Ibiza: Fantasy Island

So, let's talk about this island. True, there is no smoke monster, nor a Dharma initiative, but it is still a very crazy place.

First of all, the place never sleeps. The beaches are crowded all day, and the clubs are packed all night, and these two phases are punctuated by the hordes who gather to watch the sunset on the west side of the island. Whenever it is, wherever you are, there is stuff to do, and people to do it with.

Thanks to Adrienne and Michael, we had plenty of recommendations of where to go and what to do. I won't bore you all with the particulars, but I thought I'd tell you about our clubbing experience.

Stacy is into the DJ scene. I am not. We hadn't been on the island for 15 minutes, before she discovers that her favorite DJ (Armen Van Buuren) is performing that night. At Amnesia. This is one of the biggest and most popular clubs on the island. Not THE biggest, since it only holds about 6,000. There is a club here that dwarfs this (Privilege), boasting nightly crowds topping 10,000 (and claims to be the biggest bar in the world).

Our hotel (which had wicked awesome service) said they could get us on the guest list. This ended up saving us about $110 in cover charges. The funny thing is that we thought we would get a late start, eat a late dinner, then go to the club. But, three separate people during the night, when we said that we were planning to show up at Amnesia at 12:00 or 12:30 a.m., grimaced. Literally. They all recommended that we didn't show up until at least 1:30. We stalled as long as we could at dinner, and then showed up at Amnesia around 1:00. We were on the guest list AND the VIP list! (Turns out that the DJ was staying in our little hotel. We met his agent.)

Some notes about our 2 hours at Amnesia:
- Drugs were not as prevalent/obvious as rumored. Invisible, actually. (Other than some crazed dancers)
- Mixed drinks were $23 and local beers were $18. I estimate this to be about a 4,000% markup.
- It was more like a concert than a dance club. There were 2 huge rooms, with separate DJs, and 90% faced the DJ (who was on an elevated stage), and just jumped up and down with their hands in the air.

Luckily, we had a place in the VIP lounge overlooking the madness.

The whole island is DJ-crazed, but I don't get it. It's not like they're creating music on the fly; from what I can tell, there is very little true spinning and mixing. Just a dude onstage pushing a button every once in awhile. Oh--this was weird--the biggest 6 or 7 clubs have stores all over the island where you can buy insignia gear from the clubs and advance tickets to get in. I'm telling you, they take their clubbing very serious. There is even an AFTER-after hours bar that stays open until noon I believe. To quote Danny Glover as Roger Murtaugh: "I'm too old for this shit!"

Ibiza is very cool, and I wish we had stayed more than two days. I feel like there is much more to do and see than we did.

Oh--bartenders apparently rarely get tips so when you tip--especially big--they buy you shots (and one for himself/herself). Granted, sometimes it's only Hierba (the local drink), and it's only 28 proof, but still....free booze.

There is probably a lot I'm forgetting, but this concludes my Ibiza post!

Out.

-S

What I'm looking forward to back home

Constant readers--I still have several posts coming your way (Ibiza, last night in Barcelona, Things I will miss, etc.), but I thought since my plane takes off in 3 hours, I would first post what I'm looking forward to back in the US. I guess since Top 10 lists have been the vehicle so far, I'll stick with it.

10. ESPN and Comedy Central. In fact, TV in general. Excluding soccer, I have only watched about 4 hours of TV in the last 29 days. I would even watch an Astros game right now.

9. English. Despite the fact that foreign language is a huge passion of mine, it will be so nice to strike up a conversation without thinking so damn hard!

8. The rest of my closet. When you go on a month-long trip, your mind starts to adjust to everything you brought, and you start to think of that as your entire universe of clothing. In reality, I DO have other clothes in Houston. It will be like Christmas!

7. US wine and beer. Oh, to open a cold Miller Lite, or uncork a nice, full-bodied Napa Valley red wine. I have done the when-in-Rome thing quite well, thankyouverymuch, but it will be nice to re-visit the regulars.

6. No metric system. OK, actually, I might miss the metric system some. I have prided myself in talking only in meters/km, Celsius and liters. It really is a better system. What happened to the metric movement in the US from 30 years ago? It was just too hard for us??

5. Diet Coke. They have Coca Cola Light over here, but the formula isn't quite the same. Also, it is very expensive. I paid over $4 for 16 ounces in a convenience store. Not very convenient.

4. The US Dollar. With a conversion rate of $1.4 to 1 EU, it's easy to let your mind forget about the fact that one dollar is NOT the same as one euro. I want to see 10.00, and pay $10.00!

3. My dog Trooper. I am mad at him for biting my niece's friend, but he is my dawg, ya'll (see pic above).

2. Ninfa's. Sweet, sweet Ninfa's. Frozen no salt, pechuga a la Ninfa, fresh jalapenos on the side.

1. My family (see nephew Carter in pic with Trooper) and friends. I've had enough Scott time!

Signing off for the last time in Spain...

-S

Universal constants: an addendum

I forgot one:

FACEBOOK! No matter where I've been, if I walk past someone on a laptop, they are almost always on FB. This epidemic has gone global, ya'll.

-S

Universal constants

OK, so as I head into the last 24 hours of my trip, I'm starting to also mentally wrap things up. One thing I wanted to share was a list (OK, OK, I'll do another top 10, no need to twist my arm) of things that are the same no matter where you are:

10. People of all cultures still stack up at the rail at an airport baggage claim. If everyone just stood 4 feet back, we could all watch for our bag, and step up and get it and leave. Does no one on the planet get this???

9. People still compete. Everyone wants to get on the plane first, off the plane first, in line first, talk to the hotel agent first, get through the door first, get the next taxi first, etc.

8. The international thanks-for-letting-me-get-in-front-of-you-in-your-lane sign. A simple wave of the hand is all it takes. No translation required. It is expected and appreciated over here as well.

7. And speaking of signs, the whole waiter-please-bring-me-my-check sign (simply a vertical imaginary pen signing a check in the air) exists everywhere. Awesome.

6. Kindness. Other than some French and Monaco folks in the service industry, almost everyone will react to kindness with kindness. If you start off with a compliment or a self-deprecating comment, you will be treated well!

5. Money rules. This one is obvious, but yes, long live paper wealth. If kindness (see #6) doesn't work, big tips and greased palms almost always do.

4. Kids are pure and they only seek fun. No matter what language they speak (can you believe the 4-year olds over here are fluent in Spanish?), they don't discriminate. Against gender, color or age. Also, their prime motivator seems to be to have fun. Let's be more like kids.

3. Charisma. It doesn't matter what language you speak or what color your skin is; charismatic people are charismatic. They will thrive in any culture, and I want to be like them. I still don't know if this is innate or learned, but the most beautiful people in the world aren't necessariliy the "prettiest".

2. McDonald's. Their motto should be "WE'LL FIND YOU!" They have been in every place I've been. And not just one or two. I even heard there was a McDonald's across from the Great Pyramids.

1. Laughter is the same in any language. Sorry if that sounds gay for my number 1 in my list, but it's true. If I am walking up on some people, and they are laughing, it is impossible to tell where they are from. I think this is somehow profound.

More later!

-S

Random thoughts

You know how when you haven't talked to a friend in awhile, and you need to catch up? And then one day, you have 10 minutes to spare, but you know that isn't enough to catch up with your friend? So you don't call. Then two weeks go by, and then you DEFINITELY need an hour to catch up, but you don't have an hour. So more time goes by, and the dilemma worsens?

That's how it is for me right now, with you, my gentle blog readers. So much to say, so little time. So, while Stacy is sleeping, I thought I'd at least get something online so that no one thinks I overdosed on ecstasy at an Ibiza rave.

I have spoken at least 3 words of the following languages this month: English, Castilian, Catalan, Portuguese, French, German(!), Japanese, and Pig Latin. Should I explain? I shall. Stacy and I had this weird cab driver in Ibiza who seemed to speak quite a bit of English, and we didn't want him to hear us. And I was convinced that there is no way he could follow a quick Pig Latin conversation. So that's what we did. I'll never know if I was right or wrong. Only that I had a sound strategy and stuck to my plan.

I had forgotten that there is no word in French for 70. You say "soixante-dix" (literally 60, 10). I mean, did they get bored making up their language? Or over a lot of wine and sweetbreads did it sound like a good idea? Similarly, 80 is "quatre vingts" (4 twenties). It gets better. 96, for example translates into: 4 twenties and 16. Is it my imagination, or does this sound like a drinking game?

I do love the word 60 in French, though: "soixante" (SWAH-sohn). Very nice. I always wanted to order 60 croissants. "S'il vous plait: Soixante croissants" Just rolls off the tongue.

Ok, that's all for now, folks. Much more to come in the next 72 hours.

-S

Ah, Spain

Back in Barcelona. Nice to be able to communicate beyond my 50-word vocabulary in France.

Driving to Monaco and back (1,400 km), we didn't see one police car. And people drive fast. While driving about 170 k/hr yesterday, I got passed by Julia Roberts in a convertible Porsche doing about 220 k. I swear it was her, but I couldn't catch her to find out! Stacy and I have speculated the whole story about how she is travelling to promote her new pelicula.

