Spain, Day 27-31

Andres Recovers, Stumbles, Dies, and then Revives
A Play in Five Acts

Sunday ended with a visit to the haunts of the old people: a plaza near the hotel where all of Granada's AARP members congregated after buying an ice cream cone (or, knowing AARP, after having collected their free ice-cream cone). Actually, with a Sprite and Spanish braided pretzel in hand (unfortunately, this is a misleading description of the pastry I was eating, the only thing it had in common with a pretzel was its shape, aside from that the dough, consistency, and taste were quite distinct, but alas) I didn't feel considerably out-of place because nestled amongst the forest of canes there were the sons, granddaughters, and great-grandchildren of all our AARP friends. I perched on a bench watched them all go by, just as they all watched each other pass-by, and we had a lively old time. I returned to my hotel feeling passably better, and I slept excitedly with great anticipation of tomorrow's activities and my presumed recovery.

Day 27

I awoke eager to pursue an interview I had scheduled with the Head Chef of the Parador of Granada's Restaurant. Somewhat inconveniently, the Parador is under construction, so it was difficult to secure a time for this meeting, but after confirming and reconfirming that this was the most appropriate time for a visit I prepared to undertake the normally slightly taxing but in a weakened state Herculean task of alighting the Alhambra to reach the Parador, which is actually among the buildings of the historic palatial complex. Fortunately, a bus runs up the hill and I took it. Through a convenient chain of events I wound up actually speaking with the Associate Director of the Parador, who was formerly Head Chef, and then moved on to work in the administration of the Paradors at a regional level before accepting his current charge. The insight he offered into the workings of this regaled gastronomic institution was priceless and underscored the impact of tourism and globalization on the design and structure of the menu and the restaurant.

Needless to say, the warmth with which he received me and his accommodating manner invigorated my spirits greatly, to the point that I felt it would be appropriate to descend the “mountain” (please remember that I’m from Chicago) unaided. I was so enlivened with my success that en route to my hotel I suddenly changed course and opted for lunch. I had spied a nearby restaurant offering Vegetable Soup, which I thought would fit today’s profile perfectly.

As I would soon discover over the course of the week, it’s tricky ordering Soup in Spain.

The thick green aromatic liquid seduced me, despite my better sense, and I consumed it nearly to the last drop. I should have continued to slop it up, realizing that having spared three spoonfuls after having consumed an incalculable quantity already was pointless. I enjoyed my soup and fizzy water, however, and gladly paid my bill and left. That evening, post-nap, I felt stronger and well en route to recuperation. Around ten, however, my stomach was struck by an odd sensation, which I soon pegged as hunger! I was overjoyed but these stomach growls. So enfeebled was my condition over the past two days that I had even lost appetite, and to have it return was surely a sign of better things to come. I satiated myself with bread and water however, and resolved that I would continue to gather strength in preparation for a full meal, which I planned to be enjoying the following day in Seville.

Sadly my intestines had other plans for me.

Day 28

A few miracles occurred today, and for a moment I considered them as divine intervention in thanks for having visited more churches over the past months than most Biblical figures probably managed to do. But in consideration of how much I suffered as well today, I realized that all in all I broke out about even.

Miracle Number One

Freakishly planned travels like mine involve hotel reservations and itineraries created months in advance, yet so great was my pain this morning that for 30 grueling minutes this morning I considered deviating from my schedule. I almost forfeited an already paid night at a hotel in Seville for the comforts of not having to move from my bed in Granada.

Almost as startling as the idea of abandoning my schedule was that I resorted to a nap this morning. It lasted only half an hour, but for the rest of the day I counted myself among the believers in the wonders of the nap, for the first time in almost two decades.

Miracle Number Two

Though I had to resort to a taxi to take me on a trip that would have lasted an equal amount of time on foot, but would have been too taxing and also sweatier, I actually arrived at the train station with time enough to spare for another nap, this time on a bench in the station. Classy, I know.

Sadly, there were just three benches on the platform, and I wasn’t sharing mine. Needless to say, I was nobody’s favorite tourist today. Nevertheless, my luck held and after hogging a bench for an hour amidst swarms of jostling travelers, I actually boarded a train to discover that I had my own two-person seat. Of course, if I hadn’t been on a liquid diet for the past 48 hours I would have needed the extra room to accommodate my frame that has swollen from exaggerated pork consumption, but thanks to my debilitating illness I could curl up in the fetal position and nap, again.

