Driving in Italy

It's been awhile since I've posted about everyday life... I'll get back to it soon, I promise.  Humor me once more.

So, last weekend I returned to Italy, not because I loved visiting so much over Easter, but because way back in February, I bought a ticket to Milan - a springing off point to visit Verona (to gather Romeo and Juliet material) and Cremona (the birthplace of the Stradivarius).  To do all this traveling, I decided to rent a car, rather than strap myself to the mass transportation schedules.  Plus, I felt that this was the cherry on the top of a sweet, sweet life in Europe.  As it turned out, it was possibly the best experience of the whole saga.  That is to say...

Italy be damned... I just enjoyed driving!

However, you need to know several things before reading the rest of this post.

First, almost all European cars have a manual transmission.
Second, I have driven a stick shift all of... oh, three times in my life.
Third, my adventures usually involve very great amounts of good luck... or very great amounts of bad luck.  Or blessing.  Or grace.  Or whatever you want to call it.

Please take a moment to pause and ponder this seeming difficulty.  Also note:  if you've never had to learn how to drive a stick shift before, you might not fully appreciate the following account, but perhaps you will be better advised for having read it.

My adventures began in the Milan airport, searching for my rental car agency.  I knew ahead of time that I'd have to call them upon arrival because they were not located on-site... but I'd lost my cell phone the week before... and the pay phone wasn't working... and I was short on change anyway.  Luckily, I had no plans for the day.  Arrive, get situated, see what the day holds - that was my game plan.  At last, another rental car agency directed me to a different terminal where I found a working phone.  The Advantage lady told me to meet her at Exit 7.

There are 12 exits.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen a starry-eyed female of dubious nationality (people mistake my nationality on a regular basis) and a black backpack wandering up and down the rows or doors.  Finally, I located the numbers, and off we went.

As we pulled up, there was a yellow Fiat Panda sitting in the parking lot.  It was the funnest car I've seen in ages.  I froze in sudden meditation. Please let that be my car, please let that be my car, please let that be my car!!!!! 

Oh yes.

It was my car.  I got in the driver's seat and let out a whoop.  This is going to be fun, I thought... now then, how do you get it into reverse??  Five minutes later, the girl came out and laughed as she showed me the trick.  "These are different from American automatics, aren't they?"  Yessss......

I won't bore you with the awful details of those following few minutes.  As it turns out, the emergency brake is another addition Americans don't usually think about.  Safe to say, I was relieved to get on the highway and be at a constant speed.  After a few kilometers of highway driving, my window was down, the music was up, and I was rocking it.

It was a toll road.

And you know what that means.

Six cars deep, start-and-stop, inch-your-way-up traffic.

I put my hazard lights on, said a little prayer - okay, a big prayer - and began to move up.  VROOOOM... screech!  VRROOOOM! *engine dies*  VROOOM.... screech! *engine dies* Thank God I had enormous sunglasses on.  At last, I got up to the toll window with, well, exceptional power, and the woman just looked at me and shook here head.  "Dios mio....string of Italian...." I just looked at her as pathetically as possible and said, "I know."  And I went on my merry way.

Oh, did I mention that I didn't have a map of Milan?

I had written down instructions on how to get to the hostel, but apparently in Italy, street names change every block, and within two minutes I was hopelessly lost.  Always the optimist, however, I decided to follow the signs toward the Center, where there were bound to be tourist maps and such.

The thing about having a car, though, is that you have to leave it somewhere (as opposed to simply walking around).  And the thing about driving in Europe is that there isn't any parking.  Anywhere.

...unless you find a parking garage!!

And you know what that means.

Hills.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with stick shift cars... you have to take your foot off the brake in order to accelerate while holding down the clutch, and in the space of time it takes you to move your foot, the car begins to roll backward.

It is a really good thing that:
1.  No one was in the car with me.
2.  No one was behind me.
3.  No one was coming down the garage ramp.

I turbo'd that thing up as fast as I possibly could.  It probably took a major campaign from Heaven to ensure that I did not, in fact, go barreling through a wall... but I arrived in one piece and packed my smart little car into a smart little parking place, dusted off my coat tails, and proceeded to find a map.

As you can probably imagine, the adrenaline was coursing through my body at 800 times the recommended quantities. It was time for lunch.  After cheap pizza, I was still at 600 times, which can only mean one thing:  sightseeing.

