Outstanding day today, simply outstanding. We began the morning with a 10a.m. breakfast in our hotel, prior to setting out for a day of sightseeing. First things first though. I've been here now for almost two weeks and I've neglected to mention one critical thing - the Spanish lifestyle and me were made for each other.
Specifically, I'm talking about the hours these folks keep. Man, every night here I'm eating dinner at 9:30 or even 10:00 at night. I'm not talking dessert here folks, I'm talking about ordering my meal and finishing around 11 or so! Our first week on the Costa del Sol was a bit earlier, apparently the English and German retirees there are bit more like their American peers who tend to eat early, but since we've been in the city the hours have been much more to my liking. I've never been an early riser and it is difficult at home to adapt to a in by 8 out by 5:30 sort of lifestyle, particularly when my family typically eats dinner at 8 or 8:30. So for me it has been like finding my long lost bretheren. Tonight we have reservations at an arrozeria (Paella and Sangria baby!) at 9:30.
Getting back to our day today, as I said we had a late breakfast in our hotel and then set out to the Prado directly afterward. I knew the Prado was well regarded, but I really didn't expect to see the sheer amount of art that we took in today. It was fabulous; Rafeal, Goya, El Greco, Carravagio, and many more. There was so much it was frankly a bit over whelming.
We've been doing these self guided audio tours at the museums and I have to say that if you have the chance to take these at some point, by all means do it. They're generally well presented, allow you to proceed at your own pace, and provide some balance and perspective to what can otherwise be an overwhelming experience.
Still, today, after about four hours in the Prado, my brain was in pain. Seriously, at some point viewing all the paintings and sculptures if you are not used to it, and I certainly am not, becomes a full sensory overload and you just have to give up.
So we packed it in, and went out for a sandwhich (bocadillo) and drink in an effort to regroup. Our next stop was at another art museum that I hadn't ever heard of - not that I generally would. It was the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza. This was a smaller place, built off of a private collection and in some ways it was even better.
The collection is largely built in date order and begins with the "Italian Primatives" from the 14th century and moves sequentially up through the early 20th century. In a way it is an art history course on three very large floors. The cool part of the experience was when I began explaining my new found education to PD1 about how the art we were viewing began with the gothic and started taking on differenct aspects over time. PD1, very politely, tolerated my lecture for about 5 minutes and then made it clear that at 13 she already knew all this, and in fact was able to explain even more to me! I'm a proud dad.
We're back at the hotel now and will be leaving for dinner in a half an hour or so, so time to run. Tomorrow we link up with some Spanish friends who live in Madrid. They've warned us in advance not to have breakfast because they're taking us to "the best Tapas place in Madrid".
Let me repeat: THE BEST TAPAS PLACE IN MADRID.
How cool is that?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
I Can Dig It
So, as I mentioned in yesterday's post we arrived in Madrid to an adequate but less then enthralling hotel situation. I'll admit upfront to my snobish tastes, but truthfully the hotel we were at was just not up to snuff. We spent the night there and I never could get the room temperature down below "freakin' blazing" and the garbage collectors under my window at 3 in the blessed a.m. was a taste of local culture beyond what I hoped for.
Happily, through the miracle of the internet, and the fluent in Spanish skills of the inestimable Mrs. P, we were able to negotiate two rooms at this hotel for only a couple Euros more than we would have been paying at our previous lodging. Whoa, is all that I can say. One of their complimenatary services is the "select your pillow service". Basically this is the opportunity to change out the standard pillow in your room, for five other types based on your particular taste. The beauty part is that this is available at no additonal charge. I'm thinking that I might change pillows tomorrow just because I can.
Oh, and the rooms. Whoa. I mean really, whoa. Mrs. P and I have a King bed with a dinner table for four and a couch and easy chair with a coffe table. The kids have a good sized room with two single beds. The whole area is set off from the hall by a locking door, and each room is secured by doors as well which provides ample time for Mrs. P and I to........well you get the idea.
