Seville is nicer than I remember. Our hotel in in the old part of Seville, an area which cars cannot access. The streets are no more than two metres wide, and everywhere you look, there is something beautiful and historic to see. I am starting to notice more of the Arabic influence of the Moors now - plaza names, architecture, Arabic scripture...
Whilst walking past the Alcázar of Seville last night, I heard beautiful Spanish guitar music that seemed familiar. I paused, wondering why I knew the style so well. As I got closer to the busker, I realised who was playing. A guitarist by the name of Carlos del Rio. How did I know this man? The last time I was in Seville in 2005, I heard him playing on the street then, and bought his CD, which I have added to my iPod. No wonder I recognised the sound and style. When he stopped for a break (to file his nails, which were almost as long as mine currently are), I asked him if the CD he was now selling was the same as the one he sold to me six years ago. His eyes opened wide - six years ago? Of course, his curiosity was piqued and I explained to him who I was, and how I knew of him. I got the feeling that he doesn't have many fans or groupies. LOL
It turned out that he spoke fluent English and French, having lived in Canada for some time. Therefore, our conversation was quite lengthy. We talked mainly of music. He seemed surprised that I, an Australian, knew who Paco Peña was. I told him that I was about to buy tickets to see his impending show in Melbourne in July. He then spoke of influences... Arabic, even the classical composer, Bach.
It was during this discussion that he started playing samples of each of the styles of music that influenced much of the traditional Spanish guitar music heard today. It was quite amazing hearing a composer such as Bach (who I never particularly liked too much), played in a Spanish style on a classical guitar, rather than on a harpsichord, or piano. I was very impressed.
So, there I was, standing for about half an hour or so, while I had a highly illuminating and fascinating discussion with a busker, who was willing to enlighten me on other famous Spanish guitarists, and their influences. Of course, it goes without saying that I bought another of his CDs. I can't wait to add this to my iPod when I return home in April.
All around the older part of Seville, there are orange trees fully laden with ripe fruit. I was starting to get frustrated that I couldn't reach any of the oranges, as they looked so large, appealing and ready to eat.
Before I go on, I should explain...
Throughout my trip through Spain thus far, I have had a total of three oranges with breakfast. They were the most perfect oranges that I've ever had... so sweet, and juicy. Nothing like the tasteless ones I've been having in Melbourne, which I have eaten in the past, begrudgingly.
So, you can imagine why I was always keeping an eye out for an orange in one of the trees that was within my reach. I wanted another slice of heaven. I thought that they were quite popular with the passers-by, as all the lower branches were always bare, and the higher branches that were just out of reach, were heavily laden with attractive, ripe fruit.
As it turns out, it's probably for the best that I never managed to pick one. Today, when we stopped for a coffee in a street cafe, we asked the waitress if we were allowed to pick the oranges from the trees. Perhaps there was a local law in effect that we weren't aware of as tourists?
She told us not to eat them. Not because we would get into trouble, but because they were all extremely bitter. Probably best used in a marmalade or something like that. She said that the locals always could spot a tourist, because they picked the oranges, and made the funniest faces when they ate what they picked. Thankfully, I did not become a source of amusement for the locals too.
Wandering around this city, I hear so many foreign languages being spoken. English, French, German, Portuguese... even a few that I have difficulty recognising. What amazes me the most is that I also hear the Spanish hotel staff speaking to their patrons in these languages. I often wonder how many languages they each speak. Very impressve.
Well, tonight we're off to a tablao... to see some raw, intimate flamenco being performed, accompanied by some sangria and some tapas. Should be a great night... and a late one. These performances can last until the early hours of the morning. I'm not sure I will too... as sangria tends to make me sleepy after the laughter and fun is over. Time will tell... and so will my future blog posts.
Before I sign off, thanks to those of you who have posted comments on my blog, and sent me emails, commenting on the things I have written about. I'm glad you're enjoying reading my paltry offerings. Hopefully, I will be able to bore some of you with the endless amount of photographs I have been taking. I can't help it - there is some beautiful detail in the things I have seen so far. I find it hard to pass them by without trying to capture what I found so appealing. I am intent on preserving memories of this beautiful country. Who knows if I'll ever have the pleasure and opportunity to return here. Let's hope I'm not the only one that appreciates the images I have snapped.
Hasta pronto, mis amigos!
xx
:)
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
madrid to toledo...
A funny thing happened on our last night in Madrid. My mother asked a bouncer for directions to a restaurant that we had made a booking for dinner. I tried to stop her, but to no avail. What she didn´t realise was that she was asking a doorman in front a striptease establishment.
¨Please, señor, can you tell me where this restaurant is?¨ - was the rough translation.
He was a pleasant enough chap, even if he did have his two front teeth missing.
It turned out that he was Brazilian... an irony, perhaps?
So there we were, the three of us - my mother having a lovely chat with this man, asking him all about his origins, when finally, she asked him if there were good drinks offered inside the place he was guarding.
His response? ¨Ahh... no... I don´t think you´d like the drinks that are offered here, señora. They come with da chickie-chickies¨
LOL
What can I say? It´s never a dull moment with my mother. She´s always the last one to get with the program. The poor thing was horrified that she was enquiring about going into a Spanish strip joint. Of course, I filled her in, after much mirth on my part.
So, on we went to the restuarant, where we had an over-priced, below-average paella and some average sangria.
The next day, we took a train to Toledo, where I am now typing to you from. (That was yesterday, as their internet connection was almost non-existent, so I gave up trying to post this.) A wonderfully picturesque city - with photo opportunities at every turn. I would live here happily if it weren´t for the religious icons and images encountered at every turn.
We had lunch yesterday in a popular plaza, and I was shocked to see a group of people holding a mini-protest against abortion in the centre of the square... in the name of Christianity and ¨goodness¨.
Again, I wish I could speak Spanish more fluently... I would have approached them and said something along the lines of: ¨You mean that the ten abortions I´ve had so far were not the will of God, and I'm going to hell?¨
Of course, I said no such thing, and gave them a unimpressed look instead. Mental note to self: learn Spanish, you idiot!
So, here I am... typing this post in a painfully slow way, as I´m using the hotel´s computer in the foyer. Internet access here is free, but my little laptop kept failing to connect. I have an inkling why - I am seated at a computer with an ancient-looking 14¨monitor, still operating on Windows 98. The RAM is driving me mad, as it is thinking really hard about having more than one window of IE open... Tabs! What are those? *cringe*
So, normally, I would write a lot more, but this is just too annoying.
I don´t want to die here, waiting for a page to refresh.
I´ll sign off, and write again when I get to Seville tomorrow...
But, before I do, I want to say that I am horrified to see the events that are transpiring in Japan - how devastating! I hope that none of you have loved ones visiting there at present, and that all is peaceful and calmer in your world. But, my heart goes out to the Japanese - how they must be suffering...
All the best, mis amigos... ¡Hasta mañana!
xx
¨Please, señor, can you tell me where this restaurant is?¨ - was the rough translation.
He was a pleasant enough chap, even if he did have his two front teeth missing.
It turned out that he was Brazilian... an irony, perhaps?
So there we were, the three of us - my mother having a lovely chat with this man, asking him all about his origins, when finally, she asked him if there were good drinks offered inside the place he was guarding.
