- Colin goes into a shop in Rome and, while holding a beer in one hand, buys a gun. Bloody Aussies. (don't freak out people, it was a wooden gun)
- Carlos asks Caitlin about the book she's just finished (Anna Karenina). Caitlin goes into a lengthy and detailed plot description about the book. When she finishes, Carlos says: "So it's a book about a couple of sluts?"
Juan and Colin die laughing. Caitlin decides to rethink her plot description!
- Elli asks yet another European waiter if they have skim milk. He looks at her as if she's some kind of strange alien creature, "what for?" he asks.
- Elli is asked to dance by an older gentleman, who clearly cannot dance. She does shines, while he runs around her in a weird circle. Finally she gives up and stops the dance. The guy follows her back. She stands beside Carlos. The guy looks at Carlos in vague surprise and says in heavily accented English: "Boyfriend?"
I'm sure there's heaps more of these moments. I'll add them as I remember!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Things I have gotten used to in Europe
- The double cheek kiss
- Espresso coffee
- Drinking tinto de verano (anytime from about 11am onwards)
- Being able to get amazing, tasty, fresh food anywhere, anytime…. No more Maccas run at 3am because there’s no other food available!
- Siesta – including shops closing down
- Being hailed as “The beautiful dancers from Australia” by the DJ at every venue we dance at
- Old buildings, statues and art on every corner
- Not hearing Australian accents. In fact, on the rare occasion we met an Aussie, the accent sounded very odd. Even Col (who sounds the most Australian of us and doesn’t speak any Spanish) started to sound ridiculously ‘okka’ after a while!
- TAPAS!
- Espresso coffee
- Drinking tinto de verano (anytime from about 11am onwards)
- Being able to get amazing, tasty, fresh food anywhere, anytime…. No more Maccas run at 3am because there’s no other food available!
- Siesta – including shops closing down
- Being hailed as “The beautiful dancers from Australia” by the DJ at every venue we dance at
- Old buildings, statues and art on every corner
- Not hearing Australian accents. In fact, on the rare occasion we met an Aussie, the accent sounded very odd. Even Col (who sounds the most Australian of us and doesn’t speak any Spanish) started to sound ridiculously ‘okka’ after a while!
- TAPAS!
I never thought I’d be happy to say Goodbye to Europe…
9am – Group meets downstairs, checks out, and calls a cab. Col is the last one to stagger out. He doesn’t look good. Caitlin is surprisingly cheerful despite being known for getting cranky if she gets no sleep.
10:00am – At the airport, checkin, say goodbye to Horacio and Mario – this is a sad moment. It’s been 5 years since Carlos last saw his brother and nephew, and who knows how long it will be this time? There might be a few watery eyes.
10:30am – We’re at the gate, waiting for our 11:20am flight. Suddenly it flashes as a new time. It’s been delayed one hour, and will leave at 12:20. We’re miserable and tired, but okay.
11:30am – The flight screen changes again. The flight is now due to leave at 1:10pm. We start to get worried. We are flying to Madrid to check in for our flight home. This is not a connecting flight (we booked in separate to our main ticket). Carlos goes to talk to the staff at Iberia Airline about our problem. They don’t care. They tell us the plane will definitely leave at “1:25pm” this is yet again later than the screen. We start to panic. We were supposed to have 4 hours at Madrid airport to get our luggage, change terminals, and check in. We now will have less than 2 hours. We don’t know if it’s possible to make it.
12:30pm – Carlos is on the phone to Lufthansa (our airline home) explaining the situation to them and asking if it will be a problem – do they think we will make the plane? They tell Carlos that they always allow 2 and a half hours at Madrid airport to make the change we need to make. Carlos tells them we will have less than 2 hours. They say it probably can’t be done. They recommend we change our flights to the following day. This may only cost us 100 euro. The group is not sure what to do. They tell Carlos to call Madrid airport, to check on availability of flights back to Australia the following day.
12:55pm – We still haven’t boarded. Carlos is on hold to the airline in Madrid. They’ve left him on hold for over 10 minutes. We are all sitting dejected and anxious. What do we do? We’re about to board, and Carlos is still on the phone. We haven’t got time to change the flights over the phone now, and we don’t know if they will let us do it once we get there late. Meanwhile we’re still trying to calculate exactly how much time we’ll have in Madrid – is there any chance we can still make the plane? It seems doubtful, but not impossible.
1:05pm – Carlos finally hangs up and rings the airline back. Meanwhile, our plane starts boarding. Carlos frantically starts talking to a woman to explain our situation and get them to make a note about our late plane. Elli is standing at the front of the gate, anxiously yelling to Carlos, who is still sitting on the phone. We’re the last people to board. Finally, Carlos hangs up and we race onto the plane. We have no idea what awaits us in Madrid – will we make the plane? Will we move flights to the next day? Will we get stuck with no way home or have to buy a new ticket? We’ve all had absolutely no sleep, so we’re not in a good state to handle this situation. I tell Elli that I’m so tired I can easily start to cry when we get to Madrid (in case this helps our case). I think we’re all delirious.
2:45pm – We land in Madrid. Our plane lands in Terminal 4, but we need to check in at Terminal 1. They are not close together. I suggest that Carlos goes directly to Terminal 1, to explain our plight to a check-in person, while the rest of us wait for the bags. Everyone agrees to the plan, and we split up.
2:55pm – We’re still waiting for the bags. The three of us (Elli, Col and me) stare at the baggage machine and will it to come out. We glance constantly at the clock, and wonder how Carlos is going. We’re torn between hope and terror. I keep coming up with possible ways this could still work out. Col is not so helpful. I tell him to practice his optimisim. Maybe our next plane is delayed and we’ll all make it?
