Heidelburg, Germany & O-Club

This morning, Erin and I arose at the-crack-3-hours-before-dawn and headed into Frankfurt. Her mom arrived in the airport at 6:30 from New York. Since she came from a non-EU country, she landed in a different terminal (1) than I had (2). Terminal 1 was under horrible construction, to the point where if you wanted to get from one part of the terminal to another, you had to go outside, circle the building until you found an entrance door to the area you were looking for, and then go back inside. Since the weather is *freezing* cold, these shenanigans are Not Fun.

Nonetheless, we got there mere seconds before her mom exited customs, so it was perfect timing. We piled her luggage into the car and drove to Heidelburg.

Heidelburg is beautiful, even though it was blanketed with thick fog until around lunchtime and never quite warmed up.

We headed straight to Heidelburg castle, and hiked to the top of the hill maybe 20 minutes before the gates were to open at 8 am. We took a few photos and gazed down across the countryscape until we could enter the castle grounds. Once inside, we went to ticketing and purchased the 10:15 walking tour (the first one in English) and went to do all the non-tour-guided free things.

As it turns out, however, nothing is open until 10. Not the apothecary, the cafes, the gift shops… nothing but the ticket booths. How weird is that?

With nothing else to do but wander around, we set to that task immediately and had a great time exploring the exterior castle grounds and gardens. We were also able to enter the winery (there’s always a winery! love it!) and see the massive wine barrel.

By massive, I mean *massive*. (Photo attached.) This wine barrel has held the Guiness World Record for *centuries*, as the largest vat to ever contain wine. There are staircases to get to the top of it, and over the barrel is a wooden dance floor. That’s right, you heard me–a wine barrel big enough to hoist a dance floor. As we later learned on the tour, the king would have the barrel filled with wine–any wine. Red, white, whatever. As long as it was wine, it was good enough to drink.

The tour was fun, although like many tours, seemed to linger in the least interesting rooms and zoom through the most interesting ones. (Either that, or I have truly bizarre taste in history and decorations.) Nobody really knows exactly how old the castle is. All we know for certain is that the first written record of its existence dates back to the year 800. (Not 1800–just 800. Wow!) As with most castles, it has been remodeled and added onto numerous times over the years. It also suffered destruction by fire twice in the same century. Part of the damaged area was reconstructed in the early to mid 1900s, but other parts will probably remain ruins for the foreseeable future. The combination of old and new made an intriguing experience.

After touring the town of Heidelburg, we headed back to Miesenbach to get ready for tonight’s Hispanic Heritage Banquet at the Officers’ Club on the Rammstein Air Base. Food included salad, tortillas with veggies (or meat), beans & rice, and cheesecake. Not sure that cheesecake is particularly Hispanic, but it was darn tasty.

The entertainment included speakers and dancers, the latter of which I absolutely loved. There was music and dancing representative of many of the Spanish-speaking countries, and even a group of African dancers, from which a lot of Carribbean music and dancing is based. I also got to see Brazilian Capoeira for the first time (live, anyway) which was cool. Capoeira is a style of dancing invented by the slaves in an effort to express themselves while in search of freedom. It combines acrobatics with dance and a coordinated sort of kick boxing.

Of course, the big joke is that I flew to Germany from Spain in order to see flamenco!

Have you seen (or participated in) any cultural dance performances? Let me know all about it!

Tags: airports, castles & palaces, festivals & fiestas, food, random facts & history, wine

Rechtenbach/Gleiszellen Germany & Wissembourg France

Today while Erin was at work, I hijacked her computer, installed a few programs, and spent the day working myself. But, when she got home, we packed up and shipped out on adventure. First, we headed to Schweigen-Rechtenbach. If you’re wondering if the town name is hyphenated because of a recent marriage, the answer is… sort of. Apparently, in this part of Germany, areas are called the hyphenated combination of the two closest (neighboring) towns. I guess this would be the equivalent of saying Tampa-Clearwater, South Bend-Mishawaka, Santa Monica-Los Angeles, etc. I’m just not sure why the towns can’t be independent.

