Someone wants me to stay in Spain.
Or at least tried to make it hard for me to leave.
I returned home early this morning at 2:00 am, only to wake up at 5:00 am to get ready for my flights - Barcelona to Madrid to Toronto to San Francisco. It was going to be a long day.
Someone made it seem even longer. This someone was first a man, then a woman, then a woman again, though I don't know if it was the same one as before.
After arriving at the Barcelona airport, I checked the board then headed toward gate A1 for my flight. Nice, I thought, just a short walk. Wrong, I realized, gate A1 was at the of the long corridor. Imagine a single, long corridor of gates from A1 to C100 or so. I was dropped off near A35, so I had a long way to walk. No worries. I arrived in plenty of time.
I began my leisurely stroll toward A1. Several minutes, just when I was approaching the gate, this English announcement came, preceded by its Spanish brother: "Passengers on flight Vueling 1012 to Madrid, please proceed to gate B49." Oh, brother. Couldn't they have done this earlier?
After a heavy sigh, I turned around and joined the other folks heading toward B49. I distinctly noticed the clicks of a particular woman's heels striking the ground.
Two minutes later, near gate A13, came another announcement, via a female voice this time: "Passengers on flight Vueling 1012 to Madrid, your gate has been changed to B65." Make up your mind, folks. My silent bitching lasted just a few expletives since B65 wasn't far from B49.
Some time later, I lost track of where I was by this time, came a third announcement: "Passengers on flight Vueling 1012 to Madrid, please go to gate A1 for your flight." Are you friggin' kiddin' me!?#@ Someone had to be playing a joke on us. I felt sorry for anyone on the flight with peripheral vascular disease or a heart condition. (That's as medical as I've ever gotten in my blog.)
I turned around. My bitching lasted longer this time.
More time passed. I was still walking. I was still hearing that woman's heels. I heard another announcement: "Passengers on flight Vueling 1012 to Madrid, your gate is B59." Don't ask me where I was when I heard this; maybe I was somewhere around T709. At that moment, I was hoping that there would be some threat from terrorists who were plotting to blow up our plane with loaded tripes and calamari rings and that this was the clever and ultra-sexy Spanish people's way of fooling them. But no, the only fools were those of us walking from A1 to B49 to B65 to A1 to B59.
Finally, I arrived at the gate. Boarding had already begun. I had to ask the hot Spanish guy collecting boarding passes what those gate changes were about (I had no other motive at the time). He offered no intelligent answer. I was disappointed.
Three flights, two continents, and one ocean later, I returned home to San Francisco.
Did I go anywhere? Did I meet anyone? Did I try new food? Will I do it again? Where will I go next time? With whom will I share that adventure?
Friday, September 18, 2009
first x3
Most of us have dreams, goals, fantasies. Some of those we want to have come true, whereas others forever remain sources of stimulation and daydreams.
I had a fantasy come true today. Actually, more like last night. It didn't seem possible at first, but ultimately a little divine intervention willed it to happen. I shall say no more.
Except that it was a first for me. x3
I had a fantasy come true today. Actually, more like last night. It didn't seem possible at first, but ultimately a little divine intervention willed it to happen. I shall say no more.
Except that it was a first for me. x3
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
gaudy or gaudi?
Today was my Gaudi day. Everyday is my gaudy day.
A visit to Barcelona has almost become synonymous with a visit to Gaudi's architectural pieces, so that was my focus today. As I am not an expert in architecture, nor can I retain any historical data in my brain for longer than a day (sometimes less), I will not embarrass myself with any sort of pretense in understanding his art. However, what I can say that his work is one-of-a-kind and leaves an everlasting impression; therefore, by my definition of an artist, he has succeeded.
A quick internet search told me that the word gaudy dates back to 1582. I wonder if there is any correlation between the adjective and his name.
I took advantage of my trip on foot to Gaudi's various buildings to get lost. Please notice how I made getting lost sound almost intentional. I was generously awarded gastronomically. My yet-unfulfilled mission in search of amazing culinary satifaction in Barcelona came to an end.
I had visited a few travel guide-recommended tapas restaurants in the city, but none were spectacular. Today I wondered as I wandered, and I came across this little restaurant on a random street near Sagrada Familia. I ordered fried calamari and tripe. I almost died.
The tripe was braised with chunks of pork that were mostly just fat. It was an amazing combination. They must raise pigs differently in Spain. Why is it Americans insist on engineering our food to make them tasteless, unhealthy globs of nonsense is beyond me. I had never had pork fat like this - chewy, not greasy, with tons of flavor. I devoured both servings of food, short of licking every bit of juice off the utensils and plates. I wanted to cry.
I don't know if the six hours of walking I did today was enough to balance the amount of food I ate, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
I'm praying my heart will beat for a long time to come.
