maybe that's why they invited me to lunch!). He had thining hair, and an odd smile. He was quieter, and sat in the passenger seat while Miguel drove. He talked little, but was very much apart of things. He ate quickly, devoured his food and did not make eye contact while eating. In some ways, he remind me of my Uncle Ronnie.
Miguel -- the younger, was married with two children. He had a jovial smile and interesting eyes. He talked a lot, kept doing some hand signal that meant (muy), and laughed. He ate slowly, offered parts of his meal to others, and poured wine when necessary. He drove the van they shared and was in control. He was practically bald, but not grey.
There are a few conclusions I could make from this quick study:
1) Marriage makes men lose their hair.
2) Staying single makes hair go gray. (or maybe that's what happens when you don't have a wife who makes you color it)
3)Marriage makes men happy and more assertive, plus much more lively dining companions.
4) I should stick to blogging and quit trying to analyze such things, because its obvious I have no basis for any of these conclusions. Except number 4!
Death Notice
During my time in Donibane, I witnessed something very uncommon, at least from my experiences as an American. While wandering back to the restaurant for lunch, we passed a home/apartment with a framed photo tacked to the column leading up to it. The two brothers exclaimed something (it was in Basque, so no contiendo) and did the sign of the cross.
Miguel looked at me and did the sign of slicing one’s neck, meaning the guy that lived there had died.
It was very sobering to witness how different cultures respond to things.
Had this been NYC, there would have been a line of proposed tenants and brokers outside the home hoping to get in on a good, hopefully rent-stabilized apartment.
But in this small town of northern Spain, with 3000 people, they simply do the sign of the cross and remember someone with fond memories.
Miguel looked at me and did the sign of slicing one’s neck, meaning the guy that lived there had died.
It was very sobering to witness how different cultures respond to things.
Had this been NYC, there would have been a line of proposed tenants and brokers outside the home hoping to get in on a good, hopefully rent-stabilized apartment.
But in this small town of northern Spain, with 3000 people, they simply do the sign of the cross and remember someone with fond memories.
The True Meaning of Traveling OR What Came After the Cider House
Today, I allowed myself to be what I usually am not in the game of life...a follower in the game of 'Simon Says'.
The offer for lunch in a town 5 km outside of San Sebastian turned into a novel. So many chapters to tell after this lovely afternoon, more so than any single day of my trip. And I guess that is what happens when you wander off the beaten bath, step into someone else’s shoes for a while, and be a little less “you” and more apart of the world.
Such was my state of mind on this beautiful Tuesday.
The sun rose early this morning, and since I chose to sleep with the curtains up and the windows open last night it means I arose early as well. I went for a crazy man’s run (again with no asthma) around la playa del concha, the old town and back to the sea view with the metal art forms. Belissimo, belissimo, belissimo! San Sebastian has continued to take my breath away.
(my 2nd favorite photo so far -- that way you all don't get the same Christmas gift!)
After showering and packing, and putting on my St. Patty’s day green (as any good girl would do when her grandfather was born on St. Patty’s day) I headed to the beach to say my farewells to the ocean, the mountains and such a lovely town. My friends from last night were picking me up at noon, and I did not want to be late.
(A little picture postcard for my readers.)
Promptly at noon, my phone rang calling me in from the shore. There was a huge van parked outside of Hotel la Galeria, with something written in basque that I did not comprehend. The two guys from last night and I shared “holas” as I think that is all that we understood between the other.
I know my mother would probably tell me not to get in a van with strangers, and have them drive you to god know’s where, but at a certain age you learn to trust your own intuition and I knew I was in a good place.
I asked to be taken to the post office to mail some things back to the United States that I no longer needed (Sandra – be on the lookout, they are coming to your attention at Euro!). This was a field trip in itself! No one speaks English in this part of Spain. Not one word. Slowly and patiently we figured out the necessary pieces to the puzzle, and the package was shipped. It was going to cost 30 Euro, and yet Mr. Nice Guy refused to let me pay… this is after the guys treated me to dinner and drinks last night… and they did not know me two hours before. I felt this was overly generous, but had no words to argue as Juan took my 50 Euro folded it and put it in the pocket of my dress.
Back in the car, the radio is turned on, and I recognize the artist – Mana – from my days of dating a Colombian/Spaniard in college with who my mother is most likely grateful never found his way to holidays and family events in the year’s preceding UGA.