His response? ¨Ahh... no... I don´t think you´d like the drinks that are offered here, señora. They come with da chickie-chickies¨
LOL
What can I say? It´s never a dull moment with my mother. She´s always the last one to get with the program. The poor thing was horrified that she was enquiring about going into a Spanish strip joint. Of course, I filled her in, after much mirth on my part.
So, on we went to the restuarant, where we had an over-priced, below-average paella and some average sangria.
The next day, we took a train to Toledo, where I am now typing to you from. (That was yesterday, as their internet connection was almost non-existent, so I gave up trying to post this.) A wonderfully picturesque city - with photo opportunities at every turn. I would live here happily if it weren´t for the religious icons and images encountered at every turn.
We had lunch yesterday in a popular plaza, and I was shocked to see a group of people holding a mini-protest against abortion in the centre of the square... in the name of Christianity and ¨goodness¨.
Again, I wish I could speak Spanish more fluently... I would have approached them and said something along the lines of: ¨You mean that the ten abortions I´ve had so far were not the will of God, and I'm going to hell?¨
Of course, I said no such thing, and gave them a unimpressed look instead. Mental note to self: learn Spanish, you idiot!
So, here I am... typing this post in a painfully slow way, as I´m using the hotel´s computer in the foyer. Internet access here is free, but my little laptop kept failing to connect. I have an inkling why - I am seated at a computer with an ancient-looking 14¨monitor, still operating on Windows 98. The RAM is driving me mad, as it is thinking really hard about having more than one window of IE open... Tabs! What are those? *cringe*
So, normally, I would write a lot more, but this is just too annoying.
I don´t want to die here, waiting for a page to refresh.
I´ll sign off, and write again when I get to Seville tomorrow...
But, before I do, I want to say that I am horrified to see the events that are transpiring in Japan - how devastating! I hope that none of you have loved ones visiting there at present, and that all is peaceful and calmer in your world. But, my heart goes out to the Japanese - how they must be suffering...
All the best, mis amigos... ¡Hasta mañana!
xx
Sunday, March 13, 2011
observaciones...
We visited the Real Academía - another gallery, which used to be under the direction of the famous Spanish painter, Francisco de Goya. A lot of his work was featured here, and when we completed viewing the artwork on an entire level of the exhibition space, we went to another area called Calcomographía, which is an early form of lithography. To our disappointment, this section was closed for the day.
A man greeted us at the entrance to this section of the gallery, holding a pair of cotton gloves, which immediately caught my attention. I deduced that he was involved with some kind of art preservation, or perhaps was an expert in carbon dating or something similar.
What ensued was extremely interesting. Firstly, he explained to us the meaning of calcomographía... in Spanish, of course. I was surprised at how much I understood of what he said. I interjected with "lithographía?" and he nodded and smiled, and said it was indeed an early form of lithography.
This man was quite a character, and you could tell he was highly intelligent, by the way he spoke and the words he used. I have come to the realisation that the bigger the word in Spanish, the more I understand what is being said. The long words are easily recognisable to me... case in point... lithographía is lithography in English. See what I mean?
He was shorter than me, this man. He had a beard, crazy, greying hair and wore thick glasses. He reminded me of Professor Calculus of Herge's Tintin fame. He was highly intriguing, and fascinating to watch as he spoke, whether you understood him or not. You could tell he was passionate about his work, and spoke with the usual Spanish enthusiasm, accompanied by his own style of animated sweeping gestures and melodramatic movements.
I'm not sure how it happened, but we got to the topic of bull-fighting, a popular ritual and pastime in Spain. My mother mentioned to this man how I cried profusely when I saw the movie Carmen, a film adaptation of the opera, starring Placido Domingo.
For those of you who don't know, the film opens with a bull-fight, and is quite confronting. A bull is slowly tortured and finally "conquered" in its ultimate slaying by the toreador (bull-fighter).
Well, this started another animated reaction from Professor Calculus... He could not comprehend why we were so affronted by this important recreation that was richly steeped in Spanish history. He defended the ritual poorly by saying that Western governments of the world (with particular reference to the Americans) kill people all the time, and this killing of the bull was not as bad as that. A poor justification in my book.
Unbelievably, he also went on to say that we keep battery hens in cages in an inhumane way - at least the bull dies in the open air. I couldn't believe was I was partially hearing. I looked to my mother for clarification. Was my poor understanding of Spanish leading me to believe that this man was defending the act?
In retrospect, I am sorely regretting that I don't speak Spanish more fluently. I would have had a thing or two to say in refute to this man's strongly held beliefs.
The good news is that the Spanish population is almost evenly divided on the continuation of the pagan practice. I thought bull-fighting had been completely abolished, but it still thrives, and there is change on the horizon.
Regardless of considerably disagreeing with this man, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting him. He was so engaging and full of life, I found it hard to ignore or dismiss him. I have never listened so hard in my entire life... and I'm glad I did. I hope there are more interactions such as this one coming up in the near future. I relish it.
Another person we met after our visit to the Palacio Real that morning (before the gallery) was in a coffee shop we were sheltering in from the rain. A waiter who greeted our arrival to the cafe with great enthusiasm. He was particularly attentive after he found out I was from Australia. I appreciated his sense of humour as well. My mother has this wonderful habit of telling the people we meet that she is from Chile and that I am her daughter from Australia, that doesn't speak much Spanish. She announced this to the waiter, as per routine, and he retorted with "... and I am from Cadíz", as if he didn't give a damn about her announcement. I laughed heartily, and was intrigued enough to intently watch him speak with my mother.
He could have been John Malkovich's long-lost twin brother - he had the same face, the same mannerisms. I loved watching this man. Unfortunately, I didn't get to talk to him for too long, but when I was preparing to leave, he took my hand, as if about to shake it, held it with both of his hands, and said in poor English, "Take it easy" followed by a large smile. "Muchas gracias" I said in response with a large smile as well.
It is these interactions with the locals that I appreciate so much. They cannot be experienced in quite the same way in Australia. But, it gives me pause... if I were to experience similar interactions in my home city, would I react in the same way? Or would I avoid and dismiss them without consideration?
As I get older, I savour interactions of all kinds with the people I encounter, at home, or overseas. I hope I have the wisdom to recognise them as worthwhile and enriching.
Until next time...
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
A man greeted us at the entrance to this section of the gallery, holding a pair of cotton gloves, which immediately caught my attention. I deduced that he was involved with some kind of art preservation, or perhaps was an expert in carbon dating or something similar.
What ensued was extremely interesting. Firstly, he explained to us the meaning of calcomographía... in Spanish, of course. I was surprised at how much I understood of what he said. I interjected with "lithographía?" and he nodded and smiled, and said it was indeed an early form of lithography.
This man was quite a character, and you could tell he was highly intelligent, by the way he spoke and the words he used. I have come to the realisation that the bigger the word in Spanish, the more I understand what is being said. The long words are easily recognisable to me... case in point... lithographía is lithography in English. See what I mean?
He was shorter than me, this man. He had a beard, crazy, greying hair and wore thick glasses. He reminded me of Professor Calculus of Herge's Tintin fame. He was highly intriguing, and fascinating to watch as he spoke, whether you understood him or not. You could tell he was passionate about his work, and spoke with the usual Spanish enthusiasm, accompanied by his own style of animated sweeping gestures and melodramatic movements.
I'm not sure how it happened, but we got to the topic of bull-fighting, a popular ritual and pastime in Spain. My mother mentioned to this man how I cried profusely when I saw the movie Carmen, a film adaptation of the opera, starring Placido Domingo.