Afterwards, having procured a map and ready to get back on the horse but not yet ready to brave the rest of Milan, I decided to go to Verona for the afternoon.  Highway driving for a couple of hours... yes, it sounded nice.  I drove down the ramp (at a much slower speed) and stopped to get directions from the attendant on duty, an older gentleman.

He took one look at my car (perfectly intact, of course) and smiled wryly.  "So you're the one.... trying to be like Alonso in Formula 1, huh?"

I just looked at him as pathetically as possible and said, "I know..." and fled.

The trip to Verona was successful, and it should be noted that Italian countryside actually resembles that of Oklahoma (except for the random vineyards and Italian architecture...).   Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on your humor, on the way back, I encountered even worse toll booth woes.  At first, I was concerned because it seemed like I was practically living on the clutch, but I recalled driving Patrick's green Mustang around Edmond this fall (that was my second time driving a manual... I still can't believe you let me do that, Sweetums...) which had a killer clutch, and he mentioned that driving in city traffic was always painful, so I took this as a good sign.

Unfortunately, it was dark when I got into Milan... and I might have gotten hopelessly lost.  So much so, a kind stranger explained, that I wasn't even on the map.

Sigh.

Saturday's journey to Cremona was even more successful, and I returned to Milan feeling like quite the expert.... if I could have driven into Milan waving at the crowds like Kate Middleton, I would have, for it was certainly merited : )

It was a good experience.  I got some cool pictures and some even cooler stories.  The end.

P.S.  KMAC, I still hate conclusions.  Sorry.  In this case, I call it Writers' Prerogative... or personal laziness... either / or.

Semana Santa

10 days of Easter vacation Apr. 15-25!

Athens, Istanbul, Rome

There are definite perks to living in a Catholic country!

Stand by for photos.

Don Quixote

In this, they found thirty or forty windmills that were in that field.  As soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire:

"Fortune is guiding our affairs better than contrive to want, because you see there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or a few more, monstrous giants, with whom I do battle and take away all their lives, from whose spoils we shall begin to enrich; that this is righteous warfare, and it's great service to God to sweep so evil a breed from the face of the earth."

- Don Quijote, Part 1

Sharing Spain

 "The fundamental things apply as time goes by." 

- Casablanca

When I make discoveries about Madrid, they are usually for utilitarian purposes.  Where and what do I like to eat, for example.  Where are the nicest parks and the coolest sights.  How do you get to the aforementioned places.  Such discoveries streamline my existence.

Sharing those discoveries with other people, however, makes them so much sweeter and so much more enjoyable... especially with Patrick :)

Top 10 to Share:


10.  Getting turned around.  Chuckle because the other person is getting a little uncomfortable and/or frustrated with the situation - one that is now commonplace for you and actually lends itself to adventure.  On that note, ask a stranger for directions and get yet another free ride out of it.  (Mothers of the world - yes, yes, I know... I promise not to make a habit out of this...)

9.  Point out various differences in Spanish culture... the policemen who stand on corners and laugh together, how well-dressed Spaniards are, the graffiti everywhere, the old people who are constantly out and about and active.

8.   People watching in La Puerta del Sol.  Try to spot the Americans based on clothing and behavior.  Also, watch the street performers - Mariachi bands, string quartets, gypsy xylophonists, Chewbacca, etc.

7.  Sit outside at a cafe and enjoy a plate of olives.  Enjoy the fact that Spanish servers don't get tipped so they don't care how long you stay; in fact, they almost encourage it... sobremesa, it's called.

6.   Walk through the enormous Retiro Park on your way anywhere, notice the number and assortment of people enjoying the atmosphere, and wonder how the royal family could have kept it solely for themselves for so many years.

5.  Go tapa-ing at La Blanca Paloma... or anywhere else for that matter.  Fight your way through the door, pounce on the table that just became available, buy a glass or two of Tinto de Verano and enjoy the free dishes that accompany it... and be amazed at how full you are afterwards, all for about 12E total.

4.  Introduce (with some selectivity) the best Spanish dishes (croquettas, torrijas, neopolitanas, tortilla española, queso de tertilla, etc) and feel gratified when the other person orders them on their own a second time.

3.  Eat at Botin's, the world's oldest restaurant.  Ask to see the basement (the oldest part of the restaurant) and watch as the server's eyes light up as he offers to show you their world-famous oven as well.

2.  Paddle around Retiro's lake in a row boat as you soak up the sun and enjoy the live jazz music drifting across the water.