Anyway, I digress. For the next five minutes we drive along with little to say. The road to wherever we are going is beautiful and before I know it the road ends, we are parked at a port of some sort and we are getting out of the car. The two men point across the body of water “aqui, aqui”… “There,there!”. I guess that is where we are going for lunch?
A launch/water taxi pulls up at the dock and we are aboard, heading to Donibane (we had arrived in San Pedro – neighboring fishing towns, but Donibane is the preferred).
(Front of Luis's restaurant)
(water side view of restaurant)
Two minutes later we are out and walk into the backdoor of the restaurant to say hello to Luis who is in full chef gear. He tells us to come back in an hour, and we stroll the small town of Donibane, stopping at the two guys (who were brothers, which was demonstrated by a showing of national ID cards) family home (number 128), and having a glass of wine in the massive kitchen.
The conversation that developed involved many pages of my notepad, as Miguel explained he had two children and a wife. His brother, Juan, had neither. And I was the solo traveler who had just called off a wedding.
Now that we knew each other better, it was time for lunch. We returned to Luis’s restaurant – this time through the front door – kissed Luis’s mother, who was the hostess and waitress, and found seats at a table with a picturesque view of the sea.
OMIGOD. This was by far the best lunch I have ever devoured. Everything was straight from the sea – and four courses so less! (not including desert)
We started with a crab and octopus salad, marinated and on a bed of lettuce. We then enjoyed grilled calamari and squid. Then there was a bowl of water placed in the center of the table with these restaurant “mint” looking things that I was quickly shown that they were “dropas” to wash our hands. I figured we were done with lunch, but my oh my, here came the lobster!
I think I sometimes shock people with how much I can put down, and these two brothers was no exception. Half-way through their lobster each of them offered me ½ of the lobster tail they had remaining. No sweat… of course I was thinking that was the end of the line. Nope. Plates cleared and then each of us were served a WHOLE fish. About a pound each. I thought I was dying. (both because I love anything from the sea, but also my tummy isn’t muy grande)
After a few bites. I am finished. Caput. Done. Or so I think… Then Luis’s mother comes for a chat and tells me/demonstrates her trip to NYC last year. I kind of get what she is saying, but the acting cracked me up.
Then its time for desert. The only thing I understand was “flan” so that is what I had and un café. When the desert arrives, I realize I should have gone for the torta de queso (similar to cheesecake, which I normally don't go for) and the brothers and I share both deserts
Then its time for the bill, and there is not one. Luis comes running from the kitchen, “ I invite you! No pay. No pay. No pay!” Quite dramatic for a calm family restaurant, but I understand the sentiment, and try to tip generously his mother. She wasn’t having it either. Miquel and Juan shook their heads and motioned me out the door.
I am drunk on vino rosa and friendship as we take the launch back to San Pedro. Such a lovely afternoon, one that I will not find again I am sure in my travels through Spain.
There is something to be said about wanting “to be here” without worrying about conversation, and knowing it will not exist except through hand gestures and markings in a notebook. Its very much “more” in a way. For in this afternoon, I enjoyed the brothers essence, and they mine, and I think we left the day better and wiser people for spending an afternoon with minimal words.
Definitely the most unique way I will ever spend St. Patty’s Day.
The offer for lunch in a town 5 km outside of San Sebastian turned into a novel. So many chapters to tell after this lovely afternoon, more so than any single day of my trip. And I guess that is what happens when you wander off the beaten bath, step into someone else’s shoes for a while, and be a little less “you” and more apart of the world.
Such was my state of mind on this beautiful Tuesday.
The sun rose early this morning, and since I chose to sleep with the curtains up and the windows open last night it means I arose early as well. I went for a crazy man’s run (again with no asthma) around la playa del concha, the old town and back to the sea view with the metal art forms. Belissimo, belissimo, belissimo! San Sebastian has continued to take my breath away.
(my 2nd favorite photo so far -- that way you all don't get the same Christmas gift!)After showering and packing, and putting on my St. Patty’s day green (as any good girl would do when her grandfather was born on St. Patty’s day) I headed to the beach to say my farewells to the ocean, the mountains and such a lovely town. My friends from last night were picking me up at noon, and I did not want to be late.
(A little picture postcard for my readers.)