For those of you who don't know, the film opens with a bull-fight, and is quite confronting. A bull is slowly tortured and finally "conquered" in its ultimate slaying by the toreador (bull-fighter).
Well, this started another animated reaction from Professor Calculus... He could not comprehend why we were so affronted by this important recreation that was richly steeped in Spanish history. He defended the ritual poorly by saying that Western governments of the world (with particular reference to the Americans) kill people all the time, and this killing of the bull was not as bad as that. A poor justification in my book.
Unbelievably, he also went on to say that we keep battery hens in cages in an inhumane way - at least the bull dies in the open air. I couldn't believe was I was partially hearing. I looked to my mother for clarification. Was my poor understanding of Spanish leading me to believe that this man was defending the act?
In retrospect, I am sorely regretting that I don't speak Spanish more fluently. I would have had a thing or two to say in refute to this man's strongly held beliefs.
The good news is that the Spanish population is almost evenly divided on the continuation of the pagan practice. I thought bull-fighting had been completely abolished, but it still thrives, and there is change on the horizon.
Regardless of considerably disagreeing with this man, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting him. He was so engaging and full of life, I found it hard to ignore or dismiss him. I have never listened so hard in my entire life... and I'm glad I did. I hope there are more interactions such as this one coming up in the near future. I relish it.
Another person we met after our visit to the Palacio Real that morning (before the gallery) was in a coffee shop we were sheltering in from the rain. A waiter who greeted our arrival to the cafe with great enthusiasm. He was particularly attentive after he found out I was from Australia. I appreciated his sense of humour as well. My mother has this wonderful habit of telling the people we meet that she is from Chile and that I am her daughter from Australia, that doesn't speak much Spanish. She announced this to the waiter, as per routine, and he retorted with "... and I am from Cadíz", as if he didn't give a damn about her announcement. I laughed heartily, and was intrigued enough to intently watch him speak with my mother.
He could have been John Malkovich's long-lost twin brother - he had the same face, the same mannerisms. I loved watching this man. Unfortunately, I didn't get to talk to him for too long, but when I was preparing to leave, he took my hand, as if about to shake it, held it with both of his hands, and said in poor English, "Take it easy" followed by a large smile. "Muchas gracias" I said in response with a large smile as well.
It is these interactions with the locals that I appreciate so much. They cannot be experienced in quite the same way in Australia. But, it gives me pause... if I were to experience similar interactions in my home city, would I react in the same way? Or would I avoid and dismiss them without consideration?
As I get older, I savour interactions of all kinds with the people I encounter, at home, or overseas. I hope I have the wisdom to recognise them as worthwhile and enriching.
Until next time...
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
Friday, March 11, 2011
a great monastery...
Today, I saw the monastery at Escorial. Actually, its name is inaccurate. The monastery forms only part of it. It was also a royal palace for Carlos V and his wife, Isabel. But, a royal palace with a difference. It was quite plain and understated for a royal abode. The rooms were simple, the most ornate feature being some of the doors, which were hand carved in Germany. Even the king's throne was quite unremarkable - apparently, it was specially constructed for him to assist with his painful gout. But, if you ask me, this "special chair" looked extremely uncomfortable - I didn't envy that luxury in the slightest.
Far more impressive were the tombs in the pantheon. In the bowels of the palace were the sarcophagi of all the dead kings and queens in the history of Spain, since Carlos I, who doubled as Emperor of Germany. The grandfather of the current King of Spain is kept here too, and it is expected thst when the current king and queen die, they will take up residence here as well.
The whole place was cold. As it was constructed of stone, and only last week, the palace was covered in 15 centimetres of snow, I was grateful for the endless stairs to climb when leaving the crypts in the Pantheon.
We climbed and climbed giant steps, as we were taken into the cathedrsl above the tombs... as always, a very impressive sight. The dome in the cenral part of the room being about 95 metres high. Of course, the artwork detail in the frescoes and ornamentation never fail to impress me in the cathedrals I have seen in Europe so far. As an atheist, it astonishes me that human beings spent so much time and devoted so much attention to create magnificent homages to a God, which according to me, does not exist.
The monastery itself is still home to about 60 monks. This section of the building was closed off to the public. But, we were taken into the library... Behind glass cabinets were illuminated manuscripts and tomes dating back to the 16th century. Here, I was astounded, as the only preservation methods in this library were keeping the precious books out of direct sunlight. Apparently, people are able to look at them still, with special permission from the monks. There has been no digitisation of the contents of the library, and even I could see that the keeping of these precious books left a lot to be desired.
Carlos V insisted that these books were added to the collection from all parts of the world. He wanted to keep all the information ever published, similar to a State or National Library's legal deposit. That fact in itself made me sad to know that no one has taken responsibility in preserving the collection besides keeping the books in some fancy glass cabinets.
At the centre of the library was a large golden globe of the Earth, constructed at a time before Galileo, when it was still thought that the world was at the centre of the universe.
All of this was very thirsty work. Returning to Madrid in the afternoon for some tapas and a glass of wine was well received. This free offer of a snack was provided at the city's popular shopping centre, Corte Ingles. I would liken this department store to Australia's Myer - many levels, many shopping options, all in one location.
I found it quite hilarious to see the types of items on sale there. In some ways, the fashions and styles of household accessories looked quite dated. Things I recall seeing in a store like Myer when I was in my teens, are, here in Madrid, the latest fashion to hit the stores.
The tapas and wine I was given in the store's cafeteria were awful. But, there was something on the menu that immediately caught my attention. Dulce de leche crepes with helado. For those of you who don't know, dulce de leche is a caramelised condensed milk that the Spanish make and have on their deseert menus often. It definitely appeals to a sweet tooth like me! I was in heaven! And with helado! Helado = ice cream... you can figure out for yourself why I was so pleased.
Memories of my last trip to Spain and France in 2005 came flooding back. I had reached the stage where I was following the dulce de leche desserts and ice-creams all across the country. I always asked for it and was rarely disappointed to find it available on the menu. I am sure this will be a repeat performance of sorts.
So, tomorrow is another day of sight-seeing and discovery. There is an Egyptian temple to the west of the city that was a gift from the Egyptian government, reconstructed in Madrid piece by piece and completed in 1973. I hear from the locals that it is a good place to visit. Perhaps that will be on the cards tomorrow, who knows? Time will tell...
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
Far more impressive were the tombs in the pantheon. In the bowels of the palace were the sarcophagi of all the dead kings and queens in the history of Spain, since Carlos I, who doubled as Emperor of Germany. The grandfather of the current King of Spain is kept here too, and it is expected thst when the current king and queen die, they will take up residence here as well.
The whole place was cold. As it was constructed of stone, and only last week, the palace was covered in 15 centimetres of snow, I was grateful for the endless stairs to climb when leaving the crypts in the Pantheon.
We climbed and climbed giant steps, as we were taken into the cathedrsl above the tombs... as always, a very impressive sight. The dome in the cenral part of the room being about 95 metres high. Of course, the artwork detail in the frescoes and ornamentation never fail to impress me in the cathedrals I have seen in Europe so far. As an atheist, it astonishes me that human beings spent so much time and devoted so much attention to create magnificent homages to a God, which according to me, does not exist.
