My goodness, where to start?
My first comment... the words customer service don't mean as much in some places, as they generally do to Australians. Or is it that I have just been going to the right places in Australia? Or, is "good customer service" only considered to be good when one is fluent in the language and cultural habits of a country?
Earlier today, I went to have lunch in what has become a favourite destination in the centro of Granada. The Plaza Bib Rambla is a lovely square a few blocks from my hotel, with restaurants around the perimeter and little alleyways of interesting shops leading in every direction from it. The lunch was lovely, as usual. But, something that was more obvious to me on this particular occasion, was the poor customer service. The waiters were more intent on conversing with one another and sharing stories of home life and jokes than getting their clients what they wanted. A cafe con leche took almost thirty minutes to receive. I have often joked in Australia about growing a beard whilst waiting to receive my order. Here, in the Bib Rambla, I almost literally grew one!
Luckily for the cafe, the food was great and thoroughly enjoyable, so I could not complain about the service - ultimately, it was worth the wait.
But, I realised that after weeks of travelling through this beautiful country, I have grown a little weary of not being able to apply a little pressure on waiting staff about the lengthy time taken to receive what I want. After we left the cafe, immediately opposite the front door we stopped. Here was a little shop-front, with a woman serving. My mother asked her if she sold any postage stamps. The woman was looking directly at us, then some of her friends passed by at that very moment. They were calling out to this woman from behind us, and this woman, rather than addressing our need, moved her head towards them, reciprocating their greetings whilst completely ignoring our question. I was amazed. When she finished laughing and answering her friends, she spoke to my mother, saying, finally, that she didn't have any stamps for sale. I stood there, agape.
This was a big contrast to the restaurant we ate in last night. I chose a little place near our hotel, purely for its name, La ermita. The translation? The Hermit. It's also a way of describing a way to contemplate and live out life by one's self. It's more of a concept than a person, if you know what I mean.
This place was more up-market than the cafe I just described in the Bib Rambla. Again, the food was impeccable, although presented in a far better way, which is more appealing to the palate. Of course, with such effort, the cost of a meal is much higher. The waiters were attentive, taking great care to explain anything on the menu we didn't understand. We were treated like queens. This made me ponder how the concept of customer service works... here, as in Australia, money talks. You pay for the service, as well as the food and the good experience, overall.
Sure, the food is mainly great everywhere, so far. But, when I don't pay as much for it, my frustration at the service sets in... leading me to the conclusion that this is a cultural difference, or culture shock on my part. I dislike the fact that I cannot express my disappointment, or insist, in an assertive way, that I should be receiving better service.
Perhaps I have chosen this subject to complain about in this blog post because of the hair-raising morning I had. Today, I had to pick up the car rental I had arranged in Australia for the next leg of our trip. It was easier to get from Granada to Murcia, to Cuenca, then Zaragoza by car, than taking a train back and forth to major cities to get to each place. So, off we went to AVIS to collect the compact Mercedes which was given to me. (The fact that it is a Mercedes ALONE makes me a little nervous about damaging the thing.)
I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but the Spanish like to touch-park. They manage to get their compact cars into the tightest little parking spots... and how? Car moves forward, BANG, and stop. Car reverses, BANG, and stop. (BANG = tapping another's car forcefully)
I have been noticing the amount of cars which have scratches and dents all over them, throughout the trip. I'm sure that car insurance is only used here when there is major damage and a panel beater and/or complete overhaul is needed. Australians have coronaries at the slightest dent (unless they own a bomb), and run to the panel beater to fix it immediately.
The last time I was in Europe with a car rental, I totally freaked out when I saw a Frenchie banging my rented Citroen to park his car. I blurted out, in English: "Are you kidding, mate? This is a bloody rented car!", which, of course, was no use to me when the Frenchie didn't speak English.
So, since arriving in Spain, I have watched the drivers here - they're crazy too. They fly through the narrowest of streets. I have found myself hanging on to the Jesus-bar in the back seat of taxis on a few occasions. I remember a taxi driver going on an 80km zone at 120kms per hour. I don't white-knuckle often, but when I do, it's with good reason. This taxi driver needed to be locked up or have his licence revoked, one of the two.
I have also thought about my own car back home, a GIGANTIC Ford Falcon sedan, which would, no doubt, have gotten permanently wedged into a medieval intersection somewhere along the way. You appreciate the space we have in Australia a whole lot more when you're in old, claustrophobic city roads and streets in Spain.
This morning was scary. Keep in mind that I am driving a compact car here. I had to pick up the rental, and drive it on the wrong side of the road continuously. Then, I had to navigate the car down a narrow, narrow alleyway, that is considered to be a main thoroughfare. On either side of this road, scooters and motorcycles were parked, with their tail-ends hanging out on the street, making the space for cars even narrower. I was getting beeped at by motorists behind me, as I was taking things slowly - I didn't want to hit any of the parked bikes. Even though I took the greatest care, I still managed to brush my passenger-side mirror against the padded seat of a Vespa. This made me more nervous. Not the Mercedes! I'll be paying off that damage until I'm fifty!
Of course, it took even longer to get back to the hotel, as all the streets around the central part of Granada go in different directions. Some are one-way, some are not to be entered, some are restricted only to taxis and buses. That'd be fine, but the signs are strange to me - round, red-circled ones with crosses through them - wtf? Ah, of course! No parking allowed! How silly of me! If you're not a local, you'll have more than a little trouble knowing which street you are able to traverse safely and legally.
A scooter rider took pity on me... He spoke to us, telling us that we could follow him, after he asked where we were trying to get to. (See? The ability to speak Spanish helps!) This enormous gordo of a man on a itty-bitty little scooter led us to our hotel's street, and we gratefully gave him some Euros for his troubles, even though he did spit the worst exhaust fumes into our faces most of the way there. If I could have said so, I would have given him the money for his help, with a small comment about getting his scooter serviced and its shocks attended to. I mean, how long did he think the poor little thing would last?
The hotel's porter was amused when I gave him the keys to the Mercedes nervously, begging him to park the car for me under the hotel. I wasn't about to start attempting to park this GIANT compact car in a tiny, underground car park!
So, after that nerve-wracking experience, naturally, I practically ran to the Bib Rambla to calm down and have a nice lunch. It was only after I got there that I realised that I'd be insane to order my usual sangria - I'm driving now! I can't afford to have even the tiniest bit of alcohol in my blood when travelling on Spain's roads! It'll have to wait until the car is returned to AVIS at Zaragoza... six days away...
The question is... will I make it to Zaragoza in one piece? Time will tell...
If none of you ever hear from me again, you'll know what happened.
Hasta la vista, mis amigos... I hope!
:)
xx
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
impressions...
Having seen the Alhambra for the second time this morning, I had a lot of time during my three-hour tour to look out over Granada and think about my impressions of Spain thus far.
Spain is confusing in the messages it puts out to one who is not a native. On the one hand, it is a passionate and fervent country, with a past full of turmoil and historically hard times under Franco. Funnily enough, as a result, the people of Spain living in it today, seem a little superficial to me. Now, before I get written complaints via email about this comment, let me explain myself...