3:10pm – Still no bags. We start making a pact with the Gods of the Airport. We promise them all sorts of things if they’ll make our bags come our straight away. We also start fantasizing about living in the airport like Tom Hanks in the movie ‘terminal’. Then we start reminiscing about the movie ‘Castaway’ and how sad it is when Watson (the soccer ball) dies. Yes, we are completely delirious at this point. The bags still do not come.
3:20pm – the bags finally emerge. We grab ours, and run like mad people to the taxi ranks outside.
3:22pm – We split up as there’s too much luggage. Col and I take one taxi. The first one refuses us as my suitcase is too big, and he won’t let me put it on the backseat. The second one takes us. We get in before telling him where we’re going. When I finally tell him, he is angry, as it’s a short distance. He doesn’t want to take us. He speaks no English. I apologise and ask and smile (in my dodgy Spanish) and he starts driving. Meanwhile Elli’s cab driver also refuses to take her. In the end she has to offer him triple the usual fare.
3:30pm – Terminal 1 is miles away, but we finally get there. We jump out of the cab and run inside. “Lufthansa?” I shout at an info clerk, “300” he says (the number of the check-in desk). We run.
3:35pm – We finally make it to the check in desk. It’s less than an hour to our flight. Carlos is waiting. We run up to him, filled with terror – he smiles. “Boarding passes!” he says! Thank God.
3:40pm – Carlos has already chatted to the right people and gotten our boarding passes. They check in our luggage straight away. We’re in. The relief is palpable. We’re almost delirious with happiness.
4:10pm – We board the plane, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to get on a plane to go home from a holiday. I love you Europe, but I don’t want to stay here quite that much just yet!
Meanwhile, we still have over 20 hours of travel ahead of us, and we’re totally exhausted and delirious, but at this point, we’re just happy to be going home.
10:00am – At the airport, checkin, say goodbye to Horacio and Mario – this is a sad moment. It’s been 5 years since Carlos last saw his brother and nephew, and who knows how long it will be this time? There might be a few watery eyes.
10:30am – We’re at the gate, waiting for our 11:20am flight. Suddenly it flashes as a new time. It’s been delayed one hour, and will leave at 12:20. We’re miserable and tired, but okay.
11:30am – The flight screen changes again. The flight is now due to leave at 1:10pm. We start to get worried. We are flying to Madrid to check in for our flight home. This is not a connecting flight (we booked in separate to our main ticket). Carlos goes to talk to the staff at Iberia Airline about our problem. They don’t care. They tell us the plane will definitely leave at “1:25pm” this is yet again later than the screen. We start to panic. We were supposed to have 4 hours at Madrid airport to get our luggage, change terminals, and check in. We now will have less than 2 hours. We don’t know if it’s possible to make it.
12:30pm – Carlos is on the phone to Lufthansa (our airline home) explaining the situation to them and asking if it will be a problem – do they think we will make the plane? They tell Carlos that they always allow 2 and a half hours at Madrid airport to make the change we need to make. Carlos tells them we will have less than 2 hours. They say it probably can’t be done. They recommend we change our flights to the following day. This may only cost us 100 euro. The group is not sure what to do. They tell Carlos to call Madrid airport, to check on availability of flights back to Australia the following day.
12:55pm – We still haven’t boarded. Carlos is on hold to the airline in Madrid. They’ve left him on hold for over 10 minutes. We are all sitting dejected and anxious. What do we do? We’re about to board, and Carlos is still on the phone. We haven’t got time to change the flights over the phone now, and we don’t know if they will let us do it once we get there late. Meanwhile we’re still trying to calculate exactly how much time we’ll have in Madrid – is there any chance we can still make the plane? It seems doubtful, but not impossible.
1:05pm – Carlos finally hangs up and rings the airline back. Meanwhile, our plane starts boarding. Carlos frantically starts talking to a woman to explain our situation and get them to make a note about our late plane. Elli is standing at the front of the gate, anxiously yelling to Carlos, who is still sitting on the phone. We’re the last people to board. Finally, Carlos hangs up and we race onto the plane. We have no idea what awaits us in Madrid – will we make the plane? Will we move flights to the next day? Will we get stuck with no way home or have to buy a new ticket? We’ve all had absolutely no sleep, so we’re not in a good state to handle this situation. I tell Elli that I’m so tired I can easily start to cry when we get to Madrid (in case this helps our case). I think we’re all delirious.
2:45pm – We land in Madrid. Our plane lands in Terminal 4, but we need to check in at Terminal 1. They are not close together. I suggest that Carlos goes directly to Terminal 1, to explain our plight to a check-in person, while the rest of us wait for the bags. Everyone agrees to the plan, and we split up.
2:55pm – We’re still waiting for the bags. The three of us (Elli, Col and me) stare at the baggage machine and will it to come out. We glance constantly at the clock, and wonder how Carlos is going. We’re torn between hope and terror. I keep coming up with possible ways this could still work out. Col is not so helpful. I tell him to practice his optimisim. Maybe our next plane is delayed and we’ll all make it?
3:10pm – Still no bags. We start making a pact with the Gods of the Airport. We promise them all sorts of things if they’ll make our bags come our straight away. We also start fantasizing about living in the airport like Tom Hanks in the movie ‘terminal’. Then we start reminiscing about the movie ‘Castaway’ and how sad it is when Watson (the soccer ball) dies. Yes, we are completely delirious at this point. The bags still do not come.
3:20pm – the bags finally emerge. We grab ours, and run like mad people to the taxi ranks outside.
3:22pm – We split up as there’s too much luggage. Col and I take one taxi. The first one refuses us as my suitcase is too big, and he won’t let me put it on the backseat. The second one takes us. We get in before telling him where we’re going. When I finally tell him, he is angry, as it’s a short distance. He doesn’t want to take us. He speaks no English. I apologise and ask and smile (in my dodgy Spanish) and he starts driving. Meanwhile Elli’s cab driver also refuses to take her. In the end she has to offer him triple the usual fare.