What we did see, though, was a crazy amount of toll booths. It costs over $100 US to make the drive from Barcelona to Monaco (400ish miles). You are constantly stopping to pay the next toll. So, the way I think of it is, instead of patrolling the highways, they just give everyone a ticket, and call it a toll.

Also, the signs on gas stations showing the prices make it appear that gas is cheap, at least to the ordinary American idiot. You'll see signs that say 1.40 or so. But this is euros per liter. So multiplying by approximately 4 and then 1.4 to convert to dollars per gallon, and it hits you: Gas is almost $8/gallon here.

Before I unplug and head to Ibiza for 2 days, I'll leave you with my lastest 10 top list. I have tried (and mostly succeeded) in keeping an open mind, so that when I encounter something unusual or different, I try to put myself in a local person's shoes, and imagine that this is completely normal to them, and whatever it is that I'm more accustomed to would seem very strange to them.

So, without further ado, here the top 10 comments that Europeans make when visiting the US.

10. "Don't you think it's weird that grocery stores and drug stores are so big?"
9. "You mean stores are all open in the middle of the day? That's stupid."
8. "People need so much personal space here!"
7. "Why is everyone so nice?" (Applies only to French and Monaco travellers, and excludes the Northeast US.)
6. "You can add a tip on a credit card receipt in restaurants? Freaky!!"
5. "Everyone in this entire country speaks the exact same language! Ha. How simple."
4. "Bread is free in restaurants? Don't the dumb Americans know they can charge??"
3. "These big streets are creeping me out."
2. "Hardly anyone smokes here. How immature."

And the number one thing Europeans must say is the US:

1. "Everything is so new and clean. Yuck."

Hasta luego!

-S

Why do the French never eat more than one egg?

Because one egg is un oeuf!

Ok, this will be last post from Monaco/France, so I wanted to share my best (only) French joke.

We're off early in the morning back to Barcelona. Hopefully, we will hit the Salvador Dali museum when we cross the Spanish border!

More later!

-S

Conned. James conned.

I've been gypped!! My James Bond experience was a dud. On Friday night, we went to the casino at Cafe de Paris, and it was ok, I guess. 8 or 10 tables, with snooty French Dealers. No rectangular chips.

But that was ok, because on SATURDAY night, we were people watching at Cafe de Paris with pre-drinks, then on to the big casino! The pre-drinks were actually cool. We sat and watched the fancy cars pull up to the casino. OH--we got our picture made with a Bugatti. I looked up the value this morning: $1,700,000. Every expensive car you could think of was there, and they just kept rolling in. In Houston, my little Mercedes often gets a front row spot by the valet. If I pulled up in my car here, they would probably arrest me and drive my car into the sea.

It was quite the spectacle. And the tension was building. Only a few more minutes, and I would be rubbing elbows with tuxedo-wearing, Ferrari-driving, rectangular chip-betting mo-fos. And I was ready!

So we strode confidently past the hordes of spectators and fancy cars, went into the casino, paid our 10 EU fees, they copied our passports for some reason, the huge doors were opened for us, and we were let into this pre-casino, if you will. It had 5 roulette tables open, and I guess this was just where the tourists played. So we kept walking, looking for the James Bond place. However, I started to panic a bit, because I had a creeping sensation that this was all there was! I kept asking any casino worker who spoke English, "No, no, where is the James Bond place?? Where are all those people who drove those cars outside?" (The patrons here looked like the patrons of a downtown Las Vegas casino--crappy). I was desperate for my moment!

Yes, that was all there was. (I kept saying to anyone who would listen, that on their website you boast of having the widest variety of table games on the planet, but all you have is roulette and slots??). I finally found one fluent guy who told me that during the summer, that most of the casino is shut down. "However," he said. My heart skipped a beat. At least there is a 'however'!! "However, the rest of the games are moved to our sister casino, "Sporting", which is 2 km away. So we hopped in a cab. Sporting-bound.

But by this point, we had already sat down and played roulette. There were a few cool things about this experience. First, the table is much larger than in US casinos. You can't even reach all of the way across. That's not the cool part. This is: you get to use your own little croupier stick. We had one right in front of us, and Stacy was very protective of it. "YOU TOUCHED OUR STICK!" So you got to push your chips all over the table with it.

The second cool thing was getting to play with these chips. Different denominations were different colors and sizes. (But all round). They were very shiny and glittery. And they were slightly oblate, so they were a bit hard to stack. The $100 chips were almost as big as a drink coaster. So, I got a little of my big chip thrill.

The last cool thing was that I think everyone thought Stacy and I were famous. We had one of the few sitting spots at the table, we were the best dressed in the whole casino, and when we asked for drinks (champagne), they brought a little table behind us with our fancy glasses. Like in the US, drinks are free when you are gambling, but I think everyone else was scared to ask for one. There are no circulating waitresses. In fact there are no waitresses at all. They are all very formal men, well-attired and well-mannered. You basically have to ask a pit boss for a drink. But with 2 quick claps of his hand, one of these butler dudes was at your side in 5 seconds. I kept expecting it to be Michael Caine.

After that, we went to Sporting, but it was not much better. I lost a bunch at Blackjack, and that was that. They had baccarat, but not the real baccarat (chemin de fer, I found out). It was closed. On a Saturday night. What gives, Monte Carlo??

Our balcony of our hotel is literally 20 feet from ultra-yachts docked in the port. I'm talking 150-foot yachts. Almost like a mini-cruise ship. They are awesome. And there are yachts all over Monte Carlo of every different size and shape. I think I need a yacht.

You know when you're watching a golf tournament, and you see some poor guy shoot an 80, and you feel sorry for him? Or watching track, the guy that finishes last. Or if you watch Wimbledon, and you see Nadal or Roddick crush a guy 6-1, 6-2, 6-0, and you feel sorry for that guy? There are only 99 players better than him in the galaxy. In fact, that tennis player is so good, that you don't even know anyone who could ever win even one point against him. It's all about perspective. That dawned on me yesterday, when I started literally feeling sorry for the guys that only had single-deck, 50-foot yachts. Poor bastards.

Au revoir, y'all.

-S

Tomorrow Awaits

So, back in Barcelona at a hotel airport. Tomorrow morning requires me to navigate a foreign car rental, successfully manage to pick up Stacy, and somehow manage to navigate the 600+ kilometer drive to Monte Carlo. There is not one major highway connecting the two. Non. There are lots of twists and turnoffs (and remember, signs are in Spanish and then French). Plus all rental cars here are standard. Should be an adventure. Ole!

I have several tiers of goals in Monte Carlo. The first tier (much like touching the bull) consists of two pieces:

(a) I will say "Strother. (pause) Scott Strother." a la James Bond at least once.
(b) I will gamble with a rectangular chip. I have varying reports on how easy this is. Jason tells me that may mean $1,000 or more. We'll see.
(c) REJECTED GOAL. I initially wanted to order a martini, shaken not stirred, but then it dawned on me that the bartenders in MC have probably heard that 1,000 times.

Actually, I guess the VERY first goal is to just get there.

On another note, I do really like it when you guys chime in with comments. It tells me that I'm not just typing to myself. What's funny is, that, if I type on FaceBook, "I'm enjoying a ham sandwich", I will get 8 responses and 15 more "People like this" thumbs ups. But here, days of long posts go by with only crickets. So pipe up, ya'll.

Salud.

-S

Lisbon

"300 euros? That's sounds like a lot!," I said.

"No, it's a good price." The hooker responded as if she'd heard that 10,000 times before.

But let's back up a bit.

I asked Hugo, the other concierge that I hadn't dealt with yet, where I should go tonight (Tuesday). He told me that if I liked good times (I do), then I would enjoy the White Elephant. It is, in his English words, "The best bar in Europe." Now, even if the claim isn't true, it's still quite a claim. I decided I needed to go. It opens at 8. I show up, stylishly late, at 9. There are 5 people there. The bartender tells me that everything starts happening at 10:30.

So I leave, walk around, get a beer at a bar smaller than my hotel room, and make a couple of calls (it's only 3 in Texas). When I show back up at 10:30, there are a ton of people there. Lots of single women sitting by themselves, which is a bit odd. And lots of guys by themselves. I start to think this is a strip club, since there are 2 stages (no pole, though).

When the lovely lady sitting next to me strikes up a conversation, it dawns on me. This Texas boy was a bit slow tonight. I am at what can only be described as a hooker bar. (Justin--remember Paris?) It's not a brothel, because you don't do "business" here. You negotiate and go to your hotel. So, I of course am fascinated. This is culture!! While all of the other US tourists are at Hard Rock Cafe, Lisbon, I'm talking to a hooker! I ask a few questions, and find out a lot. Apparently, this is very popular here. By 11:00, there are probably 50-60 single "women" sitting alone. Apparently, just like shopping...you find something you like, and you buy it. The one I was talking to (I felt a little sorry for her, because she didn't know I was NOT planning on purchasing her services; I was just very curious. She had already come down to 250 EU, without me asking.)

But she made me mad.

She asked if I would buy her a drink, and I said ok. So I bought her a 12 EU orange juice that she never touched. The scam here is that the prostitutes are freelance, but they need to somehow make money for the house. A prostitute needs to buy (or get bought) at least 1 drink (where they obviously have astronomical margins) per night. So I told her to find someone else.