I watch Spanish TV in my hotel rooms after a hard day of being a good tourist. Almost every channel I see touches on subjects in a very sensational, glib way... the 24-hour news channel is always showing the same headlines over and over, without presenting stories of any depth containing profound examination of issues that may be present. I can't help comparing the coverage of the same news story on Spanish television with the BBC World news channel, or with the coverage I have gotten in the habit of reading online via The Age web site. Even though I am not fluent in the Spanish language, I understand enough to know that issues and controversial, late-breaking news such as the recent Japanese tsunami are covered in a shallow and trivial manner. It leaves me unsatisfied and wanting to know more.
A contradiction to this is the Parliament of Spain. I have watched the gobeirno (government) of Spain addressing issues in their parliament. They do so in a very orderly fashion, each member having the opportunity to discuss each issue and put their opinion on the record, without harrassment, or interruption. A far cry from the Australians' conduct in parliament - particularly on the federal level. Down Under, we scream at one another, insult, cajole, embarrass, condescend and irritate in the interest of scoring political points and securing a better chance of winning at the next election. In Spain, even if the parties disagree with one another, they spend their time debating issues in a manner expected of adults, even referring to one another as usted (the polite way to call another person with respect).
These observations, in turn, have made me watch the Spanish community more carefully. I scrutinise their interactions whilst eating, drinking, talking, discussing... Previous impressions and use of words such as passionate and interactive to describe them are accurate, but again, I can't help now having the impression that, on many occasions, I probably wouldn't care too much to know what they're talking about.
This mystifies me. Where is the Spain that I have read about? Where is the deep and profound thinking that I see for myself in their artwork and cultural offerings? Where is the environment I have often longed to be a part of? Does one have to be fluent in the language to find out where these intellectuals seem to hide?
I have the feeling that I will feel far more at home in Barcelona. This is the city that houses Los Cuatro Gatos, a cafe that became a favourite meeting place for artists in the 20th century, Pablo Picasso included. Seeing more of Antoni Gaudí's amazing creations that Barcelona is famous for - in particular, I am looking forward to seeing how La Sagrada Familia has progressed since I was there in 2005. (This is the cathedral that Gaudí designed for the city, which is due for completion in 2026.)
This is the city of La Rambla, the main thoroughfare leading to Barcelona's port, which features an enormous amount of street performers, mime, musicians, street theatre. It is open 24/7 and I am going to have a marvellous time watching it in earnest from my hotel room balcony, when I am not actually spending time walking on it.
I have come to the conclusion that I need to learn more Spanish, and actually reside in one of this country's cities, behaving as a Spaniard, working, living, pursuing recreational activities in my spare time. Perhaps this will become a goal for me in the next few years? Perhaps it may not?
I also know that I cannot comment on what I have seen here with accuracy - I need to be alone, finding out what these people are about for myself, without using a translator, without hesitating to pursue a more meaningful exchange, in the interests of getting out of my comfort zone and really delving into what makes Spain and its people the way they are.
What saddens me is that I only have one lifetime to fulfil a desire such as this.
Until next time... hasta pronto mis amigos...
:)
xx
Spain is confusing in the messages it puts out to one who is not a native. On the one hand, it is a passionate and fervent country, with a past full of turmoil and historically hard times under Franco. Funnily enough, as a result, the people of Spain living in it today, seem a little superficial to me. Now, before I get written complaints via email about this comment, let me explain myself...
I watch Spanish TV in my hotel rooms after a hard day of being a good tourist. Almost every channel I see touches on subjects in a very sensational, glib way... the 24-hour news channel is always showing the same headlines over and over, without presenting stories of any depth containing profound examination of issues that may be present. I can't help comparing the coverage of the same news story on Spanish television with the BBC World news channel, or with the coverage I have gotten in the habit of reading online via The Age web site. Even though I am not fluent in the Spanish language, I understand enough to know that issues and controversial, late-breaking news such as the recent Japanese tsunami are covered in a shallow and trivial manner. It leaves me unsatisfied and wanting to know more.
A contradiction to this is the Parliament of Spain. I have watched the gobeirno (government) of Spain addressing issues in their parliament. They do so in a very orderly fashion, each member having the opportunity to discuss each issue and put their opinion on the record, without harrassment, or interruption. A far cry from the Australians' conduct in parliament - particularly on the federal level. Down Under, we scream at one another, insult, cajole, embarrass, condescend and irritate in the interest of scoring political points and securing a better chance of winning at the next election. In Spain, even if the parties disagree with one another, they spend their time debating issues in a manner expected of adults, even referring to one another as usted (the polite way to call another person with respect).
These observations, in turn, have made me watch the Spanish community more carefully. I scrutinise their interactions whilst eating, drinking, talking, discussing... Previous impressions and use of words such as passionate and interactive to describe them are accurate, but again, I can't help now having the impression that, on many occasions, I probably wouldn't care too much to know what they're talking about.
This mystifies me. Where is the Spain that I have read about? Where is the deep and profound thinking that I see for myself in their artwork and cultural offerings? Where is the environment I have often longed to be a part of? Does one have to be fluent in the language to find out where these intellectuals seem to hide?
I have the feeling that I will feel far more at home in Barcelona. This is the city that houses Los Cuatro Gatos, a cafe that became a favourite meeting place for artists in the 20th century, Pablo Picasso included. Seeing more of Antoni Gaudí's amazing creations that Barcelona is famous for - in particular, I am looking forward to seeing how La Sagrada Familia has progressed since I was there in 2005. (This is the cathedral that Gaudí designed for the city, which is due for completion in 2026.)
This is the city of La Rambla, the main thoroughfare leading to Barcelona's port, which features an enormous amount of street performers, mime, musicians, street theatre. It is open 24/7 and I am going to have a marvellous time watching it in earnest from my hotel room balcony, when I am not actually spending time walking on it.
I have come to the conclusion that I need to learn more Spanish, and actually reside in one of this country's cities, behaving as a Spaniard, working, living, pursuing recreational activities in my spare time. Perhaps this will become a goal for me in the next few years? Perhaps it may not?
I also know that I cannot comment on what I have seen here with accuracy - I need to be alone, finding out what these people are about for myself, without using a translator, without hesitating to pursue a more meaningful exchange, in the interests of getting out of my comfort zone and really delving into what makes Spain and its people the way they are.
What saddens me is that I only have one lifetime to fulfil a desire such as this.
Until next time... hasta pronto mis amigos...
:)
xx
Saturday, March 26, 2011
guapa? i thought that was a grapefruit...
Still in Málaga, enjoying the ocean and the nice weather. But, a secret... I don't like Málaga. I have learnt that the tourists (consisting of mainly Brits and Americans) love to park here in Torremolinos - the suburb I am in by the shores of the Mediterrenean. I suppose this would be equivalent to being in a hotel in Middle Park or Port Melbourne.
Around the hotel are shops that are trying to be trendy, by selling the most abhorrent items, crappy towels, sunglasses, horrible postcards, t-shirts and clothes. IIt reminds me of walking through Dimmeys... not quite as good as Target or Kmart... ;)
As a result, there's not much to see around here. So, I have headed to the CBD of Málaga. Yesterday, we visited the Museo del Picasso - still enjoyable the second time. We also saw the Alcazabar and Roman Amphitheatre ruins next to it, followed by a trip to the Museo Interactivo de la Música, which had a lot of information about the history of music, along with interactive computer displays and actual instruments to play. Good for the kiddies... and we were the only kiddies there. It was worthwhile - and amusing to see my mother touching things that had signs stating No Tocar (Don't Touch) emphatically in Spanish. I'm sure the museum's attendants were glad to see our ultimate departure.
