Flamenco Anniversary

We spent the weekend celebrating our second wedding anniversary. Two years ago we had a blues "boda" with all of our friends and loved ones in Mississippi. With September 26th approaching, we lit a roaring metaphorical fire. It began in Portugal with an argument about directions. Then we took turns pouring gasoline on it for much of our time in Madrid. So, by the time our bus wound through the neat rows of olive trees into Granada, we had the perfect embers. Our first hotel room since leaving U.S. soil made the embers glow romantically. The intricacy of the Alhambra's Arab architecture and the passion of live flamenco music and dance made it perfect.

The flamenco was incredible. The band we saw had six members, only one of whom was over 30. The venue seated no more than 50 people. A glass of boxed wine was included with our ticket. We were the first ones in and took seats on the front bench. The show was two hours of concentratin and passion.

It started with a percussionist taking a seat just in front of me on a box that looked like a speaker or a subwoofer. It turns out this is his drum. Behind him, a young man of maybe 23 sits at a piano. Then the three chairs with microphones are filled one by one. First by a woman in her 50s or 60s with the look of a true gypsy. She has thin snaking gray curls, ample eye makeup in a bluish-purple shade and a long flowy black dress with her shoulders out. Her voice is raspy and baritone.

Next to her sits her opposite. A beautiful young woman who looks to be 21 or 22. She wears a blue blazer with sleeves rolled, white pants and heels. Her voice glides around octaves like waves on a rocky shore. Sometimes crashing with power. Sometimes caressing with tranquility. They both clap and tap as well as sing. Next to her sits a young man with a small acoustic guitar. He sings with his fingers. And his microphone is appropriately pointed towards his navel. He plays his guitar expressionlessly like a classical music recital with the fingers of Eric Clapton. The music is rousing, moving, and at times, sad.

By the time they reach the second song, the dancer appears. She wears a tightly fitted dress of black and red. From her mid-thigh, the fabric reaches down to the floor and out into the crowd. She has a long curly pony tail adorned by a flower to match her dress. At first red. Then purple. Then yellow. For the next two hours, nobody breathes as she taps, slaps, spins, glides, flourishes, dips, bows, scoops and carries our hearts away. It culminates with a huge exhale and applause.

Flamenca

The Alhambra

Flamenca video I tried to load but it didn't work........

Granada is like a video game

 When I was a child, one of my first and favorite video games was Dig Dug. It was for the Atari. It was a basic premise. It was a dude in an astronaut suit with a shovel. He would need to dig for a different fruit or vegetable each level. He would have to dodge something like Pac-Man's ghosts in order to reach the desired fruit or vegetable. In the early levels, they were quite normal. Apples, bananas, etc. But as you reached the higher levels, the fruits and vegetables got more exotic. Eggplants. Pineapples. Maybe even papaya.

Today, we arrived to Granada, in Andalusia, Southern Spain. After a five-hour bus ride, we wandered out on the town to find a hole-in-the-wall bar. No more than 15 people could fit in the place at once. The bartender has to climb under the bar between Annette and I to get out to bus tables. There are two staff members there. One bartender/bus boy and one grill master. And he is truly a master. With each beer comes a different tapas. Each tapas is the unique creation of the grill master.

Annette plays Dig Dug

It's like playing Dig Dug. I wonder what tapas awaits us in the next level. And for the first time in my life, I am torn about what size beer to order. There are three sizes. The pint is the largest. The cana is the smallest. I don't know what the middle one is called. I call it “la media.” With each beer comes a tapas. So, the larger the beer, the less frequent the tapas. The smaller the beer, the less beer. Perhaps you understand my dilemma. We only made it through three rounds tonight before it was Game Over. Hopefully, tomorrow, we can continue where we left off. It is what we promised the bar tender: “Volvemos manana.”

Madrid

I like Madrid. I like Madrid despite and because it is the capital city smack in the middle of Spain. I like Madrid for its chicken empanadas at the bakery two doors down from where I sleep. I like it because I speak the language better than any place where English isn't the primary language. I like it for the way the streets in the old city come alive in the evenings and well into the nights. I like it for its daily protests in support of public education. All over Spain during our time here, we have seen and heard vocal and active resistance to the cuts to public education that are being made in this financial crisis.