Any way, this place is pretty cool. Today we were at Toledo, which is an old walled off town that the locals are proud of saying is a place where Jews, Christians and Moslems live together in peace. Let me tell you folks I was sooooo tempted to mention that there is another place in the world where this happens routinely; it's called the United Fricken States of America but Ireally didn't have the heart. They were so earnest and all, it really was kind of cute.
Tomorrow the Prada, lunch of crusty bread, cheese and wine in a big park nearby and who knows what else. We have some friends here through Mrs. P, so I'm hoping that we get the opportunity to party with some locals before we head back to the U.S. of A on Sunday.
Buenos Nochas Amigos!
Happily, through the miracle of the internet, and the fluent in Spanish skills of the inestimable Mrs. P, we were able to negotiate two rooms at this hotel for only a couple Euros more than we would have been paying at our previous lodging. Whoa, is all that I can say. One of their complimenatary services is the "select your pillow service". Basically this is the opportunity to change out the standard pillow in your room, for five other types based on your particular taste. The beauty part is that this is available at no additonal charge. I'm thinking that I might change pillows tomorrow just because I can.
Oh, and the rooms. Whoa. I mean really, whoa. Mrs. P and I have a King bed with a dinner table for four and a couch and easy chair with a coffe table. The kids have a good sized room with two single beds. The whole area is set off from the hall by a locking door, and each room is secured by doors as well which provides ample time for Mrs. P and I to........well you get the idea.
Any way, this place is pretty cool. Today we were at Toledo, which is an old walled off town that the locals are proud of saying is a place where Jews, Christians and Moslems live together in peace. Let me tell you folks I was sooooo tempted to mention that there is another place in the world where this happens routinely; it's called the United Fricken States of America but Ireally didn't have the heart. They were so earnest and all, it really was kind of cute.
Tomorrow the Prada, lunch of crusty bread, cheese and wine in a big park nearby and who knows what else. We have some friends here through Mrs. P, so I'm hoping that we get the opportunity to party with some locals before we head back to the U.S. of A on Sunday.
Buenos Nochas Amigos!
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Some Still Remember
21 years ago my wife and I embarked on our life together and began our marriage with a honeymoon trip to France and Germany. For those of you who can remember that long ago, it was 1985, The Gipper had just been re-elected, much to the consternation of Europe's smart set, and the cold war was beginning it's final days.
It is hard to find many folks now who will admit to being against US foriegn policy back then, but I can assure you that when it came to anti-anti-communists, Europe had more than it's share. As a young adult who grew up with friends who were first generation imigrants - some of whom were smuggled out of Hungary and other Soviet client states as young babies - I was a strong Reagan supporter and couldn't understand how anyone could see the world differently than we did. Yet it was clear that some did.
I came to understand the opposition a bit during an overnight stay on the Rhein in Germany. We arrived at our hotel in the early afternoon and had a wonderful room at the top of a spire in an old castle that overlooked the river. To this day I remember standing on the balcony and marveling at the amount of military air traffic that was present in the sky. I had no way of knowing if it was a normal day, but I did gain a different perspective. As I watched the helicopters and jets pass over my balcony I thought, "my God, these people must just want for all of this to stop". There wasn't any shooting of course, but in some way that was worse. There was no obvious evil, those in the gulags were strangers far away, and the sheer relentlessness of it all had to be strong argument for trying to find a way of accomodating our enemy. After all, they really weren't hurting the peaceful people of Germany's Black Forest were they?
I also remember the strong anti-Americanism that I experienced in Paris on that trip. The French in many cases were just plain rude, and made it clear that it was our President and his policies that upset them so. Still, there was a very interesting thing about the French anti-Americanism that I experienced; it had a distinct age bias. The French who were my age were the worst, and had nothing good to say about Americans. The older French though - those old enough to remember the war, were very different. They were gracious, helpful and welcoming. It was clear that they still remembered what America did for them.