Before we got to the last museum, we stopped on a road nearby for a break to consult the map. My mother has an annoying habit of asking everyone around us the same question about five times. It is epspecially annoying when I know the answer, but because I am not a local, I am not to be believed. She is a very nervous traveller.
So, in typical style, as I consulted the map, she spotted a Tourist Information Booth, and ran in that direction to answer the question I was on the verge of answering myself. She took so long, I was wondering if she had gotten lost on the way there, and was asking someone for directions to the Info Booth.
While I was waiting patiently for her to return, a Spaniard was walking towards me from the opposite direction, singing. He caught my attention, as he was singing the beautiful sounds of flamenco that I love to listen to. So, as I enjoyed hearing this snippet of his performance, I smiled at him as he passed. He did a little double-take and came back to stand in front of me.
He said, "Hola guapa!", followed by some more Spanish that was spoken too fast for me to fully understand. I replied "Lo siento, yo no hablo español. Un poquito, nada mas..." (I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish. A little, nothing more...)
Guapa? Why was this man calling me a grapefruit? I was intrigued. (Before I go on, apparently guapa does not mean grapefruit. Click here for a definition, if you're curious.)
I didn't wait for him to say anything, and asked "Canto flamenco?" (Singing flamenco?)
He smiled broadly... happy I was interested enough to ask. "Claro que si!" (But of course!) was his response. Then, he asked me something I couldn't understand... Perhaps my expression was quizzical, as he explained further with actions. He asked me the question again slowly, this time showing an imaginary ring on the wedding finger.
Ahhhh... I understood now. He wanted to know if I was married. LOL
I laughed and said no... and then he asked me if I had any children. RSVP and eHarmony eat your hearts out. Come to Spain... you can find a man quick smart here! Still laughing, I told him in poor Spanish, no, I did not have children either. He liked that... and proceeded to sit next to me, smiling in a different way. More of a leer this time. It's funny... how sleazy can mean the same thing in one's body language no matter what country you're in.
I handled him the same way I have others... polite, but firm about not being ready to jump into bed just because he smiled at me. Although, what a temptation he was! He could have been Antonio Banderas' long lost twin brother. No matter... I didn't have to control myself. My mother was running back to where I was quite fast when she spotted a strange man sitting next to me.
If ever you want someone to stop hitting on you, here's a tip... take your mother with you. It arrests the entertainment value immediately. ;)
I watched him walk away as my mother was telling me what she found out at the Tourist Info Booth. Exactly what I already knew, what a shock! So, we made our way to the museum...
Today, we have been lazy, and stayed in and around the hotel... watching the waves, listening to the ocean, people-watching from our balcony, as we play Canasta. On the way back from lunch on the beach, we stopped to buy El País, the national newspaper in Spain.
What do I find out??? Antonio Banderas was in Málaga today, making a special apprearance in the opening of the new Carmen Thyssen Museum! The one day I wasn't in Málaga during my stay here! But, what's this? He'll stay in Málaga until Easter... hmmmm... maybe I'll head to the CBD again tomorrow, and do some Antonio-spotting... Heaven knows it'd be more entertaining than visiting one of the numerous churches open for tourists around here.
Wish me luck!
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
xx
:)
Around the hotel are shops that are trying to be trendy, by selling the most abhorrent items, crappy towels, sunglasses, horrible postcards, t-shirts and clothes. IIt reminds me of walking through Dimmeys... not quite as good as Target or Kmart... ;)
As a result, there's not much to see around here. So, I have headed to the CBD of Málaga. Yesterday, we visited the Museo del Picasso - still enjoyable the second time. We also saw the Alcazabar and Roman Amphitheatre ruins next to it, followed by a trip to the Museo Interactivo de la Música, which had a lot of information about the history of music, along with interactive computer displays and actual instruments to play. Good for the kiddies... and we were the only kiddies there. It was worthwhile - and amusing to see my mother touching things that had signs stating No Tocar (Don't Touch) emphatically in Spanish. I'm sure the museum's attendants were glad to see our ultimate departure.
Before we got to the last museum, we stopped on a road nearby for a break to consult the map. My mother has an annoying habit of asking everyone around us the same question about five times. It is epspecially annoying when I know the answer, but because I am not a local, I am not to be believed. She is a very nervous traveller.
So, in typical style, as I consulted the map, she spotted a Tourist Information Booth, and ran in that direction to answer the question I was on the verge of answering myself. She took so long, I was wondering if she had gotten lost on the way there, and was asking someone for directions to the Info Booth.
While I was waiting patiently for her to return, a Spaniard was walking towards me from the opposite direction, singing. He caught my attention, as he was singing the beautiful sounds of flamenco that I love to listen to. So, as I enjoyed hearing this snippet of his performance, I smiled at him as he passed. He did a little double-take and came back to stand in front of me.
He said, "Hola guapa!", followed by some more Spanish that was spoken too fast for me to fully understand. I replied "Lo siento, yo no hablo español. Un poquito, nada mas..." (I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish. A little, nothing more...)
Guapa? Why was this man calling me a grapefruit? I was intrigued. (Before I go on, apparently guapa does not mean grapefruit. Click here for a definition, if you're curious.)
I didn't wait for him to say anything, and asked "Canto flamenco?" (Singing flamenco?)
He smiled broadly... happy I was interested enough to ask. "Claro que si!" (But of course!) was his response. Then, he asked me something I couldn't understand... Perhaps my expression was quizzical, as he explained further with actions. He asked me the question again slowly, this time showing an imaginary ring on the wedding finger.
Ahhhh... I understood now. He wanted to know if I was married. LOL
I laughed and said no... and then he asked me if I had any children. RSVP and eHarmony eat your hearts out. Come to Spain... you can find a man quick smart here! Still laughing, I told him in poor Spanish, no, I did not have children either. He liked that... and proceeded to sit next to me, smiling in a different way. More of a leer this time. It's funny... how sleazy can mean the same thing in one's body language no matter what country you're in.
I handled him the same way I have others... polite, but firm about not being ready to jump into bed just because he smiled at me. Although, what a temptation he was! He could have been Antonio Banderas' long lost twin brother. No matter... I didn't have to control myself. My mother was running back to where I was quite fast when she spotted a strange man sitting next to me.
If ever you want someone to stop hitting on you, here's a tip... take your mother with you. It arrests the entertainment value immediately. ;)
I watched him walk away as my mother was telling me what she found out at the Tourist Info Booth. Exactly what I already knew, what a shock! So, we made our way to the museum...
Today, we have been lazy, and stayed in and around the hotel... watching the waves, listening to the ocean, people-watching from our balcony, as we play Canasta. On the way back from lunch on the beach, we stopped to buy El País, the national newspaper in Spain.
What do I find out??? Antonio Banderas was in Málaga today, making a special apprearance in the opening of the new Carmen Thyssen Museum! The one day I wasn't in Málaga during my stay here! But, what's this? He'll stay in Málaga until Easter... hmmmm... maybe I'll head to the CBD again tomorrow, and do some Antonio-spotting... Heaven knows it'd be more entertaining than visiting one of the numerous churches open for tourists around here.
Wish me luck!
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
xx
:)
Thursday, March 24, 2011
málaga... a place of crashing waves, picasso and flags...