I didn't want to leave yet. I had more unanswered questions! So, a blonde sees me standing, a bit bewildered and wide-eyed, and waves me over. I take a big drink from my beer and head over. I don't know why I'm scared to talk to her. She's a professional sex-er, and I am the well-educated, sometimes well-paid professional. (Actually, as it turns out, she speaks 6 languages, and after I quiz her and do the math, she earns a shitload of money, so so much for my 2 advantages!!). Plus, we're on her home court. Were we at Ninfa's in Houston, she'd probably be scared to talk to me, right?

Anyway, this second girl, Tarla, was from Brazil, and she had me read immediately. She knew I wasn't buying, but we made this agreement. It was never spoken, but we both knew. I would buy her a couple of drinks. (At least she was drinking scotch and not OJ.) In exchange, she would answer all my questions. And I had hundreds.

At midnight, I decided I would head home, very proud of this experience. Tarla tried to parlay our relationship into some additional business, but I say no. She is a 10, and I'm a bit buzzed, but still, I gotta go home.

So that's my story for now, secret readers.

It is now 7:14 a.m. Lisbon time, and I'm preparing for my flight to Barcelona in 2 hours. Starting this morning, my language studying had a violent shift from Portuguese to French. Starting on Friday, I will be in France (and Monaco) for 4 days, and my French at its best was bad, and now it is pretty much non-existent. But there is some time, non?

Au revoir mes amis!

-S

I ate at a place called "The Restaurant"

I mean, how could I pass this place up?!

I had some wine and a large water with my meal, and is it turns out, the water cost more than the wine!

So, if I were Jesus (just go with me on this), and I were turning all of the water into wine, the restaurant people (at The Restaurant) would be pissed! They'd be like "JESUS! Your father damn it! We told you to get out of here, and leave our water alone!"

Boa noite.

-S

Life is like a box of chocolates

You really never know what you're going to get when you walk up to someone is Lisbon. First I try to figure out of they speak either Spanish or English. Sometimes both. Sometimes neither. But most speak one or the other. This blew my mind actually, because I just assumed that everyone spoke both Spanish and Portuguese. Because they're so close, right? WRONG, secret readers. They are very very different.

Sure lots of overlaps, but very different. You would be very surprised at the number of folks that speak Portuguese and English, but are very intimidated by Spanish. This took 3 days for itto truly sink in. See, my thought was that if I tried to speak Spanish, it was close enough to Portuguese, plus it helped my language skills. Not so. It is usually much better to speak in English. Which stinks, sorta, because I don't want to speak English over here. However, it has motivated me to study Portuguese quite diligently in my hotel room. By the time I leave in 72 hours, I want to have a lot of this under my belt.

Actually, I noticed I'm not the only that approaches interactions with a language discussion; it seems that almost everyone has to negotiate with the other person on which language is best. It's fascinating! This is why I came! I've seen (heard) Germans and Portuguese speak in English. I've heard French and Portuguese speak in English, etc.

Now, a word about my dinner last night. I must tell you 2 things first. #1. I have never used the term "OMG" before.......and #2. OMG!

This was quite possibly the best dining experience of my life. Seriously. The place (100 Maneiras "Cien Maneiras"), was wicked (the Brits like to use this word, so I am going to start using it to be cool). There were about 30-40 seats at about 10 tables. They asked me if I had any food allergies, and when I responded "no", the show was on.

Other than picking your own drinks, you didn't get to decide anything. As soon as I sat down, the food starting coming. And coming. They served me 12 courses of food, and it felt like more than that, since each course often had 2 or 3 different servings on it of different food. The waitresses would carefully explain the food, and then even tell you how the chef wanted you to eat it. Sometimes one food before another....sometimes to rotate a bite of each...etc. It was really, really good.

Now. I am not a big fan of the whole: Hey, you're going to ___________? You just HAVE to go to ___________!!.

But.

I am making an exception.

If you are ever in Lisbon, and you do not go to 100 Maneiras, you are retarded.

By the time I left, I knew every employee. It was like leaving my family. The service, the ambiance, and (duh) the food were all fantastic. And it wasn't even that expensive. With wine and tip, I was out for under 100 EU!

I may even have to go back before I leave.

OH---I posted some more pictures http://www.flickr.com/photos/52195557@N06/

This is on Flickr, not ShutterFly, because the latter was so cumbersome to navigate! Sorry if you have to create a 2nd account. And again, if you do a slideshow, you won't see my comments. You have to just view the pics.

That's it for now!

-S

My train; my hotel

My luxurious train ride was not. I was in a sleeper cabin, yes, but it was the size of a bathroom, and slept 4 people and all of their luggage. 2 bunk beds. I got on at midnight, and was stuck on this train for 11 1/2 hours. So, I took my laptop to the cafe car, had a very late dinner, and watched stuff on my iTunes until 2:00 a.m, when the car closed. So I trudged back "home" to my cabin, and crashed in hope of a long sleep. I was able to sleep, off an on (no fan!), until around 7:00. With 3 and 1/2 hours to go, I went to the snack car, and just watched the country go by. I was amazed at all of the vineyards in Portugal.

There were only three of us in there, and one of them was a British lass who was talking on her phone. Since that was the first English I had heard in 3 days, I struck up a conversation with her, and then a British couple (very cool) that she met the night before walked in. Then these two Canadian girls that I met on the train platform the night before came in. And so the 6 of us whiled away the morning hours having wine and some very interesting conversation. A very good end to a long train ride. The British guy was very funny and intelligent, but the best thing about him was that he played guitar on one of George Michael's albums!

My hotel (the Sheraton Lisboa) is truly a 5-star hotel. Definitely one of the swankiest hotels I've ever stayed in. Also, all of the employees speak English, which is nice. I'm getting a very good deal at around $100 US per night. Unfortunately, the prices for incidentals are almost surreal. Way worse than NYC. I'm paying about $27 per day to use the internet, and getting each shirt dry cleaned was about $18. Also, it costs $17 to use the water area (pool/jacuzzi/saunas). And a drink poolside runs almost about the same. Not in my budget really, but I'm pretending that I'm really paying $200 per night so that those charges don't bug me too much. Even at $200, the hotel would be way worth it.

Also, the Sheraton I guess is a big deal around here, because when they make a reservation for me (4 so far), I am greeted by name "Mr. Strother, we've been expecting you." and treated like royalty. And when I leave a restaurant (2 out of 3 times), there is a taxi waiting for me..."Mr. Strother, do you want this taxi?". Cool.

Tchau, ya'll.

-S

Fado

Carafe of red wine: 17 euros
Vegetable soup: 6 euros
My total check at the restaurant: PRICEY

So, I had reservations at this restaurant last night that featured fado (I'll tell you what this means in a minute). And I thought I the dinner was prix fixe. As I sat down, they immediately poured me a glass of pre-dinner port (when in Rome...). Another waiter whisked over a tray of first courses. There were some huge boiled prawn that I selected. Then I had soup and a steak course. Turns out the prawns were 39 euros (around 55 bucks!!). I only ate 3 of them...they were very hard to peel and not that great. Anyway, my modest meal turned out to be almost $150 with tip. If it weren't for the fado, I would have been very pissed.

Fado apparently originated in Portugal, and it's not that complicated. Just unique. In the restaurant, there will just occasionally be a singer in the middle of it, singing tunes that the non-tourists all know. Then there are dancers (like Russian square dancing sorta. Plus lots of twirling skirts and clapping.) Then there are musicians. But mostly singers. It was very enjoyable to soak in the culture. I must admit, that at one point, the male singer was singing so loud and over-the-top and weird, that it seemed like a Will Ferrell skit, but the crowd ate it up. I went early in the evening, and apparently all of the numbers were very traditional (so lots of crowd participation if you knew what was going on. I didn't.). OH--and apparently, Richard and Pat Nixon used to come to this restaurent whenever in Portugal.

Now let's discuss the picture at the top. The kid looked exactly like a 10-year old Owen Wilson, which I initally thought to be cute. I changed my mind in 5 minutes, for he would not stop turning around and staring directly at me and my table. I mean sure, I had my pants off, and I was picking my nose a lot, and kept yelling, "Hey, kid! Look!!", but still. No, seriously, it was very weird. I was about to yell at little Owen, when I heard his Dad order for the table: "a bottle of dry white wine...and ze boi vill have appul jus." And the Dad looked just like the villain in one of the Die Hard movies. Germans, huh? So, Owen probably wasn't the best name, so I thought of him as Hans. It's 24 hours later, and I still have no idea what was so fascinating about me or my table. I mean I didn't have any silver skates or anything.

But enough of that.

Lisbon is really great, although the language here really tops it all. It is such a melting pot of language and dialect. I will have to post a separate entry just on that. Suffice to say, I'm hard at work learning Portuguese.

So Lisbon is very bustling and interesting, so I made a decision to stay here for 3 more days, and skip Valencia, Spain. Instead, I will leave here Wednesday night on another all-night train (uggh) to Barcelona, and pick up my friend Stacy on Friday morning, before we drive to Monte Carlo. Anne and Sybil have both suggested a stop at Eze Village on the French Riviera on the way back, so we're definitely going to try to do that. Ho hum.