3:30pm – Terminal 1 is miles away, but we finally get there. We jump out of the cab and run inside. “Lufthansa?” I shout at an info clerk, “300” he says (the number of the check-in desk). We run.
3:35pm – We finally make it to the check in desk. It’s less than an hour to our flight. Carlos is waiting. We run up to him, filled with terror – he smiles. “Boarding passes!” he says! Thank God.
3:40pm – Carlos has already chatted to the right people and gotten our boarding passes. They check in our luggage straight away. We’re in. The relief is palpable. We’re almost delirious with happiness.
4:10pm – We board the plane, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to get on a plane to go home from a holiday. I love you Europe, but I don’t want to stay here quite that much just yet!
Meanwhile, we still have over 20 hours of travel ahead of us, and we’re totally exhausted and delirious, but at this point, we’re just happy to be going home.
Ode to the Bulerias
It is the simplest things:
a string of lights in the sky
the sound of fingers on the strings of the guitar
the string of words from the mouth of el cantor
he sings of pain and passion entertwined
the strings of life that bind, entwine, unwind
It is the simplest things.
a string of lights in the sky
the sound of fingers on the strings of the guitar
the string of words from the mouth of el cantor
he sings of pain and passion entertwined
the strings of life that bind, entwine, unwind
It is the simplest things.
Last Days in Malaga
Okay, so I'm lazy,and I'm going to summarise.
- Feria: food, drink, dancing, wander around the rides, head home about 3am (note: when did 3am become having an early night?)
- Slept in: then headed to a Cuban ranch on a beach in the middle of nowhere – you would never find it if you weren’t a local. Finally found a beach with good sand! Then had food with a live band. Danced a couple of salsas, then headed back to town.
- On the last day: visited another beach- even more beautiful than the last - and ordered a paella plus tapas. Food was some of the most amazing of the trip. PAELLA = HEAVEN!!!! I definitely want to learn to cook a lot of this stuff, and we’re already planning paella and tapas nights when we get back home – we’ll all have to learn to cook them along the way though.
- On our last night we head to Feria again for Bulerias – which is absolutely amazing (see ‘ode to the bulerias’) then we wander around, find Horacio, and head off to another salsa venue. It’s a bit quiet due to Feria but we manage to have some good dances.
- We had our last glasses of vodka/gin in fishbowl glasses (each one with half a bottle of alcohol in it!) and partied on. The others were determined not to go to sleep at all before our flight. I was not super keen on this idea (recognizing just how long and painful our haul home was going to be) but I went along with the group, who told me to eat some cement.
- We finally made it home around 7/7:30am. The boys crashed out, and I managed about 30/45 mins doze before we had to get up and head to the airport. Needless to say everyone was feeling pretty terrible, especially Colin, who had definitely drank to excess the night before. Everyone was to pay for this excess though as the day was not to go exactly as planned….
- Feria: food, drink, dancing, wander around the rides, head home about 3am (note: when did 3am become having an early night?)
- Slept in: then headed to a Cuban ranch on a beach in the middle of nowhere – you would never find it if you weren’t a local. Finally found a beach with good sand! Then had food with a live band. Danced a couple of salsas, then headed back to town.
- On the last day: visited another beach- even more beautiful than the last - and ordered a paella plus tapas. Food was some of the most amazing of the trip. PAELLA = HEAVEN!!!! I definitely want to learn to cook a lot of this stuff, and we’re already planning paella and tapas nights when we get back home – we’ll all have to learn to cook them along the way though.
- On our last night we head to Feria again for Bulerias – which is absolutely amazing (see ‘ode to the bulerias’) then we wander around, find Horacio, and head off to another salsa venue. It’s a bit quiet due to Feria but we manage to have some good dances.
- We had our last glasses of vodka/gin in fishbowl glasses (each one with half a bottle of alcohol in it!) and partied on. The others were determined not to go to sleep at all before our flight. I was not super keen on this idea (recognizing just how long and painful our haul home was going to be) but I went along with the group, who told me to eat some cement.
- We finally made it home around 7/7:30am. The boys crashed out, and I managed about 30/45 mins doze before we had to get up and head to the airport. Needless to say everyone was feeling pretty terrible, especially Colin, who had definitely drank to excess the night before. Everyone was to pay for this excess though as the day was not to go exactly as planned….
What is Feria?
Think the EKKA on steroids. Think an entire city doing nothing but drinking, dancing and eating. Picture hundreds of thousands of people coming from all over Europe to party for 10 days. This is Feria!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feria_de_Agosto
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feria_de_Agosto
Friday, Malaga y Nerja
After not getting home til after 4am, we then get up early to head off on a daytrip.
Everyone’s tired but pushes through. We hire a car, plus Horacio drives one car, and we head to the little town of Nerja – which has what is called “Europe’s Balcony” this is where they used to watch for enemy ships, and has an amazing panoramic view of the ocean. I finally got my paella in a café beside the ocean, it was absolutely amazing.
Then we chilled out on the beach (in the ridiculously hot sun) before taking a short stroll around the town. Then we headed off the Caves of Nerja, which have the largest stalactite column in the world. It was icy cold inside, which was a great relief after the 40+ degree heat outside. The caves were beautiful, and the feel of the different types of rock was delicious to my fingers.
Then we headed up to the top of Malaga, for a great view over the city or ocean. While we were there we could see straight into the bull-fighting arena, where a bull-fight was taking place. We watched for a little while, but then Elli and I refused to watch any more – as we didn’t want to see once it got barbaric (eg men on horses stabbing the bull in the back so that it’s weakened for the man on foot to kill).
After that, we were finally done, and headed back to the hotel for a siesta. Time is so deceiving here. It’s after 8pm at night, but still bright sunlight, so I feel like I should still be doing things, however we’re all exhausted, so it’s time for sleep, then more food, and then we’re heading out to watch the fireworks for the opening of Feria, and then hit a salsa venue!