The monastery itself is still home to about 60 monks. This section of the building was closed off to the public. But, we were taken into the library... Behind glass cabinets were illuminated manuscripts and tomes dating back to the 16th century. Here, I was astounded, as the only preservation methods in this library were keeping the precious books out of direct sunlight. Apparently, people are able to look at them still, with special permission from the monks. There has been no digitisation of the contents of the library, and even I could see that the keeping of these precious books left a lot to be desired.
Carlos V insisted that these books were added to the collection from all parts of the world. He wanted to keep all the information ever published, similar to a State or National Library's legal deposit. That fact in itself made me sad to know that no one has taken responsibility in preserving the collection besides keeping the books in some fancy glass cabinets.
At the centre of the library was a large golden globe of the Earth, constructed at a time before Galileo, when it was still thought that the world was at the centre of the universe.
All of this was very thirsty work. Returning to Madrid in the afternoon for some tapas and a glass of wine was well received. This free offer of a snack was provided at the city's popular shopping centre, Corte Ingles. I would liken this department store to Australia's Myer - many levels, many shopping options, all in one location.
I found it quite hilarious to see the types of items on sale there. In some ways, the fashions and styles of household accessories looked quite dated. Things I recall seeing in a store like Myer when I was in my teens, are, here in Madrid, the latest fashion to hit the stores.
The tapas and wine I was given in the store's cafeteria were awful. But, there was something on the menu that immediately caught my attention. Dulce de leche crepes with helado. For those of you who don't know, dulce de leche is a caramelised condensed milk that the Spanish make and have on their deseert menus often. It definitely appeals to a sweet tooth like me! I was in heaven! And with helado! Helado = ice cream... you can figure out for yourself why I was so pleased.
Memories of my last trip to Spain and France in 2005 came flooding back. I had reached the stage where I was following the dulce de leche desserts and ice-creams all across the country. I always asked for it and was rarely disappointed to find it available on the menu. I am sure this will be a repeat performance of sorts.
So, tomorrow is another day of sight-seeing and discovery. There is an Egyptian temple to the west of the city that was a gift from the Egyptian government, reconstructed in Madrid piece by piece and completed in 1973. I hear from the locals that it is a good place to visit. Perhaps that will be on the cards tomorrow, who knows? Time will tell...
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
another wonderful day in madrid...
What a day!
The Reina Sofia in the morning. Seeing Picasso's Guernica up close - a special event. Such marvellous contemporary art held there...
Since I had a troublesome and sleepless night, I only possessed the energy to see one museo today. Despite this, I still managed to experience another fascinating day observing the Spaniards and the way they go about their daily business.
I spent last night reading the Madrid guide which was given to me with my Madrid Cultura card. In it, I spotted a restaurant not far from the Plaza Mayor that is one of the oldest in the city. Botín was apparently a regular haunt of Earnest Hemingway's. As such, I knew I had to see it.
Situated on the Calle Cuchilleros (The Street of the People with Knives), it's a mutli-level historical establishment. At the time I was inspecting the outside, the owner happened to be walking past and asked me if I needed help. I explained that I had heard of the resturant's reputation, and wanted to know more about the place that Hemingway frequented.
To my surprise, the owner was happy to show me through the place, even though it was still closed. He explained to me that he and his two brothers owned the restaurant, and that their family had owned it for generations since it opened in 1725.
Wow! It had existed before the official discovery of Australia in 1788! Again, this fact blew my mind.
I was told that Hemingway enjoyed having the suckling pig, which still featured on the menu. Of course, this wasn't a selling point for me, as I have never been able to stomach pig of any kind since my father died. But, to dine in the same place as Hemingway? I was keen, regardless.
The restaurant was cosy. It reminded me of an old English B&B, with old, worn wooden floors, brick and stone walls, and exposed timber beams lining the ceiling. I was more than happy to make a dinner reservation for 8pm this evening.
I am still getting used to the eating times in Spain. To give you an idea of a typical day here at the beginning of Spring... I set my alarm clock for 7am, and the sun still hasn't risen. I go to the floyer of the hotel in the morning for my buffet breakfast at about 8am.... where I can have cereal, croissants and breads of all kinds, fruit, yoghurt, and traditional Spanish tortilla, a potato omelette. The Spanish like to eat this omelette with jamon cerrano, smoked ham, and other meats. I cannot eat so much meat first thing in the morning, so I politely stick to my coffee and cereal, venturing towards a small sample of the tortilla if I can accommodate it.
Even though I have not personally witnessed it, the Spaniards like to have a siesta in the afternoon. As a result, the shops are open until late every evening, and the city's agog with people around 8-9pm, when dinner is starting.
It's quite interesting. When I am starting to wind down for the day, Madrid comes alive and people are everywhere, just starting their evening's activities: having dinner, tapas, coffees. The routine heavily relies on socialising and coming together for a meal, unlike anything I have witnessed in Australia. People of ALL ages are out and about, and they happily mix at various establishments. It's not as segregated as in Australia, where the young go to certain places at night, and the older citizens frequent other places, and mainly during the day and early evening.
So, I was surprised this evening to find thst I had to have an afternoon nap in order to even be able to contemplate having dinner at 8pm. Dinner was always done and dusted by the time 7pm rolled around.
I went to Botín at 8pm, as I had booked this morning. (8pm is when they open for dinner - I was one of their first customers.) I was escorted to my table on the 2nd floor and was given a menu in English. So many yummy things to choose from - I decided on a veal escalope and a small jug of sangria.
Those of you who know me, know that I am a huge sangria fan, and am always seeking a fine example of it in the restaurants of Melbourne. Truth be told, I thought I had found it in Acland Street, St Kilda. Tonight, I was proven wrong.
I had the most fantastic, indescribably delicious sangria to accompany my dinner! I was so impressed with it, I asked the waiter for the recipe - I wanted a repeat performance when I returned home. He provided me with it, happily.
My escalope was divine... such a wonderful feast for the taste-buds, followed by rice pudding, the kind of which I haven't had the pleasure of having since I was a child. (My grandmother used to make the best rice pudding - or so I thought until this evening.)
After dinner concluded at 10pm, I decided to walk back to my hotel, as there were still many shops open, and people everywhere. It was a great excuse to people-watch. I enjoy observing how the Spaniards interact with one another, their body language, the pleasure they obviously take in being out and in being alive. There is an indescribable, intangible passion for living life to the fullest in these people.
It'd be great if the Australians could take a leaf out of their book. Our lifestyle seems so rigid and routine in comparison. I'm sure it has to do with our history as well. Today, as I mentioned, I also visited the Reina Sofia... and in it, I saw a photographic axhibition of Spain and its people taken during the times of Franco. I saw the first Lumiere films documenting the amiable meetings between Franco and Hitler, contrasted with films showing little Spanish children being branded as they were being concentrated by the government of the time. It was quite a shock to see such confronting visuals, the like of which I have not witnessed before.
I saw posters of protest to Franco's dictatorship, government propaganda, encouraging the masses to behave in certain ways and to support the ethos of the regime. I also saw photos of the aftermath of such a regime - it was amazing to see the Gran Via, the street on which my hotel is located, in ruins, with rubble all around, and people digging through the devastation to find loved ones, or any traces of the lives they had lost.
When I saw the Spanish people socialising later that night in the Plaza, I started to wonder if it was this history that made them the way they are - savouring special moments with friends and loved ones, living their regular lives to the maximum.
Food for thought... I will keep watching and observing.