All right, tonight is the big night on the town. I've been here 15 days, and I haven't yet sampled the night life. The real night life. So, I took a long nap late afternoon/early evening, and I'm ready to go. My concierge (always tip your concierge big the first day, and they will take care of you) has me dinner reservations at 11:00, bar reservations at midnight, and then on the guest list for a late-night club, which I will go to around 1:30. Pray for me.

Boa noite! (Good night in Portuges. I especially like "good day/good morning". It's "Bom Dia".)

-S

San Sebastian: some parting thoughts

Today is my last day in San Sebastian, and to be truthful, I'm not that sad. It's sort of a dirty little town, and everything is written in Basque (more on this below). Plus my hotel room is tiny tiny (my dorm room was larger in college). This doesn't bode well for me, my 4 bags and my fan.

Plus, the streets are all exactly the same--every block, there are about 4 tapas restaurant/bars (all seem precisely the same) + 1 pharmacy + 1 hair salon. Throw in a bread shop here and there, and a few clothes stores, and a hotel, and a travel shop, and then you'll have it. That's San Sebastian.

Top 10 observations:

10. Everyone loves their jamon Iberico (a very flavorful, thinly sliced ham). It is served several ways, but the most popular is as a sandwich on baguette....with or without cheese, with or without peppers, etc. It is the featured tapa at every place. And it is very expensive, relatively. You can get most tapas for about 2-4 euros. A couple of these will fill you up. But the ham sandwich is usually around 12-15 euros ($17-$21). And it's small.

9. More on tapas....nothing is made special for you. All of the sandwiches (all combinations) are pre-made, and proudly presented on top of the bar (so there are like 30 plates of food on the bar). Once you order, they get the food and heat it up (if appropriate). My point is this....nothing can be "on the side", or "hold the cheese", etc. It's already made, just waiting for you.

8. When walking on the sidewalks (in San Sebastian only, so far), pedestrians gravitate toward the buildings and away from the street. I can't figure out why, other than to get farther away from traffic. It's very disconcerting, though. You're walking on the right, with the shops on your right, like any good pedestrian. Then all of the oncoming pedestrians just walk right at you. Crazy San Se-bastards!

7. Most taxi drivers drive big white Mercedes. This goes against every other vibe I'm getting from this place. If I were running things, the Mercedes belong in Barcelona, and the Barcelona taxis (Renaults, Hyundais, etc.) belong here!

6. This isn't really a very friendly city. There are lots of old, grumpy folks around. I can't tell if they are locals, or perhaps people visiting from a short distance away.

5. Everything written here is in Basque (sometimes there are two wordings--Basque and Castilian). I had incorrectly thought Basque was more French-like before my trip. But it's not. It's more like Latin, and a bit of Russian. At least that's the way it looks....lots of usage of Ks, Qs and Zs. Very weird, and totally unlike Spanish. Luckily, everyone speaks Spanish. I don't quite get all this. Is the spoken language of Basque dead? Or are they secretly speaking it when I'm not around? This is actually the best place so far where my Spanish studying has paid off.

4. The beach scene is almost the same as in Barcelona, and one thing continues to stand out. There are many, many girls lying out by themselves. You would rarely, if ever, see this on US beaches, and I can't figure it out. Are they just locals on their day off or are housewives? Or maybe they don't want their friends to see their boobs? Beyond the boobs themselves, I will remember this uniqueness for my whole life. There are literally dozens of girls lying secluded on the beach. Very odd.

3. I got a Thai massage on Tuesday. By two masseuses! I thought it was worth the
extra euros, just for the experience. The main question on my mind as I left was, can I get 3? 4? What's the max?!? It was a very good massage. One girl working on my feet and legs, and one on my shoulders and back and neck. This may surprise you, though: They are way more conservative than US massages, particular US Thai massages, where usually you have NOTHING on. Here, they made you wear these brown 3/4-length linen pants and a black linen shirt. I looked like a P.O.W. But it was good.

2. Every hotel in Spain so far has had the entrance level as "Level Zero". Sure this makes sense, and the math geek in me particular likes the Floor -1, Floor -2, if there are underground floors. This is much more intuitive than the "B" or "M" or "G2" floors you'll see in American buildings. BUT. There is still this: I have ridden elevators 50 times so far from my room to the lobby, and I canNOT stop myself from pressing Floor 1. Old habits. Floor 1 just gets you to a bunch of hotel rooms, and they are not happy when you start knocking on doors asking where the concierge is. Sigh.

and #1. Wine is crazy cheap here. A glass of house Rioja wine here is usually under two bucks. And bottles are less than $10. And in the corner shop, you can get a whole bottle for $2. Sure, you CAN spend more than that, but not that much. The nicest bottle of wine on the entire restaurant menu is often $25-$30. I guess they don't mark it up by 400% like they do in the US! Viva San Sebastian!

I'm now excited about the following:

1. I have an all-night sleeper cabin in my train to Lisbon, Portugal tonight. Very anxious to get the vibe of an Agatha Christie or Mission Impossible movie!

2. So far, I've stayed in a 2-star hotel (San Sebastian), 3-star hotel (Barcelona), and 4-star hotel (Pamplona). My Lisbon hotel is 5-star, and I'm excited about it. $105 per night. Thank you, Priceline.com!!

3. Having reliable internet. I have really struggled with my crappy little San Sebastian hotel's internet service. Very hard to work. (and blog!)

Signing off from San Sebastian (oh and remind me to tell you about my bus trip to visit the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao yesterday!)

-S

(PS--Melissa and Antje: you two should be partcularaly proud of me for not dwelling on all of the bad crap going on!)

No internet, rain, loud jackhammers

That is how my second day in San Sebastian has been. They are tearing up the street below my window, and it has been raining all morning. Also, the internet connection in my hotel has been off an on. So, beach is out. Sleeping is out. Working is out. Walking around in the rain is what I choose.

Also, I wanted to back up a step and let you know my itinerary. Since January, this has changed no less than 20 times, and frankly, it's still subject to change, but as of right now, here's how my trip breaks down, in 10 phases:
Phase I, II and III you should all be familiar with by now (Barcelona, Pamplona, San Sebastian)
Phase IV - Lisbon, Portugal
Phase V - Valencia, Spain
Phase VI - Madrid
*Phase VII - Monte Carlo, Monaco
*Phase VIII - Nice and French Mediterranean
*Phase IX - Ibiza
*Phase X - Barcelona (otra vez)
*In phases VII through X I'll be accompanied by High School Stacy.

For those of you who don't know your Iberian geography (I didn't 2 months ago), and are too lazy to look it up, I thought I'd include a map, conveniently coded with my phase numbers (see above). It's all about you, my secret readers.

Also, there was so much to blog about from Pamplona that I didn't get to, I want to back up and talk about what happens after the bulls finish the run, and they are in the corral. This was something they didn't teach me online, but for many people, it's the best part of the day.
They let out a "little" bull to run around in the crowd on the ground of the plaza (5,000 people are safely in their seats, and about 400-500 people are on the ground (another 100 or so of us perched between the two on the railings (see my picture with Gabrielle))).
Now. A couple of things:
1. Yes, you heard me right, they just let a bull into the arena, who just tries to charge everyone he sees. This goes on for about 10 minutes, then they let a guide bull in (a huge longhorn) to shepherd the "little" bull back into the corral. Then they let another one out. 6 bulls in total. It's quite a hoot. The bull is trying to mess with the people, and the people are trying to mess with the bull. Houston rodeo people--think calf scramble, except instead of 50 lumbering, scared calves, you get one fast angry bull, hoof-pawing, head-lowering, charging little bull. The only purpose of this whole exercise, ostensibly, is just fun. Good ol' charging bull fun.
2. The "little" bull is still a very dangerous animal. They do have his horns covered with little rubber tips, so there is no goring, but there is still plenty of bodies thrown in the air, and plenty more stepped on. I'll pass on this little tradition, thankyouverymuch.

More tomorrow.

Agur! (That's good-bye in Basque).

-S

Pictures

OK, several people have been nagging me to post pictures, but I'm new at it. I think you can see them at this url, by selecing "View Album" and then view slideshow. http://scottstrotherstriptospain.shutterfly.com/pictures

I may need some help from someone. I made comments on every picture, but I can't seem to view the comments. Anyone?

I'm in San Sebastian now. More blogs to come....

-S

Red bandanna: 4 euros

Red belt: 5 euros
White pants: 72 euros
Running with the bulls: Priceless.

6:40 a.m. I get dropped off as close as the taxi can take me al principio del encierro (the beginning of the bull run).

7:00 a.m. I find my bull. I decide that "Barney" is a good name. At first, I was going to go hard-core with my naming: "Lucifer" or "Axe" or "Killer". Then I thought that might work against me later. I opted for a goofy name. Think Barney Rubble. Even Barney Miller.

7:30 a.m. I meet up with Michael (my uncle's friend, and now I guess I can just call him MY friend) and the young kid, Al, that he had met earlier that morning.

7:45 a.m. We are stopped at a point on the route, before it's "inspected" by the chief of police. No one can enter the second half of the course until this happens. I yell out for Barney "BARNEY!?!? YOU HEAR ME? I WANT YOU!!". He is too chicken to respond.