You can’t say we don’t pack stacks into our holidays!
Everyone’s tired but pushes through. We hire a car, plus Horacio drives one car, and we head to the little town of Nerja – which has what is called “Europe’s Balcony” this is where they used to watch for enemy ships, and has an amazing panoramic view of the ocean. I finally got my paella in a café beside the ocean, it was absolutely amazing.
Then we chilled out on the beach (in the ridiculously hot sun) before taking a short stroll around the town. Then we headed off the Caves of Nerja, which have the largest stalactite column in the world. It was icy cold inside, which was a great relief after the 40+ degree heat outside. The caves were beautiful, and the feel of the different types of rock was delicious to my fingers.
Then we headed up to the top of Malaga, for a great view over the city or ocean. While we were there we could see straight into the bull-fighting arena, where a bull-fight was taking place. We watched for a little while, but then Elli and I refused to watch any more – as we didn’t want to see once it got barbaric (eg men on horses stabbing the bull in the back so that it’s weakened for the man on foot to kill).
After that, we were finally done, and headed back to the hotel for a siesta. Time is so deceiving here. It’s after 8pm at night, but still bright sunlight, so I feel like I should still be doing things, however we’re all exhausted, so it’s time for sleep, then more food, and then we’re heading out to watch the fireworks for the opening of Feria, and then hit a salsa venue!
You can’t say we don’t pack stacks into our holidays!
Malaga: Thursday night – A summary
- Headed to another salsa venue.
- Got there at 11:30pm and the free class was just ending, night hadn’t started yet. People showed up about 12.
- Danced with one of Carlos’ old students – so there were two students from different continents that Carlos has taught both dancing with each other.
- Then Camillo (Carlos’ friend) came out, and it got craazzzzy. Boys kept buying us drinks, Elli was completely on fire.
- We’ve decided she should drink vodka before she performs. Seriously.
Song of the trip is: yo no se manana.
- Got there at 11:30pm and the free class was just ending, night hadn’t started yet. People showed up about 12.
- Danced with one of Carlos’ old students – so there were two students from different continents that Carlos has taught both dancing with each other.
- Then Camillo (Carlos’ friend) came out, and it got craazzzzy. Boys kept buying us drinks, Elli was completely on fire.
- We’ve decided she should drink vodka before she performs. Seriously.
Song of the trip is: yo no se manana.
Status update: Hotel, Malaga
Weather: Blisteringly hot and humid, I think it’s around or above 40 degrees celcius
Best food today: the eggplant & honey tapas, or the croquettes, or the battered fried prawns….
Booze Update: So far it’s 5pm and I haven’t had any tinto verano yet. This is a record. I have possibly become a total alcoholic on this trip, and am going to struggle when I return to complete sobriety when I get home! Not to mention the strict diet I am going to have to go on in order to fit in my costumes for solo comp! But meanwhile.. off to eat Paella….!!!
Best food today: the eggplant & honey tapas, or the croquettes, or the battered fried prawns….
Booze Update: So far it’s 5pm and I haven’t had any tinto verano yet. This is a record. I have possibly become a total alcoholic on this trip, and am going to struggle when I return to complete sobriety when I get home! Not to mention the strict diet I am going to have to go on in order to fit in my costumes for solo comp! But meanwhile.. off to eat Paella….!!!
Status Update: Magala, Day three
Weather: Crazy hot and humid
Sleep Status: Pretty good, we slept in late
Food Status: Incredible, we did another AMAZING tapas crawl around Malaga. I can’t get over the food. Only problem is how many kilos heavier I will be by the time I get home.
Shopping moment: Went looking for a knife shop for Col, only to find it was closed for siesta – for like 5 hours! Ahh the Spanish lifestyle.
Excited About: Feria. The whole city is getting ready for it – you can see the preparations everywhere!
Sleep Status: Pretty good, we slept in late
Food Status: Incredible, we did another AMAZING tapas crawl around Malaga. I can’t get over the food. Only problem is how many kilos heavier I will be by the time I get home.
Shopping moment: Went looking for a knife shop for Col, only to find it was closed for siesta – for like 5 hours! Ahh the Spanish lifestyle.
Excited About: Feria. The whole city is getting ready for it – you can see the preparations everywhere!
Malaga – Day Two, A Summary
- Slept in
- Wandered around the city
- Saw the home of Picasso
- Headed to the beach in a horse and carriage
- Had late lunch on the beach – absolutely awesome food!!!
- Then swam, lay on the sand, read Anna Karenina with tinto verano and the most amazing croissants I’ve ever eaten.
- Wandered to a wine bar built in 1840 with wine in big barrels that you order in tiny glasses. Tastes almost like port.
- Shopping!
- Headed out to another salsa place by the beach – absolutely awesome! Great atmosphere, good music, packed, and some great dancers. I was totally Miss Popular on this night (I think it was the blonde hair!) and I barely stopped dancing. Had one bachata with a random guy who sadly spoke no English but was one of the best bachatas I’ve ever had (excluding Mandee of course!) Didn’t get home til 5am.
- Wandered around the city
- Saw the home of Picasso
- Headed to the beach in a horse and carriage
- Had late lunch on the beach – absolutely awesome food!!!
- Then swam, lay on the sand, read Anna Karenina with tinto verano and the most amazing croissants I’ve ever eaten.
- Wandered to a wine bar built in 1840 with wine in big barrels that you order in tiny glasses. Tastes almost like port.
- Shopping!
- Headed out to another salsa place by the beach – absolutely awesome! Great atmosphere, good music, packed, and some great dancers. I was totally Miss Popular on this night (I think it was the blonde hair!) and I barely stopped dancing. Had one bachata with a random guy who sadly spoke no English but was one of the best bachatas I’ve ever had (excluding Mandee of course!) Didn’t get home til 5am.