So anyway, we first hung out in Rechtenbach, where there’s a winery (weintor) and pretty scenery. We gave ourselves a self-tour of the winery and climbed up to the top of a tall tower for the view. While we were up there, an older man climbed up the stairs and said something to us in German. Erin didn’t have any clue what he was saying, and since I have pretty much a 50-word vocabulary (plus the numbers so I can count change) I had no idea what was going on, either. He shook a set of keys on a pink keyring at Erin. Figuring someone had dropped them, Erin checked her purse, showed him that she had her keys safe and sound, and said “No” a few times. That had little to no effect because, as it turned out, he was the caretaker trying to lock up the tower without trapping us inside. (Ohhhh.)

After we realized our mistake (with much good-natured laughing on the caretaker’s part, too) Erin and I descended the stairs and decided to snack on some flammkuchen. And wine. (It’s a winery! You can’t not have wine in a winery!) Erin tried to explain flammkuchen to me prior to me laying eyes on it, but like any food item, it’s difficult to explain. I’ll do my best. Imagine the concept of pizza. (Easy, right?) Not pizza itself–but the idea of an open-face breadish susbstance covered with toppings. The breadish thing is thin like a tortilla, but not that flimsy, although not cracker-crisp either. The style we got was Vegetarianisch (I probably killed the spelling on that) which meant it had red peppers, sliced pepperoncini-type peppers, chunks of fresh cheese (not sure what kind), and a bit of garlic for spice. (No pizza sauce, because it’s not pizza. It’s flammkuchen.) I thought it would be small, but it came on a large, rectangluar wooden oven paddle. (They’re baked in flame ovens. I know there’s a better word than “flame oven” but I can’t think of it right now.)

Once we were done eating, we got back in the car and crossed the border into France, where we were detained by seventeen armed guards, three tanks, and a helicopter. Actually… Open EU borders means open EU borders, and if there hadn’t been a sign, I would’ve had no idea we crossed into another country. There were no guards, no checkpoint, no nothing. Easy peasy.

We cruised around looking for Wissembourg for a while, and although we did find it, there wasn’t much going on since the main strip was under construction and the detour pretty much detoured us around the whole town. So we came back across the border in search of Gleiszellen-Gleishorbach, where a wine fest was going on.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t seem to find G-G (as I’m calling it, since I’m a lazy typist) so we drove around looking for someone to whom we could ask directions. Erin says, “We need to find someone who speaks English.” To which I said, “Or French. If they speak French, we can get directions, too.” She made no return comment. (Bear with me and you’ll see the significance in a moment.) We head up a residential hill and see a man with a water hose in his yard. Erin pulls over as I roll down my window.

[pardon the spelling below because I speak it better than I can write it.]

“Sil vous plait,” I call out. “Ou est le festival du vin?”

He puts down the water hose. “Bitte?”

Since I’m a moron, I fail to catch the significance of that single word. So, I rephrase. “Je cherche le festival du vin. Est-ce que vous connais ou ca est?”

He makes a crazy face and starts spouting off gibberish. (Or it could’ve been German. I really need to study up.) He then motions over his wife, who cuts across the lawn to join the conversation. (If you can call it that.)

Once again, I launch into another version of “Do you have any idea where we can find the wine festival?” and both of them chatter back in German.

Erin says, “Forget it.” We wave our thanks and take off.

“I can’t believe they don’t speak French,” I say, semi-outraged.

“Yeah,” Erin agrees. “We’re less than 2 minutes from the border.”

I start looking around the neighborhood more closely and my jaw drops. “Hey,” I say. “This is crazy. Even the *signs* around here are in German!”

At this point, Erin stops the car, levels me with a look, and says, “Erica. We’re *in* Germany.”

Ohhh.

I had completely forgotten. No wonder the Germans spoke to me in… well… German.

And that, my friends, is what happens when you combine ADD with open borders. Absolutely no clue what country you might be in or what language you ought to be speaking at any given moment.

So, we drive around the next corner or two and come across two younger (twenty-something) guys with bikes. Erin says, “Ask *them* for directions.”

But now I’m feeling so idiotic that I can’t fathom forcing my French onto another German. She convinces me that the younger inhabitants are multilingual and that we should give it a shot.

We roll up and I ask if they know where the wine fest is. To which they crack up laughing (luckily not at my French-in-Germany) and respond, “Il-y-a beaucoup des festivals du vin.” (There’s a gazillion wine fests.)

Oh. So they ask me which one in particular we’re looking for, and of course I don’t know. I throw out G-G’s town name, and they happen to know which one I mean and give us directions.

