Roaming Madrid

Rio Manzanares with Teleferico cars above and Santa Maria la Real de la Almudena Cathedral
in the distance

Seeking Solo Adventures

Rich was in the U.S. for three weeks recently, so I truly rambled solo. The first week was perfect; I love having alone time to do exactly what I want within reason without compensating for a companion, even one I love. You know the drill: eat when and what I want, go where I want...etcetera. 

It was definitely a boon for my Spanish speaking, not my strong suit and Rich has no problem speaking -- in any language. I walked about the apartment talking aloud to myself and felt the need to stuff caramels in my mouth on the street to quell the incessant chatter. I formulated questions and comments for waitresses; I translated witty comments for bartenders; I entered tiendas (small shops) to inquire about té negro con fruta (tea with fruit) or aquellas botas en la ventana (the boots in the window). I still have Spanish class four hours a day, Monday through Friday, and speak English to a fellow student from England during our 30 minute break. My mind roils in constant translation. The persistent problem is that I invent new Spanish words in my dreams and spend nights trying to translate these nonsense phrases. ¡Qué horror! 

Rich with better Spanish listening skills than I, usually responds to the occasional language challenge. During his absence, The water meter reader arrived at the door and let go a staccato of words. Reacting to my blank stare, he slowed the short burst somewhat. Realizing that, too, wasn't working, he simply said, "Agua!" That and the uniform got him in the door. At least, I know where the water meter is.

Click once or twice on any photo to enlarge the image.

Santa Maria la Real de la Almudena Cathedral
houses the Almudena Virgin attributed to
Diego Copin of Toledo (16th C.) and known
as the Patroness of Madrid.

Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida

Almudena Cathedral cupola

 Almudena Cathedral window

Almudena Cathedral detail

Off the Tourist Track

After multiple visits to Madrid I've seen many of the major tourist venues; visitors give me opportunity to go again. One advantage of living here is the time to explore the less touted places. My recent solo rambles have included Santa Maria la Real de la Almudena Cathedral (constructed 1885-1993), which sits beside the Palacio Real, a major city site. Stunning frescoes of Francisco de Goya plus his remains, minus the head, reside at Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida. Both sites are lovely surprises in their beauty and simplicity and almost touristless. I also visited the Museo de América with a group from AIL Madrid, my Spanish language school. We rushed the visit because we arrived an hour before closing, but that was enough to get the gist of the museum, an interesting venue for native Indian objects from the Americas extending from Tierra del Fuego in the far south to the Arctic.

Outstanding in the Almudena Cathedral, completed in 1993, are the ceiling of multicolored panels that resemble kente cloth from Africa, the stained glass windows in geometrical designs, the contemporary flavor of the sculpture and other art, and the peace of the interior on a rainy Sunday afternoon. However, one madrileña finds the building itself a disaster with no grace or majesty (my words; hers were in passionate Spanish accompanied by hand gestures and facial grimaces.)

I recommend the Ermita first for the stunning Goya frescoes in the cupola and surrounds. The colors are soft and clean and vibrant. As in a recent exhibit at the Prado, Goya's models include nobles and common folk of the day. The ceiling in the Ermita is playful with children draping a curtain for hide and seek. The story goes that Goya's head was taken by scientists for study when the body was interred in the Ermita. Venture into the Prado's tucked-away room displaying Goya's dark work, such as "Saturn Devouring His Son," and understand the compulsion for the brain study. 

Granddaughter Emily walks the line
Rio Manzanares

One additional reason to trek to the Ermita is its close proximity to the pathway along the Rio Manzanares offering walking or bike riding. And for children of all ages, the playground on the west side of the Rio offers adult-sized seesaws, climbing structures and high rope walks to test your balance. 

Emily and her mom, Heidi, on the seesaw 

Other recent ramblings include: National Archaeological Museum and a lovely guided walk on a cold, sunset brightened late afternoon in search of the Austrian/Habsburg influence in Madrid, also a complement of AIL Madrid.

