Home
Starting from the time we jumped into a cab outside our hostal room in Sevilla at 1pm on 12/28, we spent a grand total of 41.25 hours in transit by the time we walked in the front door last night at a little after 11. It was a 7 hour bus ride from Sevilla to Lisbon, then another cab to the airport there (we didn't have the heart to brave a bus with all our luggage in tow), then we camped out in the airport in Lisbon from about 10pm to 5:50 am when our flight left for Amsterdam. We had a nice little spot, in an alcove next to some shrubs, partly hidden, and even had an outlet to recharge my iPod, which was an absolute necessity. Then a 3 hour flight to Amsterdam with barely enough time to go through passport control and immigration and get on the next plane, which was scheduled to be a 10 hour and 10 minute flight to Seattle.
I say 'scheduled' here, because that's not how it worked out. Somewhere over North-central Canada, a young man started having some severe abdominal pain, and after consultation with medical personnel on board and the Mayo clinic by phone, the decision was made for an emergency landing in beautiful Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. Sure looked cold there. It was about a 2 hour delay as they took the guy from the plane and then emptied the baggage holds in search of his bags, then reloaded and refueled and de-iced and everything else.
By the time we got to Seattle, we and everyone else had missed our connecting flights. From the looks of Sea-Tac airport, everyone else from everywhere had missed their flights, too. I've never seen such chaos and confusion in an airport in my life. We were initially booked on separate flights, with me not getting in until 11 or so, but with a bit of work and coercion we both got onto a 6:30 flight. But that was delayed, and delayed, and then our bags were shipped on a different flight, and neither of us ended up getting in until about 9:30 anyway. Then we waited for our bags (which still haven't shown up!), and our friend David waited for us, quite patiently.
So, at the end of it all, we made it home safe and sound, if a bit bleary-eyed and slightly delusional from lack of sleep. Slept like the dead last night in our own wonderful bed.
Strange to look out the window and see Boise. Still haven't gotten over the fact that we're back and life has gone on and everything is still everything, but we'll get there.
Thanks for reading this. I've enjoyed writing it and hope you've enjoyed it as well.
And remember, if you want to, check back in a week or two and it'll be a more coherent and complete work, including photos and all the stuff I've forgotten about or haven't had time to write.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Monday, December 27, 2004
TAPAS
All day long and well into the night, we wander the streets in a form of barhopping that takes that art to an entirely new level. Tapas have become a revolution in our experience of dining, one that we have embraced wholeheartedly.
Our favorite so far has got to be the grilled cod we had at Bar Europa, a thick chunk about 2 inches high and 2 inches around, sat next to a mound of some paste-like, sugar-egg sauce and sprinkled with green olives, capers, and tiny marinated onions. We got this one our first afternoon here, enjoyed with a beer and a glass of sangria, and followed by a lovely lamb kebob served over cous cous flavored with parsley and cinnamon. We knew immediately that we would be into this tapas thing.
Tapas common to most menus include the solomillos or lomos, different cuts of loin pounded flat and flash-cooked on a flat grill, served with a choice of sauces made from black pepper or whiskey or roquefort or some manner of very mild chile puree. These are presented either alone or on cous cous or next to potatoes or, sometimes, on tiny soft little buns or rounds of baguette. Seafood makes appearances on every menu as well, little prawns and calamari the most prevalent, with all manner of fried and grilled fish as well. The more generous joints also offer thin steaks of tuna or salmon, often done with a creamy cheese topping or something similar to a pepper sauce.
Croquetas are everywhere as well, little breaded and fried tubes filled with fish or cheese or pork or prawns or just about anything else you can think of. Usually they come with some raw shredded veggies like lettuce or cabbage or carrot, and often a mayonaissey sauce on the side.
Cathy is fond of the chiles rellenos, small mild versions of our Mexican favorites, stuffed with ham and cheese or prosciutto or fish or vegetables, cooked on a flat grill in the best of instances, breaded and deep-fried in the less-desireable ones.
Potatoes also take centerplate here, prepared boiled or grilled or fried, marinated in peppers and wine or topped with bitey cheese or, a very common twist, served cold, having been stored in a really nice vinegar, topped with fresh chives or olives or capers or strips of grilled pepper.
This concept of spending an hour or so three or four times a day sitting down to eat a plate or two or three of these food items, always with a small beer, is one of the best ways to mark time that I can think of, a time to catch up or say hi or just pause and enjoy yourself for a bit. They are pretty much all between 1 and 2 euros each, the more fancy ones approaching 3 euros, but we always walk away for between 5 and 6 bucks, warm and happy inside, looking for the next best place to stop.
All day long and well into the night, we wander the streets in a form of barhopping that takes that art to an entirely new level. Tapas have become a revolution in our experience of dining, one that we have embraced wholeheartedly.
Our favorite so far has got to be the grilled cod we had at Bar Europa, a thick chunk about 2 inches high and 2 inches around, sat next to a mound of some paste-like, sugar-egg sauce and sprinkled with green olives, capers, and tiny marinated onions. We got this one our first afternoon here, enjoyed with a beer and a glass of sangria, and followed by a lovely lamb kebob served over cous cous flavored with parsley and cinnamon. We knew immediately that we would be into this tapas thing.
Tapas common to most menus include the solomillos or lomos, different cuts of loin pounded flat and flash-cooked on a flat grill, served with a choice of sauces made from black pepper or whiskey or roquefort or some manner of very mild chile puree. These are presented either alone or on cous cous or next to potatoes or, sometimes, on tiny soft little buns or rounds of baguette. Seafood makes appearances on every menu as well, little prawns and calamari the most prevalent, with all manner of fried and grilled fish as well. The more generous joints also offer thin steaks of tuna or salmon, often done with a creamy cheese topping or something similar to a pepper sauce.
Croquetas are everywhere as well, little breaded and fried tubes filled with fish or cheese or pork or prawns or just about anything else you can think of. Usually they come with some raw shredded veggies like lettuce or cabbage or carrot, and often a mayonaissey sauce on the side.
Cathy is fond of the chiles rellenos, small mild versions of our Mexican favorites, stuffed with ham and cheese or prosciutto or fish or vegetables, cooked on a flat grill in the best of instances, breaded and deep-fried in the less-desireable ones.
Potatoes also take centerplate here, prepared boiled or grilled or fried, marinated in peppers and wine or topped with bitey cheese or, a very common twist, served cold, having been stored in a really nice vinegar, topped with fresh chives or olives or capers or strips of grilled pepper.
This concept of spending an hour or so three or four times a day sitting down to eat a plate or two or three of these food items, always with a small beer, is one of the best ways to mark time that I can think of, a time to catch up or say hi or just pause and enjoy yourself for a bit. They are pretty much all between 1 and 2 euros each, the more fancy ones approaching 3 euros, but we always walk away for between 5 and 6 bucks, warm and happy inside, looking for the next best place to stop.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Navidad de Flamenco!
A Merry Christmas and Feliz Navidad to all of you.
We spent our holiday in the most wonderful way, day and night, and I´d like to try to share it here.
We started the day with a late breakfast of tapas and beer. 11am, sitting in a cafe next to a large park and garden, sipping cold cerveza and taking turns on a cold salad of squid and prawns and vegetables a la escabeche. Strange and wonderful it was, and an early indication of the different sort of day we'd have.
We wandered the streets of the old city after this breakfast, still a bit hungry and wondering what we'd find open on the holiday. We would not be disappointed. There were a number of tapas bars open, and we took turns stopping in one after the next, sampling small plates of food as the morning turned to afternoon. After a brief time in the square behind the main cathedral, sitting and listening to a couple play guitar and violin, we decided to bite the bullet and part with a whopping 30 euros to take a horse-carriage ride around the city. I was skeptical (no shock to most of you, I´m sure), but it was a wonderful experience, huddling together in the cushy seat as our guide announced all the important structures of the various plazas around town. There were lots of people walking around and smiling, and the clip-clop of hooves and the sights and sounds of the city from our springy perch put us in the most festive of moods. It was quite romantic and beautiful, I admit, much to my pleasure.
After our ride, we had--surprise surprise--more tapas, stopping off one more time on the way back to our room for an afternoon nap. We were awakened 2 hours later by a phone call from Texas--'Hola?' I said. 'Hola d--khead!' came the answer from the other end. My brother Eric in his traditional holiday greeting, and I have to say it felt good to hear it. We talked at length (this 10-10-987 thing is a miracle, talking across the Atlantic for a measly 3 cents a minute), and the phone was passed from he to Mom to Dad, and then, truly, it felt like Christmas, imagining the slow unwrapping of presents and the cup after cup of coffee and the breakfast and the whole ritual that we were missing this year. After that, Cathy's mom called from Kansas City, and she got to talk to her as well as her cousin Matt (Congrats on the new baby! What a holiday gift!), and she too felt a warm glow that can only come from touching base with home on a day like this.
So then, fully grounded, we left our room and headed out into the evening. A stop at a tapas joint where we had a wonderfully broken conversation with two friendly older Spanish ladies who kept offering their food to Cathy (she did look hungry) led to more wandering and more beer and food and, eventually, we poked our heads into an unsigned doorway where we suspected something special inside. And indeed it was. La Carboneria, a converted coal-yard and one of the foremost flamenco haunts in this city lurked behind the wall, and it was an experience of a lifetime.
We entered into a small bar room with a piano at one end and lines of tables with small scattered enclaves around. The music was mellow, the inhabitants scattered, but it was early yet--only 10:30. Further investigation led us to a large back room, like a warehouse without the high ceiling, with rows and rows of low tables, a long bar, and at the far end, a foot high stage with four empty wooden chairs backed against the wall. We assumed a position at a table stage-right with the clearest angle for photos we could find, secured a large pitcher of sangria, and prepared for the show. One guitarrist, two men in normal clothes (stylish, of course), and a lone female in full flamenco regalia took the stage. No microphones or amps, not even a set of castanets, but the noise and the movement and the entire show proved absolutely wonderful. The dancer controlled the room, silencing the crowd with a single squinty glance, and as she twirled and shouted and waved her arms and stomped her feet, the guitarrist strummed for all he was worth, and the two men kept up a set of songs, seemingly improvised line after line, one after the other. The whole show continued in this vein, not so much a set of songs as a continual interplay, a musical and physical conversation between them, the crowd shouting 'Ole!' when it seemed appropriate, clapping like mad at any break. It was just fantastic.
We sat through the whole show, two sets worth, before adjourning to the other room for a last beer by the fireplace. In there, the piano was in demand, one player after another taking his turn at the bench and doing his best to get the crowd behind him. In a far corner a young Spanish guy was playing guitar and singing and clapping with a few friends, and all he asked in return was a constant supply of beer and cigarettes. We obliged some and spent the remainder of the evening in this corner, meeting people and trying to communicate (with much success, really--music and wine and beer loosen tongues and make friends fast), having the time of our lives. Somehow I kept Cathy out until 4 in the morning, and neither of us regretted sleeping the morning away as a result.