I mention all of this because today I had a similar experience. Today we awoke in Barcelona and drove the 600 kilometers to Madrid. Upon arriving at our hotel I drove the car into the parking lot and was greated by a cheerful gentleman who ran the garage. He said to us immediately, "you are not Spanish". A bit odd we thought, but acknowledged that yes, we were Americans. He said he could tell as soon as we pulled in. I wasn't sure what all of this meant, but he was a pleasant enough fellow and we chatted a bit more and then went up the stairs to reception.
We checked in, and frankly the hotel was bit of a disappointment. It was old, more than a bit tired and to be honest a little dirty. To say the least, I was becoming quite disenchanted with our accomodations. We had tried to save a couple bucks when we were booking, and frankly got what we paid for. Those who know me know that I can be a bit particular when it comes to cleanliness and this place was a bit lacking.
So it was in a bit of a hassled state that I returned to the garage to pick up my luggage. My friend was there again and he helped me take my bags to the elevator and said that it was good to practice his English. He said he wasn't from here, that he had emigrated from Romainia. "When Caucescu was in charge it was good to know several languages" he said - clearly an invitation to talk more about those awful days.
Well, I dropped the ball, folks. Here was a man from the front. A man who lived the hell that the accomodationists didn't want to see. A man who didn't have quite the same amount of luck as some of those kids I grew up with had and he wanted to engage an American in cold war talk. Incredibly, I was so distracted about my accomodations I really didn't give him enough time.
No, the irony of it all isn't lost on me.
Anyway, when I got to my room I started dialing for new accomodations and I secured improved lodging for Thursday through Saturday night. Happy with this accomplishment I was keenly aware that my work wasn't quite done. I then told my wife I had to go get my glasses out of the car and left our room to return to the parking garage. As I got there I saw my friend was just getting ready to leave. "Thank God I caught him" I thought.
"Going home?" I asked as I approached.
"Finishing my 12 hour day" he said.
"So how long have you been in Spain?" I asked.
"About 5 years. I came here to help my son get school. He graduated two months ago, so now I don't know" he said.
"Do you like Spain?"
"It's ok, better than Romania, economically. I have a German girlfriend so I have three choices; Spain, Germany, or Romania"
"Or maybe others" I said, "you have the world!"
"Yes, maybe even America. You know these countries are nice, very nice, but I always remember what my Grandfather said".
"What is that?" I asked.
"He said this: 'America, is always.....America', I remember that"
He turned and started leaving, and as he looked back at me, I nodded and said, "thanks".
It is hard to find many folks now who will admit to being against US foriegn policy back then, but I can assure you that when it came to anti-anti-communists, Europe had more than it's share. As a young adult who grew up with friends who were first generation imigrants - some of whom were smuggled out of Hungary and other Soviet client states as young babies - I was a strong Reagan supporter and couldn't understand how anyone could see the world differently than we did. Yet it was clear that some did.
I came to understand the opposition a bit during an overnight stay on the Rhein in Germany. We arrived at our hotel in the early afternoon and had a wonderful room at the top of a spire in an old castle that overlooked the river. To this day I remember standing on the balcony and marveling at the amount of military air traffic that was present in the sky. I had no way of knowing if it was a normal day, but I did gain a different perspective. As I watched the helicopters and jets pass over my balcony I thought, "my God, these people must just want for all of this to stop". There wasn't any shooting of course, but in some way that was worse. There was no obvious evil, those in the gulags were strangers far away, and the sheer relentlessness of it all had to be strong argument for trying to find a way of accomodating our enemy. After all, they really weren't hurting the peaceful people of Germany's Black Forest were they?
I also remember the strong anti-Americanism that I experienced in Paris on that trip. The French in many cases were just plain rude, and made it clear that it was our President and his policies that upset them so. Still, there was a very interesting thing about the French anti-Americanism that I experienced; it had a distinct age bias. The French who were my age were the worst, and had nothing good to say about Americans. The older French though - those old enough to remember the war, were very different. They were gracious, helpful and welcoming. It was clear that they still remembered what America did for them.