Promptly at noon, my phone rang calling me in from the shore. There was a huge van parked outside of Hotel la Galeria, with something written in basque that I did not comprehend. The two guys from last night and I shared “holas” as I think that is all that we understood between the other.
I know my mother would probably tell me not to get in a van with strangers, and have them drive you to god know’s where, but at a certain age you learn to trust your own intuition and I knew I was in a good place.
I asked to be taken to the post office to mail some things back to the United States that I no longer needed (Sandra – be on the lookout, they are coming to your attention at Euro!). This was a field trip in itself! No one speaks English in this part of Spain. Not one word. Slowly and patiently we figured out the necessary pieces to the puzzle, and the package was shipped. It was going to cost 30 Euro, and yet Mr. Nice Guy refused to let me pay… this is after the guys treated me to dinner and drinks last night… and they did not know me two hours before. I felt this was overly generous, but had no words to argue as Juan took my 50 Euro folded it and put it in the pocket of my dress.
Back in the car, the radio is turned on, and I recognize the artist – Mana – from my days of dating a Colombian/Spaniard in college with who my mother is most likely grateful never found his way to holidays and family events in the year’s preceding UGA.
Anyway, I digress. For the next five minutes we drive along with little to say. The road to wherever we are going is beautiful and before I know it the road ends, we are parked at a port of some sort and we are getting out of the car. The two men point across the body of water “aqui, aqui”… “There,there!”. I guess that is where we are going for lunch?
A launch/water taxi pulls up at the dock and we are aboard, heading to Donibane (we had arrived in San Pedro – neighboring fishing towns, but Donibane is the preferred).
(Front of Luis's restaurant)(water side view of restaurant)
Two minutes later we are out and walk into the backdoor of the restaurant to say hello to Luis who is in full chef gear. He tells us to come back in an hour, and we stroll the small town of Donibane, stopping at the two guys (who were brothers, which was demonstrated by a showing of national ID cards) family home (number 128), and having a glass of wine in the massive kitchen.
The conversation that developed involved many pages of my notepad, as Miguel explained he had two children and a wife. His brother, Juan, had neither. And I was the solo traveler who had just called off a wedding.
Now that we knew each other better, it was time for lunch. We returned to Luis’s restaurant – this time through the front door – kissed Luis’s mother, who was the hostess and waitress, and found seats at a table with a picturesque view of the sea.
OMIGOD. This was by far the best lunch I have ever devoured. Everything was straight from the sea – and four courses so less! (not including desert)
We started with a crab and octopus salad, marinated and on a bed of lettuce. We then enjoyed grilled calamari and squid. Then there was a bowl of water placed in the center of the table with these restaurant “mint” looking things that I was quickly shown that they were “dropas” to wash our hands. I figured we were done with lunch, but my oh my, here came the lobster!
I think I sometimes shock people with how much I can put down, and these two brothers was no exception. Half-way through their lobster each of them offered me ½ of the lobster tail they had remaining. No sweat… of course I was thinking that was the end of the line. Nope. Plates cleared and then each of us were served a WHOLE fish. About a pound each. I thought I was dying. (both because I love anything from the sea, but also my tummy isn’t muy grande)
After a few bites. I am finished. Caput. Done. Or so I think… Then Luis’s mother comes for a chat and tells me/demonstrates her trip to NYC last year. I kind of get what she is saying, but the acting cracked me up.
Then its time for desert. The only thing I understand was “flan” so that is what I had and un café. When the desert arrives, I realize I should have gone for the torta de queso (similar to cheesecake, which I normally don't go for) and the brothers and I share both deserts
Then its time for the bill, and there is not one. Luis comes running from the kitchen, “ I invite you! No pay. No pay. No pay!” Quite dramatic for a calm family restaurant, but I understand the sentiment, and try to tip generously his mother. She wasn’t having it either. Miquel and Juan shook their heads and motioned me out the door.
I am drunk on vino rosa and friendship as we take the launch back to San Pedro. Such a lovely afternoon, one that I will not find again I am sure in my travels through Spain.
There is something to be said about wanting “to be here” without worrying about conversation, and knowing it will not exist except through hand gestures and markings in a notebook. Its very much “more” in a way. For in this afternoon, I enjoyed the brothers essence, and they mine, and I think we left the day better and wiser people for spending an afternoon with minimal words.