From Telly to Oscar

On the exploration side, I've begun to watch Spanish television news. Here, prime time begins at 10/10:30 p.m., the news at 9 p.m. With my bedtime at 10:30, TV is not truly an option. However, I have seen movies that would never make Rich's list. A few

One of those Austrians Philip III, in Plaza Mayor,
was honored for transforming the once medieval
market into a Baroque plaza

theatres show films in original language with Spanish subtitles, and thus I've seen "Siempre Alice" (always Alice or "Still Alice") with Julianne Moore, Oscar nominee for best actress, and "Into the Woods" with Meryl Streep as the bruja, nominated for best supporting actress. Anyone--Joe Burch--with a love of the dark, dark Grimm's fairy tales and an overall knowledge of the tales, needs to see "Into the Woods." I love the songs in English with Spanish subtitles; I love the dark side of the fairy tales; I love the literary comparison to Shakespeare's

Puerta de Alcalá near city center towers over traffic
and flowers blooming in February.  

characters who go to the woods where magic happens--"Midsummer Night's Dream." It's an adult fairy tale with no promises in the end. (An aside: Just learned in class that Spanish fairy tales end with the line, " El resto de sus vidas son felices y comen perdices." [The rest of their lives are happy and they eat partridges.] "Felices" and "perdices" rhyme. Gotta love this.)

From the other side of the movie pendulum, "Still Alice" tells the horror story of early onset Alzheimer's disease and its affect on a brilliant linguist and her family. Sad, sad sad. I have also seen "Alma Salvaje" (wild soul or "Wild") and "Birdman." I am fascinated by the Spanish translations of the titles, but can't explain why some titles are translated and others not. The Pacific Coast Trail is the real star of "Wild," from the Mojave Desert to the rain forest scenes in Oregon. "Birdman" gets the honor of the moment as the most interesting creation, but I was only convinced after The End. Although firmly set in New York City, the film reflects the influence of much Hispano American literature with magic and fantasy weaving through the action. I would be very tempted to look for other films from the Mexican director and co-writer, Alejandro González Iñárritu. I recommend all to avid cinema goers depending on likes/dislikes, but be forewarned, I'm an avid attendee with little discrimination for all Oscar nominees.

I also watched on CD "El Secreto de sus Ojos" (2009) in Español, no subtitles available. Amazing how much you can understand from expressions alone.

At the end of my solo ramble, I felt satisfied that I had continued to entertain myself, but I was so bored with my one on self discussions. Any conversations with depth were carried out via Skype, not exactly an intimate vehicle. As much as I love this city, without close friends, without heart-felt conversations, it can indeed be lonely. I love this adventure, but I do miss you all and am happy to have Rich home. 

Vagabond Wonders and Woes

Drop-dead gorgeous view from the terrace of the house in San Agustin de Guadalix, north of Madrid

Barcelona

In the midst of our two-week holiday together, Rich, my son David, Heidi, Emily and I ride the high speed AVE train from Madrid to Barcelona across rolling hills, gullies and canyons, mountains in the distance and glimpses of the sea when we near Barcelona. (The AVE train sells the best bocadillo -- serrano jamón and Manchego cheese on warm, crispy baguettes.) We arrive in late afternoon and settle into our apartment in the Barri Gòtic, the old section of the city. The apartment has two bedrooms, two tiny bathrooms, kitchen open to large living, eating area with futons for additional sleepers.The ceilings are probably 5 meters high, wooden slats and beams. The rooms have long windows with door-sized shutters that completely eliminate light and most noise from outside. With the shutters open, we can look up through the narrow chimney between buildings and see blue sky. An updated space perfectly in keeping with its medieval foundation. 

Barri Gòtic

[Enlarge photos by clicking in the center. To better see links embedded in the posting, go to the actual Rambling Solo site.]

Outside the apartment, narrow stone roads snake through corridors shadowed by the surrounding stone buildings. I lead the way in search of sardana dancers said to appear in front of the cathedral at either 6 p.m. on Saturday or noon on Sunday. Sardana is a circle dance and a Catalan tradition, forbidden during the Franco years, but quickly reinstated after his death. Although the dancers never appeared during our visit, the YouTube link provides several examples as well as showing "castles in the air," the tradition of building towers of people.

