what i don't see

While in Madrid, I took some time to check out their two major museums - Museo Nacional del Prado and Reina Sofía.

Prado, which is not to be confused with Prada (I had to give it a second read the first time I came across the name), is pretty much Madrid's answer to Le Louvre. Although not nearly as big, it still has a great collection of works, with emphasis on Spanish masters like Goya and Velázquez, of course.

Reina Sofía, referring to the Queen of Spain, houses contemporary works, similar to the MOMA. What I found coolest about this museum is the architecture. It has two glass columns of elevators with Reina and Sofía written on each one.

This being a low budget vacation, I took advantage of the free entrance during the final two hours of each day. As I wandered through Prado in my Pradas, in search of the likes of Poussin's Parnassus and Goya's The Third of May, 1808, I couldn't help but wonder why. Why what, you ask? Why I was searching for the paintings on the list of "Masterpieces" in the museum guide - that's why.

Why must we be told by "experts" what the Masterpieces are? Why do we walk the maze-like hallways of Le Louvre, fighting through the crowds of tourists like salmons swimming upstream, just to catch a glimpse of La Joconde (Mona Lisa), only to be disappointed by its small size (trust me on this one - in this case, size would impress). Why must I feel content with a museum visit only after I have laid eyes on each recommended Masterpiece, even if just for a brief three seconds, ten feet away, over twenty-some heads, with their point-and-shoots held high, all trying to document their artistic worthiness? There must be another way.

Perhaps I should just forgo the guide, granting myself the freedom to stroll aimlessly through the museum, stopping in front of whichever painting that happens to catch my eye, without knowing which suicidal or homicidal genius graced it with his brush. Perhaps I could come up with my own list of Masterpieces. Perhaps I might even sit down in front of a painting, ignoring the high-heeled señoritas attempting to pass by, and just study it, admire it, question it.

Perhaps. Just perhaps

so that's why

Some of the first things Americans hear about visiting Spain are that they have dinner after 10 p.m., party all night, and have siestas everyday. What's that all about?

Within a day of my trip, I understood why. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say that I could come up with reasons for this cultural phenomenon.

Spain is hot. And no, I'm not just talking about the men. On my first day there, I could feel the heat rising as early as ten in the morning. By early afternoon, my delicate body was starting to wilt. I exaggerate. It wasn't my body wilting; it was my gelled hair. My first thought whenever it gets warm is to take a nap. That's when I understood the value of the siesta. What better way to spend a warm summer afternoon than enjoying a beautiful slumber in the comfort of one's cool, Spanish home. I suddenly felt very Spanish. "Hola" rolled effortlessly off my tongue.

After my nap, the sun was starting to set, and I noticed it was eight in the evening. Finally, safe to go out. Almost forgot - I re-gelled my hair before leaving.

I took a nice, leisurely stroll through the streets, finally understanding that calle means street. The shops were in full bloom, as were young lovers and after-work business folks. An hour of walking was sufficient, since I started to feel hungry, even with my jet lag. Why isn't my stomach ever jet-lagged? It seems to readjust perfectly to whatever time zone I travel to. In any case, I realized then that it was a good hour to socialize with friends, have a glass of beer (or milk for me), then gossip about... oh wait, I promised not to tell... then talk about the weather over dinner. Second mystery solved.

It was past eleven by the time I finished dinner. I wasn't tired because of the jet lag and of the long nap I took in the afternoon, so I sauntered some more in the Chueca neighborhood - the Castro of Madrid (that only means something if you know San Francisco). There is a nice plaza there, surrounded by shops, restaurants, and hotels. What a pleasant night it was. The discomfort of the blazing sun had evaporated; it was a perfect evening for a couple to be out - or, in my case, a lonely, single guy. To my surprise, everyone was there. By everyone, I meant chatty teenagers, waddling toddlers, wrinkled grandfathers, weary mothers, and all their cousins and friends. People of all ages were hanging out in the plaza. Could you imagine a scene like that anywhere in the U.S.? Little kids out playing past midnight? Without parents screaming after them? How refreshing! So this was one of the ways to party until the wee hours in Spain. I could get used to this.

Then I noticed them - the first Asians I saw all day. They were definitely Chinese. I could tell because I'm Taiwanese, and not all Asians look alike. Plus they were speaking some Chinese dialect. The strange thing was that they all were carrying either a backpack or a box. What the heck was this? Chinese terrorists?

I quickly found out. But that's a different story for another day.

it had me at hola (almost)

I'm about to give up my working bachelorhood.

What the heck does that mean? Well, after working no more than three days a week for the past four years, typically during afternoons, evenings, and weekends, I'm about to start a salaried position - Monday to Friday, nine to five.

Scary. So, to prepare myself, I thought I would take a short trip - to Spain.