A visit to Barcelona has almost become synonymous with a visit to Gaudi's architectural pieces, so that was my focus today. As I am not an expert in architecture, nor can I retain any historical data in my brain for longer than a day (sometimes less), I will not embarrass myself with any sort of pretense in understanding his art. However, what I can say that his work is one-of-a-kind and leaves an everlasting impression; therefore, by my definition of an artist, he has succeeded.
A quick internet search told me that the word gaudy dates back to 1582. I wonder if there is any correlation between the adjective and his name.
I took advantage of my trip on foot to Gaudi's various buildings to get lost. Please notice how I made getting lost sound almost intentional. I was generously awarded gastronomically. My yet-unfulfilled mission in search of amazing culinary satifaction in Barcelona came to an end.
I had visited a few travel guide-recommended tapas restaurants in the city, but none were spectacular. Today I wondered as I wandered, and I came across this little restaurant on a random street near Sagrada Familia. I ordered fried calamari and tripe. I almost died.
The tripe was braised with chunks of pork that were mostly just fat. It was an amazing combination. They must raise pigs differently in Spain. Why is it Americans insist on engineering our food to make them tasteless, unhealthy globs of nonsense is beyond me. I had never had pork fat like this - chewy, not greasy, with tons of flavor. I devoured both servings of food, short of licking every bit of juice off the utensils and plates. I wanted to cry.
I don't know if the six hours of walking I did today was enough to balance the amount of food I ate, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
I'm praying my heart will beat for a long time to come.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
embracing fear
On the train from Valencia back to Barcelona today, I met a man.
A man from Orange County, California.
He had been laid off, so he decided to take the opportunity to do something he had always dreamed of doing - living and traveling in Europe. He made Valencia his home base - learning Spanish and making new friends. He also made his way all over Europe - on planes, trains, cars, bicycles, and foot. He would make random stops in small towns never mentioned in travel guides. That's how he met this Scot.
He didn't remember the name of this young man, nor do I that of my storyteller. Our young Scot decided to make the same trip - to spends months in Europe. But there was one important difference - he did so without a single shilling. He hitchhiked everywhere and made friends every stop along the way to ensure survival. "What else could you possibly fear after that," said the man from Orange County.
In some ways this trip of mine is also some form of confronting my fears - fear of the inability to communicate with people, fear of being ignored, fear of rejection, fear of humid weather. I can't say that I have or will overcome all of them...
That's all... What? Were you expecting something profound after that sentence?
A man from Orange County, California.
He had been laid off, so he decided to take the opportunity to do something he had always dreamed of doing - living and traveling in Europe. He made Valencia his home base - learning Spanish and making new friends. He also made his way all over Europe - on planes, trains, cars, bicycles, and foot. He would make random stops in small towns never mentioned in travel guides. That's how he met this Scot.
He didn't remember the name of this young man, nor do I that of my storyteller. Our young Scot decided to make the same trip - to spends months in Europe. But there was one important difference - he did so without a single shilling. He hitchhiked everywhere and made friends every stop along the way to ensure survival. "What else could you possibly fear after that," said the man from Orange County.
In some ways this trip of mine is also some form of confronting my fears - fear of the inability to communicate with people, fear of being ignored, fear of rejection, fear of humid weather. I can't say that I have or will overcome all of them...
That's all... What? Were you expecting something profound after that sentence?
Monday, September 14, 2009
calatrava, paella, orchata, oh my!
What is Valencia known for?
I think most Americans would say oranges. Sure, there's that, but if you read my entry from yesterday, you might have also said Santiago Calatrava. But I bet most of you didn't know that Valencia is where the classic Spanish dish paella was born.
Andrés is very proud of this fact, so he took me out on a trip to the beach to enjoy some local cuisine. A caveat, he added, was that we would not be having the best paella in town, for we had to sacrifice the best quality for a beautiful ocean view.
I could live with that.
For the paella to be perfect, the ingredients had to be perfect, just like making any other classic dish in the world. Even the water used to cook the rice is important. If my memory serves me right (this is my Iron Chef moment again), I believe Andrés mentioned something about the higher concentration of calcium in Valencia's water that makes its paella perfect.
I could believe that.
For a delicious lunch of authentic, but not the best, paella and another classic Valencia specialty of small, fried fish, the only thing we could think of was to have dessert. And, of course, we were on course to try another Valencian specialty - the orchata. Never heard of it? How about horchata? Or orxata? It's a milk-like drink made with small, hard nuts, which I later found out were called tigernuts. And by later I meant 5 minutes when I googled orchata. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon; we were sitting in a restaurant-like café filled with people tasting this special treat. Andrés got a couple of glasses for me (they go down fast) in the slushy form, and I was hooked. Subtly sweet, with a gentle, nutty aroma. Nothing overpowering. Everything you want in a dessert. Anything to have another glass.
I could go on like that.
I think most Americans would say oranges. Sure, there's that, but if you read my entry from yesterday, you might have also said Santiago Calatrava. But I bet most of you didn't know that Valencia is where the classic Spanish dish paella was born.