Malaga – First Night
So our first night in Malaga we headed out to a restaurant owned by Carlos’ friend Camillo and his sister. We had a delicious dinner there, and got to hear stories about Carlos in his wild and crazy Spanish youth. Camillo had even brought along the scooter that Carlos used to own!
Then Horatio (Carlos’ brother) took us out to a club (by ‘us’ I mean Elli, Carlos and I – Colin had piked – I note that for the record when Colin later calls ME soft!!). The club was a latin dance venue, but very hot and mainly reggaeton type music. We had a few dances, but it wasn’t really our style. So Horatio took us to another venue which had more of the ‘dancers’. Unfortunately by the time we got there it was finishing up, but we chatted to some dancers and agreed to meet them again at another venue the next night.
Then Horatio (Carlos’ brother) took us out to a club (by ‘us’ I mean Elli, Carlos and I – Colin had piked – I note that for the record when Colin later calls ME soft!!). The club was a latin dance venue, but very hot and mainly reggaeton type music. We had a few dances, but it wasn’t really our style. So Horatio took us to another venue which had more of the ‘dancers’. Unfortunately by the time we got there it was finishing up, but we chatted to some dancers and agreed to meet them again at another venue the next night.
Madrid to Malaga
Oh the world of pain. Hangover. Airport. No Sleep. Too much food = very cranky Caitlin.
The next morning we woke up to go from Madrid to Malaga. We’d had little sleep, were totally hungover, exhausted and had a ‘food hangover’. So basically I don’t think I said more than about 5 words the whole trip. The others thought I was just cranky and sleep deprived, in reality I was scared to talk in case I threw up instead.
Anyway, we got to Malaga, and were picked up by Carlo’s brother Horatio, his nephew Mario, and a friend.
The trip to the hotel was funny. Julio, Maria and I all went with Carlos’ friend Camillo, who had a tiny car, and had left the boot packed with construction gear. The other group had taken my suitcase in their bigger car, but we still had two large suitcases and all our carry-on luggage. I will forever remember the sight of us – one suitcase on Julio’s lap in the front, with his arm hanging out the window, another suitcase crammed in between Maria and me in the back, with all our carry-on luggage piled on our laps. The car had no air-con, and the weather outside was in the 30’s and incredibly humid. Lucky the trip was a short one!
Once we arrived at the hotel, we waited for ages, as Horatio (Carlos’ brother) had gotten lost on the way, before finally checking in and crashing out for some sleep. Mmmmm. Sleep.
The next morning we woke up to go from Madrid to Malaga. We’d had little sleep, were totally hungover, exhausted and had a ‘food hangover’. So basically I don’t think I said more than about 5 words the whole trip. The others thought I was just cranky and sleep deprived, in reality I was scared to talk in case I threw up instead.
Anyway, we got to Malaga, and were picked up by Carlo’s brother Horatio, his nephew Mario, and a friend.
The trip to the hotel was funny. Julio, Maria and I all went with Carlos’ friend Camillo, who had a tiny car, and had left the boot packed with construction gear. The other group had taken my suitcase in their bigger car, but we still had two large suitcases and all our carry-on luggage. I will forever remember the sight of us – one suitcase on Julio’s lap in the front, with his arm hanging out the window, another suitcase crammed in between Maria and me in the back, with all our carry-on luggage piled on our laps. The car had no air-con, and the weather outside was in the 30’s and incredibly humid. Lucky the trip was a short one!
Once we arrived at the hotel, we waited for ages, as Horatio (Carlos’ brother) had gotten lost on the way, before finally checking in and crashing out for some sleep. Mmmmm. Sleep.
Comer, Tomar y Gozar!
Our second night in Madrid was the tapas crawl that will never be forgotten. I don’t think I can truly describe the atmosphere to any but the small group that experienced it… but to try and illustrate…
- Food. Food. More Food. Everything you try is more delicious than the last. Olives. Seafood. Ham. Croquettes. Chorizos. Tortillas. Potatos. Fried things I don’t even know what they are.
- Tinto de Verano. This was my first introduction to this wonderful invention. It’s basically local wine with lemonade added. When Carlos first told me what it was, I was “ewww” and chose ‘real’ red wine instead. But after a sip of Elli’s ‘tinto’ I was converted.
- People. The people in Spain are lovely. Friendly, fun, outgoing. A highlight moment was when Julio (Elli’s Dad) was dancing flamenco with another old man in one of the bars. Yes, we were all pretty smashed at this point. Another highlight was the man cutting the ham, who not only posed for photos with us, but chatted and laughed and didn’t mind our intoxictated craziness.
- The Bars. Each bar is unique and has it’s own personal character. They are usually quite small, and you stand along a wooden bench, or find a stool, or fit wherever there is a bit of space. The décor is always individual and interesting and tells a story about the bar and the food.
We basically ate and drank our way through the backstreets of Madrid. So much food I don’t know how we were still walking, but it was impossible to say no. It is truly a night that none of us will ever forget.
Quote of the night would have to be:
“I have asthma” – Julio, in response to a comment about farting in his sleep.
- Food. Food. More Food. Everything you try is more delicious than the last. Olives. Seafood. Ham. Croquettes. Chorizos. Tortillas. Potatos. Fried things I don’t even know what they are.
- Tinto de Verano. This was my first introduction to this wonderful invention. It’s basically local wine with lemonade added. When Carlos first told me what it was, I was “ewww” and chose ‘real’ red wine instead. But after a sip of Elli’s ‘tinto’ I was converted.
- People. The people in Spain are lovely. Friendly, fun, outgoing. A highlight moment was when Julio (Elli’s Dad) was dancing flamenco with another old man in one of the bars. Yes, we were all pretty smashed at this point. Another highlight was the man cutting the ham, who not only posed for photos with us, but chatted and laughed and didn’t mind our intoxictated craziness.