We have arrived in Málaga, the birthplace of Pablo Picasso. Our hotel room has ocean views, and I have been here a few hours already and I have not tired of hearing the waves crashing on the beach below. It's quite choppy today, and even though the sun's not out, and the skies are grey, it is indeed a magnificent view.
I know what you're thinking... Flags? Why flags?
Well, Málaga is also the birthplace of Antonio Banderas. I always find the translation of Spanish names amusing. The literal translation of this gorgeous man's name is Tony Flags.
Julio Iglesias? Julio Iglesias = July Churches. Placido Domingo, the opera singer? His name's Peaceful Sunday. Penelope Cruz... Hmmm... well, if you called Penelope by her nickname, Pene, then a literal translation of her name would be Penis Cross.
Ok, I think I'll leave it there... I think you understand my point.
So, here we are, all geared up for the days ahead. We leave for Granada, and the Alhambra on Sunday. But, before then, we have so much Picasso to see... and the old Moorish ruins of mosques and the Roman amphitheatre in the heart of Málaga awaits.
Before we left Cordoba, we glimpsed the Mala Muerta - the story behind this edifice is interesting. Apparently, a Moorish Caliph went to war, and when he returned, he was told that his wife had been unfaithful. He then had his wife killed for her crime. But, later on, he found out that she had actually been faithful, and she was killed wrongly. So, as punishment to himself, and to grieve for the wife he loved so much, he built this tower, Mala Muerta (which means "woman mistakenly killed") locked himself in it, and died there of grief.
Good riddance, if you ask me...
Also, we went to visit the Medinat Al-Zahara - a caliphate palace, which was built under the mandate of Abd al-Rahmann III from 940 onwards. Of popular myth amongst Cordobans is that the medina was built by Abd al-Rahmann III as a declaration of his love for one of his concubines, al-Zahara. This is not true. I also found this myth difficult to digest when I learnt that this caliph had a harem consisting of over 600 concubines. What made al-Zahara so special? And if she was so special, why didn't she tell the caliph to be exclusive and abandon the other 599 concubines?
Regardless, the medinat was a fascinating visit. I could see the amazing history behind its construction. It was only discovered in the outskirts of Cordoba in 1918, and it is still undergoing archealogical digs as more and more is unearthed. The sad part is, above the medinat is a monastery which apparently ransacked the medinat much later for building materials for its own construction.
That seems to be a constant story in the South of Spain. Old Moorish architecture, mosques and Arab designs converted to cathedrals and images of Jesus and Mary when the Christians took over from the Muslim rule in Spain's history. Perhaps I'm biased, but I find the Arab caligraphy, archiecture and design far more interesting, beautiful and appealing. It saddens me to see how the Christians obliterated a lot of it in the name of God. In fact, we have made a pact not to see any more Christian buildings. Spain is FULL of churches, cathedrals and monasteries. We'd much rather see more art and Spanish culture in other places of interest. It sounds awful, but after you've seen one or two cathedrals, the rest all start to look the same, and you find yourself skimming over the bits you've seen before.
Now, we're located at a far cry from all that. We're by the beach, surounded by what I would call a huge tourist trap. LOL The shops along the beach are filled with what I've seen many times before... McDonald's, Burger King (Hungry Jacks for Aussies), Ben & Jerry's (ice-cream), shops selling sunnies, t-shirts and fridge magnets galore. I am happy to hear the ocean from my hotel room, but am eager to get back to Málaga's CBD, where all the history and culture is. I feel like I did when I visited Nice, in the south of France. All affluence and show, and no substance.
Not all is bad though... we've managed to find a decent paella down there by the beach. The best I've ever had in Spain thus far. I wonder if we'll find one better before returning to Australia?
Before I sign off... I must mention my tapas experience in Cordoba. We found a small tapas bar opposite the infamous Calleja de las Flores called Tapas 101. Tapas are amazing. Small pinches of food, each costing 2-Euro. One orders four or five pinches/tapas, and one feels quite full by the end of the courses.
One I has was Berenjenas con Miel (Aubergines with honey). At first, I was a little repelled by the concept of mixing the two flavours, but as always, I give new things a try, and if I don't like them, I never return to try again. These aubergines were divine! The best tapas I've ever had! Apparently, they're a favourite Cordoban recipe, and I could understand why. Yummmmm....
These were accompanied by Croquetas Bacalao (Cod Croquets), Cogillitos de Lechuga (Garlic Lettuce), sangria (of course), and finished with Arroz con Leche (Rice pudding). A gastronomic adventure... So glad I'm walking asround an awful lot, otherwise I'd definitely be returning to Australia wider than when I left it.
Ok... tomorrow, Picasso...
I wonder if Tony Flags will be floating around anywhere, paying a visit to the rellies? That'd be another kind of yummmm...
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
:)
I know what you're thinking... Flags? Why flags?
Well, Málaga is also the birthplace of Antonio Banderas. I always find the translation of Spanish names amusing. The literal translation of this gorgeous man's name is Tony Flags.
Julio Iglesias? Julio Iglesias = July Churches. Placido Domingo, the opera singer? His name's Peaceful Sunday. Penelope Cruz... Hmmm... well, if you called Penelope by her nickname, Pene, then a literal translation of her name would be Penis Cross.
Ok, I think I'll leave it there... I think you understand my point.
So, here we are, all geared up for the days ahead. We leave for Granada, and the Alhambra on Sunday. But, before then, we have so much Picasso to see... and the old Moorish ruins of mosques and the Roman amphitheatre in the heart of Málaga awaits.
Before we left Cordoba, we glimpsed the Mala Muerta - the story behind this edifice is interesting. Apparently, a Moorish Caliph went to war, and when he returned, he was told that his wife had been unfaithful. He then had his wife killed for her crime. But, later on, he found out that she had actually been faithful, and she was killed wrongly. So, as punishment to himself, and to grieve for the wife he loved so much, he built this tower, Mala Muerta (which means "woman mistakenly killed") locked himself in it, and died there of grief.
Good riddance, if you ask me...
Also, we went to visit the Medinat Al-Zahara - a caliphate palace, which was built under the mandate of Abd al-Rahmann III from 940 onwards. Of popular myth amongst Cordobans is that the medina was built by Abd al-Rahmann III as a declaration of his love for one of his concubines, al-Zahara. This is not true. I also found this myth difficult to digest when I learnt that this caliph had a harem consisting of over 600 concubines. What made al-Zahara so special? And if she was so special, why didn't she tell the caliph to be exclusive and abandon the other 599 concubines?
Regardless, the medinat was a fascinating visit. I could see the amazing history behind its construction. It was only discovered in the outskirts of Cordoba in 1918, and it is still undergoing archealogical digs as more and more is unearthed. The sad part is, above the medinat is a monastery which apparently ransacked the medinat much later for building materials for its own construction.
That seems to be a constant story in the South of Spain. Old Moorish architecture, mosques and Arab designs converted to cathedrals and images of Jesus and Mary when the Christians took over from the Muslim rule in Spain's history. Perhaps I'm biased, but I find the Arab caligraphy, archiecture and design far more interesting, beautiful and appealing. It saddens me to see how the Christians obliterated a lot of it in the name of God. In fact, we have made a pact not to see any more Christian buildings. Spain is FULL of churches, cathedrals and monasteries. We'd much rather see more art and Spanish culture in other places of interest. It sounds awful, but after you've seen one or two cathedrals, the rest all start to look the same, and you find yourself skimming over the bits you've seen before.