We're trying to figure out a way to spend the remainder of our time here in Sevilla, though we have to fly home from Lisbon. It'll take some doing, and probably one very very long day of traveling come Wednesday, but such is the appeal of this place.
So, again, happy holidays to everyone. The trip is winding down, we'll be home soon, but I hope for more experiences to record here before we leave.
And one further note: For you who are interested, please check back to this site in another week or two, as after we get home I plan to overhaul the journal aspects, filling in the inevitable blanks, and adding a whole mess of photographs to make the experience more complete. Cathy´s getting some amazing shots here, and I can´t wait to put it all together.
A Merry Christmas and Feliz Navidad to all of you.
We spent our holiday in the most wonderful way, day and night, and I´d like to try to share it here.
We started the day with a late breakfast of tapas and beer. 11am, sitting in a cafe next to a large park and garden, sipping cold cerveza and taking turns on a cold salad of squid and prawns and vegetables a la escabeche. Strange and wonderful it was, and an early indication of the different sort of day we'd have.
We wandered the streets of the old city after this breakfast, still a bit hungry and wondering what we'd find open on the holiday. We would not be disappointed. There were a number of tapas bars open, and we took turns stopping in one after the next, sampling small plates of food as the morning turned to afternoon. After a brief time in the square behind the main cathedral, sitting and listening to a couple play guitar and violin, we decided to bite the bullet and part with a whopping 30 euros to take a horse-carriage ride around the city. I was skeptical (no shock to most of you, I´m sure), but it was a wonderful experience, huddling together in the cushy seat as our guide announced all the important structures of the various plazas around town. There were lots of people walking around and smiling, and the clip-clop of hooves and the sights and sounds of the city from our springy perch put us in the most festive of moods. It was quite romantic and beautiful, I admit, much to my pleasure.
After our ride, we had--surprise surprise--more tapas, stopping off one more time on the way back to our room for an afternoon nap. We were awakened 2 hours later by a phone call from Texas--'Hola?' I said. 'Hola d--khead!' came the answer from the other end. My brother Eric in his traditional holiday greeting, and I have to say it felt good to hear it. We talked at length (this 10-10-987 thing is a miracle, talking across the Atlantic for a measly 3 cents a minute), and the phone was passed from he to Mom to Dad, and then, truly, it felt like Christmas, imagining the slow unwrapping of presents and the cup after cup of coffee and the breakfast and the whole ritual that we were missing this year. After that, Cathy's mom called from Kansas City, and she got to talk to her as well as her cousin Matt (Congrats on the new baby! What a holiday gift!), and she too felt a warm glow that can only come from touching base with home on a day like this.
So then, fully grounded, we left our room and headed out into the evening. A stop at a tapas joint where we had a wonderfully broken conversation with two friendly older Spanish ladies who kept offering their food to Cathy (she did look hungry) led to more wandering and more beer and food and, eventually, we poked our heads into an unsigned doorway where we suspected something special inside. And indeed it was. La Carboneria, a converted coal-yard and one of the foremost flamenco haunts in this city lurked behind the wall, and it was an experience of a lifetime.
We entered into a small bar room with a piano at one end and lines of tables with small scattered enclaves around. The music was mellow, the inhabitants scattered, but it was early yet--only 10:30. Further investigation led us to a large back room, like a warehouse without the high ceiling, with rows and rows of low tables, a long bar, and at the far end, a foot high stage with four empty wooden chairs backed against the wall. We assumed a position at a table stage-right with the clearest angle for photos we could find, secured a large pitcher of sangria, and prepared for the show. One guitarrist, two men in normal clothes (stylish, of course), and a lone female in full flamenco regalia took the stage. No microphones or amps, not even a set of castanets, but the noise and the movement and the entire show proved absolutely wonderful. The dancer controlled the room, silencing the crowd with a single squinty glance, and as she twirled and shouted and waved her arms and stomped her feet, the guitarrist strummed for all he was worth, and the two men kept up a set of songs, seemingly improvised line after line, one after the other. The whole show continued in this vein, not so much a set of songs as a continual interplay, a musical and physical conversation between them, the crowd shouting 'Ole!' when it seemed appropriate, clapping like mad at any break. It was just fantastic.
We sat through the whole show, two sets worth, before adjourning to the other room for a last beer by the fireplace. In there, the piano was in demand, one player after another taking his turn at the bench and doing his best to get the crowd behind him. In a far corner a young Spanish guy was playing guitar and singing and clapping with a few friends, and all he asked in return was a constant supply of beer and cigarettes. We obliged some and spent the remainder of the evening in this corner, meeting people and trying to communicate (with much success, really--music and wine and beer loosen tongues and make friends fast), having the time of our lives. Somehow I kept Cathy out until 4 in the morning, and neither of us regretted sleeping the morning away as a result.
We're trying to figure out a way to spend the remainder of our time here in Sevilla, though we have to fly home from Lisbon. It'll take some doing, and probably one very very long day of traveling come Wednesday, but such is the appeal of this place.
So, again, happy holidays to everyone. The trip is winding down, we'll be home soon, but I hope for more experiences to record here before we leave.
And one further note: For you who are interested, please check back to this site in another week or two, as after we get home I plan to overhaul the journal aspects, filling in the inevitable blanks, and adding a whole mess of photographs to make the experience more complete. Cathy´s getting some amazing shots here, and I can´t wait to put it all together.
Christmas Eve in Sevilla
We hope all who are reading this had a wonderful Christmas and Christmas Eve. Ours has been a Christmas like no other we´ve had, and one we will not soon forget.
It was a solid 2 days here in the amazing city of Sevilla before I had a moment to sit and write in my journal, let alone get access to and write in th¡s blog, and that in itself is very telling. In the same way my first trip to San Francisco of last spring was enlightening, in that I can understand why so many people from around the world claim it as their favorite city in the world, I now understand as well the hold that Sevilla puts on those who visit here. This is a city like no other I´ve visited, and I find myself not wanting to leave, longing for it already, even though I am still here. It´s odd and sort of ridiculous, but I guess that´s a product of our impending departure, of my knowing that our time here is very short.
The people here have an obvious--overwhelming, even--appreciation for the living of life, for the squeezing of pleasure out of all parts of the day. We are staying in El Centro, the center of the old city, where the streets are narrow and cobbled and there are restaurants and cafes and tapas bars (glorious, wonderful tapas bars) pretty much everywhere. We walk and we walk and we walk and still we look around us in amazement and joy.
On Christmas Eve, our first full day here, we took in the streets of our neighborhood and the adjoining Barrio de Santa Cruz. They eat and drink all day here--all day and all night--and we did as much keepng up as we could. The thing is, for the holidays, the hours of operation have been a bit off, and we found ourselves tired and hungry late into the night, as the locals for once spent the evening at home. We've since gotten onto the right schedule, though, and now all is well.
The churches here, of which there are so many it´s mind-boggling, opened to tourists for Christmas Eve services, and Cathy and I popped into a few in search of something glorious, with mixed results. The churches we went into were themselves awe-inspiring pieces of architecture, cavernous rooms with series of arches and altars and paintings and statues and gilded everything that seemed every one to be the work of ages and multitudes. Gorgeous structures testifying to the depth of commitment to religion and God in this city. But the services--well, we'll just say that I have experienced far more rousing hours of sermon and song in little wooden A-frame churches in the cornfields of suburban Illinois. Weird to experience the going-through of the motions in these places, to sense a lack of inspiration bred from familiarity in these buildings where I, no frequent participator in rituals myself, felt such amazement. But, also comforting to know that the sentiment comes not from the finery and the grandiosity, but from the hearts of those involved. Nothing against these people and their worship, to be sure, just the observation that a mass is a mass is a mass.
At midnight, we entered the main cathedral of the city, one of the largest structures of its kind in the world. Christopher Columbus´sepulcher is inside--his remains, as far as anyone knows (though no one is 100% sure) inside, having been brought back from Cuba around 1899 or so. Kings and queens and bishops and all other important folk are buried beneath the main floor, and they have a pipe organ that´s as big as a small apartment building inside. Just gigantic, and the sound it made was impressive indeed. We ended the night after this, tired from walking and looking forward to the next day.
That was Chrismtas Eve. Christmas would be very different.
We hope all who are reading this had a wonderful Christmas and Christmas Eve. Ours has been a Christmas like no other we´ve had, and one we will not soon forget.
It was a solid 2 days here in the amazing city of Sevilla before I had a moment to sit and write in my journal, let alone get access to and write in th¡s blog, and that in itself is very telling. In the same way my first trip to San Francisco of last spring was enlightening, in that I can understand why so many people from around the world claim it as their favorite city in the world, I now understand as well the hold that Sevilla puts on those who visit here. This is a city like no other I´ve visited, and I find myself not wanting to leave, longing for it already, even though I am still here. It´s odd and sort of ridiculous, but I guess that´s a product of our impending departure, of my knowing that our time here is very short.
The people here have an obvious--overwhelming, even--appreciation for the living of life, for the squeezing of pleasure out of all parts of the day. We are staying in El Centro, the center of the old city, where the streets are narrow and cobbled and there are restaurants and cafes and tapas bars (glorious, wonderful tapas bars) pretty much everywhere. We walk and we walk and we walk and still we look around us in amazement and joy.
On Christmas Eve, our first full day here, we took in the streets of our neighborhood and the adjoining Barrio de Santa Cruz. They eat and drink all day here--all day and all night--and we did as much keepng up as we could. The thing is, for the holidays, the hours of operation have been a bit off, and we found ourselves tired and hungry late into the night, as the locals for once spent the evening at home. We've since gotten onto the right schedule, though, and now all is well.
The churches here, of which there are so many it´s mind-boggling, opened to tourists for Christmas Eve services, and Cathy and I popped into a few in search of something glorious, with mixed results. The churches we went into were themselves awe-inspiring pieces of architecture, cavernous rooms with series of arches and altars and paintings and statues and gilded everything that seemed every one to be the work of ages and multitudes. Gorgeous structures testifying to the depth of commitment to religion and God in this city. But the services--well, we'll just say that I have experienced far more rousing hours of sermon and song in little wooden A-frame churches in the cornfields of suburban Illinois. Weird to experience the going-through of the motions in these places, to sense a lack of inspiration bred from familiarity in these buildings where I, no frequent participator in rituals myself, felt such amazement. But, also comforting to know that the sentiment comes not from the finery and the grandiosity, but from the hearts of those involved. Nothing against these people and their worship, to be sure, just the observation that a mass is a mass is a mass.
At midnight, we entered the main cathedral of the city, one of the largest structures of its kind in the world. Christopher Columbus´sepulcher is inside--his remains, as far as anyone knows (though no one is 100% sure) inside, having been brought back from Cuba around 1899 or so. Kings and queens and bishops and all other important folk are buried beneath the main floor, and they have a pipe organ that´s as big as a small apartment building inside. Just gigantic, and the sound it made was impressive indeed. We ended the night after this, tired from walking and looking forward to the next day.