I mention all of this because today I had a similar experience. Today we awoke in Barcelona and drove the 600 kilometers to Madrid. Upon arriving at our hotel I drove the car into the parking lot and was greated by a cheerful gentleman who ran the garage. He said to us immediately, "you are not Spanish". A bit odd we thought, but acknowledged that yes, we were Americans. He said he could tell as soon as we pulled in. I wasn't sure what all of this meant, but he was a pleasant enough fellow and we chatted a bit more and then went up the stairs to reception.
We checked in, and frankly the hotel was bit of a disappointment. It was old, more than a bit tired and to be honest a little dirty. To say the least, I was becoming quite disenchanted with our accomodations. We had tried to save a couple bucks when we were booking, and frankly got what we paid for. Those who know me know that I can be a bit particular when it comes to cleanliness and this place was a bit lacking.
So it was in a bit of a hassled state that I returned to the garage to pick up my luggage. My friend was there again and he helped me take my bags to the elevator and said that it was good to practice his English. He said he wasn't from here, that he had emigrated from Romainia. "When Caucescu was in charge it was good to know several languages" he said - clearly an invitation to talk more about those awful days.
Well, I dropped the ball, folks. Here was a man from the front. A man who lived the hell that the accomodationists didn't want to see. A man who didn't have quite the same amount of luck as some of those kids I grew up with had and he wanted to engage an American in cold war talk. Incredibly, I was so distracted about my accomodations I really didn't give him enough time.
No, the irony of it all isn't lost on me.
Anyway, when I got to my room I started dialing for new accomodations and I secured improved lodging for Thursday through Saturday night. Happy with this accomplishment I was keenly aware that my work wasn't quite done. I then told my wife I had to go get my glasses out of the car and left our room to return to the parking garage. As I got there I saw my friend was just getting ready to leave. "Thank God I caught him" I thought.
"Going home?" I asked as I approached.
"Finishing my 12 hour day" he said.
"So how long have you been in Spain?" I asked.
"About 5 years. I came here to help my son get school. He graduated two months ago, so now I don't know" he said.
"Do you like Spain?"
"It's ok, better than Romania, economically. I have a German girlfriend so I have three choices; Spain, Germany, or Romania"
"Or maybe others" I said, "you have the world!"
"Yes, maybe even America. You know these countries are nice, very nice, but I always remember what my Grandfather said".
"What is that?" I asked.
"He said this: 'America, is always.....America', I remember that"
He turned and started leaving, and as he looked back at me, I nodded and said, "thanks".
Monday, March 27, 2006
Barcelona
Hola!
Quick checkin from Spain. We drove 1000 Kilometers yesterday and are now in Barcelona. The speed limit was 120 KM/HR, but they didn't seem to mind that I was doing 160-170 most of the way, which really put a dent in the time it took to drive.
Today we linked up with some friends from our town and basically spent the time walking around burning off calories so we could go eat and drink again. One disturbing point; I'm becoming convinced that the cooking here in Spain for the most part sucks. Beyond some real basic dishes, meat and fish tend to be way, way, way over cooked and service at best can be described as indifferent. This, as you can imagine, is a genuine disappointment to me. However, I will not give up hope! Tomorrow is a new day, and my quest for a good meal we be re-pursued with a vigorous enthusiasm!
Lots to do tomorrow, as we essentially wasted a day today. Picasso musema, the church of the familia Guardia, and much more. It's off to Madrid on Wednesday but I'll try to check in tomorrow with a more complete report, and with luck, news of a good meal.
Adios Amigos!
Quick checkin from Spain. We drove 1000 Kilometers yesterday and are now in Barcelona. The speed limit was 120 KM/HR, but they didn't seem to mind that I was doing 160-170 most of the way, which really put a dent in the time it took to drive.
Today we linked up with some friends from our town and basically spent the time walking around burning off calories so we could go eat and drink again. One disturbing point; I'm becoming convinced that the cooking here in Spain for the most part sucks. Beyond some real basic dishes, meat and fish tend to be way, way, way over cooked and service at best can be described as indifferent. This, as you can imagine, is a genuine disappointment to me. However, I will not give up hope! Tomorrow is a new day, and my quest for a good meal we be re-pursued with a vigorous enthusiasm!