Finally, we arrive at G-G where the wine fest is hopping. We park in a field with the other cars and buses and saunter up the streets, decorated with strands of hanging lights and lots of flowers. Clusters of local food and wine vendors line the streets, and the jovial crowd bustles inbetween.

By jovial, I mean *jovial*. The band struck up a tune and everyone starting singing and swaying to various German drinking songs, and even in the winding streets where the music could no longer be heard, groups of people spontaneously burst into drinking songs and chants and whole tables would sway together and join in the song. At times, it was so loud Erin and I couldn’t even talk. The great thing was that everybody was in the spirit, and there was absolutely no censoriousness. If older people passed by a table of rowdy youngsters swinging and swaying, they just grinned and raised their glasses.

Erin and I tried two different wines apiece. Her first one was OK, but a little warm for white wine. My first one was bubbly, kind of like a would-be asti but not quite. (That’s an awesome description, isn’t it? I should totally get a job writing wine labels.) My second wine was bizarre, but surprisingly delicious. It was apple flavored (which makes sense, since apples are in season and orchards are everywhere. Vendors fill the walk-platz with their bags and baskets of fresh apples.) The second wine came in a souvenir glass, which I could return to the tent for my deposit back, or choose to keep. (Naturally, I’m taking that baby home.) The glass is neat–it has a picture of the local vinyard/winery where my wine came from, and the year that the wine was first produced.

Have you visited any wineries or wine/beerfests? I want to hear all about it!

Tags: festivals & fiestas, food, lost in translation, wine

Barcelona, Spain

Today we went to Park Guell, another of Antoni Gaudi’s melty, Seussian masterpieces, which was a lot of fun. It’s a bit of a hike from the train stop, but well worth it. The towers and mosaics were colorful and asymmetric and just plain fun to look at. Some of the buildings even reminded me of gingerbread houses.

Deep inside the park is the Gaudi house, which we got to tour. It’s a pink, layered concoction stuffed with antique furniture and original artwork, including Gaudi’s initial designs for La Sagrada Familia.

There was some sort of religious celebration going on in the park as well. A lot of people grouped in a large circle and sang songs. Other people woke up from their sleeping bags (no tents) and got up to join the celebration with music, chanting, and dancing.

Tags: festivals & fiestas, museums

Seville, Spain

This morning, we piled in the bus and trekked to Sevilla. Seville has a population of 700,000, with another million if you count the suburbs. The only larger cities are Madrid and Barcelona. Out of Seville’s 700,000 city inhabitants: 50,000 are college students.

Two Roman emporers were born here in Seville. Amerigo Vespucci also lived here, as did Magellan.

The walls around the city were built by the Arabs, and the gate is called the Macarena. (And you thought it was just a song!) One week every spring, Seville has a flemenco festival.

Cartuja is the new section, with an island and bridges. There’s an amusement park open from 11 am until midnight. It has a section that’s a copy of the Seville harbor during the 16th century.

Valenque is a tent-covered square that actually has air conditioning. Concerts and the like are held here.

A mudéjar style Cathusian monestary here was converted into a ceramic factory by an Englishman. It has since been reconverted back into a church. St James is the patron saint of Spain and his festival is next week.

Seville has the famous bridge you may have read about in the Guinness book of world records. It’s long, flat, and with zero suspension. Oh yeah, and it’s not just foot traffic, either – our bus rolled right across it, and I amazingly lived to tell the tale.

The new bridge in Seville has a funny history. The bridge came first, and the water came second! Once the construction finished, they released the dams and put the river underneath the bridge.

I also saw the cacharro – a statue of Jesus on the cross. The sculptor witnessed a gypsy getting caught and killed on the street and captured the gypsy’s expression for the one on the face of christ.

The Plaza de Toros in Seville is one of the oldest in Spain. (But not *the* oldest – do you remember where that one was?) It is the bullring featured in the opera Carmen.

Seville also has two towers – the tower of silver and the tower of gold. Also, you may have seen the square on film – Lawrence of Arabia was filmed here, as were parts of Star Wars Episode II.

Seville has a monument dedicated to El Cid Campeador in front of the university, magnolia trees with big whilte flowers, and five remaining arches of a Roman aqueduct.

Kansas City, Missouri is the the sister city to Seville, and the name of the avenue to enter Seville for the airport. (That bit of info is for you Missourians, you know who you are.)