Now, we're located at a far cry from all that. We're by the beach, surounded by what I would call a huge tourist trap. LOL The shops along the beach are filled with what I've seen many times before... McDonald's, Burger King (Hungry Jacks for Aussies), Ben & Jerry's (ice-cream), shops selling sunnies, t-shirts and fridge magnets galore. I am happy to hear the ocean from my hotel room, but am eager to get back to Málaga's CBD, where all the history and culture is. I feel like I did when I visited Nice, in the south of France. All affluence and show, and no substance.
Not all is bad though... we've managed to find a decent paella down there by the beach. The best I've ever had in Spain thus far. I wonder if we'll find one better before returning to Australia?
Before I sign off... I must mention my tapas experience in Cordoba. We found a small tapas bar opposite the infamous Calleja de las Flores called Tapas 101. Tapas are amazing. Small pinches of food, each costing 2-Euro. One orders four or five pinches/tapas, and one feels quite full by the end of the courses.
One I has was Berenjenas con Miel (Aubergines with honey). At first, I was a little repelled by the concept of mixing the two flavours, but as always, I give new things a try, and if I don't like them, I never return to try again. These aubergines were divine! The best tapas I've ever had! Apparently, they're a favourite Cordoban recipe, and I could understand why. Yummmmm....
These were accompanied by Croquetas Bacalao (Cod Croquets), Cogillitos de Lechuga (Garlic Lettuce), sangria (of course), and finished with Arroz con Leche (Rice pudding). A gastronomic adventure... So glad I'm walking asround an awful lot, otherwise I'd definitely be returning to Australia wider than when I left it.
Ok... tomorrow, Picasso...
I wonder if Tony Flags will be floating around anywhere, paying a visit to the rellies? That'd be another kind of yummmm...
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
:)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
goodbye seville, hello cordoba...
Last night we dined at Alfonso XIII, which is located next to the old cigar factory of Carmen fame. An impressive sight to behold... Sevillian tiles with elaborate decoration on the walls, arches that remind you of the Arab influence in the Spanish architecture of the South of Spain. Sheer luxury... the seats were comfortable, the service impeccable. Just one thing... the food was disappointing and overpriced. LOL
Ah well, can't win 'em all...
Despite this hiccup, it was a memorable last day in Seville, as we got to walk around the old part of the city after dark. It never ceases to amaze me how much nightlife Spain has. I felt it more in Seville than in Madrid. The Sevillians are proud of their city, and enjoy it to the fullest. As a non-Spanish speaker, even an outsider such as I can feel the love they have for their home. They are passionate about their history and fervent in celebrating all kinds of festivals within it.
One thing that has been constant since we got to Spain is our use of taxis. Now, before you freak out, imagining the cost of these trips, let me say that they are much cheaper than taxis in Melbourne. A trip across the city, equivalent to the length of a trip from say, Melbourne University, to the Victorian Arts Centre, costs about 5-Euro. Last I checked, the Aussie dollar was equivalent to about 75-Euro cents. It's still a lot cheaper than taking a taxi in Melbourne.
Besides, with my leg giving me issues after a long day, I am extremely grateful to have some pain relief by taking a taxi. I have never been a fan of public transport in Melbourne - I'm certainly not going to start being a fan of it in a city I know very little about.
The good part about taking taxis are the taxi drivers. They are the most colourful characters you'll meet, and know the cities they work in, inside and out. They always provide you with the scoop on the best places to eat, visit, avoid, and they can enlighten you on the cultural habits of the locals that the average tourist may not be aware of.
We've even had taxi drivers that will happily recite the work of a famous poet, just because we happened to pass a monument dedicated to a writer of historical note. We've had singers, wine connoisseurs, complainers of the country (who have lived elsewhere in Europe and seem to be unhappy with their current living arrangements), jokers, and desperate singles trying to pick up one of their passengers (not me, my mother... LOL).
Today, in Cordoba, we had a lovely taxi driver who was pleased to give us a tour of Cordoba, with explanations of its history and all. Sure, it took longer to get back to our hotel, but since we're only in Cordoba for two whole days, we won't be able to see everything there is to see, and were glad to at least be driven past the sights we won't be able to enjoy before we leave for Málaga.
We got to Cordoba from Seville at 9am this morning. We stopped at a tourist information booth at the train station to get a map so we could find our way around. Before we knew it, we had signed up to see a show of Andalusian horses at the former royal stables in the heart of Cordoba. Such beautiful horses, and so smart, following all the instructions delivered by their trainers en cue. I filmed parts of the show - perhaps I will add them to my YouTube account when I return to Australia.
This is my second time in Cordoba, and I am still greatly impressed and overwhelmed by the age of the buildings and monuments here. Part of the city still preserves a wall, constructed by the Romans when they were here. Of course, there's the mezquita (mosque) that Cordoba is renowned for... I'm sure everyone has seen its red and white arches at some point or another. This building dates back to the 720AD, from memory. I will find out for sure tomorrow, when I visit it for the second time in my life.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Cordoba is one of the places in Spain that I would happily reside in if I ever got the chance to. There's something very relaxing about this city, it seems to have a very easy-going way of life.
Well, tomorrow is another day, and a big one too, I suspect. So much to see and do here, and so little time. Not to worry, I'll keep you posted - internet access is free in our hotel. Yay!
Hasta luego, mis amigos!
:)
Ah well, can't win 'em all...
Despite this hiccup, it was a memorable last day in Seville, as we got to walk around the old part of the city after dark. It never ceases to amaze me how much nightlife Spain has. I felt it more in Seville than in Madrid. The Sevillians are proud of their city, and enjoy it to the fullest. As a non-Spanish speaker, even an outsider such as I can feel the love they have for their home. They are passionate about their history and fervent in celebrating all kinds of festivals within it.
One thing that has been constant since we got to Spain is our use of taxis. Now, before you freak out, imagining the cost of these trips, let me say that they are much cheaper than taxis in Melbourne. A trip across the city, equivalent to the length of a trip from say, Melbourne University, to the Victorian Arts Centre, costs about 5-Euro. Last I checked, the Aussie dollar was equivalent to about 75-Euro cents. It's still a lot cheaper than taking a taxi in Melbourne.
Besides, with my leg giving me issues after a long day, I am extremely grateful to have some pain relief by taking a taxi. I have never been a fan of public transport in Melbourne - I'm certainly not going to start being a fan of it in a city I know very little about.
The good part about taking taxis are the taxi drivers. They are the most colourful characters you'll meet, and know the cities they work in, inside and out. They always provide you with the scoop on the best places to eat, visit, avoid, and they can enlighten you on the cultural habits of the locals that the average tourist may not be aware of.
We've even had taxi drivers that will happily recite the work of a famous poet, just because we happened to pass a monument dedicated to a writer of historical note. We've had singers, wine connoisseurs, complainers of the country (who have lived elsewhere in Europe and seem to be unhappy with their current living arrangements), jokers, and desperate singles trying to pick up one of their passengers (not me, my mother... LOL).
Today, in Cordoba, we had a lovely taxi driver who was pleased to give us a tour of Cordoba, with explanations of its history and all. Sure, it took longer to get back to our hotel, but since we're only in Cordoba for two whole days, we won't be able to see everything there is to see, and were glad to at least be driven past the sights we won't be able to enjoy before we leave for Málaga.