Miracle Number Three

The only good thing about being sick today was that today was a Tuesday and the Spanish world was functioning. In other words, the supermarkets were open. Of course, my first question upon checking into my hotel in Seville was “where is the nearest supermarket,” which instantly pegged me as one of those tourists who purchase groceries at the supermarket, smuggle it into their rooms, and closet themselves–scarfing up their acquired vittles rather than fueling the local economy and overtaxing their wallets. Unfortunately, there has been a rash of news reports in the past weeks about the rising numbers of such tourists on the peninsula. Thankfully, the order hasn’t yet been given to have them rounded up and shot, or expulsed.

Yet, returning to me and the receptionist at the hotel: I asked, she snickered, and then she admitted there was a Corte Ingles (a local department store, which usually has a supermarket in the basement) in the vicinity and she even consented to point out its location on a map for me. Admirably, she managed all of this without actually saying the words supermarket, weirdo, or making any other derogatory remarks.

It goes without saying that Tuesday improved post-supermarket visit.

Day 29

Seville appears beautiful, welcoming, and comfortable from what I have seen on television, gathered from the colorful brochures, and imagined from my bed. Of course twice a day I actually do get to experience Seville, and I shower and fix myself up for these outings. I am referring to my twice daily returns to the Supermarket. I have resolved single-handedly to tear through El Corte Ingles’ supply of fresh bread, saltines (or “English Crackers” as my preferred brand is called), water (with and without gas, though the variety of the latter is surprisingly limited), and Jell-O. Between these staples of the diet of the infirm I plan to scare away death if not hunger. As an interesting perk, I also get to make friends with the bread lady who sells me my loaves twice a day. Sadly, it appears I am more committed to pursuing the relationship than she is.

Meanwhile I am still confined to quarters, but my mood was mildly cheered (ok, I admit it: much cheered) by a call from my mother. Yesterday, Tuesday, she made her first contact since I had fallen ill on Sunday. Kindly, she didn’t admit that her call was prompted by a plaintive text message I had sent to my father earlier in the day, demanding that they call. Mommy promised to call every afternoon until I got better, and as of today she was on target with her goal.

Her first order of business yesterday was to dictate the items that I should purchase from the Supermarket (hence the Saltines and Jell-O) and also to send me to my local pharmacy. I fulfilled both tasks Wednesday morning before crawling back into bed, gladly, however, because I now had crackers and Jell-O within arms reach (plus the room had a fridge! A rare luxury in Spanish hotels, but it meant I had cold Jell-O).

On the plus side, my meal expenses have decreased significantly…

Day 30

I have been cleared for Banana consumption today. The relaxing of dietary restrictions are quite welcome considering that I awoke with great hunger today.

But Mommy never called today; I think she may have forgotten I am sick. In light of the situation, I cleared myself for further fruit consumption this afternoon. Pears were right next to the bananas so they appeared to be the natural choice.

Of course, this means meal expenses have begun to rise again. Expenses soared 300%. We broke the 7 Euro mark for the first time in four days. To celebrate I allowed myself time out of the cell. I managed over an hour of walking, traveling over twenty minutes past El Corte Ingles into the legitimate downtown of Seville. I actually saw the famed Giralda (the minaret turned bell-tower that distinguishes Seville’s Cathedral) albeit from down the block. Who knew there was such a world of non-edible entertainment beyond the supermarket? Although it may pale in comparison to browsing the water aisle at the store, I think tomorrow I will be cleared for exploration. Just in time too, Friday is my last full day in Seville.

Day 31

Yup, Seville has a Cathedral too, and it’s big, and gothic. There is also a castle here, for the Christian monarchs. To top it all off, there is a handsome Bull Ring too.

Yes, I think the cattiness has returned and we are safely en route to recovery.

An exhausting day, for sure, and my body actually withstood it. I rewarded it with crackers, pears, and bananas–all at the same meal! There was fresh bread too.

The day blossomed with breathtaking tours of the royal gardens in the Alcazar of Seville, and it continued to mount in beauty as I admired the city from atop the Giralda. I even had the privilege to be in the tower when the bells rang. Oddly enough, they are no more charming than when they wake me up at school on Saturday mornings, even if these are historical foreign bells.

After popping back to the hotel to rest during the hottest hours of the day I ventured out anew to discover the Plaza de España, which for anyone who watches Star Wars, could best be described by referring to the colonnade on Naboo that the Senator and Anakin walk under in Episode Three (yes, I actually thought about that while I was alone at dusk in the Plaza; suit me…).