The Holy Cross square used to be a synangogue that (of course) was converted into a Catholic church. But then it caught fire and was destroyed and now a monument stands in its place.

Seville also boasts the largest gothic cathedral in the world. It has the mummified “el lagarto” (which is like a crocodile, but more about the size of a large iguana.) Interestingly, “el lagarto” sounds suspiciously like “alligator”. (Things that make you go hmmm…)

The tomb of Cristobal Colón (Christopher Columbus to us) is also in this cathedral. Next year marks the 500th year of his death. He died in Spain and his remains were in the church that became the old ceramic factory that later re-became a church. (You followed that, right?) When his son died in Seville, his widow took the remains of both father and son to the island of Santo Domingo. 200 years ago, Spain lost this island and moved the remains to Cuba for safe keeping. This turned out to be a bad plan, and in 1898, the remains (in terrible condition by this time) were brought back to Spain. Seville recently decided to DNA test everything that was left, so actually, Columbus is in a laboratory somewhere in Houston right now.

In this cathedral, there were lots of glass cases featuring the bones and other visible remains of various saints. As mentioned recently, this is the first time I ever knew people kept this sort of thing in churches for general viewing, and I am getting used to the idea, since in old European Catholic churches, it seems to be the norm. I also learned that the Catholics like to pray to the saints when they can see part of them. I’m guessing this is to feel a connection with the person. (If you’re Catholic and you have some insight on this, please confirm or deny).

This Church has a huge baptism chapel, which is still in use. Just two days ago, some kids were baptised. The walls are adorned with paintings by Murillo. On one, someone cut out the saint and stole it. This was back in the 19th century. years later, someone came across it in the black market. (What they were doing perusing the black market and how they recognized a piece of this random painting, hard to say.) So, it found its way back to Spain. I can clearly see the marks where a big rectangle was cut apart and put back together.

I also climbed 35 floors to the top of the Giralda tower, which has a magnificent view. Afterwards, I ate some ice cream at Rayas, which was delish. Europe not only has a sweet tooth, but very specifically has tons of ice cream.

Tonight we went to a (choreographed) flamenco show, and although it was well-executed and entertaining, I enjoyed the gypsy flamenco much better. Also, the theater we were at tonight had us sitting thigh-to-thigh with the person next to us. People were smoking and ordering drinks, even during the performance. (The girl to my right got a vodka and fanta. Ew.)

I won’t name any names since this is the Internet and all, but there was one girl on the trip who cracked me up continuously because she was always saying the zaniest things. First of all, she said she disliked Spanish cuisine because there weren’t any twizzlers, and she likes to eat a pound a week. (???) She was going to pack five pounds of twizzlers in her carry-on, but she knew she’d eat them all the first week she was here. (!!!) Also, when I asked her if she knew what we were doing tomorrow, she said “Yep – we’re going to see Dante’s windmills.” I blinked, and when I realized what she meant, I cracked up laughing until I got the hiccups (which didn’t faze her in the least, so she must get that a lot.) “Actually,” I mention casually when I finally catch my breath. “I believe Dante is known more for his Inferno. Maybe we’re going to see Don Quixote’s windmills.” (To which she said, “Whatever. All I really want to do is go to the movies, because I’m a big fan of the Fabulous Four.”)

Tags: cathedrals, festivals & fiestas, music & concerts, random facts & history, theme parks

Madrid, Spain

After breakfast, Danielle, Kristin and I headed downtown to do some exploring. Our first stop was the Madrid tourist information office in Plaza Mayor, where we picked up a couple brochures and a city map. We split up and I wandered down a random side street. I passed a shoe store with cute, cheap shoes displayed in the windows, but it was packed and had a line of people out the door and halfway down the block. I took a number from the ticket dispenser (it felt eerily like being at the DMV) and wandered over to the next block and took some photos of a cathedral. I hurried back to the shoe store once I realized how much time had passed, but I had just missed my turn. (I did not take another number, then or ever, although every time I walked down this street, the store was always packed and the line always long.)

I walked past something called The Phone House, which was advertising a 45E cell phone. Figuring this was either a gimmick or at least a life-sentence contract, I dropped in to check it out. As it turned out, the contract was optional, and I could prepay service if I liked, and refill it or add to it whenever the need or mood struck. Sold! Perfect for emergencies.