I managed to maintain a blog during my two-month trip to France last year. I was a Francophile, still is to some degree. But for this Spanish sojourn, there will no traveling laptop, just old-fashioned scroll and quill accompanying me from Madrid to Barcelona to Valencia. Please note the "th" sound of the letter c. So in fact, I'm writing this blog entry after my return to San Francisco as I channel myself back to September 9, 2009 (that's 9-9-9, ultra-lucky in the Chinese culture) when I arrived in Spain for the first time.

My initial impressions of Madrid were generally positive. For me, public transportation is essential in any large city (Paris, New York, and Taipei are the best so far in my travels). Just a couple of euros got me a metro ride from the aeropuerto to the center of town - excellent start.

When I exited the estacion de metro, my first thought of Madrid was that it was the Spanish version of New York - lots and lots of people. However, there were a few important differences after I took in my first few Spanish breaths.

First of all, Madrid is nowhere nearly as multicultural as New York; it predominantly is a city of Spanish people with some tourists. As my friend Andrés would later tell me, Spain is relatively new to immigration, so the homogeneity in the faces I encountered was to be expected. Stay tuned - I'll return to this subject later.

The second difference is what I call the U-EQ - the urban emotional quotient. In New York, while most places you go seem to be exciting, full of the glitters of Broadway or fashion models, there are definitely areas which engender a feeling of loneliness, almost a suffocating solitude that haunts your soul. I didn't get that same feeling in Madrid, even though I don't speak Spanish and was traveling alone.

Thirdly, the architecture. There is a dark elegance to Madrid which I found quite seductive. I am not well versed in architecture (thanks to the arguably incorrect decision to study medicine in college), so I can't guarantee that I am using these terms correctly. But there is a pleasant Gothic quality to the city, sort of like Batman and Robin in Paris.

Here are a few pictures from Madrid. The first thing I saw on the streets of Madrid was McDonald's. What a disappointment.

what am I driving?

I suppose this post was inevitable.  I mean, after the previous two posts, I couldn't just leave things hanging there, could I?

So which car did I ultimately choose?  Behind the first door was a used but practically brand new Lexus IS 350.  The second door led to a brand new Volvo S40 with five years of free maintenance.  Choosing the third door would have given me a Prius with unsurpassed fuel economy.  What to do...

I was pretty much torn between the Volvo and the Lexus (sorry Prius, you were a distant third).  A friend suggested I went with my gut feeling.  So I sat quietly on my couch during the long commercials while watching Roger Federer destroy his opponents at the U.S. Open and listened to my gut.  Nothing.  I poked on my belly at little, hoping to prod it into life.  I first giggled reflexively like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.  Then I waited.  Still nothing.  This isn't working.

Then another friend suggested that I crunch out the numbers - which one would cost me more on gas, insurance, maintenance fees, etc.  I knew from the beginning that the Lexus would cost much more, and that was the way in turned out.  But even then, I wasn't pursuaded that this was the right way to go.  

I decided to use my brain - not the part responsible for calculations, but the calm and collected part that has displayed great sense in the past, which not to infrequently was then trumped by the anxious, emotional part.  I asked myself:  what do I need this car for?  The key here is need, not want.  I need a car that gets me safely from A to B.  A smaller car that allows me to find parking more easily.  A car that doesn't have extraneous gadgets that I won't use (and pay extra for).  I came to a conclusion quickly this way.  The Volvo C30.

Wait a minute, what!?  When was the C30 in the picture?  Oh, that's right, I test drove it as a substitute for the turbo S40.  Cousin Elmer had told me that I would be a fool if I didn't test drive the turbo if I was already thinking about the S40.  I just never thought I would need or want a car with greater horsepower.  The dealer didn't have one of the latter in store, so he recommended that I test drive the C30 because it's basically the same engine.  I loved the drive and was immediately hooked - going uphill and onto a freeway were much more effortlessly done than with my old Volvo.  The C30 is very compact - a two-door hatchback.  I had always disliked coupes for the reason that it would be inconvenient for the third person to get into the car.  I asked myself how often I have a third person in the car (or even a second person, for the matter).  It was an easy answer.

So that's what happened.  I bought a Volvo.  A coupe.  A turbo.  In white.  All things which I didn't want in the beginning.  Go figure.  It has been a week since the purchase, and I'm loving it more and more.  The fuel economy isn't as great as I would have liked, but still...  I can live with it.

Just need to train my gut.  Maybe I need to feed it even more.

P.S. Thanks to my friend Joe for these pictures.

what will i drive now?

Vehicular dilemmas, part two.

All week long, I've been trying to decide which car to buy - not easy for an indecisive Libra.  I can't even figure out what to get on a lunch special menu at an over-sauced yet bland, Americanized Chinese restaurant.  