Aside from reminiscing about Star Wars, and enjoying my rejuvenated immune system, I also took a moment to bid farewell to my solo adventures in Spain. I will be returning to the real world tomorrow and be expected to sustain conversations, maintain a pleasant demeanor and remain an accommodating and understanding guest.

In all seriousness, however, I am not overly concerned with these expectations–there will be no children at this next home-stay.

Spain, Day 36

A warm baguette, perfectly flaky yet sufficiently supple to envelope the slices of sausage and aged Manchegan cheese and softly balance their strong flavors--I can imagine no better way to celebrate a return to health, an end to my hermitical life-style, and my final week in Spain. The scene was a knoll along the edge of the Parque del Retiro, overlooking the Bosque del Recuerdo, and bordering boisterous activity of some frolicking, scantily-clad French youths. The weather was a warm sun hovering around 30 degrees, but with a refreshing breeze, especially in the cool shade far below some thankfully bug-free branches. Nursing a classy Supermarket plastic bag, I trundled through this sweeping arboreal escape snuggled near the bustling heart of Madrid. I pushed aside the aesthetics of my appearance, however, as I scoped out the perfect place for my solo picnic (a bit more graceful than my umpteenth solo meal in a restaurant).

Desperately worried that the park was too pretty and manicured for a picnic I finally settled on a welcoming hill a bit off the main path and I set out my spread: rich slices of Iberian ham, some aromatic sausage, and two regional cheeses, the first an aged Manchegan cheese similar to that we enjoyed at a certain Bread and Cheese Party in the Pierson Courtyard during Finals Week, and the second cheese a semi-cured sheep's milk cheese, and finally some sun-dried tomatoes (which, sadly, were not half as flavorful as how I imagine those sun-dried tomatoes from the vegetable market in Granada that appeared much rosier and full-bodied would have tasted). Of course, the crusty loaf is a given, and the bottle of mineral water though refreshing was a lackluster substitute for a bottle of fine Spanish wine, but I settled upon the water in a concession to common sense and health.

My only disappointment at lunch time today was when I reached into the bread sleeve only to discover that piece by pleasurable piece I had dismantled almost the entire loaf leaving only the end with which to pair a couple remaining sun-dried tomatoes and a selective sampling of meats and cheese. I polished off the sausage and the semi-cured sheep's cheese and re-wrapped my remaining Ham and Manchego Cheese for supper, then lay back and enjoyed the scenery for five minutes before I started to notice the ants, the prickly grass stalks, and the encroaching sun and decided to pack-up my picnic. It's amazing the powerful enchantment that food can cast, dulling every sensitivity to all other possible stimulation. During that picnic, my focus was not the landscape, nor the people around me, nor the clean breeze that blew through the park. I noticed those things only before I pulled out the bread and after I crumpled up the bag it came in.

Spain, Day 26

God-Awful
Being sick in a hotel is no more comfortable than being sick at home. I woke up this morning feeling a tad less than perfect, but steeled myself to venture out to forage. I bought myself the Sunday paper, which was no more exciting than the Saturday paper, seeing as it was STILL consumed with news of the New 7 Wonders election, and then sat down to enjoy some bubbly water and toast with jelly. I read my paper cover to cover, drank my water, ate my bread, and headed back to hotel to plan how to overcome Sunday doldrum.

We all know Spaniards latch onto nap-time as a time-honored tradition and have resolved to shut down the nation for two-hours every afternoon, but this pales in comparison with their Sunday boycott on business. Other nations mirror this Sunday relaxation of work-hours but I found it painfully obvious today for two reasons: disappearance of entertainment, and loss of supermarkets, pharmacies, and other locales that pick you up when your down.

In conclusion, those who are sick on Sundays in Spain are screwed. Sadly, I was in that club. Perhaps the pathetic-ness of the day is exemplified best in the following email I sent to my dad yesterday night:

I was sick today. I just wanted to share that with you. I considered calling, but...it's very expensive to call from cell phones. Anyway, I am feeling much better, but the day was rough, especially because EVERYTHING SHUTS DOWN ON SUNDAY, so trying to find water and coke and bread (which is all that I've eaten) was tough. At about 9:30 p.m. I felt well enough to venture out to look for dinner. It was much cooler, thankfully, but I decided against dinner and opted instead for some more bread from a bakery and a can of Sprite. I trust that tomorrow will be much better.