7:50 a.m. Everyone is able to walk/run up to the 80% point (give or take) of the course. People are stretching, silently looking around, and/or jumping up and down. This early-morning ritual is similar to the start of a 5K, except with a little more tension.....some of these people around me may die or get seriously injured (hardly a concern in a 5K).

8:00 a.m. exactly - An odd calmness takes the crowd over. A beautiful northern breeze sweeps past us, and the first rocket goes off. This rocket signified that the gate for the bulls has been opened. My heart rate elevates. I look around, and realize that everyone here is bonded together. Some confident, some scared, but all are on the same team. The we're-brave-but-don't-want-to-die team. Shortly after my friends Michael, Al and I exchange white-faced glances, the second rocket goes off. This one means that all of the bulls have left the corral. And they are coming to us. Barney and his friends are coming.

8:04 a.m. The immediately recognizable, and oddly scary sound of the cowbells around the necks of the guide bulls arrive. This is real. This is happening. I can't even calculate my heart rate.

8:05 a.m. Barney, et al are immediately upon us. The sheer force of 15,000 pounds coming up on you cannot be adequately described in words. In the 60 seconds before the bulls came by, the crazy runners were there. I had to constantly shove runners by me, else I would have been thrown to the ground. As much as I want to touch Barney, I cannot get close enough. However, I am running with the bulls. I AM RUNNING WITH THE BULLS. In the 300 yards between my starting place and the entrance to the plaza, 3 people (or groups of people) fell in front of me. The first one I was able to run around, but the second and third required me to jump over them.

8:07 a.m. I entered the plaza del toros behind the bulls. Every seat was filled. Literally, every seat. This is Monday morning, but it feels like the Super Bowl. After I got into the plaza, I was somewhat disappointed that I didn't touch my Barney, but then the second batch of bulls were coming. (Everyone started screaming exponentially, and people started running like crazy). This was my chance to fix things. The bulls came into the arena, and as the other 2,000 people ran away from the bulls, I ran toward them. I AM TOUCHING MY BULL, DAMN IT!! I ran right across the stream of runners, ran right towards the bulls, and slapped Barney on the left ass cheek!!!! It was awesome. Awesome. Awesome.

IN CONCLUSION
Sex. Drugs. Rock and roll. Jumping out of a plane. All of these things can make your heart race. But nothing like running with the bulls. Nothing.

Ole.

Bull fight; street band

The bullfight was an amazing experience. The pomp was overwhelming, and it reminded me of Hollywood's depiction of gladiator fights in Rome. There was some important man (mayor of Pamplona someone said) who wore a top hat, and all of the matadors and other participants, bowed to him, and waited for him to doff his hat.

Adrienne said it was like a ballet. It truly was. One matador in particular was really incredible. He was so confident in his abilities that he would often spend time on his knees, with his cape to the side. The other thing he would do--and this might be hard to describe--but after he would make the bull charge him several times, he would do it (the cape teasing) one more time, this time with his back to the bull, sort of walking away. Ho hum. 700 KG of an angry charging bull, and he's so confident of where he's going to "put" the bull with his cape, that he can walk away, then pull the cape over the top of the charging bull. These guys are definitely skilled.

Now, hear me, when I say I love steak. Steaks are awesome. Also, I love fajitas. And hamburgers and briskets and Taco Bell tacos, etc. I understand that cows must die for this to happen, and I'm cool with that.

However, the spectacle was fairly morbid, and it I would say that most of my friends and family would not enjoy the process. It all boils down to men teasing an animal while slowly killing it.

It's sorta like teasing your cat with a string in the living room, with the following exceptions:

1. Every time you successfully get the cat to leap at the string unsuccessfuly, everyone in your living room cheers madly.
2. You are dressed like a gay pride queen of the parade.
3. Every once in awhile, when your cat misses the string, just for fun, you stab it in the back with scissors.
4. When your cat eventually dies, you bring out another cat. Ole!

All that said, I'm very glad I went. This is definitely an appreciated art in this culture.

OH--one other thing: the bulls are fucking ANGRY when they come out. I understand why rodeo bulls buck the riders off (they have a rope tied around their balls), but I couldn't figure out why these bulls were so ANGRY. They tried to gore and stomp any person they saw. (Yes, these are the same bulls that do the running that morning. Scary, actually). Also, what you don't see in the movies is that in the beginning there are actually about 8 matadors messing with the bull. When the bull is tired and wounded, then the main dude comes out for the really poetic teasing and killing.

OK, I pondered whether or not I would blog about this next topic, but I decided that I had to. I almost didn't because I don't think I can articulate well enough what this band was all about. But I'm gonna try.

When I say sidewalk band, I mean it was a bunch of people just playing music in a big walkway (think Central Park or Bourbon Street). I was on my way out of the bullfight, and I had 90 minutes before the soccer match (Spain won by the way, ho hum). I stopped to listen to this band....it was probably the best 45 minutes of my life. I had goose bumps the whole time, and I cried (somehow, this made me think of my Mom and how much she would have liked it, and I just stood there laughing and crying).

So, at first there were like 6 people playing music: a drummer, a sax, a trumpet, 2 singers and a guitarist. But over the next 45 minutes, band members would come and go (I assume it was scripted, but it sure seemed extemporaneous to me). At one point, I estimated 25 band members. You'd be enjoying the music, then all of the sudden 4 other dudes playing trombone would appear out of nowhere. At one point, some guy starting playing some double-reeded instrument that looked like it was from the Star Wars cantina scene. (OH...go to YouTube and look up Richard Cheese Star Wars Cantina. Funny stuff.)

If the term "3-ring circus" is meant to connote lots of different things happening concurrently, then this was a 15-ring circus. There was singing, dancing, crowd games....oh, and there was this big bucket of water, and one of the band guys would find people in the crowd, and dunk their head (willingly) into the bucket. This was beautiful pandemonium.

Then there were 5 or 6 guys dressed in kilts (I don't know why), and they would get girls in the crowd to come dance with them (combination of swing dancing and salsa). Then they found one girl who completely stole the show. She looked like Kristin Chenoweth...short, cute and sassy. It is hard to describe, but she got the 6 guys to be her pawns in this elaborate dance. She was teasing, flirting, and dancing with all 6. They eventually sort of got in a circle to let her do her thing, and her thing, well, was awesome. The pessimist in me wondered if she was a set up and this was planned, but after she danced, I watched her laugh it up with her friends, and then walk off. I'm 99% sure it was just ad hoc.

Thanks for indulging me in this little sidewalk band description. I'm sure words didn't do them justice at all. But there was so much positive energy in the band and in the crowd, that it was a very moving experience for me, and one that I won't soon forget.

Peace out, ya'll.

-S

Barney, you're my bitch

Yes, I officially ran with the bulls. And I touched one. Barney was his name. And it was awesome.

More posts after I get some sleep.

Viva Pamplona!

-S

So you think you can dance

I left the bull fight after 2 bulls. Then I saw the best sidewalk band in my whole life. More on these 2 things later.

Then I stopped to watch another sidewalk show. There was this first guy who was sort of a juggler, tossing these things super high (200 feet), and then catching them on a string. Kinda cool. But then, this happened.

The other guy had this whole act where he pretended to be a chimp, and he was very good. He looked and acted like Chris Kattan. He then pretended to be afraid and climbed a lamp post to about 15 feet. Then he pointed to someone beside me. He kept pointing and pouting. Finally his partner (the juggler guy) came over to me. He was NOT pointing to someone beside me; he was pointing to ME! So, I played along and walked over to the pole where he was perched. He climbed down a few feet and jumped onto me, just like a chimp. Everyone clapped, and I thought was it. But I was wrong.

He asked my name and where I was from. "Scott de los Estados Unidos!!" he announced. A polite round of applause. He then played some dance music from his iPod over the speakers. And then he did a little dance and indicated for me to follow. I did. Then he changed it up. And waited for me to follow. And I did. Lots of applause. Then he started doing more complicated steps....twirling, clapping, jumping. We did the mashed potato for awhile, then some stuff sorta like MC Hammer. But, somehow I seemed to keep up. The crowd was going crazy. I think I was blowing the Chris Kattan-looking guy's mind. I guess the big guys he usually pulls from the crowd give up before now. But he wasn't upset, he was loving it. And the crowd was probably 200 people by now. He finally started doing this probably 16-move dance move (stepping, lunging, jumping, clapping, twistin, etc.), and somehow I caught on. And so we did that for a few times together, and the crowd was screaming in approval. This is true, folks. So, the song ended, and everyone literally gave us (me?) a standing ovation. And then he announced "SCOTT!", and I walked back to the crowd with everyone chanting "SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT!"

Then he started doing his next bit. But about 2 minutes into it, a few people started chanting "SCOTT! SCOTT! SCOTT!" again, then the whole crowd did. I'm famous. So he invited me back. Then we did some other stuff, but not nearly as cool as the dancing.

I have so much more to tell you, my secret virtual people, but right now, I gotta go run with the bulls. Forgive me.

If this is the last post you see from me, please know that I enjoyed life.