We got to Cordoba from Seville at 9am this morning. We stopped at a tourist information booth at the train station to get a map so we could find our way around. Before we knew it, we had signed up to see a show of Andalusian horses at the former royal stables in the heart of Cordoba. Such beautiful horses, and so smart, following all the instructions delivered by their trainers en cue. I filmed parts of the show - perhaps I will add them to my YouTube account when I return to Australia.
This is my second time in Cordoba, and I am still greatly impressed and overwhelmed by the age of the buildings and monuments here. Part of the city still preserves a wall, constructed by the Romans when they were here. Of course, there's the mezquita (mosque) that Cordoba is renowned for... I'm sure everyone has seen its red and white arches at some point or another. This building dates back to the 720AD, from memory. I will find out for sure tomorrow, when I visit it for the second time in my life.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Cordoba is one of the places in Spain that I would happily reside in if I ever got the chance to. There's something very relaxing about this city, it seems to have a very easy-going way of life.
Well, tomorrow is another day, and a big one too, I suspect. So much to see and do here, and so little time. Not to worry, I'll keep you posted - internet access is free in our hotel. Yay!
Hasta luego, mis amigos!
:)
Friday, March 18, 2011
flamenco and... more questions....
Yes, last night was the visit to Tabloa de Arenal, a place to dine and watch flamenco. Amazing, entertaining, exciting, passionate... I could not take my eyes of the performers, which consisted of singers, guitarists and, of course, dancers. The footwork of the dancers is stupefying - I always have trouble understanding how the human brain can get the feet to move that fast, and with such precision.
Even though I thoroughly enjoy watching a good flamenco performance, I am always a little sad by the end of the night. I wish I had studied the art of flamenco myself. The music inspires me, the expressions on the faces of the dancers, the dramatic gestures and emphatic movements which proclaim proudly that life is something to be savoured and lived to the fullest. Unfortunately, when I was young, I was not allowed to take up flamenco classes - something which always leaves me with a feeling of regret and longing for a pursuit that could have been. Of course, now, it would be physically impossible for me to start any kind of classes - my motorcycle accident took care of that. So, I watch, and pretend that I am up there dancing with them, feeling the heat and the passion as well.
If you have never seen a good flamenco performance, I suggest you watch a particular film, to understand what I talking about. There is a flamenco version of the story of Carmen, which is a famous opera by the composer, Bizet. Not to worry... The flamenco version is not sung - it's a modern interpretation of the story, not the music. (I know that opera doesn't float everyone's boat.)
Anyway, this film, also titled Carmen, is directed by Carlos Saura, and the flamenco in it is marvellous. The film provides the viewer with a much better undertanding of the passion behind flamenco, and the work involved in perfecting the skill of dancing it.
The words I type here will never do the art of flamenco justice. It's a feeling, almost indescribable to someone like me. One has to watch it to get an idea of what I mean. So, I cannot go on about my experience in the tablao last night - it is an extremely personal one. All I can say is that it was truly amazing and uplifting, and I'm looking forward to seeing more when I get to Barcelona.
So, I will move on to the questions that I have about what I have seen so far in the beautiful country...
Walking through the narrow streets of Seville, I wonder about silly things like garbage collection. Yesterday, I noticed that there were a few bins, about the size of the wheelie bins we use in Australia, standing out on the street. There is no access for cars, let alone trucks, on these narrow streets. How is the garbage collected? Surely, garbologists don't have to wheel each bin individually out of the old part of the city to the main road for it to be collected every week? That concept would require a LOT of staff in order to maintain the routine of collecting it. I hope I will work up the nerve to ask the hotel staff before I check out on Sunday and move on to Cordoba.
In Toledo, I had another question, which was ultimately answered via observation. Toledo is an old city, dating back to settlement in the fifteenth century, I think. The streets there are also narrow. The last time I was in Toledo, in 2005, I had a car rental. I was scared sh*tless driving through Toledo's streets, even though I had a tiny Citroen hatchback. The streets were so narrow, I tucked in my side mirrors, as I felt that driving down them was an extremely tight squeeze. I was so scared about damaging the car, which was not mine.
Amazingly, the locals whizz up and down them at 40-60kms per hour, happily. I watch them in awe. thanking my lucky stars that I'm not driving through them again this time around. However, one thing I have noticed since, is that MANY cars here have dents and scratches all over them. It doesn't take a genius to wonder why.
In my first week in Madrid, there were 15 deaths on the road in the city. The footage of the aftermath was scary - the cars looked as though they had been through a wringer - they were almost unrecognisable as cars. It made me a little nervous about the prospect of drving the car I have organised to get from Granada, to Cuenca, Murcia and finally, Zaragoza, before I return to taking trains again. I know I will be driving like a little granny on the right-hand lane (which is the slow lane in this country).
So another question arises... will I die in Spain? LOL
I keep asking the locals about scooter rentals - there don't seem to be any! Scooters are extremely popular here - a perfect vehicle for all the narrow streets. I see motorcycles too, but my impression is that a motorcycle is just too powerful a vehicle for zipping around on these streets. I saw one take off when a red light changed to green yesterday. The rider quickly got up into third gear, built up his momentum, and then dropped immediately back into first to stop at the next intersection. I now understand why we have far more motorcycles in the cities in Australia - we have far more space! Our streets are wider, there are more lanes, and the intersections are further apart. Plus, we have far more wide, open space. There ain't no Nullarbor here, folks!
A scooter would be perfect... but, then I think of what I've seen many times here already. Cars change lanes without indicators, or checking their blind spots. Scooters have been cut off many times by cars - it's amazing that they still happily zip around, squeezing into the traffic and taking short-cuts whenever they can.
Moving on... no matter how hard I try, I cannot get used to the late dinners here! 8.30pm is an EARLY dinner in Spain. People in restuarants, where we make dinner reservations, seek clarification when we ask for a booking for 8 or 8.30pm. They are stunned that we would want to eat so early. They try, unsuccessfully, to persuade us to have a 9.30/10pm booking instead.
Since I have found out that the Spaniards don't really get a siesta in the afternoon any more, I often wonder how they have the energy to rise for work at 7pm, start work between 8/9am, and go right through to knock-off time at 6 or 7pm... returning home to freshen up for dinner at 9pm! wtf?? I'm sure I'd collapse in a drained heap if I stay here longer than 6 weeks!
So, what doesn life mean to these people? They spend a lot of time with one another, partaking in tapas, pinchos and aperitivos in restaurants, bodegas and cafes all over the city. When do they think about their lives? Is there time for reflection? Or is their experience all one big rush through the day, catching up with friends and loved ones before they go to sleep? I often find myself wishing my Spanish were more fluent so that I could ask some of these questions. I guess I might have to walk down the same path as Earnest Hemingway, and actually live here, immerse myself, and start by slowly building relationships to finally understand if the Spanish, generally, are as happy as they seem to be on the surface.
Ahhh.... don't you love it when the questions that arise in your head don't always have answers? It can make you mad, or make you philosophise more than usual in pursuit of "truth".
Just on that point...
Yesterday, I also managed to go and visit the Auditorio de la Cartuja, which is located on the other side of the Guadalquivir. (By the way, the name of this river is Arabic - it means "Big River". There is also a place in Spain called Guadalajara, another Arabic name. This one, I always find funny, as it literally means "River of Sh*t" - some fascinating trivia for you all. LOL)
At the Cartuja, there are exhibitions of contemporary art. We were there for hours. One artist by the name of Alfonso Jaar, had a Marxist Lounge. In this room, which had red walls, black couches, and a red neon light with the name Marx Lounge, there was a huge table in the centre. On it, were numerous books, lying face up. Mainly Spanish titles, but about a third were English. All titles were about Marx, Engels, Che Guevara, Socialism, Existentialism, all kinds of modern philosophy and thinkers.