Lots to do tomorrow, as we essentially wasted a day today. Picasso musema, the church of the familia Guardia, and much more. It's off to Madrid on Wednesday but I'll try to check in tomorrow with a more complete report, and with luck, news of a good meal.
Adios Amigos!
Friday, March 24, 2006
Spain Been Very Very Good To Me
It's been a busy past few days. On Wednesday we took a drive to Sherry country and visited the Domecq and Tio Pepe Bodegas. Of the two, the Tio Pepe was far more well done, and we ended up buying far more Sherry than we had intended.
Both Bodegas are in Jerez (pronounced "Herez") de la Frontera, which until that fateful day in 1492 was occupied by the Moors. I mention this because of a little fact about the name of the town and the drink that we call sherry. It seems that Jerez is not a Spanish name, but instead a name that is very similar to the name the Moors used for sherry which I can't exactly remember now. None-the-less, sherry has been produced for centuries in this area, and the Moors were no exception. I must confess to a little delight when our tour guide mentioned this fact and included the words, "despite the Muslim prohibition against alcohol" which elicited more than a few snickers from our international group.
At any rate, after the tour we stopped and had some tapas in the Tio Pepe tasting room and enjoyed a couple glasses of sherry. A couple things that I learned.
1. Sherry comes in four main types; Fino, Amantillado, Olo Rosso, and Pedro Jimenez
2. The first three are made from the Palomino grape, while the last is made from the Pedro Jimenez grape.
3. They get sweeter as you move from Fino to Pedro
4. This is the shocker - Harvey's Bristol Cream is actually pretty decent despite the '70's throw your room keys in a hat party image.
On a completely different change of pace, yesterday we went to the Alambra in Granada. This is an old Muslim Fort, town really, built during the Moorish occupation. The place is amazing - the sultan's palace in particular - and is all the more impressive given it's distinct architectural differences with the more typical European palaces that we've all become much more familiar with. As I was walking through the place I was struck with how the Muslim culture has stagnated over the recent centuries; incredibly sad really. One wonders what went wrong, and if they'll ever get back on track.
Today is a slower day. I think we'll hang nearby and then tomorrow head to Seville. On Sunday we have an 11 hour drive to Barcelona.
Buenos Dias Amigos!
Both Bodegas are in Jerez (pronounced "Herez") de la Frontera, which until that fateful day in 1492 was occupied by the Moors. I mention this because of a little fact about the name of the town and the drink that we call sherry. It seems that Jerez is not a Spanish name, but instead a name that is very similar to the name the Moors used for sherry which I can't exactly remember now. None-the-less, sherry has been produced for centuries in this area, and the Moors were no exception. I must confess to a little delight when our tour guide mentioned this fact and included the words, "despite the Muslim prohibition against alcohol" which elicited more than a few snickers from our international group.
At any rate, after the tour we stopped and had some tapas in the Tio Pepe tasting room and enjoyed a couple glasses of sherry. A couple things that I learned.
1. Sherry comes in four main types; Fino, Amantillado, Olo Rosso, and Pedro Jimenez
2. The first three are made from the Palomino grape, while the last is made from the Pedro Jimenez grape.
3. They get sweeter as you move from Fino to Pedro
4. This is the shocker - Harvey's Bristol Cream is actually pretty decent despite the '70's throw your room keys in a hat party image.
On a completely different change of pace, yesterday we went to the Alambra in Granada. This is an old Muslim Fort, town really, built during the Moorish occupation. The place is amazing - the sultan's palace in particular - and is all the more impressive given it's distinct architectural differences with the more typical European palaces that we've all become much more familiar with. As I was walking through the place I was struck with how the Muslim culture has stagnated over the recent centuries; incredibly sad really. One wonders what went wrong, and if they'll ever get back on track.
Today is a slower day. I think we'll hang nearby and then tomorrow head to Seville. On Sunday we have an 11 hour drive to Barcelona.
Buenos Dias Amigos!