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
The Reina Sofia in the morning. Seeing Picasso's Guernica up close - a special event. Such marvellous contemporary art held there...
Since I had a troublesome and sleepless night, I only possessed the energy to see one museo today. Despite this, I still managed to experience another fascinating day observing the Spaniards and the way they go about their daily business.
I spent last night reading the Madrid guide which was given to me with my Madrid Cultura card. In it, I spotted a restaurant not far from the Plaza Mayor that is one of the oldest in the city. Botín was apparently a regular haunt of Earnest Hemingway's. As such, I knew I had to see it.
Situated on the Calle Cuchilleros (The Street of the People with Knives), it's a mutli-level historical establishment. At the time I was inspecting the outside, the owner happened to be walking past and asked me if I needed help. I explained that I had heard of the resturant's reputation, and wanted to know more about the place that Hemingway frequented.
To my surprise, the owner was happy to show me through the place, even though it was still closed. He explained to me that he and his two brothers owned the restaurant, and that their family had owned it for generations since it opened in 1725.
Wow! It had existed before the official discovery of Australia in 1788! Again, this fact blew my mind.
I was told that Hemingway enjoyed having the suckling pig, which still featured on the menu. Of course, this wasn't a selling point for me, as I have never been able to stomach pig of any kind since my father died. But, to dine in the same place as Hemingway? I was keen, regardless.
The restaurant was cosy. It reminded me of an old English B&B, with old, worn wooden floors, brick and stone walls, and exposed timber beams lining the ceiling. I was more than happy to make a dinner reservation for 8pm this evening.
I am still getting used to the eating times in Spain. To give you an idea of a typical day here at the beginning of Spring... I set my alarm clock for 7am, and the sun still hasn't risen. I go to the floyer of the hotel in the morning for my buffet breakfast at about 8am.... where I can have cereal, croissants and breads of all kinds, fruit, yoghurt, and traditional Spanish tortilla, a potato omelette. The Spanish like to eat this omelette with jamon cerrano, smoked ham, and other meats. I cannot eat so much meat first thing in the morning, so I politely stick to my coffee and cereal, venturing towards a small sample of the tortilla if I can accommodate it.
Even though I have not personally witnessed it, the Spaniards like to have a siesta in the afternoon. As a result, the shops are open until late every evening, and the city's agog with people around 8-9pm, when dinner is starting.
It's quite interesting. When I am starting to wind down for the day, Madrid comes alive and people are everywhere, just starting their evening's activities: having dinner, tapas, coffees. The routine heavily relies on socialising and coming together for a meal, unlike anything I have witnessed in Australia. People of ALL ages are out and about, and they happily mix at various establishments. It's not as segregated as in Australia, where the young go to certain places at night, and the older citizens frequent other places, and mainly during the day and early evening.
So, I was surprised this evening to find thst I had to have an afternoon nap in order to even be able to contemplate having dinner at 8pm. Dinner was always done and dusted by the time 7pm rolled around.
I went to Botín at 8pm, as I had booked this morning. (8pm is when they open for dinner - I was one of their first customers.) I was escorted to my table on the 2nd floor and was given a menu in English. So many yummy things to choose from - I decided on a veal escalope and a small jug of sangria.
Those of you who know me, know that I am a huge sangria fan, and am always seeking a fine example of it in the restaurants of Melbourne. Truth be told, I thought I had found it in Acland Street, St Kilda. Tonight, I was proven wrong.
I had the most fantastic, indescribably delicious sangria to accompany my dinner! I was so impressed with it, I asked the waiter for the recipe - I wanted a repeat performance when I returned home. He provided me with it, happily.
My escalope was divine... such a wonderful feast for the taste-buds, followed by rice pudding, the kind of which I haven't had the pleasure of having since I was a child. (My grandmother used to make the best rice pudding - or so I thought until this evening.)
After dinner concluded at 10pm, I decided to walk back to my hotel, as there were still many shops open, and people everywhere. It was a great excuse to people-watch. I enjoy observing how the Spaniards interact with one another, their body language, the pleasure they obviously take in being out and in being alive. There is an indescribable, intangible passion for living life to the fullest in these people.
It'd be great if the Australians could take a leaf out of their book. Our lifestyle seems so rigid and routine in comparison. I'm sure it has to do with our history as well. Today, as I mentioned, I also visited the Reina Sofia... and in it, I saw a photographic axhibition of Spain and its people taken during the times of Franco. I saw the first Lumiere films documenting the amiable meetings between Franco and Hitler, contrasted with films showing little Spanish children being branded as they were being concentrated by the government of the time. It was quite a shock to see such confronting visuals, the like of which I have not witnessed before.
I saw posters of protest to Franco's dictatorship, government propaganda, encouraging the masses to behave in certain ways and to support the ethos of the regime. I also saw photos of the aftermath of such a regime - it was amazing to see the Gran Via, the street on which my hotel is located, in ruins, with rubble all around, and people digging through the devastation to find loved ones, or any traces of the lives they had lost.
When I saw the Spanish people socialising later that night in the Plaza, I started to wonder if it was this history that made them the way they are - savouring special moments with friends and loved ones, living their regular lives to the maximum.
Food for thought... I will keep watching and observing.
Hasta luego amigos!
:)
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
estoy cansada...
To say that the last few days have been interesting would be an understatement.
I left Melbourne late Friday night (3am on Saturday morning if you want to get technical about it) and reached Kuala Lumpur for a brief stopover eight hours later. All was good, no complaints... except, maybe a little stiffness from being in Economy class, which leaves a lot of leg room to be desired.Then, I boarded another Emirates plane to Dubai, where I was to stay for a complimentary night in a hotel near the airport. All was still good. I had a lovely complimentary dinner, got to stay in a more than adequate, comfortable, 3-star hotel, and was provided with a wake-up call at 5am in order to make sure that the airport shuttle-bus would take me to the airport in time to meet my next Emirates plane to Madrid at 7.30am.
As I said, all was good.
Only one little thing managed to throw me completely out of whack...
As I was boarding my airport-bound shuttle bus, the hotel porter took my suitcase to store in the rear of the bus for the trip. I got to the airport on time, no problem. However, it was only when I got there that I discovered that my suitcase was not stored at the back of the bus as I was assured it would be. The porter did no such thing. Apparently, he put the suitcase on the trolley in the hotel foyer for safe-keeping.
Mayhem ensued... Liaising with the hotel's representative at the airport, panicked calls were made to the hotel to ask the whereabouts of my precious cargo. Fifteen minutes later, it was found in the foyer, and rushed over to me at the airport, where I was waiting as patiently as possible.
Now, all would have been fine, but for those of you who have never been to Dubai before, let me tell you... Dubai's International Airport has to be the biggest mother of an airport existing on this planet! I don't even think that the Vatican City would be this big. Sure, I would have got my suitcase on time if I was running from one side of Melbourne airport to the other. But, being disabled, and taking into account that I also managed to get screwed over at Passport Control and the security checks I had to go through, what ensued, stressed me out completely. And I don't get stressed easily.
Firstly, it must be said that going to Dubai was the least of my concerns. I look Arabic (as some people have told me), I can even speak a little Arabic (albeit in a rusty fashion), I even have an Arabic name. No problem, right?
Wrong.