1. Take a break to recharge on the 9th floor cafe of El Corte Inglés and enjoy the spectacular view of Madrid.

Lessons from Lisbon

This is Lisbon in a nutshell... if you need a more thorough explanation, read the post before this one.


1.  If you wander around enough, you will eventually end up... somewhere.

2.  If there is a man selling umbrellas and it looks like it might rain, BUY IT.

3.  Arriving at the monastery means that (1) you found it, and (2) you are in the exact opposite direction of where you intended to be.  Take a picture to commemorate the moment anyway.

4.  Trolleys are old.  Make sure you hold onto something nailed to the floor.

5.  Portuguese people are even more relaxed than Spaniards, if that is possible.

6.  Minced codfish, potatoes, and cream sauce is authentic Portuguese and quite tasty.

7.  Thirty-six hours is enough time to see most of the sights, but not enough time to fully appreciate the city as a whole.

8.  Alfama is the oldest neighborhood in Lisbon, and therefore the most confusing.  Do not count on your map... especially if you are spatially / directionally challenged to begin with.


9.  If you go down a flight of stairs - or two, or three, or six - you will eventually have to come back up (in the rain).

10.  When the hostel owner raises his eyebrows when you say the rain won't bother you, it's probably a good time to reconsider.

11.  Pants dry out in a couple of hours.  Shoes take longer.

12.  Portuguese pastries are famous... "Since 1837" is a good indicator of where to start : )

13.  When you agree to play Five Questions with a random stranger from the hostel, prepare yourself to buy your him another round, and then watch out for distractions.

14.  Red Velvet cupcakes and cucumber water in a charming location with plush furniture can put the perfect end on any day.

15.   Ginja, Lisbon's cherry liqueur, should not be downed as a shot.  Ever.  Regardless, the men standing around watching will laugh.

16. As others' inhibitions diminish, they will probably assume they are the perfect ones to entertain you when they notice you are merely watching people.  Debating the merits of the European Union under such conditions does make for some good entertainment, though perhaps not the kind they had in mind...

17.  If you see the tram stopped at the bus stop and it's raining, that is the appropriate time to run.  Nevermind your umbrella.

18.  You can make hats, purses, and belts out of cork... and then sell it to tourists!

19.  There is a noticeable difference in Spanish and Portuguese porcelain art.

20.  It's breakable.

The Exhaustive Lisbon

Okay, so, before you get the minutiae on Lisbon, you need to know two things.  First, Kelly and I did no planning whatsoever.  We had no expectations, no agenda, no prior knowledge as to what Lisbon is about.  Second - and I now admit this without hesitation - we are both spatially challenged.  Can you guess where this is going?  Alright.  Everybody ready?  And GO!

Not long ago, I realized that since I'm only here for six months, I have a limited number of weekends available to me, and that I should make the most of them as soon as possible.  I have two lists:  places I MUST visit before I leave, and place I'd like to see if possible, places that would be good "fillers."  Though I'd always thought it would be cool to visit, Lisbon was on the second list (behind Rome, Paris, Never-Never Land, etc. on the first).  Because Europe is so wonderfully compacted, travel is wonderfully cheap, and when I first looked at fares, flights were 19E.  Unfortunately, when Kelly and I actually decided to go, they'd gone up a bit, but not enough to cancel our trip.

Arriving

So we got on the plane, buckled in for an hour flight, and began to realize to what extent we were winging it.  Did we speak Portuguese?  Not a word.  Did we know anything about Lisbon? Not a bit.  Kelly had a good guide book (I'd recommend Let's Go over Lonely Planet any day) and we'd both read it without much comprehension.  The only thing that kept seeming to surface was pastry shop after famous pastry shop.  Good!  we decided.  We'll frame our trip around food!  And then we landed.

The airport bus took us to the center of the city (at least, that's where we hoped we were going) and from there we'd take the Metro one stop toward our hostel.  That was the plan, and by sheer luck or Providence or whatever you want to thank, it worked!  On the way, we came to several startling realizations.  First and foremost, one of the initial sights was a yellow TROLLEY connected and sandwiched between two buildings.  What? Random.  Oh no, my friends, not random.  As it turns out, trollies make up a major part of old Lisbon's mass transportation system.

We were delighted.

And then we turned down a street toward our hostel.  It Y-ed off in two directions and had a cajun-looking house in the middle, built upon another layer of houses.  I would try to express how overwhelmed and enchanted we were, but you cannot possibly understand.  It was beautiful, interesting, lovely, cultured, and most of all, unexpected.