I made my way back to the Plaza Mayor and met Kristin and Danielle for lunch. I got the vegetable paella, which was pretty good (even though the photo has odd lighting, since we were under orange tents.) And, I had my first experience with the Spanish bread and butter tricknology. It comes out before your food does – and it comes on your bill as a seperate charge. It’s not included in the meal price anywhere (unless specifically stated) but by the time the bill comes, it’s too late to argue, since you’ve already eaten the bread. (And even if you didn’t touch it, guess what: unless you said no up front, you still get to pay.)

Today was also Gay Pride Day, which is a very big deal in Madrid. There’s a huge parade, with a ton of people and music. (Kristin has a Top Ten Madrid book, and the Gay Pride Parade is in there as one of the must-see events!)

The street signs in Madrid are very cool. They’re painted tiles on the sides of buildings, each depicting a scene related to that name or part of town. And Puerta del Sol was all decked out, counting down the seconds until Madrid finds out whether or not it will be hosting the 2012 Olympics. (They are one of I think 6 candidate cities worldwide.)

Puerta del Sol is Madrid’s answer to Times Square, and here is also where Madrileños celebrate New Years. The tradition is to eat 12 grapes, one with each stroke of midnight. This may sound easy, but remember – the clock strikes quickly and Spanish grapes have seeds!

Tags: cathedrals, festivals & fiestas, food

Málaga, Spain

Yet another gorgeous day! Unfortunately, a school day, since the professor had agreed to switch Friday’s lesson for today. After class, I hit the train station and went straight to Málaga. My first item of business was to hit the tapas festival. I bought 3 tickets for 1.80 Euros each. The first tapas I got was hummus and falafel.

What’s that, you say? But that’s Mediterranean food, not Spanish food! Ah, my friend, I once thought the same as you. However, the southern coast of Spain is on the Mediterranean. You can often see the Rock of Gibraltar from the beach, and on clear days, you can see the mountains of Africa. I saw them myself, just the peaks peeking through the clouds, and was amazed by how close it was. Not only this, but Spain was ruled by varying Mediterranean groups for centuries, so today quite a bit of the culture and architecture remains.

The hummus was awesome, and the falafel not only tasted better than any I get in the US, but also looked much more appealing. (It was more of a golden color than the typical dark brown color that Pita’s serves.) The second tapa I got was a pizza funghi (aka mushroom). So far I had been eschewing pizza because it seemed so American and I wanted to do European things in Europe. But I saw the Spaniards wolfing down the pizza, and I had an epiphany: Pizza is from Italy, and wouldn’t you know, Italy just happens to be in Europe! So, having thus justified my pizza craving, I was pleased when I got a slice of fresh, baked-to-order, mozzarella and mushroom pizza.

The third and last tapa I bought was a Blanco Y Negro from an heladería. (In other words, a Black & White from an ice cream tent.) Let me tell you, the US better wake up and start serving these babies! (Or at least Starbucks ought to think about it.) A Blanco & Negro is a glass half-filled with iced coffee (but without the ice) and topped with cappuccino ice cream. Like a root beer float, but with a coffee theme. Delicious! (There are also other varieties, such as with vanilla ice cream, topped with whipped cream. Mmm…)

After this, I wandered around Málaga, following a walking map that turned out to be really awful. Half the time, the alleged museums/buildings on the map completely didn’t exist – at least not in the area shown on the map – and the other half of the time, the facades were under restoration, so I could only see part. Nonetheless, I had a great time watching all the people and looking at all the architecture and the graffiti. Graffiti? you ask. Before you conjure images of ghetto alleys or city subways, let me say that the graffiti here is really, really, really good. It’s an art form. Oh sure, you’ll see a few bits of amateur art (witness the Disney scene, attached) but the majority is really well done, if of bizarre themes.

So there I am, on a graffiti walking tour of downtown Málaga. I run into a vendor selling Spanish-language Harlequin suspense novels and I bought it because I can’t not buy books. I head back to the hotel for dinner and find out that the group plans to go out dancing tonight. I borrow an outfit from Paula (I only brought my throwaway clothes, and she brought something like 3 massive suitcases packed with the cutest possible outfits) and we all head downstairs around midnight to call a cab. The older guy at the front desk says to forget calling a cab – it’s midnight on a Saturday. Better luck walking down to the taxi stand.