That was Chrismtas Eve. Christmas would be very different.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Salema Jeans rolled up, white t-shirt, flip-flops and sunglasses. This is my life, and funny to say, I never thought I could love a beach so much. All the sitting around, the doing of nothing in the face of endless surf and sand. The gulls calling, the waves rolling and rolling, the blue sky stretching south to Africa and beyond, I am pleasantly surprised at how easily I've slouched into this existence. We left Lagos after two nights there and headed west to Salema, a tiny little village along the southern coast of Portugal, in the Algarve region, a place we like to think of as heaven. There is really nothing to do here besides get up in the morning and see what the fishermen have brought in (crates full of octopus and some sailfish-looking things so far, the octopus caught in big clay jars), and then retreat to our terrace to have a lazy breakfast and then work that off by sitting and staring out to sea for hours on end. Wonderful. We're renting a room from an old couple whose years must surely be measured in epochs rather than years. They know full well we speak no Portuguese (though I must say my efforts are valiant at least--I'm sure I've had at least a few coherent 'conversations' so far), yet they continue to prattle on and on and on in their native tongues, mostly just pleased for the interested-looking sounding boards. They're charming, though I'm suspecting they're not actually a couple and the old gent has designs on my lovely wife. She let him know she had collected a couple of nice shells, and the next morning the table on our terrace was full of new shells, and the collection kept growing. He's taking full advantage of the two-cheek-kiss custom as well. I've got youth on him, but who knows, she may fall for his location. The food continues to amaze. My favorite meal here has been a pan-cooked flounder, 'One of the best fish in the sea' says our waiter of the last 3 nights, a swaggering Portuguese who has been very helpful and friendly, who told us of his time spent as a child fishing for flounder, as he was too poor to afford a football or other toy. I didn't really get the whole gist of his story, but the fish was excellent. The flounder was broad and flat, presented whole, golden-brown, the moist fish flaking easily from the skeleton and offering a firm, buttery, completely delicious meal. Cathy's gone for the gold bream twice, a meatier fish, absorbing the charbroil flavor nicely, falling apart in the mouth. And last night we had the best calamari either of us has tasted ever--a whole different texture than we've experienced before. Now, we find ourselves in the city of Faro, en route to Sevilla, Spain. In this city, storks nest in the highest towers of all churches and official buildings, soaring overhead and casting pteradactyl-sized shadows across our paths at regular intervals. Fantastic. It's a nice city, and though our growing fondness for Portugal tempts us to stay, we already extended our time in Salema by a day, thereby decreasing our time in Sevilla. Time is growing short--we're down to a single measly WEEK already!--so on we go. We leave here with a wonderful feeling, knowing that we have loved it well and given a few selected sites their due. Next entry will come from Spain, where I hope my language skills will prove more usable.
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Saturday, December 18, 2004
Ponta de Sagres
I tossed a stone off the end of the world, and I never saw it hit bottom. At the farthest southwestern point of Europe, Ponta de Sagres, the spot at which the world stopped for civilized man before the Portuguese defined the continents beyond, we walked on the rocky cliffs, watching birds dive in and on the wind currents and fishermen defy the gales and gravity as they dropped their lines a few hundred feet into the waves crashing below. We stared out at the endless water under crystal blue skies as the constant roar of the westerly wind made speech and standing up straight all but impossible. This is the Portugal I imagined.
We have found our perfect idyllic beach spot. Tomorrow we will depart Lagos and head west along the coast to the tiny town of Salema, where we've secured a room from an ancient couple for Sunday and Monday nights, our last in this corner of the world before we head for Sevilla, Spain. It's time to sit on the beach, stare at the sea, and allow our bodies and minds to drift into glorious neutral. There are no highrises there, which seem surprisingly prevalent elsewhere along this coast, and we so look forward to their absence.
After visiting the lighthouse at Cape St. Vincente and the fortezza at Ponta de Sagres, a lonely and desolate (though strikingly beautiful) outpost if ever I saw one, we drove down the beach to a cafe on the sand for a light snack of sardines and boiled potatoes. These lovely little fish, much larger than their tinned counterparts, are delicious, fried whole to a crispy perfection, the flesh stripping from the comb of bones with little effort, the potatoes boiled in stock a staple that we have both come to love and depend on. Cafe leite loaded with sugar ensured our wakefulness for the ride back along along the coast to our room in Lagos. At the cafe we talked politics and beaches with a couple of surfer guys from London, of all places, a nice pair of fellows on a months-long wave quest, living the life indeed.
Tonight we will return to a fantastic restaurant we found last night, a multicourse feast of fish or fowl for just under 10 euros, very cheap for this part of the country. Last night I had a tuna steak the size of a small platter, Cathy the mixed meat grill, and tonight we will brave the prawns in a clay pot, served aflame (yes, I know, SO touristy!). They even hand over a tiny clay jug of port at the end of the meal, gratis. Little wonder we love the joint.
I tossed a stone off the end of the world, and I never saw it hit bottom. At the farthest southwestern point of Europe, Ponta de Sagres, the spot at which the world stopped for civilized man before the Portuguese defined the continents beyond, we walked on the rocky cliffs, watching birds dive in and on the wind currents and fishermen defy the gales and gravity as they dropped their lines a few hundred feet into the waves crashing below. We stared out at the endless water under crystal blue skies as the constant roar of the westerly wind made speech and standing up straight all but impossible. This is the Portugal I imagined.
We have found our perfect idyllic beach spot. Tomorrow we will depart Lagos and head west along the coast to the tiny town of Salema, where we've secured a room from an ancient couple for Sunday and Monday nights, our last in this corner of the world before we head for Sevilla, Spain. It's time to sit on the beach, stare at the sea, and allow our bodies and minds to drift into glorious neutral. There are no highrises there, which seem surprisingly prevalent elsewhere along this coast, and we so look forward to their absence.
After visiting the lighthouse at Cape St. Vincente and the fortezza at Ponta de Sagres, a lonely and desolate (though strikingly beautiful) outpost if ever I saw one, we drove down the beach to a cafe on the sand for a light snack of sardines and boiled potatoes. These lovely little fish, much larger than their tinned counterparts, are delicious, fried whole to a crispy perfection, the flesh stripping from the comb of bones with little effort, the potatoes boiled in stock a staple that we have both come to love and depend on. Cafe leite loaded with sugar ensured our wakefulness for the ride back along along the coast to our room in Lagos. At the cafe we talked politics and beaches with a couple of surfer guys from London, of all places, a nice pair of fellows on a months-long wave quest, living the life indeed.
Tonight we will return to a fantastic restaurant we found last night, a multicourse feast of fish or fowl for just under 10 euros, very cheap for this part of the country. Last night I had a tuna steak the size of a small platter, Cathy the mixed meat grill, and tonight we will brave the prawns in a clay pot, served aflame (yes, I know, SO touristy!). They even hand over a tiny clay jug of port at the end of the meal, gratis. Little wonder we love the joint.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Lagos
We've arrived at the southern coast of Portugal. Leaving Lisbon on Wednesday was a bit strange, as we'd become attached to the town and had finally figured out our neighborhood and the transport system and the surrounding area--just when you get comfortable, it's time to move on. But we had a great time there, and we're glad to be moving again. And moving we are. We've covered many miles since we left the city, and after a short stay in a town called Mertola, in a 'Natural Park' area near the Spanish border, we've headed south and then west, and here we are in Lagos.
(Cathy is insisting that I include something: On our last full day in Lisbon, setting out early in the morning to check out a street market in the Alfama section of town, walking through the square behind our pensao, we happened upon a couple trolleys, the streetcars run on electricity provided by a grid of electric wires suspended above the streets, that were a bit different from the norm. These were piloted by Santa Claus--two of them, both filled with the smiliest of children, all wearing santa hats and holding bags filled with toys, and holding balloon animals made by the clown also on board. The marquis that normally holds the trolley's (called 'electricos' here), said 'Electrico de Natal,' or the Christmas Trolley. It was absolutely hilarious. Both Santas were totally jolly (not the norm for electrico drivers), and even paused to ho ho ho in the doorway after Cathy briefly boarded to snap a couple photos. It was a very nice thing to see.)
For the past few days internet access has been hard to come by--and that's a good thing. It was nice, after making the move, to be out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but trees and empty road and animals grazing and sun sun sun. There are also more stray dogs out here, which Cathy has made it her mission to feed and pet. All of them. Every one. I swear. She's good like that. The Pied Piper of Poops. The driving was fantastic, and again all I could think of was how fun it'd be on a road bike. Smooth pavement, tight windy country roads, steep hills and amazing scenery.
So, now we're in Lagos. It's a bit more developed than I expected, though I'm glad to be here in the off-season, as it's fairly calm and quiet, at least compared to how it usually is. This is party central during high backpacker season, where all the kids come to soak up sun and beer and tear it up for a few weeks or months. The beaches now are empty, looooong stretches of sand that lead to large rocky outcroppings that stretch off as far as we can see. The city itself is gorgeous, very narrow streets, steep pitches, not much room to maneuver. I say this from experience. In trying to find a place where we hoped to get a room, just on the edge of the old city, we went a bit too far and found ourselves, behind the wheel of our 4-door VW Polo, stuck smack in the midst of the maze of these streets. A full circuit later, hoping to get out of there without scraping all the paint from the sides of the car, we missed the turn to get out and had no choice but to do the whole thing again. This time it was not so fun. I was tailgated the whole way through, and our map proved woefully inadequate to let us know where we really were. We almost missed the way out a third time, but some quick navigation and turning got us to a parking area where we left the car and found the address on foot. It was comedic, keystone-copslike, but we made it out with the vehicle and our marriage intact. Thank goodness.
So, we've had a pitcher of sangria at a sidewalk cafe, and after this, we'll clean up and head out for dinner. From here we'll do daytrips to Sagres and Porches and other sleepy seaside destinations. Can't wait.
Hope all are well.
We've arrived at the southern coast of Portugal. Leaving Lisbon on Wednesday was a bit strange, as we'd become attached to the town and had finally figured out our neighborhood and the transport system and the surrounding area--just when you get comfortable, it's time to move on. But we had a great time there, and we're glad to be moving again. And moving we are. We've covered many miles since we left the city, and after a short stay in a town called Mertola, in a 'Natural Park' area near the Spanish border, we've headed south and then west, and here we are in Lagos.
(Cathy is insisting that I include something: On our last full day in Lisbon, setting out early in the morning to check out a street market in the Alfama section of town, walking through the square behind our pensao, we happened upon a couple trolleys, the streetcars run on electricity provided by a grid of electric wires suspended above the streets, that were a bit different from the norm. These were piloted by Santa Claus--two of them, both filled with the smiliest of children, all wearing santa hats and holding bags filled with toys, and holding balloon animals made by the clown also on board. The marquis that normally holds the trolley's (called 'electricos' here), said 'Electrico de Natal,' or the Christmas Trolley. It was absolutely hilarious. Both Santas were totally jolly (not the norm for electrico drivers), and even paused to ho ho ho in the doorway after Cathy briefly boarded to snap a couple photos. It was a very nice thing to see.)