Maps
Our hostel, Oasis, turned out to be one of the Top 10 Hostels in Europe.  Who knew.  It was wonderful. We were greeted by the owner who stowed our bags until we returned to check in in the evening.  He also invited us to partake of the breakfast upstairs - free.  And then he took out a map and outlined a 2-3 hour walking tour of the east side of old Lisbon.

Well, two to three hours... that's what he said.  I'd say both of us are fairly intelligent and fairly well-traveled, so we listened attentively as he explained how to get places and as he traced the routes we should take, notating on the sides of the maps various points of interest, and off we went.

That's when we realized we were both spatially challenged.  Now then, in my previous adventures, I mixed my map-reading prowess (I say that ironically) with intuition, a basic sense of direction, and a bit of luck, and I magically arrived where I needed to.  In fact, this had become a point of pride for me, and if you were to hand me a map and say, here, find your way to Atlantis, I probably would have grinned and started off without a second thought.

Something happened in Lisbon.

All those qualities disappeared.

Oh, did I mention that Lisbon consists of pure circles in their roads?  Hmmm I'm looking at a map right now, and that doesn't seem to be the case as I'm sitting here safe in Madrid, but I'm telling you, one traveller to another, those roads CHANGE!  Like the staircases at Hogwarts, not even joking.  Streets that should have been there weren't, or they magically ended up on the opposite side of where they should have been.  Cathedrals and monasteries swapped places like a giant game of musical chairs.  The map in our hands twirled about as we tried to locate ourselves, and it refused to point North. The only things that were reliable were the trolly tracks.  They roughly followed the path we were supposed to take, so we followed them and arrived at the real Cathedral a couple hours later.  Keep in mind that we are still only about 1/4 of the way through our walk.  How long was this supposed to take?  No, that's okay, I don't remember either.

So the cathedral.  Neither of us were sure why it was so important (we Wikipedia'd it later), but we decided to stop by anyway.  It was pretty, but sadly, most cathedrals begin to look the same after a while.  There was an extra cloister tour, though, for only 2 euros, so we decided to try it out, not knowing what to expect.

It was a surprise, then, to walk outside and see major excavation endeavors underway.  Apparently, there is a whole Roman town submerged in the area.  Silly Romans, I thought, always building under cathedrals.  Sheesh.  It was fascinating to see, though.  A diagram explained which parts were stores and houses, which were wells and streets, and an old, perfectly round stone wheel leaned against a wall.  Again, unexpected delights.

By this time, we were hungry.  From the cloister, we'd noticed a restaurant on a corner street, so we decided to check it out.  It was a bit expensive so we kept looking and stumbled upon what might be the coolest place I have ever eaten.  It was a nondescript door slightly open, with the menu posted inside.  Inside... it was cavernous and airy.  Couches and coffee tables crowded the floor, as well as larger tables and high bar tables.  Books lined both walls, as well as board games and interesting knickknacks.  It was the perfect environment to eat lunch, study, enjoy a pastry, or prepare a global assault.  And the food was delicious... hake with cheddar and potatoes... mmm.

From there, we just happened to stumble upon one of the famous pastry shops Let's Go had mentioned.  Of course we stopped.  Coffee and custard pastries... it was good but not quite what we'd wanted.  Lisbon is famous for pure custard pastries and these had some sort of gelatin fruit fillings we weren't wild about.  Fortified, we forged on.

Walking
Lucky for us, the next part of the map was through the commercial district, which had been wiped out by an earthquake a while ago.  For that reason, they rebuilt it on a grid system.  We didn't get lost once.  Many of the stores we saw were also hosted in Spain, so we didn't stop, though all of the shoe stores were having tremendous sales and it was hard to pass up.

The hostel guy, foreseeing that we might be tired at this point, had told us that Portugal has a signature drink, ginga, a cherry liqueur, and that there were several ginja joints around this part of town, and that it would liven us back up.

Boy, was he right.  So we find one such bar and don't even have to fumble our way through Portuguese pronunciation.  We just held up our fingers like a shot glass and the bartender guessed what we wanted.  He poured us two shots and watched.  Wait, we said, do we drink it all at once, like a shot?  No, he said with a smile, drink it slowly.  Oh, did I mention the place was full, FULL of men?

It burned.  Burrrrrrned.  Not to mention it was rather tart.  The men erupted when they saw our faces.  It wasn't bad, though, so we downed them dutifully and departed.  It was an experience, we agreed... another unexpected moment.