But, the younger guy at the front desk (later to be identified as Sebastián) says he gets off work now and would be glad to drop us off. So, four of the girls pile into the back seat, leaving me up front because my Spanish is the most fluent. Sebastián drops us off in downtown Torremolinos, although he warns us that Torremolinos is not only the San Francisco of Spain, but actually the gay Mecca of this part of Europe. Or, should I say, he warns *me*, since all of this is in Spanish. I decide to keep this information to myself – after all, we’ve arrived, and none of us were looking for Spanish dates anyway.

As it turns out, we had a great time. The atmosphere was friendly and fun, and we didn’t have to worry about scrubby drunks hitting on us. That is to say, none of the ladies of us did. When the other half of the group joined us later, Bryan for the first time in his life had the experience of random men repeatedly pinching his rear. (We women found this turn of events much funnier than he did.)

Tags: books, festivals & fiestas, food, travel tips

Málaga, Spain

So, today I wake up, eat breakfast, have class – life as usual. For me, anyway. I later found out that my classmate Paula went to the Internet cafe, read a disturbing email, left and crossed the street without looking, and promptly got hit by a car. She was shaken up, but otherwise fine. Luckily, the car had been coming from a stop sign and was able to stop without injuring her – it only managed to knock her bag from her hands.

Instead of going to the Internet Cafe right after class myself, I took the train to Málaga. Finally, I was going to get to explore the Alcazaba! it was incredible. The towers, the tall, skinny walkways atop the castle walls with nothing to prevent me from tumbling to my death except my own sense of balance – amazing. My imagination ran wild, imagining what it would have been like to live here, an Arabian prince with an incredible view of the city, the sea and the mountains… or a servant, defending the castle, running along the narrow walkways hundreds of feet high, trying to run wile balancing a vat of boiling oil ready to be thrown at the invading armies below…

After the Alcazaba, I wandered around and happened to come across the customs-immigration building, which happened to house a modern art exhibition by a greek artist. Entrance was free, so I went in to check it out. i don’t pretend to understand modern art (neither the abstract paintings nor the indecipherable statues) but it was interesting to look at nonetheless. The security officer at the entrance struck up a conversation with me when I was about halfway through the exhibition and told me all about the changes being made in order to prepare Málaga to be the European Capital of Culture 2016, and how a new customs-immigration building was being built and this one expanded and how any building of history or importance with any kind of exhibit room was being turned into partial museums, such as this building, to house travelling exhibitions and the like.

As I walked back toward the train station, I noticed two things. One, I was starving. Two, on the walk/don’t walk signs at the traffic lights, instead of ¨WALK¨, there’s an image in green of a man walking.

As for my stomach, I stopped into a sidewalk cafe. The only thing on the menu (a cardboard sign with pictures) that seemed vegetarian was a potato omelette. I figured what the hey, and decided to order it. BTW, when waiters, receptionists and the like, greet you, they say “Dígame”. This does not me, “Hello, ma’am. How may I help you?” or even “What would you like?” No, “dígame” simply means “Tell me.” So, I said I wanted the potato omelette and he said they were all out, did I want something else? And I said, well, I’m a vegetarian, and he said, oh, do you want a Spanish omelette, then? There’s no meat. So I said sure, sounds great. So that’s how I ended up in an alley café, ordering items not on the menu. I’m glad I did – it was yummy and totally hit the spot.

Tonight was La Noche de San Juan, the shortest day of the year. This is a festival celebrated throughout Spain. Fireworks go off around 11:30pm, and all evening the people light bonfires along the beach and roast sardines. Then, when the clock strikes midnight, they walk to the shore. The legend is, if the waves come and lap at your toes and you make a wish, the wish will come true.

I had a great time letting the Mediterranean Sea wash over my bare feet and making wishes underneath a huge full moon. (I did not, however, eat any roasted sardines.)

Tags: castles & palaces, festivals & fiestas, food, museums

Portland, OR

Today Todd had to work, so he dropped me off downtown so I could walk around and see what I could see. I started out at Powell’s, the nation’s largest independent bookstore, and boy is it massive. I absolutely love to read (okay, I’m addicted to reading) and I could easily spend every dime I earn in a place like this. If you’ve never been, you should really think about checking it out.

Next, I walked all around downtown, looking like the tourist I was (backpack on, digital camera hanging around my neck). I walked through most of the parks (and there were a lot more than I anticipated), by the Chinese Garden, the Skidmore Fountain, the Ira C Keller fountain, City Hall, Portlandia, the Cultural District, Chinatown, and the Pioneer Courthouse Square.