For the past few days internet access has been hard to come by--and that's a good thing. It was nice, after making the move, to be out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but trees and empty road and animals grazing and sun sun sun. There are also more stray dogs out here, which Cathy has made it her mission to feed and pet. All of them. Every one. I swear. She's good like that. The Pied Piper of Poops. The driving was fantastic, and again all I could think of was how fun it'd be on a road bike. Smooth pavement, tight windy country roads, steep hills and amazing scenery.
So, now we're in Lagos. It's a bit more developed than I expected, though I'm glad to be here in the off-season, as it's fairly calm and quiet, at least compared to how it usually is. This is party central during high backpacker season, where all the kids come to soak up sun and beer and tear it up for a few weeks or months. The beaches now are empty, looooong stretches of sand that lead to large rocky outcroppings that stretch off as far as we can see. The city itself is gorgeous, very narrow streets, steep pitches, not much room to maneuver. I say this from experience. In trying to find a place where we hoped to get a room, just on the edge of the old city, we went a bit too far and found ourselves, behind the wheel of our 4-door VW Polo, stuck smack in the midst of the maze of these streets. A full circuit later, hoping to get out of there without scraping all the paint from the sides of the car, we missed the turn to get out and had no choice but to do the whole thing again. This time it was not so fun. I was tailgated the whole way through, and our map proved woefully inadequate to let us know where we really were. We almost missed the way out a third time, but some quick navigation and turning got us to a parking area where we left the car and found the address on foot. It was comedic, keystone-copslike, but we made it out with the vehicle and our marriage intact. Thank goodness.
So, we've had a pitcher of sangria at a sidewalk cafe, and after this, we'll clean up and head out for dinner. From here we'll do daytrips to Sagres and Porches and other sleepy seaside destinations. Can't wait.
Hope all are well.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
In the Bar, After Church
This evening Cathy and I went to the Igreza de Sao Nicola to see a choir sing a Christmas concert. I was not exactly reluctant, but something in me gets a little nervy when I feel like I'm poking around in someone's church, especially when those people are there, going to church. But I'm glad I got over it, because the music we heard made me feel pretty good about being there. Five seconds into the first song I realized my mouth was hanging open. I felt like I understood why all churches are shaped around this long high arch (the acoustics!), and I sat rapt for the next hour and a half.
They performed a repertoire of traditional Portuguese songs in the first part, and then after a break they sang two in English before finishing with a trio of Portuguese songs. The harmonies upon harmonies and the changes in pitch and volume were all staggering in beauty and intensity. The crowd (congregation?) started out pretty thin, which had me pretty surprised--though I'm not sure why; with the number of churches in this town, I imagine all of these things can't draw big numbers. But, within the first couple songs, the pews filled considerably and the choir got the ovations they deserved. Glad I came along.
Cathy took some photos and some video of it. The paintings are on the cieling of the church (no flash, camera in her lap), and the statues are along the side. If we can get it posted, check that high note just past the half-way point. It was amazing.
So, after church, just to balance things out, I headed back to Bar Lisboa, a very cool little jazz pub on the edge of the Bairro Alto, just up the hill from where we're staying. I first came in here a few days ago, convinced there was no bar or pub life in this town--only clubs or cafeterias. I was wrong. It's a dimly lit high-ceilinged room with a half-dozen tables and a bar, along with a continuous stream of really great jazz music.
I sat and wrote in my journal for a while, and eventually struck up some conversation with the bartender, Nunes, who was eager enough to talk about the music they were playing. He and his brother Carlos co-owned the bar, Carlos also ran Trem Azul Records, a jazz label based in Lisbon--"The ONLY all-jazz label in all of Portugal!" Carlos proudly proclaims. So I spent the rest of that first night here scribbling in my journal and talking to these guys about every track they played, DJ-style with headphones back behind the bar, bringing the CD cases out and plunking them, conspiratorally, on the table in front of me.
"Carlos Gonzales, you know him. From Texas, yes?"
"Yep, from Dallas I think."
Then a squinty-eyed smile, head nodding, a murmured "Greeeaaat," and back behind the bar. It was a fantastic night here, meeting and talking to these guys and getting a solid fix of great new music. Who knew there was so much outstanding jazz being produced in Portugal?
After a good few hours of this, warmed in the belly now and still somewhat entranced by the music we heard earlier at the church, I moseyed down the hill toward home, humming some crazy Ken Vandermark tune, loving Lisbon thoroughly.
They performed a repertoire of traditional Portuguese songs in the first part, and then after a break they sang two in English before finishing with a trio of Portuguese songs. The harmonies upon harmonies and the changes in pitch and volume were all staggering in beauty and intensity. The crowd (congregation?) started out pretty thin, which had me pretty surprised--though I'm not sure why; with the number of churches in this town, I imagine all of these things can't draw big numbers. But, within the first couple songs, the pews filled considerably and the choir got the ovations they deserved. Glad I came along.
Cathy took some photos and some video of it. The paintings are on the cieling of the church (no flash, camera in her lap), and the statues are along the side. If we can get it posted, check that high note just past the half-way point. It was amazing.
So, after church, just to balance things out, I headed back to Bar Lisboa, a very cool little jazz pub on the edge of the Bairro Alto, just up the hill from where we're staying. I first came in here a few days ago, convinced there was no bar or pub life in this town--only clubs or cafeterias. I was wrong. It's a dimly lit high-ceilinged room with a half-dozen tables and a bar, along with a continuous stream of really great jazz music.
I sat and wrote in my journal for a while, and eventually struck up some conversation with the bartender, Nunes, who was eager enough to talk about the music they were playing. He and his brother Carlos co-owned the bar, Carlos also ran Trem Azul Records, a jazz label based in Lisbon--"The ONLY all-jazz label in all of Portugal!" Carlos proudly proclaims. So I spent the rest of that first night here scribbling in my journal and talking to these guys about every track they played, DJ-style with headphones back behind the bar, bringing the CD cases out and plunking them, conspiratorally, on the table in front of me.
"Carlos Gonzales, you know him. From Texas, yes?"
"Yep, from Dallas I think."
Then a squinty-eyed smile, head nodding, a murmured "Greeeaaat," and back behind the bar. It was a fantastic night here, meeting and talking to these guys and getting a solid fix of great new music. Who knew there was so much outstanding jazz being produced in Portugal?
After a good few hours of this, warmed in the belly now and still somewhat entranced by the music we heard earlier at the church, I moseyed down the hill toward home, humming some crazy Ken Vandermark tune, loving Lisbon thoroughly.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Port Wine Institute, LisbonWe visited the Port Wine Institute in Lisbon, the place that decides the quality and vintage of all port made here. Quite a lofty responsibility, and the bar that's attached to the place reflects the seriousness of this purpose.
We started with a pair that both won us over. A Warre late bottle vintage, 1994, came first, the red a ruby that was stunning, its legs thick as a linebackers, earthy cranberry nose that had a tobaccoey finish that was very nice.
Along with this one came a 40 year Dalva, a llighter color than the first, ruby almost, with a caramelly nose and a bit hotter approach to the tongue. IT was stupendous, though.
The second round consisted of a Graham's late bottle vintage from 97 and a Ferreira vintage from 97. The Graham's was fruitier than the rest, softer, with a stronger finish and less tanniny tones. The Ferreira was all dark beries, more acid and heat here, maybe the least favorite of the day.
Lastly we entered our normal realm--the cheapies. We had a Burmeister Sotto Voce Reserva and a Ramos Pinto Adriano, both just plain yummy, no heat, all porty fruit and warm stomach.
The Institute was a great experience, definitely recommended.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Domingo in Lisbon
Most of the town shuts down on Sundays, the only day folks get to stay home and rest, but you sure wouldn't know it with the bustle and activity still going on. Restaurants and cafes stay open, some of them, and the people are just out and walking around.
It's raining here today, the first we've had, and the mood and the streets are both a bit slipperier. The broken stone cobbles that comprise all sidewalks and roadways become slick at the least moisture, and to see these young guys traversing the steep hills on their motorcycles and scooters is fairly nervewracking.
Cathy and I wandered into a church after lunch to get out of the rain, and we were stunned at the magnitude of the building's interior. Cavernous, gigantic, with Christ and Mary occupying equal footing at the main altar, sundry saints and other lesser icons all having their places along the side walls. For a small fee you can get candles and pay homage to all of them, as many older ladies were doing, in a circuit, clockwise, with much crossing of selves and muttering and touching of stone toes.
Sometimes I feel I need a city, need the stimula and the crowds and the food options (ESPECIALLY the food options), that our current setup is just a bit too tame and too quiet and too Whidaho. But then, we stumble into a park, some greenspace, and feel the lack of all these things I think I need, or we find a quiet cafe and just sit and talk, or hear a familiar song and I realize that I love these other things most in their absence. It's a tough call, really, but I guess that's what makes traveling so wonderful--we experience these things, get to know them, sit and simmer in them a while and let them wash over us and get into our sinuses and brains and make themselves known in a deeper way, and then we get to leave and go back to our friends and families and dogs and beds and bikes (oh man I miss my bike--me and the Pinarello could be making mincemeat of these cobbled streets in the early part of the day!) and we know how good we have it.
We've still got a couple days to spend in Lisbon. We'll shop, we'll see a fado show, we'll revisit a bar where we've made friends with the owners and we'll visit the owner's jazz record store and recording label (more on that later) and we'll hang out and get ready to miss this place. Then it's southward, in a rental car, to the mountainous coast of the Algarve for a week's rural exploration. All this before we ever get to Seville. So much left!
Bom Dia.
Most of the town shuts down on Sundays, the only day folks get to stay home and rest, but you sure wouldn't know it with the bustle and activity still going on. Restaurants and cafes stay open, some of them, and the people are just out and walking around.
It's raining here today, the first we've had, and the mood and the streets are both a bit slipperier. The broken stone cobbles that comprise all sidewalks and roadways become slick at the least moisture, and to see these young guys traversing the steep hills on their motorcycles and scooters is fairly nervewracking.
Cathy and I wandered into a church after lunch to get out of the rain, and we were stunned at the magnitude of the building's interior. Cavernous, gigantic, with Christ and Mary occupying equal footing at the main altar, sundry saints and other lesser icons all having their places along the side walls. For a small fee you can get candles and pay homage to all of them, as many older ladies were doing, in a circuit, clockwise, with much crossing of selves and muttering and touching of stone toes.