After that, we followed our map some more and got lost several times. Really, we followed it to a T.  I have no idea how we kept ending up in the wrong place.  Sneaky staircases!  (There were a lot of stairs, in fact.  Lisbon seems to be built on a mountain.)  We weren't far from the hostel and, after finding a fabulous, quaint cupcake place and sharing a red velvet cupcake, we headed back.

Nightlife

Our hostel, Oasis, had been highly recommended to us by Will, my co-worker.  Kelly's guidebook mentioned it as well and said it turned into a bar in the evenings.  So true. I hardly recognized the place from the quite breakfast we'd had that morning.  It was hopping.  We'd been given two free drink passes upon check-in, and the bartender eagerly introduced us to Portuguese sangria (with cinnamon, interestingly... better than Spanish!) as well as a Portuguese almond/mint drink.  Meh.  Experiences, experiences, I still got tired them after half a glass. (This amazes Will, by the way - that I never finish drinks.  He does it for me. However, as he wasn't with us, the bartender seemed mildly insulted I didn't drink it all.  Oh well...).  The crowd was a lively mix of fellow travelers and locals who drop in to mix with the backpacker crowd.  

As it was a Friday night, most were drinking.  Dinner fit in there somewhere about an hour later than originally specified - authentic Portuguese, it was delicious and worth the wait.  Everyone around us (mostly Germans oddly, and one memorable Canadian) provided interesting conversation, albeit at varying levels of inebriation.  I'm still not sure how to explain the magnetic appeal standing around and people-watching seems to have.  I say this without pride but a small sense of amusement.  I had a constant stream of conversations that ranged from trying to explain what 'graduate' means in English to why many Oklahomans aren't keen on gun control.  Oh yes, it was an interesting night indeed.  By some miracle, Kelly and I managed to make an exit by 1am, a long day when you woke up at 5:45.  The party was right below us, but we slept fitfully.

Saturday

It was raining.  Pouring, actually.  Within five steps out the door, we were soaked, even with an umbrella.

Thanks for the picture, Kelly!

We had decided to go to the northwest side of Lisbon, to Belem.  It had the most famous pastry shop (the one that's been around since 1837) and was the place all the Portuguese explorers set out from.

It was raining.

We took a tram there, but the distance from the bus stop to the shop drenched us again and we entered, dripping.  (Correction, I was dripping.  Kelly had rain boots and was just damp.)  Their custard pastries, Pasche de Belem, made life happy again.

It was still raining.

For lack of better plans, we decided to go to Centro Cultural a free museum, not knowing what to expect.  It turned out to be an amazing modern art museum.  The first exhibit we stumbled onto was on cartography.  We weren't expecting much, but it was fascinating.  More on that in a different post though.  The second was a collection of other art pieces, a few of which I'd seen before in textbooks and such.  Again, an unexpectedly good time!  By the time we were finished, I was almost dry... except for my shoes and socks.

Lunch at a Pao Pao Queijo Queijo rounded off a pleasant morning, and we headed back to check out and go to the airport.  As it turns out, our flight was delayed an hour.  Tired zombies, we sat down to wait.  While waiting, we started counting up trip costs, positive that we were going to be out quite a bit given the amount of fun we'd had.  But, holy moly, including lodging but not the plane ticket, we had spent less than 80 Euros the whole time!  We had spent more on souvenirs!  Unbelievable.  It was tragic to be leaving. We were hopeful that a volcano had hit Spain and the flight would just be cancelled.  That's okay, though, we'll be back... our Canadian friend owes us a drink ;)

Adventures in Ávila

Well... it would seem I have some catching up to do, so just a quick blurb about Ávila, for the town is interesting enough that it deserves some mention at least.

Because I was originally trying to coordinate this trip to travel with Will, my co-worker, I actually did a little more planning than previous outings.  For example, I asked how long it would take to get there, from which station should I leave, how much sight seeing would be required, and what should I eat.  This last point is particularly important to me for obvious reasons.  I love tasty sustenance.  But more than that, most Spanish towns have a specialty or two that is unique to their city or region.  Taking a few minutes to eat a meal rather than, say, a CLIF Bar is a great time to reflect and absorb the atmosphere.  Food, thoughts, feel... a few of my favorite things.  So I felt prepared for this one.  Just to be safe, I also took the time to unceremoniously tear out the two pages on Avila from Lonely Planet.  Really, who wants to carry a mediocre guide book around when you can get the same information from a couple of pages?  (Even so, it was of no use whatsoever.)