I like Madrid because of our hosts, Juanma and Livo. Juanma is a friend of Makayla;s, my friend and former co-worker. He is warm and gracious. And Livo is spirited and funny. Juanma works for Accencure and will be moving to Birmingham next month. Their place is small, but cozy. I like Madrid for the pintxos and lively crowd at the Mercado de San Miguel just after dusk. I like it because of the street performers and people-watching at any number of squares across the city. I like the scientific catalogue of plants in its botanical garden, designed more for botanists than tourists. I like Madrid (and all of Spain) for its plethora of people wearing red pants and/or shoes (including my wife in her Keene's). There are not very attractive and scantily dressed prostituted leaning on trees like they are stripper poles just off the Gran Via in front of the police station here. But I like Madrid anyway.

It is a fitting place to leave the car. Traveling feels easy here. The post office, food, socks, bus tickets, the metro, parks, are all within a short walk of Juanma's place It feels like it is that way all over the city. From here we have charted our course through Southern Spain and Morocco, onto Senegal and Mali. Probably another six weeks of travel. We will book all of the tickets along the way, except for the Alhambra in Granada. We reserved that online yesterday. The earliest availability is three days from now. I will tell you why, hopefully, after we have been there.

Facing Morocco

Our time in Europe is nearing an end. Our pace has slowed. In the last week, we have rarely made it out before noon. And we have watched as many movies as we have the entire trip. Perhaps it has something to do with the way autumn has been nipping at our heels this past week with her bluster. For a moment late Monday night as we approached Madrid, the car thermometer dropped into the single digits. But the days are still warm and the cities still beautiful.

Perhaps it is because we are returning our car today. With it, I can't help but feel like we are giving up some freedom and access to the countryside. Going forward, however, our daily expenses when we open our eyes in the morning will be back to zero (or as close as they have been since college at least). But most of all, leaving the car means downsizing. After a few months of traveling, somehow figuring out what to pack for a year of traveling has become more difficult. Do we bring the tent? It was our best friend in Europe, particularly around the Mediterannean. Will be of any use to us without a car? And if we get rid of the tent, do we get rid of our sleeping bags too? I can imagine lots of situations in the next year where those will come in handy. Or maybe we hold onto them for the next week as we travel through Southern Spain, see how the backpacks feel, then hip them home if we want. Of course, the known post office in Madrid is always more appealing than the hypothetical one elsewhere.

Portugal was a bit disappointing. We overslept and missed our surfing lesson. Our couchsurfing host was interesting. He is a beekeeper. But he just finished an exhausting harvest which he did completely on his own. So, righly so, he slept for most of the weekend while we wandered around in search of something to do in Viano do Castelo. It was windy and cool there. The highlight was our drive through wine country during the harvest. We must have passed two dozen tractors, trailers loaded with barrels of fresh grapes. And the dinners. We tasted the wine over our dinners in Portugal. They were sweet and delicious. A plate of fresh whole grilled fish, the best of the trip, cost less than $10.

We spent an afternoon in Porto before driving to Madrid. It deserved more time. The city is a beautiful and mysterious jumble of old and new climbing a series of hills around the Douro River and the Atlantic Ocean. We toured Sandeman's port cellars, primarily interested in the tastings. We were surprised to find the 40-minute tour fascinating. For example, did you know that port is actually wine mixed with brandy two days into the fermentation? We tasted a delicious white port, ate a hamburger for the first time since the states (call us classy) and meandered back to the car and back to Spain.

The Culprit

It turns out that a Cadaques cactus was the culprit on the Costa Brava. It took 20 minutes and 20 Euros to get a cute dentist to remove the spine in Annette's gums in Bilbao. So, all better!

Personally, I enjoyed the taste of these cactus fruits. They were delicious.

Food Photos!

Slice of toasted baguette with crab meat dressing and mussell on top with sirachi-like sauce and green onion.

Tuna steak with a sweet fruit salsa of sorts on top.

Toasted baguette slice with tuna and sardine on top adorned by carmelized onions.

Toasted slice of baguette with Spanish ham (like proscuitto), a thick slice of bree and crumbled peanuts.

A toasted slice of baguette with a slice of beef, caremlized onions and perhaps liver(?) on top

This was my favorite! A toasted slice of baguette with ham and melted cheese, delicious skewere of curried chicken in the middle and a carmelized balsamic vinegar and sirachi-like sauce on top.

Pintxos from Bilbao

Fresh seafood in Portugal

Catalan delicousness

Daily straciacella ice cream

Grilled squid in croatia

Croatian seafood platter

Pesto and Pasta Dinner in Le Cinque Terre

Pasta with boar sauce in Rome

Mortadella sandwich and a beer in Florence

Pig knuckle and skin in Bavaria

Weiner schnitzel and knightpan in Heidelberg

chocolate in Paris

Photos from Tarrega