- The Bars. Each bar is unique and has it’s own personal character. They are usually quite small, and you stand along a wooden bench, or find a stool, or fit wherever there is a bit of space. The décor is always individual and interesting and tells a story about the bar and the food.
We basically ate and drank our way through the backstreets of Madrid. So much food I don’t know how we were still walking, but it was impossible to say no. It is truly a night that none of us will ever forget.
Quote of the night would have to be:
“I have asthma” – Julio, in response to a comment about farting in his sleep.
Day in Madrid
We had one full day in Madrid, so we decided to get on the “Red Bus” tour in order to see all the main sights. There’s too many to mention, and I have to say that poor Madrid got short shrift because we went there directly from Rome. We couldn’t help but say “oh yes, that’s nice, but it’s not really the Vatican Basilica is it?” We had become total tourist snobs.
The one thing I must mention is our lunch destination, we found a little sandwich bar with 100 different types of “mini” sandwiches. The idea is you order 3 or 4 of them. And they were freaking fantastic. Standout was a bacon and cheese and some kind of tomato-based sauce. DELICIOUS! This was just the beginning of food in Spain – which would be in unbelievably good.
The one thing I must mention is our lunch destination, we found a little sandwich bar with 100 different types of “mini” sandwiches. The idea is you order 3 or 4 of them. And they were freaking fantastic. Standout was a bacon and cheese and some kind of tomato-based sauce. DELICIOUS! This was just the beginning of food in Spain – which would be in unbelievably good.
Rome to Madrid
I’m sad to leave Rome, I’ve already decided I have to come back here and stay for at least a week, but I’m excited to get off the plane in Madrid. We leave the airport, jump on the metro, and head to our hotel, which is in a tiny backstreet just beside Puerta del Sol – which is a huge plaza in the middle of Madrid. On our way to the hotel we’ve already passed the “Museo de Jamon” (Museum of Ham) which has Col’s jaw drop to allow drool to trickle down his cheek.
In the hotel, we meet up with Mama and Papa Torres (Elli’s parents) and we’ve lost Juan (who’s gone to catch up with his family after more than 5 years absence) so our group is back to 6 people. That night we consider crashing, as it’s been a long day of travel, but we just can’t do it, so instead we head out to a salsa club with an old friend of Carlos – who is a dancer.
The night was fun. In summary, the dancers were okay – not amazing – however everyone told us that most of the city had gone to the beach for summer, so there weren’t many people left in town. One thing we really noticed that first night was the the idea of a ‘drink’ could be anything from about 3 Australian shots, to a quarter of a bottle – in one glass! And people say that Australians are alcoholics….
In the hotel, we meet up with Mama and Papa Torres (Elli’s parents) and we’ve lost Juan (who’s gone to catch up with his family after more than 5 years absence) so our group is back to 6 people. That night we consider crashing, as it’s been a long day of travel, but we just can’t do it, so instead we head out to a salsa club with an old friend of Carlos – who is a dancer.
The night was fun. In summary, the dancers were okay – not amazing – however everyone told us that most of the city had gone to the beach for summer, so there weren’t many people left in town. One thing we really noticed that first night was the the idea of a ‘drink’ could be anything from about 3 Australian shots, to a quarter of a bottle – in one glass! And people say that Australians are alcoholics….
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Tale of a Vestal Virgin (This is for Elli!)
Imagine you’re a five year old girl. You’re beautiful. You know this because you’re mother always strokes your hair and admires your eyes. Other people stare at you in the street, or stop to comment to your mother about your beauty while in the public baths.
One day, you turn six years old. Your mother dresses you in your finest clothes, and brushes your hair for a long time. Your father inspects you in careful detail, before nodding his approval. Then your father takes your hand and takes you into the centre of town, to a large and beautiful chapel.
In the chapel there are many many little girls. Thousands of them. They are all beautiful, and they all stand with their fathers, who look anxious and excited.
Men in robes come down the line of little girls, examining the face of each one in turn. Every now and then they nod at a father, and a little girl is taken away to a new line.
When they get to you, you are very nervous, although you don’t really know why. The men peer into your eyes, they open your mouth and examine your teeth. They stroke your hair, and make you spin and walk. Then they nod at your father. You are taken to a special line.
Over the next day you are inspected and admired, spoken to, and made to walk and move and sing and dance. Finally you come before the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. She looks like a goddess, and is dressed in fine robes. You have never seen a woman dressed so beautifully. She examines you, and speaks to you, and finally she nods, and says “Welcome little one. Welcome to the cult of the vestal virgins.”
Now you are taken from your family, and told you have a new family, of only women. For the next ten years, you are trained in becoming a priestess of the pagan gods. You live in a beautiful palace with only the other priestesses, trainees, and teachers. Your own teacher was once a priestess, but she is now retired, and her only job is to teach you. There are only 6 priestesses at any one time. You are continually told how great an honour it is for you to have been chosen.
You live a life of luxury and beauty. You may own land, rise horses, wear beautiful clothes and jewellery, have input into important decisions in Rome. Where you walk down a street and smile, condemned men are instantly freed. Men come to worship your beauty and purity.
The only thing you may not do? Is have carnal knowledge of any man. You have heard the stories of those very few priestesses who broke this rule. Each one was buried alive for 60 days. Only if they lived through this ordeal would it show that they had been wrongly condemned. None ever survived the ordeal.
But you are not tempted to stray from your cult. You are well trained, and you feel the power and responsibility of being a vessel for the Gods. Your knowledge and wisdom and purity is a beacon to all those who worship you, and you know that you are one of the most beautiful women in Rome, if not on earth. Your beauty is a symbol of your spiritual perfection and purity. The gods show the world your inner perfection through the beauty of your outer.
After you serve as a priestess for ten years, you must then choose your own successor from the line of little girls who come with their anxious fathers. You examine them carefully, and must find only the most beautiful, the most perfect, the girl with the most grace and poise and promise. You will then spend 10 years training her to perfection, so that she too will carry on the traditions of the Vestal Virgins. She too will be a pure vessel for the Gods you serve.