However, once again, I neglected to watch the weather the day before (I blame this on the fact that Will couldn't come, as he had a prior invitation to watch rugby with some old British guys).  So, while it wasn't snowing, 9 am in the mountains is a little nippy.   I needed socks... and what do you know, there was a sock store! Problem solved.  From there, after asking a few people directions I eventually found my way to the medieval quarter.  Train schedule, woolen socks, part of a guidebook... I was feeling invincible.


Old Avila is a walled city that follows the usual line of Spanish history (Visigoths - Romans - Arabs - Christians) so it's an interesting mix of ancient influences.  It is most notable for its cathedral and its walls.
There is all sorts of interesting history behind it, but the most fascinating part for me is that it combines religion and warfare, as illustrated by the cathedral.  Avila is a "deeply religious town" (Lonely Planet) and takes great pride in its cathedral, as well as their patron saint, Teresa de Avila.  The cathedral is beautiful, and, already feeling reckless after ripping Lonely Planet apart, I blissfully ignored all signs prohibiting cameras.  (Let's be honest... if there aren't guards walking around to enforce those flimsy signs, it's hard to resist.  Besides, how could I possibly pass up an opportunity to archive sights that my students will probably never see?)

So, religious beauty.  Then comes the militaristic fortification part.  Not only was it built as a fortress, but there are also slots for archers concealed among the turrets and eves.  Moreover, as I was wandering around inside wishing I knew more about gothic architecture, I just happened to glance at a sign and skimmed it well enough to realize that it was explaining a recent discovery (a lucky stroke, considering it was in Spanish and I am usually too lazy to read well.).  As it turns out, last year (that would be 2010... 1,000 years after construction began) researches discovered a secret passageway in one of the chapels.  Now, to the best of my knowledge, most cathedrals feel their chapels are sacred and don't want any sort of secular influence to taint their holy stones (refer to photography prohibitions).  This passageway, however, led to two separate parts of the city, both of which were political hubcaps (and are now the post office and a restaurant).  Crazy!  And I thought my church was exciting because it had "catacombs"!

Defense and religion - the archer slots can be seen above the circular window.

Anyway, combined with the yemas (egg yoke pastries) and judías blancas (a white bean dish eagerly recommended by a souvenir shop owner), it was a pleasant experience.  And I had done just enough planning to make it back to the train with two minutes to spare.  I suppose you sacrifice some spontaneity when you plan, but it is nice not to have to wait around another hour for the next train.  So, in all, Avila is not a vacation destination, but it's definitely worth the trip... especially the food : )

Friday Escapes: El Escorial

Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial
(picture borrowed from Wikipedia)

As I've said before, I have a tough life - work 16 hours a week, take Fridays off... difficult, isn't it?  Nevertheless, an obvious (but unexpected) side effect is the boredom that comes from so much disposable time.  Because I haven't picked up any private pupils or hobbies yet, days stretch out before me like a giant boa constrictor.  Don't get me wrong, I find great stuff to occupy my time, but it's not as easy to do here as at home. Thankfully, though, this week has been busier than normal between an excruciating long meeting and Pub Quiz on Monday, Fusión on Tuesday, and something else on Wednesday - can't remember.  Thursday evening I stayed home.

Therefore, when 11:00 on Thursday night rolled around, I was mildly alarmed at having yet another whole day to occupy.  Going into the Center (a favorite pastime of mine) to wander around, sight-see, and shop was out of the question as I'd gone the past two weeks and was sick of it.  (Besides, carrying around a camera attracts unwanted attention - mostly from older men who just happen to be hanging around where they can offer to take your picture for you, and then start up an uncomfortable, unending conversation.)  Art museums were also a possibility, but I just wasn't feeling it.

Aha!  Day trips!  Google day trips!  Hmmm... Segovia - been there, done that.  Toledo, been there, done that, taken the tour.  Avila... yes, but later on.  Barcelona, not enough time - had to be back in Madrid at 9 for a party.

And then, inspiration!  El Escorial, the King's monastery and retreat. I'd been when I was 11 with my grandparents and it seemed pretty cool back then. Besides, it was only an hour's train ride away, and having just mastered the train system (learn by failure...), I was eager to test my skills.

So, I looked up train times and off I went!  Yes, my friends, that was the extent of my planning.  I did manage to grab an umbrella in case of rain, though the skies in Madrid were pretty clear.