Definitely the most unique way I will ever spend St. Patty’s Day.
'Seaing' San Sebastian
My second day in San Sebastian, was much more what I was looking for... partly because I got a good night's sleep, and partly because the sun was out in full force. After a long (asthma free!) run, I showered, and went looking for a bicycle to make the most of my day.
The staff at the inn had seemed a bit clueless up until now -- not because of a language barrier, but just not really in the mood to help anyone. There was a new girl working the front desk, and she was just full of information. Not the brightest when it comes to using a wrench, I would learn later, but definitely helpful.
She gives me the key to a bike and I am off in search of coffee and a bite to eat. I ride to the end of La Concha Bay, and I am simply amazed at how beautiful the water is, the crashing waves, the contrast of the Isle Ana Christina, the statues, etc... Everything just has me on sensory overload.
There is a cafe near the water and I take my coffee outside, so I can spend some time catching up my personal journal. The sun is bright, and I feel as I could sit there all day. But I was hungry, and really wanted to go to the old part of town for lunch (all the way around the bay).
Well, that would have been easier if the bike I was given was not COMPLETELY FLAT... at least the back tire. No air, no nothing. Totally riding on metal, all the way back to the hotel. (My friend Rob would be very disappointed in me if he heard this story). It was a short distance, so I did not feel so bad, and clearly, the bike in question had seen better days.
So I go in and tell Neomi my issue, and she gives me another key to another bike. Well, this one is made for someone 6' tall, and is not going to work. Which is how I learned Neomi was not so handy with a wrench.
She pulled out a tool kit, and seemed very lost. I did not want to go total Type A on her, but I did suggest she use the silver tool in the middle. She brought it outside with her, and called herself a 'mechanic"... definitely the overstatement of the year. She was able to loosen the seat to lower it, but could not figure out how to tighten it (I guess lefty Lucy, righty Tighty only works in English). She seemed to get it halfway right, and I thanked her and went off in search of pintxos.
Also on this journey, I needed to fix my sunglasses as they had broken in Barcelona. I pull my bike up to an 'Optika' shop and lock it to the railing... just as the seat slides down to position 1 -- convenient for those that are 4' tall. Whatever... sunglasses, then lunch, then worry about the bike.
Well, timing has never been my specialty, and I look to see it is 5 past 1PM, which means everything in San Sebastian -- and most of Spain -- has closed for lunch and siesta and will reopen at 4PM. Okay, so lunch has been moved up to top priority.
(pinxtos for lunch)I find a taberna that serves pinxtos -- not that I had to look far as EVERYWHERE in San Sebastian serves these small tapas. I made my plate and enjoyed a filling lunch of small bites from the sea.
After lunch, I found an Optika that was open, and they fixed my glasses for FREE. Now dealing with the bike... once I found it. For a while, it looked very likely I would be walking myself back to my hotel. I ended up riding back to the other side of the bay to ride the 'funicular' up to the top of the other mountain. This was the oldest train imaginable, and as we reached incline I thought it was going to give out... especially when we faced a train coming from the opposite direction.
Anyway, definitely worth the hike/ride. Amazing views of San Sebastian.
After this I enjoyed some down time by the beach reading, before sorting my luggage for an early departure in the AM, and heading to a Cider House for dinner... If only I knew then how my plans would change.
(Other photos from San Sebastian)
(View of old town, with statue of Christ in the background)
(Jesus, upclose and personal)
(trek upto the statue)
(my hotel)
(the city center)
(the old church)
PS: the photo at the top is my favorite to-date. If my job disappears at Euro, guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? =o)
Monday, March 16, 2009
Seducing the Boys Club
(Please note this posting only has a scandalous title as I am mimicking Nini DeSesa)
Tonight was hysterical.
Upon arriving in Basque country I have been hearing about these "cideria dinners" and not one to miss out on anything interesting I began inquiring ASAP.
Basically the menu is very 'typico' of the Basque region, relying mainly on fish, except for the main course, and lots of cider that must be caught from the barrel. These happen only January - April of each year, and how fortunate am I that I am visiting in March!
Upon arrival to the restaurant (I took a taxi as it was a ways out of San Sebastian) I am told to go to the building to the right. I do, and upon entering feel as if I have entered a Wednesday night church supper that I went to as a child. There were moms feeding babies, kids running around...nothing 'exciting' happening, and definitely nothing worth mentioning in a guide book.