Well, I was thinking of you and mom a lot today and just wanted to share that with you.

Love,

your son

Spain, Day 25

Saturday, 7/7/07, finally arrived and the wave of Al Hambra furor that has swept the country has finally crested. But for us foreigners, Saturday was more important as the commencement of the weekend. So, I turned off the alarm and decided I would wake up when I would wake up, and slept until 11 a.m. at which point I was afraid it would be too hot to go out and subsequently considered just trying to force myself to sleep more, but realized that I didn't like sleeping nor Spanish TV that much.

The bright, hot, day (this seems to be a recurring pattern) convinced me that I should search for indoor entertainment, like a museum, which we all know to be air conditioned and relaxing. Sadly, the last time I followed this train of thought, it failed me even more miserably than it did this time. In Cordoba, it was actually hotter inside the museum than outside. Saturday, however, in the Archaeological Museum of Granada I proudly noted that it was no hotter inside than outside, plus there was guaranteed shade (albeit substituted for desired air circulation). As in Cordoba, however, the term museum was used rather lightly. Sure it was nifty to be inside a Medieval House and explore its rooms that were now decorated with Roman Capitals, Islamic pottery, and prehistoric tools, but it could only entertain for so long. Even dork-a-saurus-rexes would have been hard-pressed to summon prolonged interest in these "Archaeological Museums." The offerings of the Museum of Granada were more extensive, and the house bigger, but still I regretted--slightly--the sweat I put into finding the museum (this is one of the problems when a museum is housed inside of a house, you can walk right past it a half dozen times and not actually realize that you are passing it, instead you think "hmmm...pretty house!").

The Archaeological Museum of Granada, however, is at the foot of a hill that harbors the vestiges of the arab culture in Granada. As the lady at the hotel's front desk pointed out out to me on a map when I checked in, "this is the Albaicin. It's where the gypsies are. This is a day-time trip." I've never met a gypsy, or much less seen one, so I decided to scale the hill and go gypsy hunting.

The hill lacked observable gypsies, and I can't say I was particularly surprised. Instead, I discovered a drowsy neighborhood withering in the mid-day heat, kinda like I was. At the foot of the hill, nearer to the tourist paths, i.e. flat, shaded, roads, there were tourist-trap vendors selling colorful scarves, hookahs, cold water, your name in Arab Calligraphy, and other stereotypical "gypsy fare" (perhaps an amalgam of North-African, Middle Eastern, and Muslim culture?). My destination, however, near the top of the hill was a Convent that was built before the Christian conquest of Granada, and that showcased the Christian adoption of Arab art and architecture, even in religious settings. On route, I suffered unrelenting sun, the fear that I was going to become too dark for my mom to recognize me, heat, and gorgeous views of the city.

Sadly, the Convent of Sta. Isabela failed to justify my climb (though the views of the Al-Hambra and the city definitely substituted well). I learned upon trying to enter the Convent that only guided tours were permitted, which, to my luck were on Saturdays, but unfortunately, there was only one and it had already started. But my final decision to turn away from the convent hinged upon a 10-euro entrance fee, which is greater than the cost of exploring the entire Al-Hambra complex.

Fortunately, I had ascended the Sacromonte (the hill) with two goals in mind. The first, admittedly, had been unrewarding, but the second involved lunch, which is an always pleasurable pursuit. I had been recommended a restaurant called Abn Umeya, which was conveniently just blocks away from the Convent. After wandering in crazy figure-eights along narrow , ancient, twisting streets, en route stumbling upon the ruins of the medieval walls, I finally asked for directions and arrived at the door of my coveted restaurant that rested on the lip of the hill with breath-taking views of the Al-Hambra and the city below. But even the divine food guides refused to take pity on me that day: the restaurant only opened from 8:30 p.m. to 1:30 a.m. My options were either wait six hours for dinner, ring the bell and demand lunch (which I almost did), or descend to greener pastures.

45 minutes, later, perched on a bar stool with a delightful Bocadillo, and the caña (glass of beer on tap) and tapa (today was paella) special to boot, I was contented. In Granada and Cordoba, and perhaps in Andalucia in general, most restaurants have bars, at which it is perfectly acceptable and quite normal to eat at, especially when having a tapas dinner. At lunch, when it's a fast one, most area workers with short lunch breaks and also neighborhood regulars will crowd around these bars for a quick beer (caña), which comes with a complimentary serving of the house tapa. In tourist centers, like Granada, this custom has developed into a happy-hour of sorts to lure famished foreigners. Thus, area bars and restaurants all boast a caña and tapa special, hovering in price around 1,50 euros, a tradition I have gladly embraced.