I got looks of suspicion from the "security" guys at each check point. At least, I assumed they were security staff... it was hard to tell when each of them looked the same, dressed in bedouin-style white gallabeyahs (robes), complete with Arab head-garb as seen on the heads of Saudi-Arabian royalty on TV. It truly was hard to discern one guy from the other. Now that I am writing this, and reflecting on my airport experience, I think they thought I was a terrorist, because my name is Arabic and I come from a Western country like Australia. What's with that? I have to be up to no good, surely. They probably thought I was a good Al-Qaida candidate.
So, in a nutshell, the security checks took longer than they should have. I'm sure I would have had to endure a full body-search if I so much as twitched or stopped smiling and trying to communicate with these people in their native language. So, that, combined with the fact that my suitcase was late and that I had to get to my departure gate at the other end of the 10km-long airport, made me miss my final call for departure.
I got to the departure gate for Madrid five minutes late, in extreme pain from over-exerting my damaged leg. Stressed out of my mind, pushing myself to my utter disabled limits, another of these UAE Arabs greeted me and my boarding pass with a snide grin and politely informed me that I wasn't allowed to board this late.
I stopped in disbelief, panting and sweating profusely as my mind raced on to what I could do next. I tried explaining to this vile human being that a mistake was made with my suitcase, and that I had a disability, which slowed me down even further... in a vain attempt to persuade him to call through to the plane to allow me on board. No luck...
So, I resorted to asking him what I should do next. To add insult to injury, the mocking retort I received was: "Arrange for a new flight, of course." If there was an Arabic word for "D'UH", I'm sure this imbecile would have used it.
Without thanking him for his help, I turned and made my way to an Information Desk to ask where I could arrange to be booked onto a new flight to Madrid. The verdict? In 24 hours... I had to wait a whole day before I would endure this airport again.
I angrily made my way back to the hotel's help-desk, to complain about the error that was made in the hopes of obtaining a second free night in their facilities. After much argument about the error and whose fault it was, I was finally rewarded with another night at their 4-star counterpart around the corner at a discount rate of 10% off the normal price of a room. Just let me add an addendum to that arrangement... their "4-star" service provided me with a NON-disabled friendly room for SMOKERS, with a crappy dinner that I had to pay for in full.
Of course, when the receptionist at the 4-star facility happily informed me that she would give me a wake-up call at 5am to catch my flight to Madrid, I laughed in her face. No... not acceptable. Wake-up call will be at 3am.
"But, Madame, our first shuttle bus to the airport is at 5am"
"Well, Madame, you'll have to make special arrangements for my transport at 3.30am. I would like to be at my departure gate at LEAST at hour before my departure time. I am disabled, and that airport is way to big for the likes of me."
Problem solved, I got to my gate the next morning, with time to spare, as I instructed.
And I got to Madrid on time, jumping through far less security checks at Barrajas Airport. I also managed to score a wonderful conversationalist in the taxi driver that took me to my hotel in central Madrid. My room is comfortable, I get a buffet breakfast every morning, and I have internet access to catch up on my blogging, Facebook posts and email. Life is good again.
Today, I used my Madrid Cultura card, and went to the Museo Prado and Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. I have Goya, Velasquez, Picasso and Dali on the brain. Not to mention the international offerings... Kandinski, Rothko, Monet, Cezanne, Pollock, Renoir, popping up here and there to be admired in the mix. Looking at works of art for periods of time in a gallery feeds my soul. If the artwork appeals to me, or is abstract, I can spend a good amount of time pondering its meaning, what I feel by viewing it, or what I think it means to me. A thoroughly enjoyable experience.
I also managed to have a wonderfully delicious, thick hot-chocolate in the Plaza Mayor under the cool morning sunlight, as I watched a couple of fascinating street-performers who were trying to keep up with the calibre of the street performers in Barcelona's Ramblas.
I've even spotted a few new and strange Spanish motorcycle brands parked on the streets, as I made my way (slowly) from one point to another in the cuidad.
All in all, Madrid has been pleasant - much nicer than my last time here, so far. I have had the time, despite my delay in getting here, to observe the capital's citizens more closely and with inevitable fascination. They speak so fast, I have trouble keeping up with my poor understanding. Likewise, their need for speed is evident in other parts of Spanish life. They are currently protesting the lowering of the driving speed rates on the freeways from 130-140kms per hour to a measly 110km per hour. *insert jaw drop from Australians here* It really blew my mind when I saw a little old lady in her 60s complaining on the Spanish news about the speed being reduced and that it was better at 140km per hour.
I wanted to call the police back home and broadcast the speed rates in Spain - I've been targeted over the last four years for a mere 5-10kms over the 60/80/100/110km limits in Melbourne and its surrounds, Yep, makes sense to me... *sigh*
Well, I guess I'll leave it there for now. Tomorrow will also be a big day full of activities in Madrid's CBD. There's so much to see and do here, I'm wondering if I'll be able to fit it all in. Time will tell... as will my blog contributions. Stay tuned, friends...
:)
I left Melbourne late Friday night (3am on Saturday morning if you want to get technical about it) and reached Kuala Lumpur for a brief stopover eight hours later. All was good, no complaints... except, maybe a little stiffness from being in Economy class, which leaves a lot of leg room to be desired.Then, I boarded another Emirates plane to Dubai, where I was to stay for a complimentary night in a hotel near the airport. All was still good. I had a lovely complimentary dinner, got to stay in a more than adequate, comfortable, 3-star hotel, and was provided with a wake-up call at 5am in order to make sure that the airport shuttle-bus would take me to the airport in time to meet my next Emirates plane to Madrid at 7.30am.
As I said, all was good.
Only one little thing managed to throw me completely out of whack...
As I was boarding my airport-bound shuttle bus, the hotel porter took my suitcase to store in the rear of the bus for the trip. I got to the airport on time, no problem. However, it was only when I got there that I discovered that my suitcase was not stored at the back of the bus as I was assured it would be. The porter did no such thing. Apparently, he put the suitcase on the trolley in the hotel foyer for safe-keeping.
Mayhem ensued... Liaising with the hotel's representative at the airport, panicked calls were made to the hotel to ask the whereabouts of my precious cargo. Fifteen minutes later, it was found in the foyer, and rushed over to me at the airport, where I was waiting as patiently as possible.
Now, all would have been fine, but for those of you who have never been to Dubai before, let me tell you... Dubai's International Airport has to be the biggest mother of an airport existing on this planet! I don't even think that the Vatican City would be this big. Sure, I would have got my suitcase on time if I was running from one side of Melbourne airport to the other. But, being disabled, and taking into account that I also managed to get screwed over at Passport Control and the security checks I had to go through, what ensued, stressed me out completely. And I don't get stressed easily.
Firstly, it must be said that going to Dubai was the least of my concerns. I look Arabic (as some people have told me), I can even speak a little Arabic (albeit in a rusty fashion), I even have an Arabic name. No problem, right?
Wrong.
I got looks of suspicion from the "security" guys at each check point. At least, I assumed they were security staff... it was hard to tell when each of them looked the same, dressed in bedouin-style white gallabeyahs (robes), complete with Arab head-garb as seen on the heads of Saudi-Arabian royalty on TV. It truly was hard to discern one guy from the other. Now that I am writing this, and reflecting on my airport experience, I think they thought I was a terrorist, because my name is Arabic and I come from a Western country like Australia. What's with that? I have to be up to no good, surely. They probably thought I was a good Al-Qaida candidate.