-S

Day 1 in Pamplona

Pamplona is awesome. First of all, everyone wears the official gear (white shirt, white pants, red bandanna, red faja (belt)) all the time. No matter if it's day or night, whether you are a "runner" or not, 80% of the people are wearing this.

Everyone is also very friendly. If Barcelona is New York, Pamplona during San Fermin is New Orleans during Mardi Gras.

My hotel sold me a pass to a balcony overlooking the running of the bulls (including breakfast). When I got there, it was simply someone's tiny little apartment. So Michael (my uncle's friend) and I basically hung out with some locals, had some wine and some cellophone-wrapped, Twinkie-like breakfast. And watched the bulls. It was awesome.

However, it's a weird spectator sport. It's like watching a 1-lap NASCAR race. Here they come!!! There they go. That's it.

The most interesting part of the day was to see the thousands of people asleep (or passed out) in the city. When I got downtown around 6:30 (the bulls run at 8:00), it looked like everyone was dead....there were sleeping people EVERYWHERE. Huge fields of sleeping people; people in the median, people on park benches, etc., etc. It was quite a sight to see. I will try for some pictures tomorrow.

Another thing is the enormous amount of trash these people leave behind. Everyone seems to have one little plastic bag (like you'd get at a convenience store), with Coke and/or beer and snacks. And they all leave them where they slept. It seems (literally) like it's part of the tradition. Not one single person took their trash to the trash can. I'm not horrified, just fascinated.

Now, let's talk about tomorrow. 15.5 hours from now, I plan to be running with the bulls. Emphasis on "with". Thousands of these runners run directly to the plaza de toros (the bullfighting ring, and the end of the run) way ahead of the bulls. Thousands of others run way behind the bulls. That's bull shit. Pun intended.

Here is my self-imposed rule: I need to touch a bull. No touch, no credit.

OK, I'm showering then off to the bullfight. Then the World Cup final.

Vaya con toros.

-S

Some last thoughts on Barcelona

As I start to pack for my train to Pamplona in 6 hours, I realized that I haven't addressed food yet, so here goes:

I have really tried to be "all over the place" with my dining. I've eaten at:

- Numerous bodegas (for tapas)
- Chinese restaurant
- Beach-side swanky places
- Bar food (not quite worthy of the "tapas" designation)
- Hotel food
- Hard Rock Cafe (yes, I know, but I didn't want to shun any genre)
- I even had McDonald's while I was buying my train ticket the other day

And here's the scoop: I have mixed feelings.

The tapas, frankly, were a bit disappointing. Things were either fairly exotic (lots of squid, octopus and anchovies (they LOVE anchovies here)), or things were too fried (I ordered a prawn croquette, but it turned out to be something like you'd get at Bennigan's. There was so much cheese and batter I couldn't taste the shrimp!) Also, they use a crazy amount of cheese in everything. I know that SOUNDS good, but it's not. I had a little tiny ham (Jamon Iberico) and cheese (goat cheese) pizza the other night, but the cheese completely dominated everything else.

Now, I'll take a second to admit that I'm not a hard core foodie like Justin, Meredith and Traci. I will opt for a bowl of chili over an arugula salad most any day. BUT. I do consider myself open-minded and adventurous, so I try most stuff. Bottom line is that my expectations were probably a little too high. I hate to say this, but I like (good) US tapas restaurants better than Spain tapas.

On the positive side, I have had some great meals. I love their soups here. This may sound gay, but I had an awesome pumpkin gazpacho the other day (yep, gay). (I actually ordered a second bowl for my main course). I also had probably the best spaghetti bolognese in my life.....overlooking the Mediterranean (this time, the extra cheese was good....the noodles were completely soaked with Parmesan). A big appetizer that is popular (and rightly so) is pan con tomate. Smushed tomatoes are spread like a paste onto a variety of different breads mostly baguettes. Good stuff.

I will also say that I did not ever make time to eat in the uber-upscale tapas restaurants. When my friend Stacy visits late in the month, we're going to eat at Inopia, which some folks (like Mario Battaglia) say is the best restaurant in the entire country.

Wine is a bit different here too. Mostly everything is just house wine (the bartenders think it's very strange when I ask to see the bottle, because, hey, it's just wine!). "Un baso de vino tinto" will almost always get you a Rioja, or another tempranillo-based grape wine. All in all, the house wines are very good for the price (less than 3 euros a glass).

The Hard Rock Cafe menu is EXACTLY the same as the last place I had (Tahoe, I believe). I found this interesting. And everyone in there was a Brit. Also interesting. Of course they all speak fluent Spanish, but it turns out that they do so with a British accent. Amateurs.

Most restaurants have 3 different menus (Castilian, Catalan, and English). My little game with myself was to try to get them to give me the Castilian menu because they thought I spoke Spanish. I usually won. It's interesting, actually, since my accent and pronunciation are apparently very good, and if I start the conversation (with a pre-planned sentence), the person usually will assume I'm fluent (good!), and start speaking radidly back to me (bad!). Luckily, when I pull out my secret sentence (lo siento, mi espanol is muy mal.), they love me! "No, No, No, hablas muy bien!"

I'll talk to you in Pamplona, ya'll.

-S

Top 10 things you should know about my hotel

I'm only here for another 24 hours or so, and I keep meaning to tell you about some little oddities of my hotel room.

10. My TV is smaller than my laptop's monitor.
9. There are no English channels on my TV. But there is a German one. I watched an entire "Family Guy" episode in German.
8. There are lots of American movies shown, with dubbing. The oddity here is that the dubbing, especially the female parts, are done without the least regard for character. It's just a shrill Spanish voice reading the lines very quickly (think Charro). An irony the other night was that Julia Roberts sounded like a Spanish prostitue in "Pretty Woman."
7. If you don't put the "No Moleste" sign on your door (in Spanish, this means don't molest me), and if you don't lock your door, the maid just barges in without knocking. It took me two times to adjust to this. Now I'm good.
6. There is a mini-bar, which I haven't seen in awhile. And this makes me happy.
5. The breakfast buffet here is made up of over 50% fresh meats and cheeses (charcuterie). There are also fruits and pastries, but mostly just meat.
4. All the people at the front desk know my room number. I don't know if they are required to memorize them or something, or if I'm special, but it's a little weird.
3. You have to put your key in a holder inside the room to make the electricity work. But I said I lost my key, so that I could get another, because I needed to leave the A/C running the whole time to keep the room at least a little cool.
2. The address on my street is 191. But the even numbers across the street are in the 160s. The even-numbered addresses in the 190s are 3 blocks away! This is crazy to me.
and #1. There is the cutest little drinking fountain by my toilet. I have to get on my hands and knees to drink from it. How odd!

Adios.

-S

Spanish + a Joke

There is such a fine line between me feeling GREAT about my Spanish and feeling completely crappy about it.

An example for each.....I just got out of a 15-minute cab ride, where I never spoke a word of English, yet I still feel like we had a legitimate conversation. If one of us didn't know what the other was talking about, we figured it out. In Spanish. For example, we talked about the economy in the US, the difference in languages (his wife is Catalunyan, and his kids speak both), etc. When I got out of the cab, I was king of the world.

As opposed to yesterday, when I went to the phone store (Vodafone), and the guy (who spoke Catalan) could not understand ANYTHING I was trying to say in Spanish. He kept calling his colleague over, and I was like "don't call her over dude, let's figure this out like men". At that point, I felt retarded.

Bottom line is that I still have a chance to be almost almost fluent (2 steps below fluent) when I leave Spain. There are words and phrases that fly out of mouth that I didn't know were there, and others I know but can't quite put my finger on. As intimidated as I was on Saturday, I am feeling a 6 on my ability to get by right now.

There was a ship out at sea getting attacked by a little pirate ship. The crew rushed to the Captain, and said, "Captain! We're being attacked by a pirate ship!!" The Captain said in most manly, leader-guy voice, "BRING MY RED SHIRT!". So he went to the deck, and single-handedly defeated the pirate attack. Over dinner that night, his second-in-charge asked why he wanted his red shirt. "You see," he said, "that way if I get wounded, the good men of this ship won't notice, and so they will keep the faith."

The next day about the same time, the officers ran to the Captain again. "Captain, Captain, we're being attacked by TWO pirate ships!!" And once again the fearless leader said "BRING MY RED SHIRT!" The officers now knew the secret, and confidently smiled at each other. Once again he donned the shirt, and once again he defeated the pirates.

The NEXT day about the same time, the officers ran to the Captain, their faces white with fear. "Captain. We're being attacked by 5 pirate ships. They have us surrounded." The Captain swallowed hard, then said, "BRING MY BROWN PANTS."

This joke makes me wish the tradition at Pamplona was for red and brown pants. Not white.

Salud!

-S

iPhones, Tourists, Soccer Finals, Penises

My first thought was to blog about how miserable life is when you lose your iPhone, how hard it is to talk to AT&T and/or Apple about fixing this when you're out of the country, etc. That's what I'd write! A diatribe for my blog! Then I thought, hey, if losing my phone is the biggest problem I have all week, then my life isn't so bad. Missing a few calls, and paying a few hundred bucks, and not being able to text (gasp!). Not such a bad thing compared to real problems in life. I'm in Spain for a month forchrissake. Cheers!

So, I'll focus on the positive yesterday....