Andrés is very proud of this fact, so he took me out on a trip to the beach to enjoy some local cuisine. A caveat, he added, was that we would not be having the best paella in town, for we had to sacrifice the best quality for a beautiful ocean view.
I could live with that.
For the paella to be perfect, the ingredients had to be perfect, just like making any other classic dish in the world. Even the water used to cook the rice is important. If my memory serves me right (this is my Iron Chef moment again), I believe Andrés mentioned something about the higher concentration of calcium in Valencia's water that makes its paella perfect.
I could believe that.
For a delicious lunch of authentic, but not the best, paella and another classic Valencia specialty of small, fried fish, the only thing we could think of was to have dessert. And, of course, we were on course to try another Valencian specialty - the orchata. Never heard of it? How about horchata? Or orxata? It's a milk-like drink made with small, hard nuts, which I later found out were called tigernuts. And by later I meant 5 minutes when I googled orchata. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon; we were sitting in a restaurant-like café filled with people tasting this special treat. Andrés got a couple of glasses for me (they go down fast) in the slushy form, and I was hooked. Subtly sweet, with a gentle, nutty aroma. Nothing overpowering. Everything you want in a dessert. Anything to have another glass.
I could go on like that.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
somewhere between b and v
Exactly one year ago, on September 13, 2008, I was performing in San Francisco with the Bay Area Rainbow Symphony.
In the audience was Andrés, a teacher from Valencia, Spain whom I met through tennis. He was spending a three-month sabbatical in San Francisco to flee the routine and reflect on his life. I might have done something like that myself. I might have done it twice.
Now, a year later, we are in Valencia together, one day after I watched him play in a tennis tournament in Barcelona.
My first impression as we entered Valencia was that this was a town much like Taipei. The colors and height of the buildings, the street-level store fronts and the higher story apartments, and the width of the streets - everything made me feel as if I had returned to Taipei. It was a good feeling.
The main attraction in Valencia is without a doubt Ciutat de las Arts y las Ciènces, City of the Arts and Sciences, designed by Santiago Calatrava. Now I have heard of the name Calatrava, but I had no idea he was from Valencia. Andrés took me to La Ciutat, and it truly took my breath. You'll understand why once I get my lazy ass working and post some pictures for you. In La Ciutat, one finds an opera house, an Imax theatre, an oceanographic park - all housed in unique architecture that reminds me at once of spaceships and of vertebrae: it's that cool!
In the evening, Andrés and I strolled through the old part of Valencia in light rain. Suddenly, I've left the future and returned to the past. There were towers, cobblestone roads, and draw bridges. I felt hundreds of years younger. The one odd thing was that it was exceptionally bright at night. There were some high-wattage lights placed every few meters on all the streets. Andrés explained that the lesbian mayor ordered these lights installed to make Valencia safer at night. Does she think that bad things don't happen in broad daylight? She must have never visited Wall Street.
Somewhere along Calatrava's Umbracle and Lesbian Mayor's crime-free fantasy land, Andrés gave me a quick lesson in Spanish: there is no v sound in Spanish. The v is pronounced somewhere between the English b and v. The sound arises out of nowhere.
Sort of like far-away friends.
In the audience was Andrés, a teacher from Valencia, Spain whom I met through tennis. He was spending a three-month sabbatical in San Francisco to flee the routine and reflect on his life. I might have done something like that myself. I might have done it twice.
Now, a year later, we are in Valencia together, one day after I watched him play in a tennis tournament in Barcelona.
My first impression as we entered Valencia was that this was a town much like Taipei. The colors and height of the buildings, the street-level store fronts and the higher story apartments, and the width of the streets - everything made me feel as if I had returned to Taipei. It was a good feeling.
The main attraction in Valencia is without a doubt Ciutat de las Arts y las Ciènces, City of the Arts and Sciences, designed by Santiago Calatrava. Now I have heard of the name Calatrava, but I had no idea he was from Valencia. Andrés took me to La Ciutat, and it truly took my breath. You'll understand why once I get my lazy ass working and post some pictures for you. In La Ciutat, one finds an opera house, an Imax theatre, an oceanographic park - all housed in unique architecture that reminds me at once of spaceships and of vertebrae: it's that cool!
In the evening, Andrés and I strolled through the old part of Valencia in light rain. Suddenly, I've left the future and returned to the past. There were towers, cobblestone roads, and draw bridges. I felt hundreds of years younger. The one odd thing was that it was exceptionally bright at night. There were some high-wattage lights placed every few meters on all the streets. Andrés explained that the lesbian mayor ordered these lights installed to make Valencia safer at night. Does she think that bad things don't happen in broad daylight? She must have never visited Wall Street.
Somewhere along Calatrava's Umbracle and Lesbian Mayor's crime-free fantasy land, Andrés gave me a quick lesson in Spanish: there is no v sound in Spanish. The v is pronounced somewhere between the English b and v. The sound arises out of nowhere.
Sort of like far-away friends.
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