Trudging home for "nap-time," however, I decided to ditch the habit and go explore the Cathedral of Granada and also to head over to the park from which this evening's "7 New Wonders" festivities would be broadcast. The Cathedral also cost more money, and turned out to be a Cathedral with a gift shop, cf. Italy, and every other Catholic country in the nation... The park was close to the hotel and so I headed back to freshen up before testing dinner possibilities.
After two nights "tapeando" (eating tapas at tapas bars) I yearned for a quiet sit-down place, and the one I picked attracted me for its "traditional dishes" section. I admit, I was suckered in like a novice tourist, and wound up with a less than desirable stuffed pepper dish. In my defense, the dish itself, and stuffed vegetables in general, have deep roots in the region, but the cook appeared to have less knowledge than myself in preparing it. I elected a lemon dessert to try and assuage the pain, but in the end only the Granada 7-New-Wonders Concert with musicians I had never heard of livened up my evening.

Despite Granada's exclusion from the New 7 Wonders list (a kitschy substance-less private undertaking, if you really want my opinion) it did not bother me as much as its substitution for the Colosseum and the Christ Redeemer statue in the final selection. But the thought occupied me for all of 10 seconds, before I headed to bed and left Granada to wallow.

Spain, Day 24

Andres has no internet. He has to use the hotel computer. Everything is in Spanish. The keyboard is too. Now he can do awesome things like this: ñ¿çÇǨ´+^++ºª\º.

Actually, it occasionally frustrates him when certain letters and characters are not in their proper place. Also, this Computer uses Internet Explorer, which means no spell check. Oh Mozilla, ::sigh::

Furthermore, this means no picture uploading (because he is too lazy to drag the USB cable from his room, and also does not wish to upload his pictures onto a foreign computer). Also, the unpredictable computer access suggests that it is highly probable that there will not be daily updates. Instead, Andres may have to take up napping during nap time, since reading NYTimes, playing with the blog, and checking facebook were how he occupied his time when Spain shut down [editor´s note: Friday may or may not have included a three-hour (or longer) nap, which recasts the Thursday afternoon ¨pass-out¨(c. 1.5 hours) as more of a cat-nap. Thankfully, Saturday has been nap-free.].

Of course, anal Andres cannot bear a disturbance in his perfect sequence, so chances are that even if the blog is not updated daily, every day will be accounted for, if only to avoid going straight from Day 23 to Day 25, as he was close to doing today.

Now, to conclude this act with a final trick, Andres will produce the elusive ¨@¨that so often eldues him on foreign computers (he is not even going to bother trying to figure out how to delete the above hyperlink, seeing as how he cannot even imagine how to say ¨hyperlink¨in Spanish...).

Adeu

p.s. Daniel Barenboim and lang lang (asian, can you tell?) are in town, but Andres didn´t bring appropriate clothing to attend their concert, and he is much saddened. He is tempted to shop for some but would rather spend that money on food. Thankfully, he has seen both musicians perform sufficiently.

Spain, Day 23

7 Reasons why Andres is floating right now:

1) Granada
Think of Venice vs. Florence, with Cordoba being a prettier Venice and Granada being a gorgeous Florence without the David...

2) Carlos V
The Web Site worried me, the location appeared uncertain, but the "lujo" (luxury) remodelling of 2004 really touched up this hotel, and I´m staying in it. If only they could fix the reception on the TVs and expand their wireless signal.

3) There is a Supermarket around the corner
2 Liter bottle of water, cold: 0,37 Euros...

4) It didn´t reach 40 degrees C today, or maybe I just slept through it
Oh Siesta time, bane of my existence, yet so seductive. Sheesh!

5) Dinner was a plate of sausages

6) Granada is pretty
...wait did I already mention that?

7) I think the beers are stronger here

SEVEN reasons (as opposed to a normal number like 5, or 10) are listed in support of the Al Hambra´s Candidacy as one of the 7 new Wonders of the World. The final list will be announced on 7/7/07 (this Saturday!). Unfortunately, not having visited the palace yet, I can´t say how I would declare myself in this contest.

Spain, Day 22

happy fourth...