1. I bought white pants. A necessity for the bull run on Monday. I had to go to the fancy mall "Cortes Ingles" to buy them. I wonder if I'll be the only person running in Ralph Lauren cotten trousers. By the way, my waist size is HUGE in centimeters.

2. Spain made the World Cup finals.

(a) Imagine if the USA had made it to the finals. How crazy most everyone would be--even non-soccer fans. Bars would be full, people would be rooting without knowing the rules ("KICK IT!!"), everyone screaming "U! S! A!" (by the way, that chant here is "ES! SPAHN! YA!")
(b) Now imagine the largest number you know.
(c) Multiply the craziness in (a) by the number in (b). That's how crazy it is here. I'll be in Pamplona on Saturday, in the middle of the San Fermin festival. It's gonna rock.

One more thing about watching serious soccer games here. Bars, restaurants and stores almost stop business. People are just glued to the TV, mostly in silence, until a big scoring threat happens, or a penalty, or something. And scoring threats work like this....if it is FOR Spain, you start to hear a rumble, crescendoing exponentially, then either complete silence if the ball is stolen or everyone screams if there is a shot. If it is AGAINST Spain, everyone starts yelling (at his or her own pace): "NADA, NADA, NADA, NADA". Very cool.

3. I hired a taxi for 5 hours to drive me around. A poor man's limo if you will. As most of you know, I am not a big tourist guy. I like to enjoy the culture, talk to people, and in general, try to live the life of a local. But I started to feel guilty that I wasn't doing ANYTHING touristy. So yesterday was the day. I was off to see the sights (but quickly, damn it). We drove by the Olympic center (not that impressive), by the old cathedral (it's old), by the big Columbus statue (pretty cool), and then to the one thing I was really interested in: the Picasso museum. The museum is full of his pre-cubist work, and shows his progression as a young artist.

When Hernan (my limo driver) dropped me off at 9:45, I went to the museum and there were 3 people in line (museum opens at 10:00). So, I walked around for a bit, and I came back at 10:02. There were now 200 people in line. Stupid looking tourists with cameras and maps. These people are just checking stuff off their list, and probably wouldn't know a pre-cubist Picasso if I hit them soundly over their heads with one. They will probably eat lunch at McDonald's or Burger King at La Rambla (which was my last stop...see below). This just turned my stomach, and sent me running 180 degrees in the other direction--both literally (I got out of line), and mentally (I hate being a tourist WAY more now). Get me back to doing the whole when-in-Rome thing that I had previously committed to.

So Hernan and I headed off to La Rambla, which is the Times Square or Hollywood Blvd of Barcelona. Yes, it's for tourists, but I figured I'd like to see the spectacles (human statues, jugglers, buskers, etc.). I got what I expected. There was a fucking LINE outside of Burger King. Meanwhile, I found a great (although overpriced) tapas place a block down, had 2 beers and 3 small tapas and watched the line at Burger King from my patio table. Idiots.

Here's the one oddity of La Rambla that I canNOT figure out....for almost one entire block, all of the temporary shops on the boulevard were BIRD shops. Selling birds. Parakeets mostly. I'm talking 10-15 different stores! All of these guys obviously know how to stay in business. My query is how?!?!? Given that 99% of the people here are tourists, how do they sell birds? Who buys a bird on vacation? Anyone have any theories?

4. I went to a nude beach. And to answer the two questions most of you have: (1) Yes I did. (2) SPF 50. However, it will be the last one I go to. Lots of wrinkly old men. And lots of gay men. Very few boobs.

Now I must return to my iPhone replacement saga.

Hasta luego, ya'll.

-S

Boobs--I have 2 nice points to discuss

OK, after co-visiting the beach with many topless women, I have two questions to throw out there (and I don't mean to make mountains out of mole-hills).

1. Hetero males are attracted to women's breasts, right? Is this an inborn attraction, or is it more because we're trained to want what we can't see (i.e. they are always hidden by pesky cloths)? I've heard arguments that boobs, especially large ones, indicate a suitable mate to raise children. A different rumor is that men still crave boobs from infancy. (Note: I choose "boobs" here as what I consider to be the most non-offensive, yet topical term. "Breasts" is too clinical. Everything else seemed too crude.)

That said, no one seems to care at the beach. I cry foul. Am I literally the only one interested in this? Girls are like "ho-hum....here are my boobs. Look if you want. I don't care. I just want them tanned." And guys (of all ages, mind you), are like "Look at the Mediterranean. How beautiful." Um, dude, I've been to the beach three days now, and I haven't even seen the water yet.

So the discussion point is this: (a) is everyone just being polite and just ignoring that there are boobs everywhere!? Or, (b) is it that over here, these things are just so common and thus not noteworthy/bloggable (and if that's the case, are they even part of human sexuality here?) Or, (c) is it that everyone DOES care, but pretends like they don't because they are cool and European? Please share other theories.

2. My second point is more simple. Why is this behavior only seemingly acceptable at the beach? If I walked in on one of these girls (accidentally, of course) while she was taking her bra off, would she or would she not cover them? I say she would. Also, if a girl showed up at a restaurant or store without a top on, would it be ok here? I say it would not. So, I guess I'm saying that I vote (c) to my question number 1!

Also, a quick note on men before closing, I did see two men sunbathing on their backs today with nothing on except SPF 30. I thought about it doing the same thing. Just for the experience, you know, but I didn't have nearly enough sunscreen. ;)

Cheers.

(Tomorrow: some notes on food here)

-S

Cindy Brady: More on Catalan

So, I had always known a bit about Catalan ("c" and "s" are pronounced "th"; double "l" is pronounced hard "j", "b" is "v", final "s" sometimes swallowed, etc......perfect example, the golfer Villegas is pronounced buh-JAY-guh or buh-JAY-gus).

I thought that was it.

NOT SO. This is a completely different language. Castilian Spanish and Catalan are as different as Spanish and Italian. Many signs and menus are in two languages (not, to my dismay, English and Spanish...but Spanish and Catalan).

So that was the first surprise. The second is the true realization about the whole "th" thing. Yes, I always heard that "Barthelona" was the way to pronounce it. I just never processed it completely, but here's the fact: the way to pronounce things correctly here is to insert a lithsp into your speech, a la Thindy Brady.

The first day or two, this was very hard for me to do. It just felt foolish. Now "Muchath grathia" is just as natural as boobs on the beach. Uno, doth, treth, quatro, thinko, theis, theite, ocho, nueve, dieth, on-the, do-the, tre-the, etc.....almost every number is affected, which definitely affects the mental processing of amounts of checks at restaurants or bets at the poker table.

The good news is that, 3 days in, I am definitely getting more comfortable in communicating! Hopefully, I'll continue to improve.

Adioth ya'll.

(tomorrow: my thoughts on female toplessness)

-S

OK, this one of the "coolest" places I've been so far. It's called "ICEBARCELONA" "EE-thay-bar-the-LOW-nuh" It's completely made of ice. The walls, the furniture, the tables, the bar, even the glasses. Like the James Bond movie (Halle Berry nowhere in sight). They keep it -5 degress Celsius, so they have to give everyone big parkas and gloves. Interesting experience, but this is no place to hang out a long time.

-S

Top 10 Things I've learned so far in Barcelona

10. There is very, very little English spoken here. Many times the answer to my question "Habla Usted ingles? is a very quick shake of the head.

9. There is a only reasonable amount of Spanish here. Everyone speaks Catalan! This is some weird combination of Spanish, Italian and French. This means, that even when I manage to pull off a perfect Spanish statement, that sometimes the person still may not understand!

8. The sands of the Mediterranean are not nearly as granular (fine) as our beaches. It's darker, and has small rock-like substances in it. It may not sound great, but I really like it, because you can just (quickly) brush it (completely) off you and your stuff. It's very strange being able to do that!

7. Everyone smokes here.

6. It's true: businesses just randomly shut down in the middle of the day for siesta. Some around noon, and some later in the afternoon. And they don't have those little US signs with a clock on it, with a note that says "Be back at". Nope. Just closed. Come back later. Or don't. We don't really care.

5. The word in Catalan for fan is "ventilador", and yes if you ask around enough, you can buy one. I did.

4. On the beaches, there are SCADS of roaming vendors selling beer, water, coke and fanta, and there is a constant slow monotonic but melodic chant as you hear all around "Cervetha, agua, fanta....". They also have roaming Chinese massage ladies who are VERY persistent, and sort of annoying.

3. I played in a poker tournament yesterday at the casino by the beach....and when a dealer needs a pit boss or a pit boss needs a waiter, or whatever, they make a really loud SMOOCH-SMOOCH sounds with their lips (imagine making the loudest quickest kiss sound you can). It works, but it's strange. (Also, nobody speaks a LICK of English in the casino.)

2,1. (I figured it would be best to present this one as a pair. You'll see.) Even in the beaches in the city, and the ones most family-friendly, 30-40% of the ladies are topless. Can't wait to visit the remote beaches! Oh, also--and this goes against my US training--but they hate it when you give them a dollar bill.

4th of July thought

I hate to be the tourist that thinks his country is better, particularly on Day 2. But I swear, there is NOTHING going on here for July 4th! There are exactly ZERO fireworks shows and ZERO parades. What the eff? Viva el rojo, blanco, y azul!!