Cathedral in Barcelona
sin sardana

Barcelona, with rear of
history museum towering above

Barri Gòtic

 

And so we walked The Ramblas, the swath of walkway leading from Plaça de Catalunya with its fountains and city center bustle to the tall, slender Columbus Monument at the port. The Ramblas offers a kaleidoscope of entertainment along its sweep, from human statues of silver men or golden women to monstrous creatures inviting small children to pose for photos. There are outside cafes and pickpockets, balloon sellers and T-shirt vendors, sellers of birds in cages and flowers in tissue, and more tourists speaking more languages than almost anyplace else in the world. Barcelona is an international tourist mecca, compared to Madrid, the quintessential Spanish city. 

Las Ramblas

Port in Barcelona

We select the Museu Picasso and the Museu d'Història de la Ciutat for Sunday since many museums are closed on Mondays. (Note the spellings for museum. As you may know, Barcelona speaks Catalan -- museu; museo is Spanish; and spell check throws up her hands in disgust.) The Picasso museum has many of the artist's works created before he moved on to Paris and restructured the face of art, literally. The museum provides an educational introduction to Pablo Picasso through his very early work, including those completed at 15/16 years old: the portrait of Picasso's mother and "Science and Charity". As you walk across the room in front of Science and Charity, the bed lengthens and shortens depending on perspective. How many 16-year-olds know the meaning of perspective, much less how to create the effect in a static work? 

Columbus points the way
The viewing tower under Columbus is accessible
from the visitor center at the base.

We see portraits of Picasso's father, many of his assistant Jaime Sarbartés and self-portraits created over the years. We see the influence of Toulouse-Lautrec, several pieces from Picasso's Blue Period, but none from the Rose Period, other than one that hints of those rosy glows to come. One of my first-to-recognize and favorite Picasso pieces is from the Blue Period, Woman Ironing and hangs in the Guggenheim in New York.

Finally, the early hints of cubism appear, including one large room dedicated to Picasso's famous studies of the Velazquez masterpiece, Las Meninas, in the Prado in Madrid. The full rendition of Picasso's Las Meninas hangs with multiple individual studies. For the full perspective, I suggest a trip to Madrid and Barcelona; we're here until May. And if you come, we'll also see Picasso's famous, Guernica, in the Reina Sofia, here in Madrid.

Rich, David, Emily, Heidi at the port in Barcelona
with Park Güell visible on the hill behind

We move on to the Barcelona history museum recommended by new friends met at a Boxing Day party in San Agustin de Guadalix. New and very beautiful, the museum flaunts lots of wood, lovely displays of artifacts, and is airy and spacious, but the very best part is underground -- an archaeological site beneath the palace and cathedral next door. It's an extensive site with walkways rambling throughout, railings that don't interfere with the view, at times glass/plexiglass underfoot to reveal the dig. Captions are a bit uneven, sometimes including English along with Catalan and Spanish, sometimes not. The site itself is incredibly impressive; a Roman Barcino (working class community) (10 B.C.) unearthed beneath standing city monuments. Along with the footings for living quarters, the dig has revealed workshops for laundry and dyeing cloth, a swimming/soaking pool, fish processing and wine making vats. Then the walk extends into digs revealing the 7th century church and 11th century palace -- Barcelona in the Middle Ages. A fascinating walk through history.

More Barcelona next week.

These boats in Barcelona
headed around the world the next day
so Rich says

Immigration

In the months before we left the United States, Rich and I amassed the documents needed for long term visas to Spain. No, you don't need a visa to visit, but you do need one to stay for more than 90 days. We needed documents attesting to financial health; we needed signed assurances attesting to medical health; we needed police reports attesting to behavioral health; plus, photos, an apartment contract, and all the documents translated to Spanish and thrice copied. We turned it all over to the Spanish Embassy in August and returned to packing and disposing of belongings. 

Two weeks before our departure date in October, notification in hand, we appeared at the Embassy to have visas affixed to our passports. We were told to report to the police station in Madrid within the 90-day period. 

After three visits to a Madrid police station (closed; schedule an appointment; appointment) the experience was feeling much like DC rigamarole. Then, we were sent to a website to complete another part of the task. Rich spent days trying to decipher what to do and where to do it. Phone calls were unsuccessful. He finally traveled across the city to receive a small front-and-back form again citing a website where we could set an appointment. The response to the submitted e-form: no appointments available before your visa expires. With January plans to return to DC for a pre-scheduled court appointment, Rich was quickly becoming very grouchy. I began making mental plans to move to Chile. Rich called a Spanish attorney. 