But I have narrowed down my search to two cars - Volvo S40 and Prius.  At least I thought I had.

On the way to meet my friend Joe for lunch today, it suddenly occurred to me that I had forgotten about the Lexus IS 250.  I had driven the car a few weeks ago, and though I wasn't terribly excited about the design of the interior cabin, I did like the smooth, comfortable drive.  Darn it, now I had three choices - this wasn't good.  And even if I could decide on a car, what color would I choose?  In the Lexus, only the Glacier Frost Mica and the Breakwater Blue interested me.  In the Volvo, the Barents Blue and the Titanium Grey weren't too bad.  But in the Prius?  They got rid of all the good colors the previous year.  What's a guy to do?

As I sat down to enjoy my burrito, I told Joe about my recent car hunt.  To my surprise, he told me that he was selling his car.  What car do you drive, I asked.  A 2006 Lexus, he replied.  Hmmm...  The model?  IS 350.  Interesting.  The color?  Breakwater Blue.  I nearly projectile-vomitted every bit of the delicious morsels of steak and prawn burrito in my mouth.  Was I finally receiving a message from above?

I couldn't wait to see the car.  And it was worth the wait - all five humongous bites of it.  The car was in perfect condition, with only 12,000 miles.  The drive?  Amazing.  This was the first time I drove a car with more than 250 horsepower.  I was excited, like a sixty-year-old grandmother behind wheels for the first time.

The rest of the day, I kept asking myself - Volvo?  Or Lexus?  Beautiful, sleek interior, or established reliability?  Five years free maintenance or great resale value?  The torment.  The agony.  The life of a Libra.  What's a guy to do?

Wait a minute, I forgot about the Prius!

what do i drive?

I know nothing about cars.  The only things I know about a car are the color, the make (most of the time I can identify its logo), and whether or not it's pretty (yes, I know that's subjective).  So this time around, I've decided that, since I'm living in a city such as San Francisco where parking spaces are hard to come by when one goes out and where traffic can be seen anywhere and everywhere, I want a car that isn't too big, has good fuel economy, and is reliable.  Immediately I'm thinking Japanese, Japanese, and Japanese.  The Prius comes to mind.  Definitely don't want another Volvo.

After looking at the Prius, Lexus IS 250, and Subaru Legacy last week, I decided that I'm going to streamline the process.  I scheduled appointments at four different dealers to test drive no less than six cars.  Yesterday, after my cello lesson, I embarked on my journey on a beautiful, sunny afternoon.

First up - Volvo.  Yes, you read correctly.  I know, I said I'm not buying another Volvo.  But two nights ago, my friends Papa Joe and Daddy Lo recommended that I at least check out the V50, a station wagon.  What!?  Do I look like a sixty-year-old grandma?  Please don't answer that.  I know I drive like one, but still.  We went on the Volvo website and discovered that they're offering five years of complimentary maintenance and service plus $3,000 off on the S40 and V50.  Since the ways to my heart are money and food, I took the bait.

I first tried out the V50.  Surprisingly nice.  The Barents Blue was excellent, as was the Titanium Grey.  The interior design was also nice - nothing excessive, just the essential elements presented on an upscale, IKEA-like, elegant panel.  Unfortunately, the Nordic wood trim on the panel had looked better online than in person, but the aluminum alternative was sleek.  I could already imagine how that that would get under the sun; it might be like touching aluminum foil on an oven pan.  As for the models, the S40 Sedan has a younger, more interesting design, but the V50 does offere more cargo room.  Those of you who are car enthusiasts are probably asking:  what about the drive?  All I have to say in that department is that it was good - steady, familiar.  Of course, before I left, I made sure that my cello case would fit in both cars - a very important issue as I embark on my cello career and prepare for my nationwide concert engagements.

Next, I walked the long journey onward to Subaru, affectionately known as Subie to those who love it.  It was next door - took me 30 seconds.  Now, you're all asking (I'm asking):  why Subaru?  Because my cousin Elmer (oh, I forgot, he's not really my cousin, just married to one) said that it's a reliable, fun car.  Fun car?  I don't know what that means.  Reliable car?  Now we're talking.  By the way, the name Elmer is an alias, sort of like Anastasia Beaverhausen.

The Legacy sedan I had tried last week was fine.  Nothing special about it, nothing bad either.  But what I remembered most during that trip to Subaru was the color on a Forester SUV - sage green metallic.  My heart skipped a beat when I first saw this color because this was the color of my vehicular dreams.  If I closed my eyes and imagined the color of my dream car which of course is amorphous at this point, it would like exactly like the sage green metallic I saw.  But who buys a car just for the color?  Certainly not me.  There are the chassis and drivetrain to worry about.  I swear I still don't know what these two things are.