-S

Signs and stuff

After all the studying of Spanish, and all of the (positive)expectations of getting thrust into another country, language and culture, it was still a bit daunting to get off the plane in Spain, and not even understanding common signs. This one, for example, is NOT for men that need to run to the restroom. Nor does it mean men's soccer game right this way. It simply means "exit". Makes sense now.



Sure, I guess Ukraine needs their own airline. I just never thought about it.



OK, so I've been here 12 hours, and here is my favorite moment so far:

I was out walking at 7:30 this morning (I know. My body hasn't learned the time zone yet), and most things are closed down, but I could hear up a block ahead what seemed to be a bustling breakfast place: doors wide open; loud conversation. So as I neared the place, the conversation seemed a bit TOO loud. As I look in, I'm amazed at what a lively atmosphere this place has so early on a Sunday morn. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks: these people all have beers in front of them. They've been out all night! I heart Spain.

-S

Fllights of Fancy

July 2/3--Greetings. So a word about BusinessFirst. Um, it's like, cool. You have little shelves for stuff, socks to walk around in, you have a 13-inch monitor to watch as much free TV, movies, documentaries, etc. as you want, your seat reclines to 0 degrees (not temperature, that would be weird), and you get gifts. I won't go into the 5-star service, the 7-course meal, the array of plugs and outlets (oh wait, I guess I DID just go into all that, sorry). Just suffice it to say that if you haven't flown this class, put it on your bucket list.

Oh, and a funny moment while boarding: we had been delayed by mechanical issues for a few hours, and then I got a page that we were boarding. But when I arrived at the gate, there were tons of folks gathered around the elite (carpeted) entry lane, but nobody seemed to be getting on.

You see...you have to be either elite or be in first class to go in this lane (I was both), so I said, "Why is everyone just standing around?" A guy--obviously an elite traveler--gave me a sort of snooty reply: "Oh, they've only called Business First, jackass." (the 'jackass' was implied, not actually said). I responded by saying with a faux expression of sadness, and said "oh.". As soon I received the immediate and predictable smug response expression from him, I said, "Well, excuse me then.", and then I proceeded to have the crowds part, and then I got on my plane. Out of the way, please, common class, Big Daddy needs to get to his seat.

Yes, admittedly, that's a bit harsh, but hey, I don't ever get to travel this way. Can't I enjoy it when I do??

Also, as we crossed the Atlantic flying in the same direction as the earth's rotation, I got to watch the sun rise super fast. I don't know if it's the drowsiness and/or the screwdrivers talking, but it was pretty moving. No, I didn't cry. Saving that for the bulls in Pamplona.

Roc k it, ya'll.

Now Departing....

"NOW DEPARTING" (My trip to the airport) A movement in 3 parts.

Some days are so extraordinary that you must explore them from different perspectives to fully understand them. I choose to approach my day today in three parts.

Part I. Ye Gods....the details

So here I am, with an international flight at 6:25 tonight, all completely packed and ready with my 4 bags (shut it, anyone who thinks this is too many...I don't have time to deal with you today).....and my friend (who wants to remain nameless here) who was taking me to the airport shows up at 3:45 as planned ("That's so early!," you say. I know.).

Meanwhile, Hurricane Alex is wreaking havoc on the Houston weather patterns, and we are experimenting some serious schizophrenic weather: No rain, followed up by mild rain, followed up by rains that would make Noah question his faith, followed by 5 minutes of sun, repeat. So my friend shows up in the flood part of the whole thing, and I (bravely) loaded my loads of luggage into her wanting SUV, 2 kids in tow. All good.

Then. We get in, start to back out of my driveway, and her driver's side window decides that THIS is the day that it won't work. It goes up, we go "sigh", we back up, it lowers again by itself (keep in mind, that people in most states have never even seen rain this torrential, so while the window is down, our car is being flooded!). Finally, my schedule in danger, and with 2 kids in tears (and almost 2 adults), I had to act. "Get the window up, kill the car, get your kids in my house, and I will find another ride." Which I did. Read on.

"I'm on my way!" These words hit my ears like the words "I'm sending the Wolfe." hits Jules' ears in "Pulp Fiction"--help is one the way!! For this was my Dad's response when I called him and said, "Man, I need you. Can you drop everything you're doing RIGHT NOW and take me to the airport?"...."I'm on my way," he says.

7 minutes later my Dad shows up with his Lexus with its mostly-worn tires (more on this later). I tell him the story and we race off in a blaze of glory towards IAH, with 2 hours until my flight. A side-trip involving getting my International Driver License from Meli--oops, I mean anonymous friend--plus 6 detours later, I get checked into my flight with, quite literally, less than 1 minute before they would have said "no". Even a less nice ticket agent would have said, "SORRY!!" with a smirk in her delivery.

But hey. Life is good.

Part II. To JJ Abrams and Wes Craven: I'm sorry!

I must admit that I have cursed the ridiculous antics of writers and directors the like of JJ Abrams and Wes Craven, and many others too numerous to worry about. My problem with them is that their stories rely too heavily (sometimes almost completely) on situations that are just too unbelievable to swallow, even with the suspension of disbelief policy that you need to have for such movies.

Did you see "2012" where the runway was crumbling beneath John Cusack's plane? Yeah right. Or how about any "Halloween" or "Friday the 13th" movie where the car won't start? C'mon now people, do you really want us to believe that the odds stack up so badly for the main character that NOTHING will go right for him. Count me out. This doesn't happen in real life.

So, now, back to my apology. To JJ and Wes and all of the other screenplay writers and directors that have their characters barely escape the blast ("MacGyver" anyone?), or have the missile barely miss their helicopter because the building collapsed: I am sorry. Really. I'm a believer. This bad-ass shit, Hell's-wrath stuff that defies the probabilities really CAN happen. It did today.

Luckily, much like in these mentioned movies, the main characters (played today, by my Dad and me) escaped the monster/murderer/end-of-the-world just fine.

Onward, because life is good.

Part III. My Dad, My Hero.

I'm just a blogger. A new one at that. I know that I can type what I want to here....there is no need to be completely truthful, because no one will know the real truth, right? But I swear...if I were to tell the story of my Dad's driving of me to the airport, blow by blow, I would hear responses like:

"Yeah, right, your Dad would NEVER run red lights"
"Yeah right, your Dad's car did not hydroplane the whole time on the Hardy Toll Road."
"Yeah right, you guys didn't really try SIX different routes, before discovering that 5 of them were dead-ended into 6-foot floods. (bonus: Yeah, you did NOT see cars floating in the water!)"

My Dad and I were like a 2-person, ground-based A-Team tonight! And frankly I don't think anyone else that I have ever met in my entire life could have (or would have dared) to do what we (mostly he) did. Changing routes, breaking laws, coming up with new schemes, etc. It was truly poetic. I've never seen hydroplaning as a method used to pass cars! My favorite part was when we were hydroplaning on 59, when my Dad casually said to me, "I forgot to tell you that my tires need replacing; they're pretty worn." It was like a Bruce Willis movie, except scarier.

My favorite scheme was our arrival plan. When we got to the E Terminal, I was to go sprinting out of the car, go directly to the front of the line (luckily I was in BusinessFirst, so not much line), and beg the person to get me on the flight, which was to depart in 44 minutes...and counting.

I found the nicest person, and did my nicest stressed-and-wet-but-still-charming-Texan routine, and she said "Do you have any bags?" This implied that she could get me on with no bags, but not WITH bags. I looked at her with an almost-crying face, and said, "Yes ma'am. I have two." She said to bring them on, but hurry.

Meanwhile, during the last 3 minutes, my Dad/wingman had hired the most motivated (and in-shape) skycap in Houston. He ran by me with only very brief instructions from me to meet up with my nice agent lady (I pointed). He was working for tips, and when all was well, he definitely got his.

The end. Roll credits. (Sorry, no comical out-takes are available at this time.)

The moral of the story: Plans change. Things happen. Try hard. Then move on.
(I'm now happy to be stuck in a 3-hour mechanical delay. Spain can wait. Life is everywhere.)

I hope the rain won't detain my plane for Spain

OK, virtual people. Today is the day I've had marked on my calendar for 7 months. I'm going away for a month for the first time in my life (and perhaps the last if the bulls in Pamplona aren't kind).

The two things on my immediate agenda that excite me most are:
1. Business First on my flight to London. Apparently, the chairs will make into completely vertical "beds", they have a personal masseuse for each passenger, and they have seat-side movies that haven't been released to theaters yet. OK, only one of those things is true, but still.....It's my first time in BF Class, and I plan to enjoy it.

2. Spain in the world cup. I check into my Barcelona hotel about 4:00 p.m. local time on Saturday, about 4 hours before Spain plays Paraguay. I predict every TV in Spain will be tuned to it. I plan to find some bar or restaurant, and meet some rowdy Spainiards. "Goooooal" is still "Gooooooal" in Spanish, so I'm good.

Also, to Dee, my sister. You guilted me into buying a better camera than my iPhone has, so hopefully whatever pics I can capture in the next month will be higher quality.

Vaya con dios mis amigos, and stay tuned!

-S