When I inquired about the 'traditional' or 'typico' menu my inquiry is met with strange looks and inquiring eyebrows until someone got the bright idea to go and ask the English speaking chef to come out and speak to the English speaking girl. (I realize I should be able to carry a basic conversation in any region I go, but the language here is unlike anything -- not French, not Spanish, not Catalan, and God knows, not English!)
The chef quickly figured out I wanted to be in a different building and bustles me across the way to another cavernous hall, this time filled with beer/cider vatts and lots of Spanish men. When I was presented to the hall ny the hostess, I swear you could hear a pin drop. (Think moment of silence at a church event.)
Obviously I was a tourist. Obviously I didn't belong there.
90% of the place was men, age 45 and up. The other population consisted of 5% Spanish women with VERY short haircuts, and 5% men under the age of 45. I was an anomoly. Clearly off the wrong boat... or maybe the right boat, just wrong port.
The host/owner seated me at the first table, right in the middle, with the ONLY guy who kind of spoke English, who quickly became my best friend. The rest of the men gathered around the table seemed very interested in speaking English or at least to the English speaking guest, as I was not part of their regular Monday night cigar club.
A minute into sitting, there was a call from the barman ( i guess that's his name) and everyone in the place stands up (quite abruptly), takes their glass and walks into the "cideria" where they tap a cask, and the first person catches what springs out and then a line forms, each catching from the vatt without letting a drop hit the ground. If UGA fraternity boys could play this game!
Omigod. Such a science, and yet such an art. And the thing is, you cannot fill your glass. You only take as much as you plan to drink in that instant, as the people of the Basque region think that the first taste is the best, and anything else is spoiled.
Over the course of the meal, which started with French baguette, entered into cod omelette (much better than it sounds), grilled cod with stir fried peppers (think fish fajitas), and then a big steak, followed by cheese, walnut and quince jam, an average guest would get up and visit 'la cideria' about 8-12 times. Keep in mind, you are not bringing anything back to the table, all is drunk in the winery. Its very bad form to bring it back to the table. Each time you venture in, you taste from a different cask...and obviously some you like better than others so you can go for another taste.
My table mates were quite friendly, and invited me for a coffee after at the room across the way I had started this adventure in. By the time we entered it was a smoky joint, filled with lots of men -- all mamas and bambinos had headed in for the night. I think I was the only woman, and BY FAR the youngest. But I enjoyed myself, and loved exchanging my 100 words of Spanish for their 100 words of English.
As a result of tonight I have been invited to lunch tomorrow in a small 'photoesque' spot in Don Juan before my bus to Bilbao. Apparently the views are even better there than they are here... I really don't believe it, but to enjoy a lunch prepared by a Spanish chef that specializes in seafood, well, I am sure the delay to Bilbao will be worth it.
Tonight was hysterical.
Upon arriving in Basque country I have been hearing about these "cideria dinners" and not one to miss out on anything interesting I began inquiring ASAP.
Basically the menu is very 'typico' of the Basque region, relying mainly on fish, except for the main course, and lots of cider that must be caught from the barrel. These happen only January - April of each year, and how fortunate am I that I am visiting in March!
Upon arrival to the restaurant (I took a taxi as it was a ways out of San Sebastian) I am told to go to the building to the right. I do, and upon entering feel as if I have entered a Wednesday night church supper that I went to as a child. There were moms feeding babies, kids running around...nothing 'exciting' happening, and definitely nothing worth mentioning in a guide book.
When I inquired about the 'traditional' or 'typico' menu my inquiry is met with strange looks and inquiring eyebrows until someone got the bright idea to go and ask the English speaking chef to come out and speak to the English speaking girl. (I realize I should be able to carry a basic conversation in any region I go, but the language here is unlike anything -- not French, not Spanish, not Catalan, and God knows, not English!)
The chef quickly figured out I wanted to be in a different building and bustles me across the way to another cavernous hall, this time filled with beer/cider vatts and lots of Spanish men. When I was presented to the hall ny the hostess, I swear you could hear a pin drop. (Think moment of silence at a church event.)
Obviously I was a tourist. Obviously I didn't belong there.
90% of the place was men, age 45 and up. The other population consisted of 5% Spanish women with VERY short haircuts, and 5% men under the age of 45. I was an anomoly. Clearly off the wrong boat... or maybe the right boat, just wrong port.