Sometimes I feel I need a city, need the stimula and the crowds and the food options (ESPECIALLY the food options), that our current setup is just a bit too tame and too quiet and too Whidaho. But then, we stumble into a park, some greenspace, and feel the lack of all these things I think I need, or we find a quiet cafe and just sit and talk, or hear a familiar song and I realize that I love these other things most in their absence. It's a tough call, really, but I guess that's what makes traveling so wonderful--we experience these things, get to know them, sit and simmer in them a while and let them wash over us and get into our sinuses and brains and make themselves known in a deeper way, and then we get to leave and go back to our friends and families and dogs and beds and bikes (oh man I miss my bike--me and the Pinarello could be making mincemeat of these cobbled streets in the early part of the day!) and we know how good we have it.
We've still got a couple days to spend in Lisbon. We'll shop, we'll see a fado show, we'll revisit a bar where we've made friends with the owners and we'll visit the owner's jazz record store and recording label (more on that later) and we'll hang out and get ready to miss this place. Then it's southward, in a rental car, to the mountainous coast of the Algarve for a week's rural exploration. All this before we ever get to Seville. So much left!
Bom Dia.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Sintra
Lord Byron called it the Glorious Eden. The fop may not have been able to pronounce Don Juan, but he had this city pegged. A beautiful little town clinging to steep forested mountainsides, Sintra charmed us from the moment we set foot off the train, from the quaint cafes to the old timey barber shop (which I missed before it closed) to the ancient Moorish castle to the grand palace that replaced it.
We did Sintra as a day trip from Lisbon, a quick 50 minute jaunt by Metro and Train, and we had a wonderful time there. Took a lloooooooong climb up to the castle, tromping around the ramparts and scaling the turrets, trying to imagine what it was like for the moors to defend it from the oncoming Potruguese, before heading a bit further up the hill to the Palacio de Pena, the palace that became the ruling center when the moors were displaced. I'm not a big fan of gaping at the history of the ruling class (I prefer to see where the real people lived--after all, like they say, anything is possible with an endless supply of free labor, so why the big whoop?), but this was pretty impressive. Still very close to what it was when the royals left it for a new palace closer to sea level.
Had a great grilled cuttlefish for dinner, with carrot soup and a cold beer. Wonderful. Now we're back in Lisbon, heading back to the room to rest our weary feet. Ah, bed.
Still having a wonderful time. 9 days down, 20 left to go! Tomorrow we head out for another day trip to Cascais, a beach town, to laze around a bit and have some more seafood.
Hope all are well.
Lord Byron called it the Glorious Eden. The fop may not have been able to pronounce Don Juan, but he had this city pegged. A beautiful little town clinging to steep forested mountainsides, Sintra charmed us from the moment we set foot off the train, from the quaint cafes to the old timey barber shop (which I missed before it closed) to the ancient Moorish castle to the grand palace that replaced it.
We did Sintra as a day trip from Lisbon, a quick 50 minute jaunt by Metro and Train, and we had a wonderful time there. Took a lloooooooong climb up to the castle, tromping around the ramparts and scaling the turrets, trying to imagine what it was like for the moors to defend it from the oncoming Potruguese, before heading a bit further up the hill to the Palacio de Pena, the palace that became the ruling center when the moors were displaced. I'm not a big fan of gaping at the history of the ruling class (I prefer to see where the real people lived--after all, like they say, anything is possible with an endless supply of free labor, so why the big whoop?), but this was pretty impressive. Still very close to what it was when the royals left it for a new palace closer to sea level.
Had a great grilled cuttlefish for dinner, with carrot soup and a cold beer. Wonderful. Now we're back in Lisbon, heading back to the room to rest our weary feet. Ah, bed.
Still having a wonderful time. 9 days down, 20 left to go! Tomorrow we head out for another day trip to Cascais, a beach town, to laze around a bit and have some more seafood.
Hope all are well.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
LISBON
Tight, steep, windy streets, unbelievably friendly people, and some of the most amazing seafood I´ve seen or eaten ever. We have arrived in Lisbon! Transport to Portugal went as smoothly as the rest of it has, and we´ve had a fantastic couple days since arriving here. This city is just beautiful, magnificent, like something out of a dream. We´ve walked enough to wear holes in our shoes, and Cathy´s taken so many photos that I think we could assemble them into a flipbook of a virtual tour of the city. It´s hard to not take a photo of everything we see.
Our first couple days here have been spent getting acclimated (read: sleeping in and sitting around and drinking coffee and wandering the streets). Our room is on the largest square in the city, the Rossio, and our windows look out onto the giant statue in the center and the surrounding buildings, all adorned with outrageous flashing and strobing Christmas lights, complete with recorded carols playing from 10am to 11am daily. Feliz Natal! It´s a very celebratory atmosphere here, EVERYthing lit up, everyone walking around with shopping bags and smiles on their faces.
Last night, we stumbled into a tiny restaurant (Aimbra de Roques, I think it was called), the doorway just below street level, brimming with locals and smelling of heaven. We got a table right away--luck was on our side, as within 10 minutes of our sitting there was a line out the door for the rest of the night. We know, because we were there for a LONG time. We started with some oysters stewed with tomatoes and onions and spices, and followed that with loads of crusty bread and a stew of various fish and shellfish (Seafoods Cataplana) that made my jaw drop. Just fantastic. A bottle of the house white rounded out the meal, and then we moved to a chocolate mousse with espresso for me and a glass of reserve porto for Cathy--her first here in town, and it did not disappoint. Ruby colored and sweet to perfection, it was fantastic. We shared a table with a group of 4 girls from south of Madrid, very nice folks, who we were able to talk to quite a bit. All in all a great first night here.
We´ve just finished strolling the mazelike streets of the Alfama, an old neighborhood that feels like we´re way back in time. Now, we´ll head back to the room and get ready to go out and eat again. Oh, the joy!
Tomorrow we begin the more touristy part of the trip, taking daytrips out to Sintra and Cascais, one day each, and then hitting all the museums we can, especially the maritime museum, which should be quite interesting in a city with the seafaring history of this place.
More later!
Tight, steep, windy streets, unbelievably friendly people, and some of the most amazing seafood I´ve seen or eaten ever. We have arrived in Lisbon! Transport to Portugal went as smoothly as the rest of it has, and we´ve had a fantastic couple days since arriving here. This city is just beautiful, magnificent, like something out of a dream. We´ve walked enough to wear holes in our shoes, and Cathy´s taken so many photos that I think we could assemble them into a flipbook of a virtual tour of the city. It´s hard to not take a photo of everything we see.
Our first couple days here have been spent getting acclimated (read: sleeping in and sitting around and drinking coffee and wandering the streets). Our room is on the largest square in the city, the Rossio, and our windows look out onto the giant statue in the center and the surrounding buildings, all adorned with outrageous flashing and strobing Christmas lights, complete with recorded carols playing from 10am to 11am daily. Feliz Natal! It´s a very celebratory atmosphere here, EVERYthing lit up, everyone walking around with shopping bags and smiles on their faces.
Last night, we stumbled into a tiny restaurant (Aimbra de Roques, I think it was called), the doorway just below street level, brimming with locals and smelling of heaven. We got a table right away--luck was on our side, as within 10 minutes of our sitting there was a line out the door for the rest of the night. We know, because we were there for a LONG time. We started with some oysters stewed with tomatoes and onions and spices, and followed that with loads of crusty bread and a stew of various fish and shellfish (Seafoods Cataplana) that made my jaw drop. Just fantastic. A bottle of the house white rounded out the meal, and then we moved to a chocolate mousse with espresso for me and a glass of reserve porto for Cathy--her first here in town, and it did not disappoint. Ruby colored and sweet to perfection, it was fantastic. We shared a table with a group of 4 girls from south of Madrid, very nice folks, who we were able to talk to quite a bit. All in all a great first night here.
We´ve just finished strolling the mazelike streets of the Alfama, an old neighborhood that feels like we´re way back in time. Now, we´ll head back to the room and get ready to go out and eat again. Oh, the joy!
Tomorrow we begin the more touristy part of the trip, taking daytrips out to Sintra and Cascais, one day each, and then hitting all the museums we can, especially the maritime museum, which should be quite interesting in a city with the seafaring history of this place.
More later!
Monday, December 06, 2004
Rijsttafel
You're detecting a trend.
Is there more to this trip than food?
No.
Well, yes, but the food and drink seem to accompany most other things, and it serves as a good anchor for trying to describe what we're doing here.
So, last night, after returning from Emmen, Cathy and I and Gerry and Christina were joined by John, a friend of theirs and ours who we met at SXSW in Austin some years ago, and his girlfriend Sorcha (pronounced Circa), who is from Dublin, and we went out to share an Indonesian feast they call Rijsttafel, or Rice Table. The place was very nice, elegant, manned by Indonesian folks who, I must say, it was very surprising and interesting to see speaking Dutch. Funny, the same goes for kids--it always amuses me to see children speaking another language.
The table was filled with small bowls of Indonesian food, like the famed and lauded beef randang made dear to me at Java Noodles in Austin, along with rice and wine and beer. It was a magnificent spread, and every single dish was unique and laid out in increasing levels of heat and spiciness. The beef randang, you Austinites will be happy to know, was almost exactly like the one served at Java Noodles, and the rest of it was equally fascinating and delicious. Stir-fried pork in chile sauce, spicy lamb, some veggie salads, a hard-boiled egg encrusted in something and bathed in red sauce (which was AMAZING), chicken, everything, all fantastic.
Tonight, apparently, John and Gerry and I are having a boys' night out, going to the Paradiso to see the Kings of Leon, a band that's getting quite a buzz over here. The Paradiso is one of the premier venues in Europe, and I'm very excited to see it. Cathy, also is very excited for me to see it, as it will provide she and Christina with some time to sit and talk without me hanging about. So, much to report tomorrow, though it may not happen tomorrow, as early in the morning we end our time in the Netherlands and head off to Portugal.
(Thanks for all your comments so far, and Hilary, thanks for the dog updates, they make Cathy and me very happy and at ease.)
You're detecting a trend.
Is there more to this trip than food?
No.
Well, yes, but the food and drink seem to accompany most other things, and it serves as a good anchor for trying to describe what we're doing here.
So, last night, after returning from Emmen, Cathy and I and Gerry and Christina were joined by John, a friend of theirs and ours who we met at SXSW in Austin some years ago, and his girlfriend Sorcha (pronounced Circa), who is from Dublin, and we went out to share an Indonesian feast they call Rijsttafel, or Rice Table. The place was very nice, elegant, manned by Indonesian folks who, I must say, it was very surprising and interesting to see speaking Dutch. Funny, the same goes for kids--it always amuses me to see children speaking another language.
The table was filled with small bowls of Indonesian food, like the famed and lauded beef randang made dear to me at Java Noodles in Austin, along with rice and wine and beer. It was a magnificent spread, and every single dish was unique and laid out in increasing levels of heat and spiciness. The beef randang, you Austinites will be happy to know, was almost exactly like the one served at Java Noodles, and the rest of it was equally fascinating and delicious. Stir-fried pork in chile sauce, spicy lamb, some veggie salads, a hard-boiled egg encrusted in something and bathed in red sauce (which was AMAZING), chicken, everything, all fantastic.