Finally, we had an appointment overshadowed by clouds of pessimism. You are late; you needed this the first month; lots of people want to get into Spain; you are late. I could go to Chile and study Spanish. We ride the crowded Metro for an hour, packed among commuters returning to work after lunch/siesta, students headed home, standing room only for most of the trip. We disembark and begin a long walk along a highway in an industrial area of the city. I don't see any buildings that could possibly be a national police station. And we're late. On our left, a 4-story yellow block with blue canvas awnings, ugly, deserted on the street side, we follow a group in business dress around the corner and the building opens into a fenced courtyard where people in two long lines wend their way and police officers mill about. A woman smiles and waves from the security enclosure and whisks us through the human scanner, by-passing the belt scanner. A young man has held our spaces in line while the attorney herded us. She briefs us again: we are late; we needed this appointment a month ago; lots of people want to be in Spain; we may be refused. Santiago is a real possibility. "You have your photos," she says. I see the envelope left on the corner of the dresser in the apartment. I squeeze through the line and hie to the photo booths, slide in my 5 € note, push any buttons and retrieve a sullen-faced digital replica.

I focus on Chile where it is summer and scan the queue. The young Asian man who held our place in line is behind us. Women with small children, families, a mix of nationalities, skin colors and dress, mostly young, a few middle aged, all wait patiently to enter the building. Inside, walls of white glass tile, stark and cold, and around the perimeter, officials sit at 20 or so small tables with computers and interview applicants. I imagine a prison intake room. I look at the faces, stern, intent, sullen, bored, stern. Only one woman leans forward across the table, listening, eye to eye with her applicant. We don't get her table. 

Our official keeps her eyes on the computer screen, desk, papers, asks no questions, reaches for the passports. She places a small machine in front of me and indicates how to put my index finger on the screen, then again, roll side to side, then the other hand. She retrieves a letter from the printer, hands it to me and waves me on to another table while she turns to Rich's hand. The next woman chats with the attorney, stamps and initials my letter and returns it to me with a smile. I am an immigrant for a year. No fanfare, no hassle, clean, quick in the end. Chile will have to wait. Today aún, we have Madrid.

On the Road to a Happy New Year

Cathedral of Salamanca looms through the fog

Road Trip to Segovia, Salamanca and Ávila

Son David, Heidi and Emily arrived 20 December, and we spent two weeks traipsing across Madrid, driving to Segovia, Salamanca, Avila, via train to Barcelona, via bus and cab to Pamela and Juan's Boxing Day party in San Agustin de Guadalix; we've eaten pounds of jamón and cheese and olives, shopped in the narrow, winding streets of Chueca in Madrid and Barri Gòtic in Barcelona and elbowed through the crowds at El Rastro flea market. We beat time to flamenco at Casa Patas.

 [All photos can be enlarged with a click in the center]

El Rastro wares

We zigzagged through the snow-capped Sierra de Guadarrama mountains to Segovia where the towering 2,000-year-old Roman aqueduct rises 30 m high and 825 m long and never fails to amaze even after multiple visits.We arrive just in time for lunch, and Rich finds a sunny spot in Segovia's Plaza Mayor where we each eventually shed winter jackets. Bean soup and lamb stew and duck leg and salad -- perfect for a winter afternoon outside. We explore the flamboyant Gothic cathedral topped with a Renaissance dome. The Gothic arches overhead collect any heat that happens into the structure, while at floor level, we tour in finger-numbing cold. At 1,000 meters, Segovia looks out over the surrounding countryside all the way to the Sierra de Guadarrama snow caps. The town is crowned by the Alcazar, a best in fairy tale castles--turrets and moat and high above the peon world.