The host/owner seated me at the first table, right in the middle, with the ONLY guy who kind of spoke English, who quickly became my best friend. The rest of the men gathered around the table seemed very interested in speaking English or at least to the English speaking guest, as I was not part of their regular Monday night cigar club.
A minute into sitting, there was a call from the barman ( i guess that's his name) and everyone in the place stands up (quite abruptly), takes their glass and walks into the "cideria" where they tap a cask, and the first person catches what springs out and then a line forms, each catching from the vatt without letting a drop hit the ground. If UGA fraternity boys could play this game!
Omigod. Such a science, and yet such an art. And the thing is, you cannot fill your glass. You only take as much as you plan to drink in that instant, as the people of the Basque region think that the first taste is the best, and anything else is spoiled.
Over the course of the meal, which started with French baguette, entered into cod omelette (much better than it sounds), grilled cod with stir fried peppers (think fish fajitas), and then a big steak, followed by cheese, walnut and quince jam, an average guest would get up and visit 'la cideria' about 8-12 times. Keep in mind, you are not bringing anything back to the table, all is drunk in the winery. Its very bad form to bring it back to the table. Each time you venture in, you taste from a different cask...and obviously some you like better than others so you can go for another taste.
My table mates were quite friendly, and invited me for a coffee after at the room across the way I had started this adventure in. By the time we entered it was a smoky joint, filled with lots of men -- all mamas and bambinos had headed in for the night. I think I was the only woman, and BY FAR the youngest. But I enjoyed myself, and loved exchanging my 100 words of Spanish for their 100 words of English.
As a result of tonight I have been invited to lunch tomorrow in a small 'photoesque' spot in Don Juan before my bus to Bilbao. Apparently the views are even better there than they are here... I really don't believe it, but to enjoy a lunch prepared by a Spanish chef that specializes in seafood, well, I am sure the delay to Bilbao will be worth it.
Hallelujah!
I don't know how many people will actually believe this story, but its honestly true.
This morning after a long and dreamy sleep, I awoke to crystal blue skies and a body that needed a long run on the beach. So up and at 'em, I get dressed in five minutes, forgetting one needful step before running.
So heading around the bay, about a mile into my run, it dawns on me that I did not use my inhaler this morning (remember my allergy induced asthma?) and I did not even need it. Can you believe? Whatever Mister Reiki did on Saturday, worked! No more asthma.
Now I need to head to Key West and spend an afternoon at Hemingway's house to see how I do after being around 50 cats for a day... something tells me I just might be cured!
This morning after a long and dreamy sleep, I awoke to crystal blue skies and a body that needed a long run on the beach. So up and at 'em, I get dressed in five minutes, forgetting one needful step before running.
So heading around the bay, about a mile into my run, it dawns on me that I did not use my inhaler this morning (remember my allergy induced asthma?) and I did not even need it. Can you believe? Whatever Mister Reiki did on Saturday, worked! No more asthma.
Now I need to head to Key West and spend an afternoon at Hemingway's house to see how I do after being around 50 cats for a day... something tells me I just might be cured!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A Week into This... Am I Allowed to be Exhausted, already?
Dear Lord. After such a ferocious weekend, I was gasping for air today. I slept about half of the train ride to San Sebastian and was still not quite kicking when I got in after 1PM. I showered and went for a walk around La Concha Bay in search of pinxtos and coffee to get me started. I was starving and feeling a little timid in this new region of Spain.
The language here is something out of this world. Well, its Basque, which I have not had the mental capacity to try and understand or make sense of... at least today.
A cafe in Constitution Plaza provided me exactly what I was looking for... tres cafe con leche, pinxtos and a grilled manchego, serrano and tomato sandwich. The last was pure comfort food, and was the best sandwich ever!
The temperature in San Sebastian is a bit lower than what I experience in Barcelona, and is a good thing, offering more of contemplative mood to the day to do some writing and reading as I enjoyed my lunch in the plaza. Once I was fueled -- both physically and mentally, I took a stroll around the back side of la playa where the waves were roaring and sending bursts of water into the air and drenching my hair... not that I minded.