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Yo Soy Un Idiot
They've got a lot of diesel cars here in Spain, were you aware of this fact? The truth is they have so many diesel cars that they often rent diesel cars. In fact, even fine American car rental companies such as Avis rent these vehicles and it is wise, very wise indeed, to be aware of this. More in a moment.
Today, the P family took an excursion to the Rock of Gibraltar. Impressive in a way, but also a bit like going to Mackinaw (or do you say Mackinac?) Island in Michigan. Both have a false isolation built in, Mackinaw does not allow bikes, Gibraltar is run by the Brits. Both exist mainly for the purpose of tourism, and both it seems have been relatively successful in convincing otherwise intelligent folks to pay huge sums for the inconvenience of living there.
Still, we had a delightful time touring the island and enjoying a fine British pub meal for lunch. I treated myself to Bangers and Mash, which for those of you not in the know, is a couple sausages of dubious quality and a load of mashed potatoes. Mine came with some fabulously fresh peas and I washed it down with a pint of ale. My companions had their own take on British fare as Mrs. P ordered Quiche (Irish Cheddar Cheese), PD1 ordered a BLT wrap (Canadian Bacon) and PD2 ordered spaghetti (no excuse).
We then went for a good hike to burn off the calories, until the rains came and we had to retreat to the car. That is when the trouble started.
Driving back to our town I noticed the fuel gauge was getting precariously low and pulled over to the roadside for a quick (so I thought) fill-up. As I was marveling at the cost of gas which was about a buck a liter, I selected my grade and plunged the spout into my tank. After filling with nearly 37 liters of fuel, I withdrew the spout and closed the fuel door and headed in to pay.
"Wait", I thought. What was that I saw in the inside of the fuel door? Was the word "Diesel" printed there? No, couldn't be. Still, I thought, I'd better check. I opened the door, looked in and there to my horror was the word Diesel. For a moment I thought, "maybe it will run anyway?" Of course, I knew I was doomed to have to admit my failure not only to my family, but to the gas station folks and, of course, to the fine people at Avis.
And speaking of Avis, wow! I called Madrid, they transferred me immediately to the local folks who were at my location within one hour with a new car ready to go. They changed out car, handed me the keys and wished me well. The only problem is that the whole thing was too easy. Frankly, I think I deserved to be brow beaten for being so bloody stupid! But no, those Avis folks were just plain nice and now I sit here ridden with guilt. Nothing a little Spanish vino can't help though.
So that was our day. A wonderful trip, slightly marred by what frankly could have been a much worse wrong type of gas in the gas tank experience. Thank God I didn't start that baby up and head out onto the road. Tomorrow it's off to Jerez to see some fine local sherry producers, I'm really looking forward to that trip.
One more thing. As I headed down the entrance ramp and out onto the highway, the car was pretty silent as we all were just grateful to be back on our way. Suddenly, Mrs. P said, "I checked".
I said, "what?"
She said, "I checked".
"You checked what?"
"The car........it runs on gas".
Today, the P family took an excursion to the Rock of Gibraltar. Impressive in a way, but also a bit like going to Mackinaw (or do you say Mackinac?) Island in Michigan. Both have a false isolation built in, Mackinaw does not allow bikes, Gibraltar is run by the Brits. Both exist mainly for the purpose of tourism, and both it seems have been relatively successful in convincing otherwise intelligent folks to pay huge sums for the inconvenience of living there.
Still, we had a delightful time touring the island and enjoying a fine British pub meal for lunch. I treated myself to Bangers and Mash, which for those of you not in the know, is a couple sausages of dubious quality and a load of mashed potatoes. Mine came with some fabulously fresh peas and I washed it down with a pint of ale. My companions had their own take on British fare as Mrs. P ordered Quiche (Irish Cheddar Cheese), PD1 ordered a BLT wrap (Canadian Bacon) and PD2 ordered spaghetti (no excuse).
We then went for a good hike to burn off the calories, until the rains came and we had to retreat to the car. That is when the trouble started.