Bean soup with clams in Segovia

Tall conifers
 in the Sierra Guadarrama

Aqueduct  in Segovia

We drive on to Salamanca that night with gusts of impenetrable fog spilling from the rolling farmland out across the road. We follow taillights hoping the driver ahead knows the road more surely than we. Then we follow a befuddled GPS through narrow winding streets, and finally abandon David with the Peugeot and tote all manner of bags down a pedestrian passage to find Hotel Rua. On this my first visit, the golden- toned stone blocks of Salamanca remind me of Oxford, which I visited more than 30 years ago, meaning memory, in truth, might be foggy. The cathedral, includes, relatively speaking, old and new spliced together; the old is 12th century Romanesque; the new (1513-1733), Renaissance, Gothic and Baroque. Fun to note, the same architect created the flamboyant Gothic exteriors of both cathedrals in Segovia and Salamanca according to one source. Both rise frilly and decorative toward the heavens. The University of Salamanca, established in 1230 and the oldest in Spain, originated in the cloister of the old cathedral. You can stand in the room and feel the tension of long ago students tested orally by the teacher/priests using an all or nothing scoring system.

Heidi, Emily and David with the
fairytale Alcazar in Segovia

Then on to Ávila, where I finally get to tour the first Gothic cathedral in Spain. Although begun as Romanesque, the cathedral was completed in the Gothic style in the 16th century. The gray block and  simplicity of the cathedral complement perfectly the medieval tapestry  of the walled city.

David and Emily

We loved sharing Spain with David, Heidi and Emily who go anywhere, eat anything (don't miss the final photos). While the rest of us relaxed somewhat between jaunts, Emily wrote college essays and submitted applications. Having the opportunity to read so much of her writing made this writer's heart proud. However, waiting to hear the outcomes in May might prove a bit nerve wracking. Plus, we have bets on the outcomes. Look for more on our travels in future posts.

Plaza Mayor in Salamanca 

 Feliz Navidad y Año Nuevo

Spanish class was my best source for Spanish and madrileño traditions for the holidays, but if readers have corrections and additions, please do add to the comments. Although Christmas here is essentially preserved as a religious holiday, not a gift-giving extravaganza, the streets are certainly full of shoppers and sightseers and families, and Christmas kiosks pop up in any available space. The markets sell toys, trinkets, inexpensive memorabilia, but they also offer nativity scenes or the individual pieces for do-it-yourself scenes. They offer Christmas decorations like Santas and stars and sparkle, but stands also display lots of mistletoe, potted evergreen trees and cut greens, and yards and yards of moss. We deduced the moss must serve as landscapes for nativity scenes. We are talking real moss, not plastic soccer turf. 

Spanish class holiday photo

We five celebrated Christmas Day with a suckling pig roasted by a neighborhood restaurant and carried home. Emily and Heidi ate the ears, and I don't know what happened to the tail. We devoured the entire roast, succulent and delicious as promised, in two sittings.

Emily and Heidi share
 freshly spun cotton candy in
Plaza Mayor in Madrid

Although some here admit to courting Father Christmas, the real Madrid gift giving waits for the arrival of the Tres Reyes Magos (three kings) who arrive by Cabalgata (procession) and bearing gifts on Dec. 5. We skipped the extravaganza that terminates in centro Madrid at Plaza Cibeles, but all five of us loved the small replica procession of the Tres Reyes Magos in our barrio of Prosperidad with Reyes and kids in costumes throwing caramelos (candy) to hordes of kids and parents in the streets.  

Waiting for the parade

Costumes

Reyes Magos arrive in Prosperidad

On the night of Dec. 5, kids follow the custom of putting shoes outside the door or on the patio to be filled with candy and gifts by the Reyes. In store windows, shops displayed knee-high women's boots overflowing with boxes and treats.

On New Year's Eve, David, Heidi, Rich and I made our way via Metro to a neighborhood close to Puerto del Sol and the major celebration. As is the custom, we each carried our baggie of 12 grapes to consume within the first minute of the new year for luck throughout the year. We left Emily at home, nursing a cold, finishing another application and holding her own grapes. 

Wishing all of you happy uvas and a wonderful year to come!

Heidi and Emily se gustan
las anguilas

Eating eels

A Tale of Two Cultures

Rooftops and the spires of St. Lorenz, Nuremberg, Germany

Flavors of Alemania

Imperial Castle in Nuremberg
  dating from 1000 

Friends from DC emailed an invitation to meet them at the termination of their river cruise in Nuremberg, Germany. We surprised them and booked a flight and an apartment in the old town through Airbnb and set off for four nights. We who have quickly grown accustomed to the blue skies and sunny days of Madrid landed in the gray, cold drizzle of Bavaria.