So, in a nutshell, the security checks took longer than they should have. I'm sure I would have had to endure a full body-search if I so much as twitched or stopped smiling and trying to communicate with these people in their native language. So, that, combined with the fact that my suitcase was late and that I had to get to my departure gate at the other end of the 10km-long airport, made me miss my final call for departure.
I got to the departure gate for Madrid five minutes late, in extreme pain from over-exerting my damaged leg. Stressed out of my mind, pushing myself to my utter disabled limits, another of these UAE Arabs greeted me and my boarding pass with a snide grin and politely informed me that I wasn't allowed to board this late.
I stopped in disbelief, panting and sweating profusely as my mind raced on to what I could do next. I tried explaining to this vile human being that a mistake was made with my suitcase, and that I had a disability, which slowed me down even further... in a vain attempt to persuade him to call through to the plane to allow me on board. No luck...
So, I resorted to asking him what I should do next. To add insult to injury, the mocking retort I received was: "Arrange for a new flight, of course." If there was an Arabic word for "D'UH", I'm sure this imbecile would have used it.
Without thanking him for his help, I turned and made my way to an Information Desk to ask where I could arrange to be booked onto a new flight to Madrid. The verdict? In 24 hours... I had to wait a whole day before I would endure this airport again.
I angrily made my way back to the hotel's help-desk, to complain about the error that was made in the hopes of obtaining a second free night in their facilities. After much argument about the error and whose fault it was, I was finally rewarded with another night at their 4-star counterpart around the corner at a discount rate of 10% off the normal price of a room. Just let me add an addendum to that arrangement... their "4-star" service provided me with a NON-disabled friendly room for SMOKERS, with a crappy dinner that I had to pay for in full.
Of course, when the receptionist at the 4-star facility happily informed me that she would give me a wake-up call at 5am to catch my flight to Madrid, I laughed in her face. No... not acceptable. Wake-up call will be at 3am.
"But, Madame, our first shuttle bus to the airport is at 5am"
"Well, Madame, you'll have to make special arrangements for my transport at 3.30am. I would like to be at my departure gate at LEAST at hour before my departure time. I am disabled, and that airport is way to big for the likes of me."
Problem solved, I got to my gate the next morning, with time to spare, as I instructed.
And I got to Madrid on time, jumping through far less security checks at Barrajas Airport. I also managed to score a wonderful conversationalist in the taxi driver that took me to my hotel in central Madrid. My room is comfortable, I get a buffet breakfast every morning, and I have internet access to catch up on my blogging, Facebook posts and email. Life is good again.
Today, I used my Madrid Cultura card, and went to the Museo Prado and Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. I have Goya, Velasquez, Picasso and Dali on the brain. Not to mention the international offerings... Kandinski, Rothko, Monet, Cezanne, Pollock, Renoir, popping up here and there to be admired in the mix. Looking at works of art for periods of time in a gallery feeds my soul. If the artwork appeals to me, or is abstract, I can spend a good amount of time pondering its meaning, what I feel by viewing it, or what I think it means to me. A thoroughly enjoyable experience.
I also managed to have a wonderfully delicious, thick hot-chocolate in the Plaza Mayor under the cool morning sunlight, as I watched a couple of fascinating street-performers who were trying to keep up with the calibre of the street performers in Barcelona's Ramblas.
I've even spotted a few new and strange Spanish motorcycle brands parked on the streets, as I made my way (slowly) from one point to another in the cuidad.
All in all, Madrid has been pleasant - much nicer than my last time here, so far. I have had the time, despite my delay in getting here, to observe the capital's citizens more closely and with inevitable fascination. They speak so fast, I have trouble keeping up with my poor understanding. Likewise, their need for speed is evident in other parts of Spanish life. They are currently protesting the lowering of the driving speed rates on the freeways from 130-140kms per hour to a measly 110km per hour. *insert jaw drop from Australians here* It really blew my mind when I saw a little old lady in her 60s complaining on the Spanish news about the speed being reduced and that it was better at 140km per hour.
I wanted to call the police back home and broadcast the speed rates in Spain - I've been targeted over the last four years for a mere 5-10kms over the 60/80/100/110km limits in Melbourne and its surrounds, Yep, makes sense to me... *sigh*
Well, I guess I'll leave it there for now. Tomorrow will also be a big day full of activities in Madrid's CBD. There's so much to see and do here, I'm wondering if I'll be able to fit it all in. Time will tell... as will my blog contributions. Stay tuned, friends...
:)
Friday, September 24, 2010
so, it seems that Australians are well hung...
I am, of course, referring to our recent Federal election...
I can honestly say that I am in two minds about this result.
A part of me is ecstatic that neither party holds a large majority in the House of Reps. That would lead to good, worthwhile debate over the issues that we, as a nation, see as a priority, right?
Unfolding events are starting to make me think otherwise. Our dear Mr Abbott (of previous Abbott and Costello fame in the Howard years) is proving to be a debate wrecker, rather than showing a willingness to pursue an avenue of sincere, meaningful and much-needed dialogue and change. Recently, Christopher Pyne happily stated emphatically that the role of the Opposition was not to reach a consensus with the government, but to hold them to account.
To which our new Immigration Minister, Chris Bowen said:
"I don't disagree with Christopher that the job of the Opposition is to hold us to account. Yes, it is their job. But you can hold governments to account constructively. To give one example, when Tony Abbott announced his front bench he said, "Malcolm Turnbull is the shadow minister for communications. It's his job to demolish the NBN." That doesn't matter the NBN comes in under budget, ahead of time, works perfectly. It's his job to go out and demolish it because clearly that is a political imperative for the Opposition. So you're right. I think we saw Tony Abbott when there was a question about who would form the government say, "Well, we need a kinder, gentler polity. We'll enter into a deal with the independents. We'll have a new paradigm." Now, the only thing that's changed is that the independents chose to support the Labor Party. Now we've effectively seen that deal ripped up by Tony Abbott and the Opposition walking away from the pairing arrangements for the speaker, ripping that deal up, pointing to the constitution. The constitution hasn't changed. It's the same constitution as when they entered into the deal. They're now walking away from the deal. So I think there is a case for a constructive opposition. Sure, hold us to account. Sure, say when you think we're wrong but also come at these policy questions with some constructive approach, not just rip down, tear down, criticise everything that the government does and, frankly, all the evidence is Tony Abbott, while he's good at the sound bites, good at the negativity, good at taking an argument up, isn't very good at being constructive when it comes to policy substance."
A few days have passed since this discussion between the ministers on the ABC's Q&A. As predicted, the Coalition have announced that they will not support the idea of pairing the Speakers in parliament... as it would be unconstitutional. I'm afraid I don't put much faith in a Constitution that doesn't fully acknowledge human rights and wholeheartedly embraces the concept of mandatory detention laws.
Poor Tony Abbott... he's so pissed off he "missed it by that much", to quote Maxwell Smart. He wanted to be PM, and he's upset that he has to wait a little while longer. Quite frankly, I'm waiting to see footage of him beating his fists and having a little tantie cos he lost to a girl...
What scares me about all this though... is the question that is now residing in my mind: Did we end up with a hung parliament because the population became THAT dumb that they have conveniently forgotten how we escaped the GFC under a Labor government?
There was a big swing to the Greens, which is a good thing. We need to have both major parties held to account and giving important issues such as climate change and immigration policy serious consideration. The Greens hold a balance of power now, along with our highly esteemed three former National Party member amigos.
Labor seems to be taking the Greens seriously... so far...