It was a bit of a surprise, then, when I arrived and found several inches of snow on the ground!  Oops!  Didn't see that one coming!  Snow definitely changes plans to wander around town trying to find this place, or whatever other picturesque opportunity there might be.  Oh yes, did I mention I didn't have a map of any sort?  El Escorial, it seems, isn't hip enough for Lonely Planet.

As there was a cafe right outside the train station, it seemed like a good place to warm up with coffee and ask directions.  There were a few people at the bar, most notably two older men enjoying an animated conversation.  I sipped my coffee solemnly and ate my tortilla española, trying to process my predicament.  Not that I was worried at all, just inconvenienced, and I hate inconvenience more than anything else so... paltry.

Anyway, there was a pause in the men's conversation, but when I asked them how to get to the monastery, they commenced on a new debate as to whether I should walk or not, and even the barista joined in.  On the one hand, it was a pretty walk, but qué no!  It was snowing!  Yes, but still, I was young, so I wouldn't mind the snow as much... but the bus would take her there just as well... At length, they decided that I would surely fall and break a leg in the snow, and that it was better to wait for the bus.  Even better, they said, wait ten minutes, and if it doesn't come, walk on up.

It was decided then.  One of the gentlemen went out for a smoke while I waited inside, and they began the usual interrogation.  Where was I from? How did I speak such good Spanish?  What was I doing here and for how long?  Etc.  By this time, the other fellow had come back in and was preparing to leave.  What!  his friend cried. Why don't you just take her with you!

Oh... oh, lovely.  And I thought I had a predicament earlier!!  This time, the matter was decided amongst the three in a matter of seconds,  but seeing my hesitation, they laughed.  Look, said the first.  She's worried!  The barista laughed.  Don't worry, she said.  Te confianza.  Y si no, si no regresas, llamamos el Guardia Civil.  I'll vouch for him. And if you don't return, we'll call out the Civil Guard.

It was at this point I felt myself to be having an out-of-body experience, looking down on the scene and laughing, wondering the mothers of the world would say about talking to strangers and accepting car rides from strange men, but realizing that it would make quite a story later on... assuming I came back alive!  If I hadn't just learned the phrase "te confianza" two days earlier, I might have refused.  But... it was snowing, after all... so of course I agreed.

It was a quick ride up - literally straight up a hill about a mile. I was glad I wasn't walking.  We chatted amiably, but I didn't catch much of what he said, feeling it was more important to focus on worst-case-scenario survival instead... the snow would cushion my fall, if necessary.  But at the top, he showed me where to go, extended his hand and asked my name.  Ah, my name is difficult for you English-speakers, he said.  You don't understand it.  I braced myself for a multi-syllabic torrent.  Oh?  What is it?  I asked.  Jesus, he said.  Of course it is, I thought.  The cherry on top, right?  I'm not sure irony is the right word, but I enjoyed the moment quite a bit.

As for El Monasterio de El Escorial, it was not as cool as I remembered (perhaps I was thinking of The Valley of the Fallen, where Franco is buried, which is closed for renovations) but still worthwhile.  Built to rival the Vatican, it boasts a prestigious art collection and a library that really did rival Rome in its earlier days and survived two fires.

It struck me, though, how cold the past must have been.  There is simply no good way to heat up 75 acres of stone, no matter how important you are.  No amount of fresco, artisan marble, and priceless artwork can make up for constantly stiff joints and clammy fingers.

Additionally, the monastery is also a basilica, hosting over 66 tombs of past royals.  Now, call me crazy, but if I'm going to retreat from the affairs of the State for a while, I'd rather not be reminded of my own eventual demise.  It's just not something I tend to include in my itineraries.  On the other hand, maybe it provides a good outlet on reflection and humility.  Still, many of the caskets were for children - mostly from the distant past, but that would be difficult, I think.  Not a recommendation for Camp David, that's for sure.

Anyway, that was the adventure.  Other than soggy socks and frozen pant legs, the rest of the day passed without incident, and I got back into Madrid just in time to leave again.

Fifty-four Square Inches: A Word on Packing

A quick glance through any newspaper will likely inform you that obesity in America is on the rise. We love our food as much as we love our BBQ. (Indeed, The Economist just ran a long article about our BBQ pride; no region is exempt.) Now then, follow my logic: bigger people equals bigger clothes, and that equals bigger suitcases, right? Wouldn't it stand to reason that airlines, astute and well-informed on their customers as they are, would increase baggage allowances to accommodate our recent changes in... stature? (Please note, I say this as a disinterested patron of 5'8".)