I took ages looking at all the books, wishing I could spend a few weeks reading some of the titles here. Yes, it was an "art work", but you could touch and feel the books, and sit on the couches to read them, if you so desrired.
I found authors I recognised from my own reading pursuits... John Pilger, Tariq Ali, Ryszard Kapuscinski... I was so overwhelmed with the array, I took photos, so that I could chase up some of the titles when I return to Melbourne.
Yes... as I stated earlier... questions, questions and more questions... I will found out some of the answers in the near future I suppose. And if I don't, oh well... not all questions can or will be answered.
Hasta la vista, mis amigos...
:)
xx
Even though I thoroughly enjoy watching a good flamenco performance, I am always a little sad by the end of the night. I wish I had studied the art of flamenco myself. The music inspires me, the expressions on the faces of the dancers, the dramatic gestures and emphatic movements which proclaim proudly that life is something to be savoured and lived to the fullest. Unfortunately, when I was young, I was not allowed to take up flamenco classes - something which always leaves me with a feeling of regret and longing for a pursuit that could have been. Of course, now, it would be physically impossible for me to start any kind of classes - my motorcycle accident took care of that. So, I watch, and pretend that I am up there dancing with them, feeling the heat and the passion as well.
If you have never seen a good flamenco performance, I suggest you watch a particular film, to understand what I talking about. There is a flamenco version of the story of Carmen, which is a famous opera by the composer, Bizet. Not to worry... The flamenco version is not sung - it's a modern interpretation of the story, not the music. (I know that opera doesn't float everyone's boat.)
Anyway, this film, also titled Carmen, is directed by Carlos Saura, and the flamenco in it is marvellous. The film provides the viewer with a much better undertanding of the passion behind flamenco, and the work involved in perfecting the skill of dancing it.
The words I type here will never do the art of flamenco justice. It's a feeling, almost indescribable to someone like me. One has to watch it to get an idea of what I mean. So, I cannot go on about my experience in the tablao last night - it is an extremely personal one. All I can say is that it was truly amazing and uplifting, and I'm looking forward to seeing more when I get to Barcelona.
So, I will move on to the questions that I have about what I have seen so far in the beautiful country...
Walking through the narrow streets of Seville, I wonder about silly things like garbage collection. Yesterday, I noticed that there were a few bins, about the size of the wheelie bins we use in Australia, standing out on the street. There is no access for cars, let alone trucks, on these narrow streets. How is the garbage collected? Surely, garbologists don't have to wheel each bin individually out of the old part of the city to the main road for it to be collected every week? That concept would require a LOT of staff in order to maintain the routine of collecting it. I hope I will work up the nerve to ask the hotel staff before I check out on Sunday and move on to Cordoba.
In Toledo, I had another question, which was ultimately answered via observation. Toledo is an old city, dating back to settlement in the fifteenth century, I think. The streets there are also narrow. The last time I was in Toledo, in 2005, I had a car rental. I was scared sh*tless driving through Toledo's streets, even though I had a tiny Citroen hatchback. The streets were so narrow, I tucked in my side mirrors, as I felt that driving down them was an extremely tight squeeze. I was so scared about damaging the car, which was not mine.
Amazingly, the locals whizz up and down them at 40-60kms per hour, happily. I watch them in awe. thanking my lucky stars that I'm not driving through them again this time around. However, one thing I have noticed since, is that MANY cars here have dents and scratches all over them. It doesn't take a genius to wonder why.
In my first week in Madrid, there were 15 deaths on the road in the city. The footage of the aftermath was scary - the cars looked as though they had been through a wringer - they were almost unrecognisable as cars. It made me a little nervous about the prospect of drving the car I have organised to get from Granada, to Cuenca, Murcia and finally, Zaragoza, before I return to taking trains again. I know I will be driving like a little granny on the right-hand lane (which is the slow lane in this country).
So another question arises... will I die in Spain? LOL
I keep asking the locals about scooter rentals - there don't seem to be any! Scooters are extremely popular here - a perfect vehicle for all the narrow streets. I see motorcycles too, but my impression is that a motorcycle is just too powerful a vehicle for zipping around on these streets. I saw one take off when a red light changed to green yesterday. The rider quickly got up into third gear, built up his momentum, and then dropped immediately back into first to stop at the next intersection. I now understand why we have far more motorcycles in the cities in Australia - we have far more space! Our streets are wider, there are more lanes, and the intersections are further apart. Plus, we have far more wide, open space. There ain't no Nullarbor here, folks!
A scooter would be perfect... but, then I think of what I've seen many times here already. Cars change lanes without indicators, or checking their blind spots. Scooters have been cut off many times by cars - it's amazing that they still happily zip around, squeezing into the traffic and taking short-cuts whenever they can.
Moving on... no matter how hard I try, I cannot get used to the late dinners here! 8.30pm is an EARLY dinner in Spain. People in restuarants, where we make dinner reservations, seek clarification when we ask for a booking for 8 or 8.30pm. They are stunned that we would want to eat so early. They try, unsuccessfully, to persuade us to have a 9.30/10pm booking instead.
Since I have found out that the Spaniards don't really get a siesta in the afternoon any more, I often wonder how they have the energy to rise for work at 7pm, start work between 8/9am, and go right through to knock-off time at 6 or 7pm... returning home to freshen up for dinner at 9pm! wtf?? I'm sure I'd collapse in a drained heap if I stay here longer than 6 weeks!
So, what doesn life mean to these people? They spend a lot of time with one another, partaking in tapas, pinchos and aperitivos in restaurants, bodegas and cafes all over the city. When do they think about their lives? Is there time for reflection? Or is their experience all one big rush through the day, catching up with friends and loved ones before they go to sleep? I often find myself wishing my Spanish were more fluent so that I could ask some of these questions. I guess I might have to walk down the same path as Earnest Hemingway, and actually live here, immerse myself, and start by slowly building relationships to finally understand if the Spanish, generally, are as happy as they seem to be on the surface.
Ahhh.... don't you love it when the questions that arise in your head don't always have answers? It can make you mad, or make you philosophise more than usual in pursuit of "truth".
Just on that point...
Yesterday, I also managed to go and visit the Auditorio de la Cartuja, which is located on the other side of the Guadalquivir. (By the way, the name of this river is Arabic - it means "Big River". There is also a place in Spain called Guadalajara, another Arabic name. This one, I always find funny, as it literally means "River of Sh*t" - some fascinating trivia for you all. LOL)
At the Cartuja, there are exhibitions of contemporary art. We were there for hours. One artist by the name of Alfonso Jaar, had a Marxist Lounge. In this room, which had red walls, black couches, and a red neon light with the name Marx Lounge, there was a huge table in the centre. On it, were numerous books, lying face up. Mainly Spanish titles, but about a third were English. All titles were about Marx, Engels, Che Guevara, Socialism, Existentialism, all kinds of modern philosophy and thinkers.
I took ages looking at all the books, wishing I could spend a few weeks reading some of the titles here. Yes, it was an "art work", but you could touch and feel the books, and sit on the couches to read them, if you so desrired.