The cult of the Vestal Virgins has existed for over 1000 years, and you will see that this tradition continues on, before finally, you will retire, after ten years of training, ten years of service, and ten years of teaching. You have been one of the most beautiful and powerful women in a land where only men have power. You have been the exception to every rule, and have lived a life envied by all other women.
Now, it is time for you to retire, and perhaps briefly taste those things so long denied to you – men, children, a home. Or perhaps it is too late, you are old now, and it is not long til you find your grave, and whatever waits beyond.
One day, you turn six years old. Your mother dresses you in your finest clothes, and brushes your hair for a long time. Your father inspects you in careful detail, before nodding his approval. Then your father takes your hand and takes you into the centre of town, to a large and beautiful chapel.
In the chapel there are many many little girls. Thousands of them. They are all beautiful, and they all stand with their fathers, who look anxious and excited.
Men in robes come down the line of little girls, examining the face of each one in turn. Every now and then they nod at a father, and a little girl is taken away to a new line.
When they get to you, you are very nervous, although you don’t really know why. The men peer into your eyes, they open your mouth and examine your teeth. They stroke your hair, and make you spin and walk. Then they nod at your father. You are taken to a special line.
Over the next day you are inspected and admired, spoken to, and made to walk and move and sing and dance. Finally you come before the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. She looks like a goddess, and is dressed in fine robes. You have never seen a woman dressed so beautifully. She examines you, and speaks to you, and finally she nods, and says “Welcome little one. Welcome to the cult of the vestal virgins.”
Now you are taken from your family, and told you have a new family, of only women. For the next ten years, you are trained in becoming a priestess of the pagan gods. You live in a beautiful palace with only the other priestesses, trainees, and teachers. Your own teacher was once a priestess, but she is now retired, and her only job is to teach you. There are only 6 priestesses at any one time. You are continually told how great an honour it is for you to have been chosen.
You live a life of luxury and beauty. You may own land, rise horses, wear beautiful clothes and jewellery, have input into important decisions in Rome. Where you walk down a street and smile, condemned men are instantly freed. Men come to worship your beauty and purity.
The only thing you may not do? Is have carnal knowledge of any man. You have heard the stories of those very few priestesses who broke this rule. Each one was buried alive for 60 days. Only if they lived through this ordeal would it show that they had been wrongly condemned. None ever survived the ordeal.
But you are not tempted to stray from your cult. You are well trained, and you feel the power and responsibility of being a vessel for the Gods. Your knowledge and wisdom and purity is a beacon to all those who worship you, and you know that you are one of the most beautiful women in Rome, if not on earth. Your beauty is a symbol of your spiritual perfection and purity. The gods show the world your inner perfection through the beauty of your outer.
After you serve as a priestess for ten years, you must then choose your own successor from the line of little girls who come with their anxious fathers. You examine them carefully, and must find only the most beautiful, the most perfect, the girl with the most grace and poise and promise. You will then spend 10 years training her to perfection, so that she too will carry on the traditions of the Vestal Virgins. She too will be a pure vessel for the Gods you serve.
The cult of the Vestal Virgins has existed for over 1000 years, and you will see that this tradition continues on, before finally, you will retire, after ten years of training, ten years of service, and ten years of teaching. You have been one of the most beautiful and powerful women in a land where only men have power. You have been the exception to every rule, and have lived a life envied by all other women.
Now, it is time for you to retire, and perhaps briefly taste those things so long denied to you – men, children, a home. Or perhaps it is too late, you are old now, and it is not long til you find your grave, and whatever waits beyond.
From hatred and jealousy comes both extreme beauty and sadness (Story of the Sistine Chapel)
We all know that artists have difficult temperaments – and frequently don’t get along (salsa dancers anyone?) and this was the story a few hundred years ago when a painter named Raphael greatly disliked a sculptor called Michaelangelo. Basically Michelangelo thought sculpting was a superior art, and he looked down on painters like Raphael. Raphael was a social party-animal, while Michaelangelo was a cranky loner who didn’t bathe. Clearly a recipe for dislike and disaster.
So one day, Raphael is busy painting a series of private rooms for the Pope of the day. The same Pope asks him to paint a chapel downstairs. But Raphael says he’s too busy, it’s taking him years to paint these rooms. So instead, he gets a sneaky thought, and says to the Pope “I have a great idea, why don’t you get Michaelangelo to paint that chapel? He’d be great!”
Now of course the problem is that Michaelangelo was not a painter – he was a sculptor. He hated to paint! So Raphael was hoping he would make an absolute mess of the job and make a fool of himself in front of the Pope. “This,” thought Raphael, “will bring him down a peg or two.”
So the Pope goes to Michaelangelo and says “I want you to paint this chapel.” Meanwhile Michaelangelo was busy creating a series of 40 statues which was meant to be a funeral monument for the Pope when he died. “Sorry Pope” he said, “I’m busy doing these statues for your funeral monument.”
The Pope considers, and then said, “No Michaelangelo, God is more important than me. It is better that you paint his chapel, than create my funeral monument.”
So Michaelangelo had no choice, as the Pope was the King and his word was law. This made him very unhappy, as his only wish was to continue sculpting.
Plus, there was another problem. The chapel was to be painted 'fresco' style – which means painting directly onto wet plaster. It is one of the most difficult forms of painting in the world, as you only have a brief time to paint before the plaster dries. Michaelangelo had never done this before. But he was not to be outwitted by the crafty Raphael.
So Michelangelo decided to send to venice for some experienced painters to be his apprentices. He summoned them to Rome, and for two weeks, he supervised their work as they painted the ceiling in this style. Then he sent them off to lunch one day, and when they came back, he had locked the doors against them.
He never let them in again.