Driving back to our town I noticed the fuel gauge was getting precariously low and pulled over to the roadside for a quick (so I thought) fill-up. As I was marveling at the cost of gas which was about a buck a liter, I selected my grade and plunged the spout into my tank. After filling with nearly 37 liters of fuel, I withdrew the spout and closed the fuel door and headed in to pay.
"Wait", I thought. What was that I saw in the inside of the fuel door? Was the word "Diesel" printed there? No, couldn't be. Still, I thought, I'd better check. I opened the door, looked in and there to my horror was the word Diesel. For a moment I thought, "maybe it will run anyway?" Of course, I knew I was doomed to have to admit my failure not only to my family, but to the gas station folks and, of course, to the fine people at Avis.
And speaking of Avis, wow! I called Madrid, they transferred me immediately to the local folks who were at my location within one hour with a new car ready to go. They changed out car, handed me the keys and wished me well. The only problem is that the whole thing was too easy. Frankly, I think I deserved to be brow beaten for being so bloody stupid! But no, those Avis folks were just plain nice and now I sit here ridden with guilt. Nothing a little Spanish vino can't help though.
So that was our day. A wonderful trip, slightly marred by what frankly could have been a much worse wrong type of gas in the gas tank experience. Thank God I didn't start that baby up and head out onto the road. Tomorrow it's off to Jerez to see some fine local sherry producers, I'm really looking forward to that trip.
One more thing. As I headed down the entrance ramp and out onto the highway, the car was pretty silent as we all were just grateful to be back on our way. Suddenly, Mrs. P said, "I checked".
I said, "what?"
She said, "I checked".
"You checked what?"
"The car........it runs on gas".
Monday, March 20, 2006
Hola!
"Where's the Water?"
With these simple three words, Mrs. P informed us we were in trouble, but more on that in a moment.
Here we are, Day 2 in Spain, and the P family is hanging in a little town in the province of Andalucia called Torrox. It's a great little village, what little that we saw of it yesterday, and it promises to be a very relaxing week before we move on to Barcelona and Madrid for more standard touristy sort of activity - the sort of things that my recent nitwit commenter called a "white man's vacation".
We left our house Saturday at about noon. Cody, our Akita is staying there with the dog walker/house sitter, and together they will continue to manage our ongoing remodel. It's always hard to leave or buddy Cody, but we used to board him and somehow keeping him in the house and having Scott stay over seems much better. Thanks Scott!
Our flight over was quite enjoyable, save for a little moderate turbulence that woke me up momentarily somewhere over the Atlantic. We flew Continental, which turns out to be a fantastic airline and landed around 10a.m. in Madrid. Wisely or not, we decided to make the jaunt to Torrox by car instead of train and secured our ride at the local Avis counter. Since we rented a manual transmission, I was named driver for the trip, and Mrs. P took over navigation duties. This might have been a mistake.
First, a word about our accommodations. For this week we are staying in the home of some friends who are visiting the US on their vacation. It is a lovely little apartment located in a small town on the "Gold Coast" (or was it the "Sun Coast", I can never remember) of Spain. We'll use this as our base and visit Seville, Granada, the Alhambra and hopefully a Sherry producer this week.
When our friends sent us directions for driving from the airport to the apartment, we just assumed they had things in them like take I95 to exit 43 and go west....etc. So we didn't bother to really read them before we go in the car and started driving. Sadly, they were more like, "Take the autovia to Cordoba and when you get close to Cordoba take the road to Malaga.....and so on. In other words, they were long on the generalities, but utterly lacking in specifics!
Happily we did have a map so I thought we would be ok. What I forgot though is that Mrs. P, a high powered business executive who completed college in three years and an MBA in one, a delightful mother and wife, is most likely the world's worst map reader. When I mean wost, I mean like it's not really even a contest. It's not so much that she can't read a map, it's more like she doesn't want to bother with all those road names and numbers....kind of like our friends I guess! So we were pretty much doomed to getting lost.
As I was driving and following signs that said "Cordoba" and "Malaga" and "Almeria" Mrs. P was saying things like, "yes, turn here". Foolishly I thought she was confirming these turns on the map, but as it turns out she was basing her assent on our friends' less than specific directions! Soon Mrs. P fell asleep.