Tonight, apparently, John and Gerry and I are having a boys' night out, going to the Paradiso to see the Kings of Leon, a band that's getting quite a buzz over here. The Paradiso is one of the premier venues in Europe, and I'm very excited to see it. Cathy, also is very excited for me to see it, as it will provide she and Christina with some time to sit and talk without me hanging about. So, much to report tomorrow, though it may not happen tomorrow, as early in the morning we end our time in the Netherlands and head off to Portugal.
(Thanks for all your comments so far, and Hilary, thanks for the dog updates, they make Cathy and me very happy and at ease.)
A Night In Emmen
One of the things we were very much looking forward to on this first leg of our trip was to see Luit and Marian, a wonderful couple we met while on our honeymoon in Vietnam back in 2001. They live in Emmen, a small city northeast of Amsterdam, and we planned to take a train out to see them and spend a night up there. It turned out to be a fantastic evening.
The train ride out was very nice, the countryside here green and full of fat and happy cows and horses, canals separating one pasture from the next, the brick houses enveloped in fog and mist, a gorgeous pastoral. We got there without a hitch (nice to feel like we know what we're doing), and they picked us up at the train station. They were exactly as we remembered, she very tall and blonde and stunning, the archetypal Dutch girl, and he also very tall, head shaven, rectangular spectacles. They drove us to their house in the vacation-home area of town, a gorgeous bungalow that was done very modern inside, a sprawling Japanese garden in the backyard that they'd just made the year before. Fantastic place. We sat down in their living room and started talking and drinking coffee and looking at photos and talking some more, having a very nice time.
Luit is an artist, a painter (representing the movement of Toysim, a Dutch manifesto-based art movement that has about 6 active participants right now), and he currently has a show hanging in San Antonio, TX, which is apparently going very well. We talked about art and our respective cultures and political situations (SSOOOOO much to talk about there!) and coffee turned to beer turned to wine and cheese and sausage and we were looking at paintings and talking about everything under the sun.
Marian had been preparing dinner for all that day and part of the preceding day, and it turned out to be just perfect, a multi-course affair from different sections of SE Asia. We started with spring rolls and a peanut soup with veggies and chicken which was better than any similar thing I've eaten. After that, we had fish done in garlic and ginger, reminding us very much of our visit to Hoi An in Vietnam, served with rice, and followed by a Thai curry of chicken and green beans, just fantastic. Dessert was this brilliant dome of chocolate cake, hollowed out and filled with ice cream. Wow. These Dutchies are trying to fatten us up, some sort of Hansel and Gretl plot, I'm sure.
After dinner we talked and talked some more, and by the time we made our way to bed we had been at the eating and drinking and talking for a good 12 hours. We loved every minute of it.
The next day we strolled through Emmen proper, taking a look at Luit's studio, seeing from the outside the biggest zoo in Europe, and talking over a couple coffees. They were on their way to Marian's parents' home for Sinterklaas, so they dropped us at the train station and said good-bye (3 kisses on the cheek, one then the other then the other again, in the Dutch style, which I love) and they left. Very nice time.
Side note: This Sinterklaas thing is a very strange turn on Santa Claus. Sinterklaas comes in from Spain on a boat, some time in November, and then he travels the Netherlands for the next few weeks, accompanied by his Zwarte Pieters (Black Peters), a group of helpers, made up in black face, who shimmy down chimneys and either leave gifts or take nasty children away and back to Spain with them. They leave carrots in their shoes the night before, for Sinterklaas's horse, much like our plates of cookies. It's all very similar, except that it happens on 12/5, and somehow I think the Black Peters would not fly in the U.S., and that our elves let us feel better about the servant's role they play. Very funny to see, walking the streets of Amsterdam, the occasional actor done up in black face, in some sort of Shakespearean garb, acting the part of Black Peter. We saw a few stumble out of a pub, quite drunk and happy.
Also, Sinterklaas and Christmas are separate, the former being about the exchange of gifts, and the latter being about--imagine this--the actual religious holiday. The two are distinct, the one not polluting the other, which seems to me a great idea.
One of the things we were very much looking forward to on this first leg of our trip was to see Luit and Marian, a wonderful couple we met while on our honeymoon in Vietnam back in 2001. They live in Emmen, a small city northeast of Amsterdam, and we planned to take a train out to see them and spend a night up there. It turned out to be a fantastic evening.
The train ride out was very nice, the countryside here green and full of fat and happy cows and horses, canals separating one pasture from the next, the brick houses enveloped in fog and mist, a gorgeous pastoral. We got there without a hitch (nice to feel like we know what we're doing), and they picked us up at the train station. They were exactly as we remembered, she very tall and blonde and stunning, the archetypal Dutch girl, and he also very tall, head shaven, rectangular spectacles. They drove us to their house in the vacation-home area of town, a gorgeous bungalow that was done very modern inside, a sprawling Japanese garden in the backyard that they'd just made the year before. Fantastic place. We sat down in their living room and started talking and drinking coffee and looking at photos and talking some more, having a very nice time.
Luit is an artist, a painter (representing the movement of Toysim, a Dutch manifesto-based art movement that has about 6 active participants right now), and he currently has a show hanging in San Antonio, TX, which is apparently going very well. We talked about art and our respective cultures and political situations (SSOOOOO much to talk about there!) and coffee turned to beer turned to wine and cheese and sausage and we were looking at paintings and talking about everything under the sun.
Marian had been preparing dinner for all that day and part of the preceding day, and it turned out to be just perfect, a multi-course affair from different sections of SE Asia. We started with spring rolls and a peanut soup with veggies and chicken which was better than any similar thing I've eaten. After that, we had fish done in garlic and ginger, reminding us very much of our visit to Hoi An in Vietnam, served with rice, and followed by a Thai curry of chicken and green beans, just fantastic. Dessert was this brilliant dome of chocolate cake, hollowed out and filled with ice cream. Wow. These Dutchies are trying to fatten us up, some sort of Hansel and Gretl plot, I'm sure.
After dinner we talked and talked some more, and by the time we made our way to bed we had been at the eating and drinking and talking for a good 12 hours. We loved every minute of it.
The next day we strolled through Emmen proper, taking a look at Luit's studio, seeing from the outside the biggest zoo in Europe, and talking over a couple coffees. They were on their way to Marian's parents' home for Sinterklaas, so they dropped us at the train station and said good-bye (3 kisses on the cheek, one then the other then the other again, in the Dutch style, which I love) and they left. Very nice time.
Side note: This Sinterklaas thing is a very strange turn on Santa Claus. Sinterklaas comes in from Spain on a boat, some time in November, and then he travels the Netherlands for the next few weeks, accompanied by his Zwarte Pieters (Black Peters), a group of helpers, made up in black face, who shimmy down chimneys and either leave gifts or take nasty children away and back to Spain with them. They leave carrots in their shoes the night before, for Sinterklaas's horse, much like our plates of cookies. It's all very similar, except that it happens on 12/5, and somehow I think the Black Peters would not fly in the U.S., and that our elves let us feel better about the servant's role they play. Very funny to see, walking the streets of Amsterdam, the occasional actor done up in black face, in some sort of Shakespearean garb, acting the part of Black Peter. We saw a few stumble out of a pub, quite drunk and happy.
Also, Sinterklaas and Christmas are separate, the former being about the exchange of gifts, and the latter being about--imagine this--the actual religious holiday. The two are distinct, the one not polluting the other, which seems to me a great idea.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
A Reclineable Feast
Last night, Cathy, Gerry, and Christina and I went to a place called The Supper Club for dinner. Oddest, most interesting dining experience perhapsever. We'd heard about this place, but were not really prepared for what it was all about.
After cycling through town to a district near our hosts' home, me on a big clattery Amsterdam rig with a rack over the back wheel, which is where Cathy got to sit, not entirely enjoying herself but not behaving TOO badly, we entered off an alley and were immediately immersed in an obscenely trendy joint, whisked up stairs, coats checked, through a bar and upstairs to a 'table.' The place had the layout of a club, a large open floor downstairs with stairs going up on either side, a long row of tables on the balconies running the length of the floor. No chairs, though, just large bed-like cushions loaded with pillows and some small steel tables placed at intervals on the cushions.
We'd be eating lying down.
(If only Thanksgiving were like this!)
When we got our table and, well, laid all around it, our waiter, an absolutely flaming young man with shaved head, full sleeve tattoos and an unidentifiable accent, came and flopped into the cushions next to us and took our order. He brought beer and water to start--the menu we had no choice on. 5 courses and we chose to not have him tell us so the whole meal would be a surprise. And it was. In many ways.
Cheers all around as the tables around us began to fill. We ended up quite cozy with the tables next to us--after all, we're essentially all lying in bed together drinking and listening to some chill club music (a DJ had a full setup downstairs, and a video guy manned projectors and spotlights upstairs).
We started with some sort of foccacia, a crisp bread topped with dainty salad greens, a sort of amazingly delicious prosciutto drizzled with a rich creamy sauce. No silver--we were brought rubber gloves to eat it with. Again, I couldn't help but think of Thanksgiving. The foccacia and beer were followed by a bottle of red wine and a soup, some sort of bisque of squash or pumpkin with tiny prawns, absolutely delicious, served in a small water glass. So you drink it. Of course. Then more wine and, to help digestion perhaps, a full-on drag show. He-she regaled us in full finery with a tasteful selection of Whitney Houston numbers, the climax of which was accompanied by a tantrum on the bar downstairs where she threw glass after glass to the floor, shattering in all directions, to the massive applause of everyone in the room. It was really quite spectacular.
We resumed our repose and were then served more wine and a fish course, which was a filet of something done in a butter sauce until even the thin skin was crispy and delicious, presented atop a bed of some sort of cabbage, also infused with butter and wine, a rich and filling tiny plate of food. This time, we had silverware to use. Everyone around us was now full into the experience, lounging and laughing and drinking and smoking and making nice with those lying next to them from different groups. I couldn't help but think how odd this whole thing was, how totally indulgent and over the top, yet how fun. More wine, then, and another drag show preceding the main course, this time a not-so-wonderful turn through some Madonna faves by a "singer" who I'm not convinced was not cheating, her being perhaps an actual woman. Funny how that was disappointing.
More wine, and the food: a breast of duck in a wine reduction, served over a thick cream-potato something, again eaten with fork and knife, which is no small trick when you are lying down. We were stuffed, absolutely filled to the gills with food and wine, and so the final drag show of the evening was lost on us, until we got our dessert, a mousse of some sort served also in a glass with a utensil made of crisp pastry and chocolate. Magnificent.
After the dinner was done (which wasn't until quite a bit after midnight, the whole meal having taken over 4 hours) we attempted to move the party downstairs to the basement club, but the crowd was so thick, the movement and heat so unavoidable, that we, being old and lame, made our way back through and out the door, waving goodbye to our waiter and heading out into the night. We stopped off at a very nice pub for a nightcap, then dragged our swollen bellies home to bed. A night that I sincerely doubt I will ever duplicate, but a night that I will also never forget.