But no! It would appear that the reverse has happened! Because of teaching, I didn't even start thinking about packing until two weeks before I left. Two weeks to transplant my entire existence. (By the way, if you've never tried this, you should. It's enlightening.) That is two weeks to decide which over-the-counter drugs are indispensable when you don't have the energy to explain what you need in a foreign language. Two weeks to plan your reading for the next 6 months. Two weeks to decide how to navigate the change of seasons, as well as to realize what items you're missing. (In my case, that would be a good winter coat and jeans, two items extremely hard to come by at short notice.) Finally, that is two weeks to find out what Spanish teachers wear, how that fits with your wardrobe, and to what extent you are going to conform... or not conform... and then arrange your suitcase accordingly.

Preparing the suitcase is a task in and of itself. There is, as everyone knows, a 50-pound limit for every suitcase you check. However, there is a very good chance that your suitcase will hold more than 50 pounds, and that there will be a good three inches left over on top, so it's important to distribute weight around your baggage well. If you do this, though, the extra space is maddening. Clearly, Samsonite and Delsey have acclimated to our enlarged population quite well.

It came as a bit of surprise, then, when at the airport check-in, they charged me extra money for my second bag. What, you say?! One bag! That's right, my friends. American Airlines has generously allowed you one bag for your international trip. But, you say, doesn't 'international' imply that it will most likely be a long trip? Why would they take away your second bag? Surely no other airline does this!

Alas, such is the sad state of things. Last time I checked, Lufthansa and Iberica allow two bags. Foreign airlines, whose citizens are decidedly smaller than ours, not to mention less materialistic (that is to say, more minimalist). Go figure.

Is there, in fact, a correlation between a person's weight and the baggage allowance? Probably not. But I maintain that there is a decided gap in marketing strategies somewhere along the line. In a nation that caters to our every whim and vanity, you would think that something as extravagant as air travel would follow suite. But to charge for an additional bag... that is extravagant.

The Starting Gate

As soon as they hear about my upcoming sojourn to Spain, people inevitably ask me two questions:

1. When are you leaving?
2. Are you excited?

That would be January 4th, Pat, for $800 please.

And no, I am not excited... yet. But thank you for asking.

Normally, I would be rearing to go. It's Spain, after all! But after fishing about in my soul for several days now, I really don't think I can say that I'm excited. Rather, it's stressing me out. You see, there is a saying in my family, one that somehow became ingrained in my psyche in spite of all my efforts to repel any of their wisdom: "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might," they say. Problematic, to say the least.

What have my hands found to do?

I have 75 sophomore students depending on me to be their teacher. 75 sophomore students who just learned I was leaving. 75 sophomore students who need a kick in the pants and a reason to dream.

I can't give it to them; I suffer from no savior illusion.

But I can give them a run for their money; and share whatever I have left to give and hope that those 5 loaves and 3 fish multiply; and show them that quitters never win and winners never quit... and whatever other cliche that happens to prove true.

I can help them learn how to beat the test and help them see that even though they are facing an academic world that caters to white, middle-class students, they can play the game, too, for let us not deceive ourselves - it really is a game. You just have to know which two answers to eliminate.

I can squeeze one more essay out of them because they will work for me unlike they will work for the person who is going to take my place - at least for the first week or so. I have high hopes for him, bless his soul. My kids want to love someone, but they're stubborn buggers about it. He'll be okay.

I can support my co-workers and add some levity to an otherwise odious week. I can listen to their stories and learn from their experience. Referrals, it seems, are not all equal - or bad.

I can enjoy the days I have with the people I know and the opportunities I've been given.

School is what my hand found to do, and by golly, I'm going to do it. It's a fight to do it well, of course; no one likes knowing there are only four days... three days... two days... before infinite amounts of freedom.

Does that prevent me from being excited? No, not really.

But add to that planning classes, enjoying an unbelievable number of wonderful friends as well as a great family, and putting the finishing touches on travel preparations.

Actually, that's inaccurate. Aside from completing a mountain of paperwork and a Black Friday forage for luggage, I have made few travel preparations. January 4th looms ever closer. And I still don't have my visa.

Details, details, details!

My hands are full, to say the least. Thank God I'm not married! Although... hmm... yes.

Am I excited? No.

Ask me again in four days.