Anyway, I sat in the beautiful sage green metallic Forester, which, for some reason unknown to me, has lost a bit of its original appeal.  The first thing I thought when I closed the car door was that everything inside looked cheap.  Did Subaru run out of material to build in the interior?  I drove the car nevertheless but found the engine loud, the ride rough, and the smell smokey.  That last part was due to the salesman who has taken a few too many rides on the Camel in his life.  So good-bye, Forester.  Good-bye Subaru.  Good-bye dreamy sage green metallic.  Good-bye smelly salesman.

Next on the list was Lexus.  It got a bit chilly pulling into the Lexus customer parking lot, so I put on my hoity-toity deflector shield on before stepping out.  I was here for the Rx hybrid and the much-hyped, brand new HS.  The fast-talking, very annoying, stereotype-fitting salesman named JB was busy telling me how wonderful and technologically unique the HS was.  I didn't bother to tell him I don't own an iPhone.  Nor an iPod, for that matter.  He rambled.  I pretended to listen.  Honestly, I wasn't impressed.  The car drove fine, it was interesting inside despite that bulky center console that was like the Playstation of the car.  JB tried to impress me (or dissuade me?) by informing me that there is a three-month waiting list to get an HS, that of the five cars coming in the following week, four have already been reserved.  Sticker price only.  Limited supply due to the economy, you understand, right?  Too many rich people lined up to get the next "in" thing, right?

While there, I saw an Asian family.  The dad looked like the typical business or doctor type - you can't tell with Asians - they all look the same.  But i was certain he played golf or tennis.  Mom was the generic well-dressed kind - meek outside, tyrant at home.  Two sons about high school age, dressed with oversized jackets and shorts like most teenagers nowadays (nowadays - that word really ages me).  They were checking out the HS for the son who was about to go to college.  I have to compete with some acne-faced, tennis-playing 18-year-old whose dad has too much money to throw around?  I don't think so.  But I digress.  Eyes back on the HS.  I would label the HS as a cool looking car that is a technologically advanced toy for rich, young people.  90% of what the car offers I don't need.  As JB played with the mouse to show me on the navigation screen all the nifty things that car could do, I did my best to keep my eyes on the road and not see anything that he was doing.  I did, however, foresee accidents with the HS as people play with the mouse and screen while driving.  Not for me.

I then tried the Rxh.  Of course, there were none on the lot because they're so popular.  So I tried a 2006 used one.  Once i got in, the whole thing felt so big that it overwhelmed me.  I felt really heavy, like I just ate a whole bucket of KFC chicken (and I'm not talking about the grilled ones).  Not a good feeling.  Drivewise, it was fine.  But I hated the interior look of the Rxh.  The buttons were nice, nothing looked cheap like in a Subaru, but it was flat.  Literally and figuratively.  As I think back to the IS, I remember that was pretty much how it looked as well.  So the Lexus is pretty much like a hot, young supermodel - beautiful on the outisde, ugly and soulless on the inside.  I pass.

From there I moved on to Toyota. I was amazed by two things there - that my cello case fit in the back seat of a Prius, and that there is a horizontal bar running across the middle of the rearview mirror.  The bar is the metal divider of the hatchback window.  Who the heck designed that!?  But the Prius does have one (and only one) thing going for it - the 50 mpg.  Nothing beats it.  So I thought I would at least check out another Toyota Hybrid - the Camry.  Bad idea.  It was déjà vu.  The moment I sat in it, the cheapness of the Subaru returned all over again.  I got out of the car even before I drove it.

So that was the end of my day of cars.  I still don't know what I'll get, but, to my amazement, Volvo is a strong possibility.  Prius is up there too.  Will keep you posted.

my true colors

It's a typical summer afternoon in South San Francisco - foggy, cold, dreary.

I'm sitting here at work during my break, and random thoughts led to a search for a very fond memory from my stay in Paris in 2006.

One of the many special moments from that trip came from (surprise!) a television program - La Nouvelle Star. It's basically the French version of American Idol.

The star of the show that year was a young homme by the name of Christophe Willem. He was plain looking, wore geeky glasses, and didn't dress particularly fashionably. But he sang with his heart and soul, and he was beautiful. I remember very well a song he performed - True Colors.

So during my break, I searched for his performance online.

Then I relived three magical minutes from Paris.

Often I have (we all have) wanted to be more this or less that and have criticized people around me for being too this or acting too that - most of which don't actually matter very much if I think about it. Feeling Christophe perform makes all of life's little wants and desires insignificant. It reminds me to just be myself, to live, to express my soul in any and every which way I can and to see people for their true colors.

Every now and then, I'm starting to see a glimpse of my true colors shining through.

And that makes me happy.