Pegnitz River flows through
 center of Nuremberg's old town

We arrived from airport to apartment on the U-Bahn (subway) and clattered with roller bag up the cobblestone street a couple of blocks to meet the lovely couple renting the spanking clean, well-equipped, bright apartment. From the balcony, we could look out over the red tile roofs of apartment blocks in yellow, taupe, gray, green. In the distance, the windowed, green copper spires of St. Sebald's church and to the far right wearing twin copper dunce caps, the spires of St. Lorenz. They provided street maps, directions to markets and sightseeing, and left us to explore. Or if you're with Rich, to find a place for lunch.

Christkindlesmarkt

Click on photos to enlarge.

The cold and damp contrasted with the bright lights and people swarming through the Christkindlesmarkt, kiosks sprinkled throughout the old town. Markets selling handmade holiday trinkets and Lebkuchen cookies and wooden nutcrackers. Booths offering tiny Nürnberg sausages, of which I sampled three to eight each day. Kiosks selling plastic stars with lights inside or glühwein (spiced hot wine) or wreaths and poinsettias or fruit fresh, dried or candied. Among the booths from other countries, Atlanta, GA, represented the U.S. The crowd included tourists, but also locals, lots of strollers carting children with gingerbread stained faces, lots of teens, lots of all ages. Each night a brass band serenaded from a bandstand in front of the Frauenkirche where the Glockenspiel high overhead performed each day at noon. (With a bit of patience, you can watch the Glockenspiel on YouTube.)

Frauenkirche with Glockenspiel
beneath the clock 

Rich and crowd watching
Glockenspiel

Glockenspiel watchers

We connected with friends Nancy and John Yanish on our second day. Nancy and Rich met 40 some years ago in Germany, so John and I heard lots of stories. Together we tromped through much of the old town in search of restaurants offering authentic German food and atmosphere. For me, that means sausages and sauerkraut. I usually order according to the side dish, and in Germany, that means either sauerkraut or red cabbage on my plate. And I love the salads with vinegar-marinated vegetables-- green beans, beets, shredded onions, winter tomatoes that should never be served at all, and cucumbers that taste like Mom's. 

Nancy Yanish and Rich

In Nuremberg, we talk, stay warm with mugs of glühwein, walk the old streets, talk, people watch, drink pilsner and dunkel and weisenbeer, talk, eat grilled sausages with sauerkraut in crispy crusted buns, peruse the market wares, and wander through St. Lorenz with its stunning medieval art, more a marvel because the art survived the destruction of Nuremberg during World War II. 

John Yanish

During the war, valuable art and artifacts were stowed in a tunnel beneath the Imperial Castle to protect it from bombing and looters. The castle sits at the high point of the city and forms the focal point of the old  town wall. In its heyday, the town was the best fortified of any in Germany. The castle tower exhibits photos of the city's destruction during the war and through the windows you can see the present and past in proximity. 

When I go to Nuremberg again, I will visit the Albrecht Dürer House, the Nazi Rally Grounds (recommended by Nancy and John), the Nuremberg Trials Memorium, and I will eat lots more tiny bratwurst and sauerkraut. But seeing the city with Nancy and John and getting to have extended conversations in English made the city a special memory.

The Lure of Flamenco

For my birthday in November, I chose Casa Patas, considered by many the best flamenco venue in Madrid. For good reasons. The tavern and intimate theatre offer excellent views of the performers whether assembling in the restaurant or performing on the small stage allowing close views of feet, fingers and sweat on brows. 

First, guitarists with long thin fingers caress the strings, slap rhythm on the guitar body. The music, all rhythm, enchants, seeps inside and the body hums. Then the singers, not confined by the guitars, voices rise and fall, individual words float free, the  
hypnotic vocalizations swim about the small room. 

Finally, the dancers, man and woman, stylized, haughty, aloof, sensual, merge with guitar and chant and snap of fingers, clap of hands in the tap, click, stomp, clack of heels and slap of hands on wood. Voice, strings, dancers rise and turn and blend and passion surely spills into the streets. Mesmerized by motion and sound, enraptured by the spectacle, I feel tears rise even now. Primeval music like folk, fado, Greek, Turkish, hora, whirling dervish, all tie at gut level to tradition to a meld of music and movement and meditation. The rhythm is internal, mind, body, soul, all experience, sound and emotion and ageless.