But, I fear for the future. Mr Abbott is starting to show what he is capable of. He's not interested in making Australia a country to be proud of. He seems to be intent on spitting the dummy and making the ALP suffer immensely for not letting him have his time in the sun.
One thing's for certain though... it seems that either the next election is far more imminent due to extensive disgreement and opposing uproar from the Coalition, or it's going to be a frustrating and arduous three years ahead.
Ahhh, politics... I hate it.... and can't seem to stop talking about it in some way or another. To stop the discussion would make feel like an apathetic citizen of Australia and the world.
To other matters...
The weather is slowly starting to improve. The temperatures are getting a little higher, and the motorcycle gear is starting to come out of the boot of my car in earnest. I have to start regularly riding again. I have missed it so. It's time to brush off the cobwebs and make plans on which route I want to take, where I want to go. Then, after returning to a feeling of ease on the road, I will decide on whether or not I want to resurrect the idea of crossing the southern states of Australia again. If I do that, I'm not sure I will return to pursuing the idea of fund-raising for MS research. I don't like the idea of being restricted by schedules and the like. I want to be free to roam where the wind takes me.
I still would like to embark on such a journey... as I've always said, it'd be good practice for conquering South America, or some other appealing continent. Besides, I think my blog and amateurish writing skills would benefit greatly from the experience, rather than devoting my words and energy to press releases and media liaison opportunities. Shit, I'm sure that a cure for MS is imminent... would a little bike ride like the one I have in mind make that much of a dent in the grand scheme of things? I think it would be pure arrogance on my part to think so...
As some of you know, I have definitely been taken down a peg or two of late. Sometimes, it feels as though its getting harder and harder to just bounce back from the blows as readily as I used to. I have been spending a lot of my alone time contemplating, philosophising... I have always taken care of others, have always been worried about whether or not I can make them happy.... and it has never really been truly reciprocated. I guess I'm getting tired. I think a ride alone, cross-country, with the occasional post on the blog might be just what I need soon...
I don't want to seek any more... I just want to be...
In the meantime, I'm keeping myself occupied with work... and classes... and medical appointments... The friends I do have are greatly appreciated, but I can't help thinking there has to be something more out there for me... If I never find it, so be it. I know I won't give up trying...
I can honestly say that I am in two minds about this result.
A part of me is ecstatic that neither party holds a large majority in the House of Reps. That would lead to good, worthwhile debate over the issues that we, as a nation, see as a priority, right?
Unfolding events are starting to make me think otherwise. Our dear Mr Abbott (of previous Abbott and Costello fame in the Howard years) is proving to be a debate wrecker, rather than showing a willingness to pursue an avenue of sincere, meaningful and much-needed dialogue and change. Recently, Christopher Pyne happily stated emphatically that the role of the Opposition was not to reach a consensus with the government, but to hold them to account.
To which our new Immigration Minister, Chris Bowen said:
"I don't disagree with Christopher that the job of the Opposition is to hold us to account. Yes, it is their job. But you can hold governments to account constructively. To give one example, when Tony Abbott announced his front bench he said, "Malcolm Turnbull is the shadow minister for communications. It's his job to demolish the NBN." That doesn't matter the NBN comes in under budget, ahead of time, works perfectly. It's his job to go out and demolish it because clearly that is a political imperative for the Opposition. So you're right. I think we saw Tony Abbott when there was a question about who would form the government say, "Well, we need a kinder, gentler polity. We'll enter into a deal with the independents. We'll have a new paradigm." Now, the only thing that's changed is that the independents chose to support the Labor Party. Now we've effectively seen that deal ripped up by Tony Abbott and the Opposition walking away from the pairing arrangements for the speaker, ripping that deal up, pointing to the constitution. The constitution hasn't changed. It's the same constitution as when they entered into the deal. They're now walking away from the deal. So I think there is a case for a constructive opposition. Sure, hold us to account. Sure, say when you think we're wrong but also come at these policy questions with some constructive approach, not just rip down, tear down, criticise everything that the government does and, frankly, all the evidence is Tony Abbott, while he's good at the sound bites, good at the negativity, good at taking an argument up, isn't very good at being constructive when it comes to policy substance."
A few days have passed since this discussion between the ministers on the ABC's Q&A. As predicted, the Coalition have announced that they will not support the idea of pairing the Speakers in parliament... as it would be unconstitutional. I'm afraid I don't put much faith in a Constitution that doesn't fully acknowledge human rights and wholeheartedly embraces the concept of mandatory detention laws.
Poor Tony Abbott... he's so pissed off he "missed it by that much", to quote Maxwell Smart. He wanted to be PM, and he's upset that he has to wait a little while longer. Quite frankly, I'm waiting to see footage of him beating his fists and having a little tantie cos he lost to a girl...
What scares me about all this though... is the question that is now residing in my mind: Did we end up with a hung parliament because the population became THAT dumb that they have conveniently forgotten how we escaped the GFC under a Labor government?
There was a big swing to the Greens, which is a good thing. We need to have both major parties held to account and giving important issues such as climate change and immigration policy serious consideration. The Greens hold a balance of power now, along with our highly esteemed three former National Party member amigos.
Labor seems to be taking the Greens seriously... so far...
But, I fear for the future. Mr Abbott is starting to show what he is capable of. He's not interested in making Australia a country to be proud of. He seems to be intent on spitting the dummy and making the ALP suffer immensely for not letting him have his time in the sun.
One thing's for certain though... it seems that either the next election is far more imminent due to extensive disgreement and opposing uproar from the Coalition, or it's going to be a frustrating and arduous three years ahead.
Ahhh, politics... I hate it.... and can't seem to stop talking about it in some way or another. To stop the discussion would make feel like an apathetic citizen of Australia and the world.
To other matters...
The weather is slowly starting to improve. The temperatures are getting a little higher, and the motorcycle gear is starting to come out of the boot of my car in earnest. I have to start regularly riding again. I have missed it so. It's time to brush off the cobwebs and make plans on which route I want to take, where I want to go. Then, after returning to a feeling of ease on the road, I will decide on whether or not I want to resurrect the idea of crossing the southern states of Australia again. If I do that, I'm not sure I will return to pursuing the idea of fund-raising for MS research. I don't like the idea of being restricted by schedules and the like. I want to be free to roam where the wind takes me.
I still would like to embark on such a journey... as I've always said, it'd be good practice for conquering South America, or some other appealing continent. Besides, I think my blog and amateurish writing skills would benefit greatly from the experience, rather than devoting my words and energy to press releases and media liaison opportunities. Shit, I'm sure that a cure for MS is imminent... would a little bike ride like the one I have in mind make that much of a dent in the grand scheme of things? I think it would be pure arrogance on my part to think so...
As some of you know, I have definitely been taken down a peg or two of late. Sometimes, it feels as though its getting harder and harder to just bounce back from the blows as readily as I used to. I have been spending a lot of my alone time contemplating, philosophising... I have always taken care of others, have always been worried about whether or not I can make them happy.... and it has never really been truly reciprocated. I guess I'm getting tired. I think a ride alone, cross-country, with the occasional post on the blog might be just what I need soon...
I don't want to seek any more... I just want to be...
In the meantime, I'm keeping myself occupied with work... and classes... and medical appointments... The friends I do have are greatly appreciated, but I can't help thinking there has to be something more out there for me... If I never find it, so be it. I know I won't give up trying...
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