Secretly, Michelangelo had been watching them work, and learning their style and techniques. Once he had learnt enough, he removed all their work (which he said was awful) and started again from scratch. He locked himself into the Chapel, and would let no-one enter – not even the Pope.
For months he worked, day and night, in the chapel, letting no one see.
Meanwhile, upstairs Raphael was busy painting the Pope’s private rooms, when he started to get curious about Michaelangelo. He wanted to see his work. He knew Michaelangelo had let no one see his painting, and Raphael suspected it was because his work was so bad.
So one day, when Michaelangelo had left the chapel, Raphael snuck downstairs to take a look at what he’d done. He couldn’t wait to see the disaster and then tell the Pope how bad Michaelangelo’s work was.
Only when he snuck into the chapel, he took one look at the ceiling, and was amazed. It was some of the most brilliant painting he had ever seen. Michaelangelo had not only mastered the art of fresco painting - he had improved upon it.
At that point, he bowed down to Michaelangelo and acknowledged him as a true master. So he went back upstairs to the Pope’s rooms. In one of these rooms, a year earlier, Raphael had painted a wall which was a tribute to the masters of learning – such as Plato, Socrates, Euclides, and so on. And onto this painting, Raphael added a new figure – Michelangelo. He painted Michelangelo not in traditional togas – as all the other figures were painted – but in modern clothes of the day – to represent that Michelangelo was a man ahead of his time.
Meanwhile, Michaelangelo would spend a full four years finishing the Sistine Chapel, which would then become a private chapel for the use of the Popes. This chapel was so beautiful, so admired, and so masterful, that Michaelangelo would then be commissioned to do more and more paintings.
The tragedy for Michaelangelo? All he wanted to do was sculpt. He still detested painting, but he could not refuse the Popes. So for the rest of his life, he would be allowed to do only a few sculptures, and the vast majority of the work he was forced to create were the paintings that he never liked.
(note: for any purists reading this blog, I am re-telling this story as told to me by a fabulous tour guide we had in Rome. So I can't guarantee the exact veracity of the specific details. Please don't hold me to account if any of this is historically contentious!!)
So one day, Raphael is busy painting a series of private rooms for the Pope of the day. The same Pope asks him to paint a chapel downstairs. But Raphael says he’s too busy, it’s taking him years to paint these rooms. So instead, he gets a sneaky thought, and says to the Pope “I have a great idea, why don’t you get Michaelangelo to paint that chapel? He’d be great!”
Now of course the problem is that Michaelangelo was not a painter – he was a sculptor. He hated to paint! So Raphael was hoping he would make an absolute mess of the job and make a fool of himself in front of the Pope. “This,” thought Raphael, “will bring him down a peg or two.”
So the Pope goes to Michaelangelo and says “I want you to paint this chapel.” Meanwhile Michaelangelo was busy creating a series of 40 statues which was meant to be a funeral monument for the Pope when he died. “Sorry Pope” he said, “I’m busy doing these statues for your funeral monument.”
The Pope considers, and then said, “No Michaelangelo, God is more important than me. It is better that you paint his chapel, than create my funeral monument.”
So Michaelangelo had no choice, as the Pope was the King and his word was law. This made him very unhappy, as his only wish was to continue sculpting.
Plus, there was another problem. The chapel was to be painted 'fresco' style – which means painting directly onto wet plaster. It is one of the most difficult forms of painting in the world, as you only have a brief time to paint before the plaster dries. Michaelangelo had never done this before. But he was not to be outwitted by the crafty Raphael.
So Michelangelo decided to send to venice for some experienced painters to be his apprentices. He summoned them to Rome, and for two weeks, he supervised their work as they painted the ceiling in this style. Then he sent them off to lunch one day, and when they came back, he had locked the doors against them.
He never let them in again.
Secretly, Michelangelo had been watching them work, and learning their style and techniques. Once he had learnt enough, he removed all their work (which he said was awful) and started again from scratch. He locked himself into the Chapel, and would let no-one enter – not even the Pope.
For months he worked, day and night, in the chapel, letting no one see.
Meanwhile, upstairs Raphael was busy painting the Pope’s private rooms, when he started to get curious about Michaelangelo. He wanted to see his work. He knew Michaelangelo had let no one see his painting, and Raphael suspected it was because his work was so bad.
So one day, when Michaelangelo had left the chapel, Raphael snuck downstairs to take a look at what he’d done. He couldn’t wait to see the disaster and then tell the Pope how bad Michaelangelo’s work was.
Only when he snuck into the chapel, he took one look at the ceiling, and was amazed. It was some of the most brilliant painting he had ever seen. Michaelangelo had not only mastered the art of fresco painting - he had improved upon it.
At that point, he bowed down to Michaelangelo and acknowledged him as a true master. So he went back upstairs to the Pope’s rooms. In one of these rooms, a year earlier, Raphael had painted a wall which was a tribute to the masters of learning – such as Plato, Socrates, Euclides, and so on. And onto this painting, Raphael added a new figure – Michelangelo. He painted Michelangelo not in traditional togas – as all the other figures were painted – but in modern clothes of the day – to represent that Michelangelo was a man ahead of his time.
Meanwhile, Michaelangelo would spend a full four years finishing the Sistine Chapel, which would then become a private chapel for the use of the Popes. This chapel was so beautiful, so admired, and so masterful, that Michaelangelo would then be commissioned to do more and more paintings.
The tragedy for Michaelangelo? All he wanted to do was sculpt. He still detested painting, but he could not refuse the Popes. So for the rest of his life, he would be allowed to do only a few sculptures, and the vast majority of the work he was forced to create were the paintings that he never liked.
(note: for any purists reading this blog, I am re-telling this story as told to me by a fabulous tour guide we had in Rome. So I can't guarantee the exact veracity of the specific details. Please don't hold me to account if any of this is historically contentious!!)
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