Last night, Cathy, Gerry, and Christina and I went to a place called The Supper Club for dinner. Oddest, most interesting dining experience perhapsever. We'd heard about this place, but were not really prepared for what it was all about.
After cycling through town to a district near our hosts' home, me on a big clattery Amsterdam rig with a rack over the back wheel, which is where Cathy got to sit, not entirely enjoying herself but not behaving TOO badly, we entered off an alley and were immediately immersed in an obscenely trendy joint, whisked up stairs, coats checked, through a bar and upstairs to a 'table.' The place had the layout of a club, a large open floor downstairs with stairs going up on either side, a long row of tables on the balconies running the length of the floor. No chairs, though, just large bed-like cushions loaded with pillows and some small steel tables placed at intervals on the cushions.
We'd be eating lying down.
(If only Thanksgiving were like this!)
When we got our table and, well, laid all around it, our waiter, an absolutely flaming young man with shaved head, full sleeve tattoos and an unidentifiable accent, came and flopped into the cushions next to us and took our order. He brought beer and water to start--the menu we had no choice on. 5 courses and we chose to not have him tell us so the whole meal would be a surprise. And it was. In many ways.
Cheers all around as the tables around us began to fill. We ended up quite cozy with the tables next to us--after all, we're essentially all lying in bed together drinking and listening to some chill club music (a DJ had a full setup downstairs, and a video guy manned projectors and spotlights upstairs).
We started with some sort of foccacia, a crisp bread topped with dainty salad greens, a sort of amazingly delicious prosciutto drizzled with a rich creamy sauce. No silver--we were brought rubber gloves to eat it with. Again, I couldn't help but think of Thanksgiving. The foccacia and beer were followed by a bottle of red wine and a soup, some sort of bisque of squash or pumpkin with tiny prawns, absolutely delicious, served in a small water glass. So you drink it. Of course. Then more wine and, to help digestion perhaps, a full-on drag show. He-she regaled us in full finery with a tasteful selection of Whitney Houston numbers, the climax of which was accompanied by a tantrum on the bar downstairs where she threw glass after glass to the floor, shattering in all directions, to the massive applause of everyone in the room. It was really quite spectacular.
We resumed our repose and were then served more wine and a fish course, which was a filet of something done in a butter sauce until even the thin skin was crispy and delicious, presented atop a bed of some sort of cabbage, also infused with butter and wine, a rich and filling tiny plate of food. This time, we had silverware to use. Everyone around us was now full into the experience, lounging and laughing and drinking and smoking and making nice with those lying next to them from different groups. I couldn't help but think how odd this whole thing was, how totally indulgent and over the top, yet how fun. More wine, then, and another drag show preceding the main course, this time a not-so-wonderful turn through some Madonna faves by a "singer" who I'm not convinced was not cheating, her being perhaps an actual woman. Funny how that was disappointing.
More wine, and the food: a breast of duck in a wine reduction, served over a thick cream-potato something, again eaten with fork and knife, which is no small trick when you are lying down. We were stuffed, absolutely filled to the gills with food and wine, and so the final drag show of the evening was lost on us, until we got our dessert, a mousse of some sort served also in a glass with a utensil made of crisp pastry and chocolate. Magnificent.
After the dinner was done (which wasn't until quite a bit after midnight, the whole meal having taken over 4 hours) we attempted to move the party downstairs to the basement club, but the crowd was so thick, the movement and heat so unavoidable, that we, being old and lame, made our way back through and out the door, waving goodbye to our waiter and heading out into the night. We stopped off at a very nice pub for a nightcap, then dragged our swollen bellies home to bed. A night that I sincerely doubt I will ever duplicate, but a night that I will also never forget.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
A Quick One
Good morning all. It's Saturday morning, and we're getting ready to grab a train to Emmen to visit a couple friends, so I wanted to log a quick update.
We're having a fantastic time. Spent yesterday riding bikes around town, first to have lunch at the top floor of this huge warehouse building that seems to be being under conversion to a multi-level club and museum. Great view of the city, and some very nice food for not too much money. Better black bean soup than I ever thought I'd have here. Then we wandered the streets, tooling around on these massive, heavy bikes that EVERYONE rides here. We walked through the red light district (how could we not?) and the flower market and saw a gigantic and classic cinema and just took it slow and easy. Very nice day.
Last night, though, was something entirely different. We dined at The Supper Club, and if you haven't heard of this place, you will soon enough, if not from me then in relation to the one that I hear is about to open in the States. It's a strange, wonderful place, and I don't have nearly enough time to do it justice. So, I'll save that one for tomorrow.
We're eating and drinking and sleeping and eating and drinking and talking and having a brilliant time doing vacation sloth activities. Settling in nicely, thank you very much.
Hope all are well at home. More later. Much, much more later.
Good morning all. It's Saturday morning, and we're getting ready to grab a train to Emmen to visit a couple friends, so I wanted to log a quick update.
We're having a fantastic time. Spent yesterday riding bikes around town, first to have lunch at the top floor of this huge warehouse building that seems to be being under conversion to a multi-level club and museum. Great view of the city, and some very nice food for not too much money. Better black bean soup than I ever thought I'd have here. Then we wandered the streets, tooling around on these massive, heavy bikes that EVERYONE rides here. We walked through the red light district (how could we not?) and the flower market and saw a gigantic and classic cinema and just took it slow and easy. Very nice day.
Last night, though, was something entirely different. We dined at The Supper Club, and if you haven't heard of this place, you will soon enough, if not from me then in relation to the one that I hear is about to open in the States. It's a strange, wonderful place, and I don't have nearly enough time to do it justice. So, I'll save that one for tomorrow.
We're eating and drinking and sleeping and eating and drinking and talking and having a brilliant time doing vacation sloth activities. Settling in nicely, thank you very much.
Hope all are well at home. More later. Much, much more later.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
AMSTERDAM
It's 5:30 pm here, and Cathy and I have just returned to Gerry and Christina's house after a long day of hoofing it around this beautiful city. I think it's just sunk in that we're on vacation and have nothing to do but this--hoofing it around beautiful cities--for the next month. We're pretty happy about that.
We arrived in Amsterdam yesterday about 7am, all flights passing without incident, all going according to plan. The flight over from Seattle was very long, and we didn't get to see much as we were up above a pretty thick cloud cover from the time we took off until it turned dark. Early the next morning, though, we did get a magnificent view of pre-sunrise glow on the horizon, a thin ruby-red strip of light that turned the darkness above a metallic purple and the cloud line below a deep blue. It was striking to say the least.
We landed and skated right through customs, no sweat, and hopped the train for Amsterdam Centraal, a smooth ride in a half-empty car. At the main train station we took a tram to the Westermarkt stop, which is about a half-block from where our friends Gerry and Christina live. They've just moved into a beautiful flat on the top floor of an old building on Bloemgracht, facing the canal. It's open and spacious and much larger than either of us had expected, amazing that they live so close to the city center, and yet it's very quiet up here. Cathy's taken some great photos of their place, but I just learned that I have to download the BlogBot software in order to place hosted photos on this site, so unfortunately that isn't gonna happen.
Last night we had a wonderful dinner made by Gerry, after which we sat around their kitchen table talking and drinking wine until the wee hours. This is one of the things we were most looking forward to. Tonight we're having kaas (cheese) fondue, also here at C&G's place, though this time with Christina's sister and their friend John, who we met when we lived in Texas.
Today, after we got up and had breakfast, Cathy and I walked down to the Anne Frank house. (Only about a block and a half from their place!) I'd never been there before, and our hosts encouraged us to check it out. We did, and I have to say that it was a very powerful place. To see the space that these 8 people lived in for so long, to imagine the streets along these canals--these gorgeous walkways and serene canals--occupied by uniformed Nazis who are busy carting off load after load of people, is just beyond my comprehension. The museum itself does a great job of telling their story, from before the time they went into hiding until after Otto Frank, Anne's father, learned that Anne had died in a concentration camp. The museum is set up so you walk through in a linear route, guided by text plaques and photos and small blue arrows. The rooms are tight, the staircases steep and narrow, all oriented in a vertical manner. As we made our way from room to room, we followed Anne Frank's life in hiding, with recorded excerpts from her diaries guiding us through. When we reached the room where she lived, decorated with photos and cut-outs pasted to the walls in an attempt to make the attic feel like a normal girl's bedroom, I felt a sinking, disturbed feeling in my stomach, trying to imagine what it must have been like for a mere kid to experience this--and not only to experience it, but to record such deep, analytical thought, betraying a too-acute understanding of what exactly she was going through. Though it was a pretty low-key museum, very basic in its layout and intent, it spurred powerful, deep response from both of us and everyone else who was there at the time.
After the museum we walked the streets for a few hours, had a picnic of bread and cheese and some roast beef on a bench along the canal, poked our heads in shops and ogled the locals, and then stopped and got some wine and bread for tonight's dinner. And now here we are, drinking coffee and talking around the table, getting ready for another night of imbibement and conversation. It's very nice to have these friends here, being able to come back to this place instead of a hotel room, hanging out with these people who we see not nearly often enough. We'll be here through Saturday, when we travel north to Emmen to visit Luit and Marian, a pair of lovely Dutch giants who we met on our honeymoon in Vietnam. We'll stay with them for a day and a night, then we'll come back here until Tuesday morning when we set off for Portugal.
It's 5:30 pm here, and Cathy and I have just returned to Gerry and Christina's house after a long day of hoofing it around this beautiful city. I think it's just sunk in that we're on vacation and have nothing to do but this--hoofing it around beautiful cities--for the next month. We're pretty happy about that.
We arrived in Amsterdam yesterday about 7am, all flights passing without incident, all going according to plan. The flight over from Seattle was very long, and we didn't get to see much as we were up above a pretty thick cloud cover from the time we took off until it turned dark. Early the next morning, though, we did get a magnificent view of pre-sunrise glow on the horizon, a thin ruby-red strip of light that turned the darkness above a metallic purple and the cloud line below a deep blue. It was striking to say the least.
We landed and skated right through customs, no sweat, and hopped the train for Amsterdam Centraal, a smooth ride in a half-empty car. At the main train station we took a tram to the Westermarkt stop, which is about a half-block from where our friends Gerry and Christina live. They've just moved into a beautiful flat on the top floor of an old building on Bloemgracht, facing the canal. It's open and spacious and much larger than either of us had expected, amazing that they live so close to the city center, and yet it's very quiet up here. Cathy's taken some great photos of their place, but I just learned that I have to download the BlogBot software in order to place hosted photos on this site, so unfortunately that isn't gonna happen.
Last night we had a wonderful dinner made by Gerry, after which we sat around their kitchen table talking and drinking wine until the wee hours. This is one of the things we were most looking forward to. Tonight we're having kaas (cheese) fondue, also here at C&G's place, though this time with Christina's sister and their friend John, who we met when we lived in Texas.