I found authors I recognised from my own reading pursuits... John Pilger, Tariq Ali, Ryszard Kapuscinski... I was so overwhelmed with the array, I took photos, so that I could chase up some of the titles when I return to Melbourne.
Yes... as I stated earlier... questions, questions and more questions... I will found out some of the answers in the near future I suppose. And if I don't, oh well... not all questions can or will be answered.
Hasta la vista, mis amigos...
:)
xx
Thursday, March 17, 2011
blessings and a magical ball...
Women offering blessings and palm readings are always to be seen around the main tourist attractions in Seville. I am told that they are gypsies seeking money for these services. I suppose that they are the Spanish equivalent of the Romany people in France which the French are trying to eject from their country.
Yesterday afternoon, whilst enjoying a coffee outside the Plaza de España, I was approached by an old woman dressed in brightly coloured clothes, with a rose in her hair, offering me a green leaf of some sort. She was telling me that the green leaf was for blessings and luck, and she then proceeded to grab my hands to read my palms. Apparently, I will have a long life and two children. Uh-huh...
This went on for a while, and I have to admit, I got impatient. I knew she wanted money, and I tried to dissuade her by pretending not to understand a word she was saying. At the same time, I felt sorry for her. But, then I remembered another experience with these gypsies the last time I was in Seville: three women surrounded me, two taking me by the arms, the third offering me blessings with her sprig of rosemary, marking the cross on my forehead. I got nervous, as I knew they were trying to pick my pockets. Thankfully, at the time, I had my passport and money in a pouch around my neck - if they wanted to rip me off, they would have had to get into my blouse.
These memories came flooding back when this woman took my hands to read my palms. I resisted by repeating the words "No, gracias" over and over to get the message through that I wasn't interested. Of course, she ignored me, and kept telling me wonderful things about my future before she lowered the boom. "Dinero", she stated expectantly.
It was at this point that my mother interrupted and said to her in Spanish: "We are not interested, Please leave us alone."
Boy, did that change this women's tone. The smile immediately disappeared from her face, and she turned to my mother and snarled "Eres muy mala!" (You're very bad!)
My mother retorted, with equal vitriol: "Si, soy mala!" (Yes, I am bad!)
The woman roughly let go of my hands, and walked away, repeating the insult over and over to my mother, as if she were warning the other customers present that they should avoid this brujita (witch).
My sympathy for this woman completely disappeared. I was on the verge of giving her something, because she did look like life had gotten the better of her, and times were tough. But, witnessing the ominous change in her face when we insisted we weren't interested, it was like seeing her eat one of the oranges from the trees that were everywhere!
Despite this unsavoury experience, the night improved. We didn't end up going to the tablao (we had the wrong night). So instead, we went to a restaurant called Puerto Delicias. The dinner and sangria was lovely... but, I must make mention of the dessert I had. The waiter came out with a plate and a small jug. He put the plate in front of me, announcing what it was. I saw a halved strawberry, some grated chocolate around it, and a large dark chocolate ball about the size of a clenched fist.
Before I could ask any questions, with a flourish, the waiter started to pour the contents of the jug over the chocolate ball. As he did so, I realised that the jug contained hot, melted white chocolate. As he poured this hot chocolate over the ball, it melted to reveal a little cake inside. Before I knew it, the cake was at the centre of my plate, next to the strawberry, surrounded by a brown and white moat of delightful, heavenly sweetness.
Ahh! I was amazed at this miraculous, magical ball of dessert. So much so, my mouth was agape as I watched this amazing event unfold before my eyes. The taste? Equally as divine. Had I just had a religious experience? I didn't wait to consider this. I immediately got to work, spooning the goodness in.
If any of you ever go to Seville, I HIGHLY recommend this place. The rest of the meal was great - the dessert was just a perfect way to end a perfect dining experience.
I'll leave it there for now... It's 10am here in Seville, and there are more things to see and enjoy out there. The rain from Toledo has abated here, and the sun is out and shining. I think it's time for another promenade to see what else can be discovered.
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
xx
:)
Yesterday afternoon, whilst enjoying a coffee outside the Plaza de España, I was approached by an old woman dressed in brightly coloured clothes, with a rose in her hair, offering me a green leaf of some sort. She was telling me that the green leaf was for blessings and luck, and she then proceeded to grab my hands to read my palms. Apparently, I will have a long life and two children. Uh-huh...
This went on for a while, and I have to admit, I got impatient. I knew she wanted money, and I tried to dissuade her by pretending not to understand a word she was saying. At the same time, I felt sorry for her. But, then I remembered another experience with these gypsies the last time I was in Seville: three women surrounded me, two taking me by the arms, the third offering me blessings with her sprig of rosemary, marking the cross on my forehead. I got nervous, as I knew they were trying to pick my pockets. Thankfully, at the time, I had my passport and money in a pouch around my neck - if they wanted to rip me off, they would have had to get into my blouse.
These memories came flooding back when this woman took my hands to read my palms. I resisted by repeating the words "No, gracias" over and over to get the message through that I wasn't interested. Of course, she ignored me, and kept telling me wonderful things about my future before she lowered the boom. "Dinero", she stated expectantly.
It was at this point that my mother interrupted and said to her in Spanish: "We are not interested, Please leave us alone."
Boy, did that change this women's tone. The smile immediately disappeared from her face, and she turned to my mother and snarled "Eres muy mala!" (You're very bad!)
My mother retorted, with equal vitriol: "Si, soy mala!" (Yes, I am bad!)
The woman roughly let go of my hands, and walked away, repeating the insult over and over to my mother, as if she were warning the other customers present that they should avoid this brujita (witch).
My sympathy for this woman completely disappeared. I was on the verge of giving her something, because she did look like life had gotten the better of her, and times were tough. But, witnessing the ominous change in her face when we insisted we weren't interested, it was like seeing her eat one of the oranges from the trees that were everywhere!
Despite this unsavoury experience, the night improved. We didn't end up going to the tablao (we had the wrong night). So instead, we went to a restaurant called Puerto Delicias. The dinner and sangria was lovely... but, I must make mention of the dessert I had. The waiter came out with a plate and a small jug. He put the plate in front of me, announcing what it was. I saw a halved strawberry, some grated chocolate around it, and a large dark chocolate ball about the size of a clenched fist.
Before I could ask any questions, with a flourish, the waiter started to pour the contents of the jug over the chocolate ball. As he did so, I realised that the jug contained hot, melted white chocolate. As he poured this hot chocolate over the ball, it melted to reveal a little cake inside. Before I knew it, the cake was at the centre of my plate, next to the strawberry, surrounded by a brown and white moat of delightful, heavenly sweetness.
Ahh! I was amazed at this miraculous, magical ball of dessert. So much so, my mouth was agape as I watched this amazing event unfold before my eyes. The taste? Equally as divine. Had I just had a religious experience? I didn't wait to consider this. I immediately got to work, spooning the goodness in.
If any of you ever go to Seville, I HIGHLY recommend this place. The rest of the meal was great - the dessert was just a perfect way to end a perfect dining experience.
I'll leave it there for now... It's 10am here in Seville, and there are more things to see and enjoy out there. The rain from Toledo has abated here, and the sun is out and shining. I think it's time for another promenade to see what else can be discovered.
Hasta la vista, mis amigos!
xx
:)
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