In my next life, I have long planned to be a chorus line dancer. No more. I'm going to wear long black skirts and petticoats that spin and arc and scarves of multi-colors and pin back long, gray hair with a comb tipped in gold, slip on clunky heeled shoes with straps and dance flamenco until my knees disintegrate.

If you come to visit us in Madrid, I promise you Casa Patas.

Nuremberg Mystery Photos

On one bridge over the Pegnitz, Rich and I discovered many, many padlocks, most engraved, hanging from cables in the railings. Click the center of the photo on the right to see the initials on the padlock. Love declarations? Promises? Engagement tokens? Woulda beens? What do you think? I prefer engraving padlocks to carving initials in every beech. 

Learning Spanish and Consorting with Velasquez

La Clase de Español

Astrid and Emily with Nuria

In la clase de español, we are seven students, another returned to Seattle last week, one absent for photos and one teacher. A venture that began with trepidation has proven instead enriching and fun, an entrance into a group conversation so missing from these first six weeks in Madrid. We eight merge from different countries: Azerbaijan, Denmark, Indonesia, Russia, Singapore, Sweden, Spain and the U.S. We meet Monday through Friday mornings, four hours each day. I entered in the fourth of a 12-week course at AIL Madrid and now near the end of my second week. I am, of course, the oldest in the classroom, maturity and experience offset by the inability to recall well-known English words now tumbling about with new Spanish words. I envy the young minds quickly grasping the new language and spilling it back into the conversation.

Click center to enlarge photos.

The Spanish class 

We laugh, struggle, agree and disagree, share classroom jokes, fear mistakes and embarrassment, and bumble successfully through assignments comparing distant hometowns with Madrid and orating on the traits of our new barrios. (Barrios equate to a section of town; in Washington, Capitol Hill was my barrio; in Madrid, it's Prosperidad.)

From left, Indah, Arina, Maria, Nuria

We gesticulate and mime, 
grin and grimace to define a word without resorting to English, our only common language, but taboo in the class. I am rejuvenated by conversation that I understand -- not every word, but who listens to every word in a group dialogue? To laugh spontaneously, to comprehend the gist, to be in the midst of group think brings connection. Language knits us together in the classroom, but when we leave the classroom, the threads fall away; we leave by ones or twos and Spanish fades into other idioms; we travel to barrios across the city. 

Travel -- and language -- offers that venture down another road, a taste from another kitchen, a glimpse into another backyard. We step outside comfort and into challenge -- desafio -- when we choose to move away from home and family, to slither through caves, to hike the Inca Trail, to join the Army, to run with the bulls, to motorbike through Hue or across South Dakota or even when we relocate to a new neighborhood. Along with challenge, I travel in search of connection, however fleeting, to my passions, to my traveling companions and to those encountered on parallel and intersecting paths. More words in Spanish plus a dash of syntax should oil the efforts.

In the Museo Nacional del Prado

Connecting with both Spanish history and art, Rich and I spend a couple of hours consorting with Diego Velázquez in the Prado. We happen in on the anniversary of the museum celebrated with free entrance, so we feel free to meander rather than try to see all 7,000 works in an afternoon. We go in search of "Las Meninas," considered one of the world's great paintings. Velázquez (1599-1660), court painter to King Philip IV, captures Princess Margarita with her attendants in "Las Meninas," and the depth of the court scene in the larger-than-life painting has captured audiences for hundreds of years. As an aside, we learn through the portraits that the tiny princess in Las Meninas married at 15 and died at 22, and in her portrait at 15, she does not look much older than in "Las Meninas."  Wandering through salons of Velázquez paintings, we see why he's often called a photojournalist. Rich and I find ourselves immersed in following the royal lineage through the portraits. We relish the details and the world Velázquez depicts in the portraits.

We are also drawn to another of the major paintings by Velázquez, "Los Borrachos," in which hard working farmers celebrate with the toga-wrapped god of wine. Rich says, "I remember partying with those same guys when I was in Madrid years ago ." 

It's all about connecting.  

Pamplona 2011

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Note: While you all ate turkey, I accidentally ate my first aguilas (baby eels) hidden in a tapas.