Today, after we got up and had breakfast, Cathy and I walked down to the Anne Frank house. (Only about a block and a half from their place!) I'd never been there before, and our hosts encouraged us to check it out. We did, and I have to say that it was a very powerful place. To see the space that these 8 people lived in for so long, to imagine the streets along these canals--these gorgeous walkways and serene canals--occupied by uniformed Nazis who are busy carting off load after load of people, is just beyond my comprehension. The museum itself does a great job of telling their story, from before the time they went into hiding until after Otto Frank, Anne's father, learned that Anne had died in a concentration camp. The museum is set up so you walk through in a linear route, guided by text plaques and photos and small blue arrows. The rooms are tight, the staircases steep and narrow, all oriented in a vertical manner. As we made our way from room to room, we followed Anne Frank's life in hiding, with recorded excerpts from her diaries guiding us through. When we reached the room where she lived, decorated with photos and cut-outs pasted to the walls in an attempt to make the attic feel like a normal girl's bedroom, I felt a sinking, disturbed feeling in my stomach, trying to imagine what it must have been like for a mere kid to experience this--and not only to experience it, but to record such deep, analytical thought, betraying a too-acute understanding of what exactly she was going through. Though it was a pretty low-key museum, very basic in its layout and intent, it spurred powerful, deep response from both of us and everyone else who was there at the time.
After the museum we walked the streets for a few hours, had a picnic of bread and cheese and some roast beef on a bench along the canal, poked our heads in shops and ogled the locals, and then stopped and got some wine and bread for tonight's dinner. And now here we are, drinking coffee and talking around the table, getting ready for another night of imbibement and conversation. It's very nice to have these friends here, being able to come back to this place instead of a hotel room, hanging out with these people who we see not nearly often enough. We'll be here through Saturday, when we travel north to Emmen to visit Luit and Marian, a pair of lovely Dutch giants who we met on our honeymoon in Vietnam. We'll stay with them for a day and a night, then we'll come back here until Tuesday morning when we set off for Portugal.
Monday, November 29, 2004
Comments
The comments section is working, though not quite as easily as I’d hoped. Apparently you need to register to leave comments, but that should only involve entering your username and accepting cookies from blogger.com. You shouldn’t have to give out more information than that. Also, the comments don’t just show up beneath the entry to which they apply—but they’re only a click away. So, they’re not so readily read, but they’re not in the way, clogging up the main screen, either. Depends on how you look at it I guess.
So, tomorrow’s liftoff. Hard to believe. The anticipation has been so great and gone on for so long that it’s almost surprising that departure is actually so close.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Flakes
The first snow hit city level here today--we woke to a thin blanket of white this morning. Always a nice thing to see.
Eric and I got out and went for a hike up Five Mile creek this afternoon in the steady snowfall. Not much accumulating, but with the big temp drops at night I'm betting the pack begins now.
A mere two days til takeoff. In 3 days we'll be sitting in Amsterdam. Getting very excited.
Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving.
The first snow hit city level here today--we woke to a thin blanket of white this morning. Always a nice thing to see.
Eric and I got out and went for a hike up Five Mile creek this afternoon in the steady snowfall. Not much accumulating, but with the big temp drops at night I'm betting the pack begins now.
A mere two days til takeoff. In 3 days we'll be sitting in Amsterdam. Getting very excited.
Hope you all had a good Thanksgiving.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
E-Mailing It In
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, the day before Eric makes the trip up from
Mostly this post is a test of whether or not I can e-mail entries to be posted on this site. Sure would make things easy.
Standing by…
Monday, November 22, 2004
Short-Timers
Come Tuesday, we'll be gone, gone. For the month of December Cathy and I will be traveling from the Netherlands through Portugal and into Sevilla, Spain in time for Christmas. Then back to Lisbon, and home, just before New Year's.
I've set up this blog to keep anyone who cares abreast of our exploits. The only question is whether I'll get sufficient access and bandwidth to be able to post here often. I might be able to e-mail posts to this thing, but, to be honest, I'm new to this and I just don't know. I'll figure it out as we go.
So check in on occasion and hopefully there'll be something interesting to read. And maybe some pictures, too.
E-mail us at the addresses above if you want to. We'll be checking once in a while.
Have a nice December.
Come Tuesday, we'll be gone, gone. For the month of December Cathy and I will be traveling from the Netherlands through Portugal and into Sevilla, Spain in time for Christmas. Then back to Lisbon, and home, just before New Year's.
I've set up this blog to keep anyone who cares abreast of our exploits. The only question is whether I'll get sufficient access and bandwidth to be able to post here often. I might be able to e-mail posts to this thing, but, to be honest, I'm new to this and I just don't know. I'll figure it out as we go.
So check in on occasion and hopefully there'll be something interesting to read. And maybe some pictures, too.
E-mail us at the addresses above if you want to. We'll be checking once in a while.
Have a nice December.
Friday, November 19, 2004
Fogged In
The pressure zones high above Boise are still aligned against us. This air just isn't moving. We're getting brief, teasing glimpses of sunlight on most days, but it's not breaking up. This is the earliest and possibly longest inversion in my short time here. And it's starting to drive me nuts.
Even though the pollution is not a constant, as it has been at other times, it still does get a bit rank and brown down here on occasion. The temperatures have been cold though not brutal. But the ceiling is very low, and this morning while riding to work I think I had a visibility of about 30 feet through the fog.
In better news, I just found out that The Mooney Suzuki is playing the Paradiso Theater in Amsterdam on December 6, the last night of our stay there. A bona-fide rock show! Gerry, our man in Amsterdam, said he's gonna get tickets. So we have that to look forward to.
The pressure zones high above Boise are still aligned against us. This air just isn't moving. We're getting brief, teasing glimpses of sunlight on most days, but it's not breaking up. This is the earliest and possibly longest inversion in my short time here. And it's starting to drive me nuts.
Even though the pollution is not a constant, as it has been at other times, it still does get a bit rank and brown down here on occasion. The temperatures have been cold though not brutal. But the ceiling is very low, and this morning while riding to work I think I had a visibility of about 30 feet through the fog.
In better news, I just found out that The Mooney Suzuki is playing the Paradiso Theater in Amsterdam on December 6, the last night of our stay there. A bona-fide rock show! Gerry, our man in Amsterdam, said he's gonna get tickets. So we have that to look forward to.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Hip Hop Ho Hum
Went and checked out Psyche Origami last night at the Neurolux. They're a hip hop group from Atlanta, 2 DJs and an MC. I don't claim any great knowledge of hip hop music--in fact, along with classical, I consider it one of my two greatest deficits in knowledge of music--but I can't help but think that live hip hop just isn't as good as recorded. There are exceptions, the most notable of which I think is The Roots, but for the most part the layers of sound and musical and sampling antics of the hip hop I most enjoy just don't come across as well in a club.
Last night's show was mostly so much scratching over a predictable and boring bass groove, covered over by the MC rapping frantically, seemingly trying his hardest just to keep up most of the time. No flow, no easy rhythm with the words, and the DJs were just making noise.
It was cool to see this show at Neurolux--any diversity of style in this town is a welcome thing--but I enjoyed it more for the novelty of it than for any musical value.
Again--I don't know hip hop. But I know good music when I hear it. This was fun, but it wasn't good music.
Went and checked out Psyche Origami last night at the Neurolux. They're a hip hop group from Atlanta, 2 DJs and an MC. I don't claim any great knowledge of hip hop music--in fact, along with classical, I consider it one of my two greatest deficits in knowledge of music--but I can't help but think that live hip hop just isn't as good as recorded. There are exceptions, the most notable of which I think is The Roots, but for the most part the layers of sound and musical and sampling antics of the hip hop I most enjoy just don't come across as well in a club.
Last night's show was mostly so much scratching over a predictable and boring bass groove, covered over by the MC rapping frantically, seemingly trying his hardest just to keep up most of the time. No flow, no easy rhythm with the words, and the DJs were just making noise.
It was cool to see this show at Neurolux--any diversity of style in this town is a welcome thing--but I enjoyed it more for the novelty of it than for any musical value.
Again--I don't know hip hop. But I know good music when I hear it. This was fun, but it wasn't good music.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
The new template's taken hold, finally.
Also, the inversion's still here. The air still tastes like acid and smoke, still smells like the business end of a cow. At least this time we're getting glimpses of sunlight during the day. Infrequently.
Seriously, W winning the election and an inversion setting in is a bit too much for such a short time.
Also, the inversion's still here. The air still tastes like acid and smoke, still smells like the business end of a cow. At least this time we're getting glimpses of sunlight during the day. Infrequently.
Seriously, W winning the election and an inversion setting in is a bit too much for such a short time.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
It's only November 8, and already we're locked into the first inversion of the year. The ceiling of brownish haze, the smell of chemical sky, they taste of exhaust and feedlot--must be winter in Boise! Let's hope this isn't a foreshadowing of the season to come.
Got this graphic this morning:
http://michiganimc.org/newswire/display/7685/index.php
Pretty disturbing, and very telling. Seems we're still fighting the civil war in this country. Unfortunate that the only change from free back to slave state was our own Idaho. But, I guess this state was settled largely through migration from the deep south to the northwest. So it makes sense. But it's still not pleasant.
Got this graphic this morning:
http://michiganimc.org/newswire/display/7685/index.php
Pretty disturbing, and very telling. Seems we're still fighting the civil war in this country. Unfortunate that the only change from free back to slave state was our own Idaho. But, I guess this state was settled largely through migration from the deep south to the northwest. So it makes sense. But it's still not pleasant.
Friday, November 05, 2004
At long last, a trip awaits. For the month of December Cathy and I will be in the Netherlands and Portugal visiting friends, walking on deserted beaches, sitting in cafes, and drinking loads of port. This will be the place to check in with us.
As for recent events, the mood around here goes without saying. The country is well divided, and we lost this one. We've had a brief mourning period for the hopes we pinned to John Kerry and John Edwards, and now we've decided it's time to get to work. It's just gonna be more of the same, so acting as if the world is ending seems silly at this point. (It didn't the day after the election, but it does now.) So we keep our noses buried in the news, we work together to make sure outrages do not pass unnoticed, and we find creative ways on our own to make a difference.
I'd be lying if I said this didn't weigh heavily as we get ready to leave the country for a while, but that's why we're going to Europe and not to Asia.
Anyway, time to put this thing to use. Hope you check in on occasion.
As for recent events, the mood around here goes without saying. The country is well divided, and we lost this one. We've had a brief mourning period for the hopes we pinned to John Kerry and John Edwards, and now we've decided it's time to get to work. It's just gonna be more of the same, so acting as if the world is ending seems silly at this point. (It didn't the day after the election, but it does now.) So we keep our noses buried in the news, we work together to make sure outrages do not pass unnoticed, and we find creative ways on our own to make a difference.
I'd be lying if I said this didn't weigh heavily as we get ready to leave the country for a while, but that's why we're going to Europe and not to Asia.
Anyway, time to put this thing to use. Hope you check in on occasion.
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