While its only been a week on the road, I have noticed something interesting about myself. When I am where I can see a large mass of water on an almost daily basis I am alot calmer internally than when I can't. For me, and for many I am sure, its very therapeutic. So today's walk was just what I needed to clear my head, before climbing up the mountain to the castle/statue that overlooks San Sebastian. I definitely had recollections of climbing Corcovado as I scaled the mountain, but the views here were better and the climb not so steep.
Once back on the beach I wandered around in town for a bit before heading in for a true night in. Tomorrow I plan to try out a Basque Cider House just outside of town after seeing a few more things in town and the art museum. Definitely a slower pace here, but one I am infinitely grateful for.
The language here is something out of this world. Well, its Basque, which I have not had the mental capacity to try and understand or make sense of... at least today.
A cafe in Constitution Plaza provided me exactly what I was looking for... tres cafe con leche, pinxtos and a grilled manchego, serrano and tomato sandwich. The last was pure comfort food, and was the best sandwich ever!
The temperature in San Sebastian is a bit lower than what I experience in Barcelona, and is a good thing, offering more of contemplative mood to the day to do some writing and reading as I enjoyed my lunch in the plaza. Once I was fueled -- both physically and mentally, I took a stroll around the back side of la playa where the waves were roaring and sending bursts of water into the air and drenching my hair... not that I minded.
While its only been a week on the road, I have noticed something interesting about myself. When I am where I can see a large mass of water on an almost daily basis I am alot calmer internally than when I can't. For me, and for many I am sure, its very therapeutic. So today's walk was just what I needed to clear my head, before climbing up the mountain to the castle/statue that overlooks San Sebastian. I definitely had recollections of climbing Corcovado as I scaled the mountain, but the views here were better and the climb not so steep.
Once back on the beach I wandered around in town for a bit before heading in for a true night in. Tomorrow I plan to try out a Basque Cider House just outside of town after seeing a few more things in town and the art museum. Definitely a slower pace here, but one I am infinitely grateful for.
Like a Ghost in the Night
This morning I awoke way too early to get to the train station and make my way to San Sebastian. Train travel in Europe is the way to go, as on this bright sunny Sunday we have passed 6 castles, millions of acres of farmland, and the most quaint little towns on the water.
When I left my hotel at 6AM, it felt a little odd not to check in/out with anyone and just go. I felt very under-coverish as I exited the Ramblas Apts to find the subway. I couldn't believe all the people still out partying.
I was exhausted, and definitely needed to crash. The last two nights in Barce have been great, but that along with all the sun is very draining. Definitely looking forward a slower pace in San Sebastian.
When I left my hotel at 6AM, it felt a little odd not to check in/out with anyone and just go. I felt very under-coverish as I exited the Ramblas Apts to find the subway. I couldn't believe all the people still out partying.
I was exhausted, and definitely needed to crash. The last two nights in Barce have been great, but that along with all the sun is very draining. Definitely looking forward a slower pace in San Sebastian.
Muddle Me This, Muddle Me That
The stories that fell out of Saturday night following the barbeque were about as muddled as the drinks they were serving at La Xina the place I ended up going for dinner with Jose.
When I arrived and had a seat at the bar, the bartender asked “what he could muddle me.” It seems that is the current rage in Barce – muddled drinks. Which it may be the rage everywhere as a few friends have mentioned it in NYC. Anyway, I had the best drink ever – a kumquat/strawberry Caiproska. I had several, while waiting on Jose to finish with his clients.
When Jose arrived the night became even more muddled. The night consisted of reiki talk, curing asthma and allergies, visiting Canary Reef (where he lives, before my travels to France begin), and a fantastic meal of Asian style tapas, and that all important word "synchronicity", etc. The details are a bit fuzzy, but it was fun. Very muddled, but very fun.
When I arrived and had a seat at the bar, the bartender asked “what he could muddle me.” It seems that is the current rage in Barce – muddled drinks. Which it may be the rage everywhere as a few friends have mentioned it in NYC. Anyway, I had the best drink ever – a kumquat/strawberry Caiproska. I had several, while waiting on Jose to finish with his clients.
When Jose arrived the night became even more muddled. The night consisted of reiki talk, curing asthma and allergies, visiting Canary Reef (where he lives, before my travels to France begin), and a fantastic meal of Asian style tapas, and that all important word "synchronicity", etc. The details are a bit fuzzy, but it was fun. Very muddled, but very fun.
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