I pressed on and thought to myself that the drive was taking a bit too long when my dear wife woke up and uttered those now famous words.
"Where's the water"?
Where is the water, indeed. There was nothing but Friggen mountains! We had gone the wrong way! Not totally the wrong way like north instead of south mind you; more like southwest instead of southeast. So we ended up journeying about 2 extra hours as a result, not exactly what you want to do on four hours of sleep, but we did have a wicked good laugh over the whole thing.
And so here we are. I think we'll hang in town today and just relax.....it seems that none of us are really up for a drive! I can't really sit still very long, so I'm about to go out for a run with PD1 and then perhaps some lunch. I have some pictures from the drive which I'll try to post a little later.
Adios!
With these simple three words, Mrs. P informed us we were in trouble, but more on that in a moment.
Here we are, Day 2 in Spain, and the P family is hanging in a little town in the province of Andalucia called Torrox. It's a great little village, what little that we saw of it yesterday, and it promises to be a very relaxing week before we move on to Barcelona and Madrid for more standard touristy sort of activity - the sort of things that my recent nitwit commenter called a "white man's vacation".
We left our house Saturday at about noon. Cody, our Akita is staying there with the dog walker/house sitter, and together they will continue to manage our ongoing remodel. It's always hard to leave or buddy Cody, but we used to board him and somehow keeping him in the house and having Scott stay over seems much better. Thanks Scott!
Our flight over was quite enjoyable, save for a little moderate turbulence that woke me up momentarily somewhere over the Atlantic. We flew Continental, which turns out to be a fantastic airline and landed around 10a.m. in Madrid. Wisely or not, we decided to make the jaunt to Torrox by car instead of train and secured our ride at the local Avis counter. Since we rented a manual transmission, I was named driver for the trip, and Mrs. P took over navigation duties. This might have been a mistake.
First, a word about our accommodations. For this week we are staying in the home of some friends who are visiting the US on their vacation. It is a lovely little apartment located in a small town on the "Gold Coast" (or was it the "Sun Coast", I can never remember) of Spain. We'll use this as our base and visit Seville, Granada, the Alhambra and hopefully a Sherry producer this week.
When our friends sent us directions for driving from the airport to the apartment, we just assumed they had things in them like take I95 to exit 43 and go west....etc. So we didn't bother to really read them before we go in the car and started driving. Sadly, they were more like, "Take the autovia to Cordoba and when you get close to Cordoba take the road to Malaga.....and so on. In other words, they were long on the generalities, but utterly lacking in specifics!
Happily we did have a map so I thought we would be ok. What I forgot though is that Mrs. P, a high powered business executive who completed college in three years and an MBA in one, a delightful mother and wife, is most likely the world's worst map reader. When I mean wost, I mean like it's not really even a contest. It's not so much that she can't read a map, it's more like she doesn't want to bother with all those road names and numbers....kind of like our friends I guess! So we were pretty much doomed to getting lost.
As I was driving and following signs that said "Cordoba" and "Malaga" and "Almeria" Mrs. P was saying things like, "yes, turn here". Foolishly I thought she was confirming these turns on the map, but as it turns out she was basing her assent on our friends' less than specific directions! Soon Mrs. P fell asleep.
I pressed on and thought to myself that the drive was taking a bit too long when my dear wife woke up and uttered those now famous words.
"Where's the water"?
Where is the water, indeed. There was nothing but Friggen mountains! We had gone the wrong way! Not totally the wrong way like north instead of south mind you; more like southwest instead of southeast. So we ended up journeying about 2 extra hours as a result, not exactly what you want to do on four hours of sleep, but we did have a wicked good laugh over the whole thing.
And so here we are. I think we'll hang in town today and just relax.....it seems that none of us are really up for a drive! I can't really sit still very long, so I'm about to go out for a run with PD1 and then perhaps some lunch. I have some pictures from the drive which I'll try to post a little later.
Adios!
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