I also visited the Art Museum, which had neat Asian, European, and Native American exhibits, and even a Forgotten Mid-Western Prints exhibit. Then I went to the Oregon History Center, which was pretty cool, and I was disappointed that photography was not allowed. There was an exhibit with scale representations of every type of wagon imaginable (ice wagon, conestoga, etc) and that was really neat.

Lastly, I walked along the river (Waterfront Park), taking photos of bridges and Canada geese (NOT “Canadian” geese, as I’m informed) and wandering through the Rose Festival area.

The cool thing about that was that it wasn’t open yet. While that may sound odd, consider this: typically if a fair/festival is not open, the general public is not allowed inside. So for the first time, I got to see carnies setting up, rides being constructed, midway game booths being assembled, and so on. It was really pretty interesting. (And I saw that they had my two favorite fair items in all the world: the Zipper ride, and Elephant Ears – yum!)

That night, Todd and I went to the Crystal Ballroom at McMenamins and saw the sold-out Sleater Kinney concert, which was a lot of fun!

Tags: books, festivals & fiestas, museums, music & concerts

Mata de Caña vs Nuevo Arenal, Costa Rica

This morning we woke up to sunshine and chirping birds, yet again. (I could really get used to this.) Lidieth dropped by for breakfast and fixed us fruit and eggs and toast, which was of course fabulous. Later, we went down into Nuevo Arenal and visited Elkin, Valentina and Esteban for a little while. Brian and I were supposed to be at the fiesta at 2:00 and were running a bit late.

We walked down from the house and when we got our first glimpse of the field, a soccer game was in full swing. To the untrained eye, it looked like the reds versus the blues. Come to find out, it was Nuevo Arenal (red) vs Mata de Cañas (blue), with Arenal up 3-2, and we were the (blue) home team. Being as Mata de Cañas is a small town, even for small towns, I believe every able-bodied male was out there on the field, kicking it for the blue team. Michelle’s husband Luis was on the field, as was the new school principal (who had been at the school for a whole week now, and was not only the administrator, but also 50% of the teaching staff.)

Let me pause here to give a little info about the school. This particular weekend-long fiesta was actually a school fund raiser. The school was made up of two small buildings, one room in each (and a row of potted plants, which were used as dividers in one room). Although when Brian went to the boys’ room and was shocked to discover that the sink was nonexistent and the “toilet” was actually just a hole in the floor, along the wall next to the bathrooms was a small table set with two HP desktop computers and a Microsoft USB electronic scanner/microscope.

We got a couple cervezas (okay, more than a couple, but it was a school fund raiser, so of course we were drinking for the children’s sake) and plopped down on a bench to watch the game. A row of kids sat in front of us on logs that resembled trunk slices from a large tree. Behind us was the food vending area, where I ate a vegetarian concoction (cooked flower petals in a tortilla) and Bri ate picadillos (a non-vegetarian corn-and-miscellany meal, also served in a tortilla.)

I thought that the contrasting reds and blues of the soccer teams were especially picturesque against the bright green grass, and decided to catch a bit of the game on film, so I took my digital video camera out of my bag and flipped it on.

Within about two seconds, there were more people behind me peering into the display screen than there were playing ball on the actual field.

It was absolutely hilarious. I wish I could’ve filmed from both ends of the camera so I could’ve gotten the giant cartoon-like crush of people scrambling on top of each other, trying to simultaneously peer through the viewfinder. For as long as I had the video recorder out, I was extremely popular.

The blues unfortunately ended up losing to the reds, and I put the camera away. As it turned out, there were two more soccer games immediately following, and the blues were in all three games. (The second game was against the greens, not sure which town they represented, and we missed the third game, so I can’t really tell you much about that one.)

Around 7 or 8, the dance started. All the desks and chairs were cleared out of the larger one room building and piled into the smaller building in order to make room. The walls were covered in giant palm fronds (much bigger than I am tall, and no comments from the peanut gallery) and a couple rotating laser disco balls hung from the ceiling.

A live deejay spun the tunes, and intermission time was filled with karaoke. That’s right, you heard me: karaoke. No, I didn’t sing, although I do know Thalia/Shakira/Paulina Rubio, so there was probably something I could’ve done. Bri was willing to sing anything Iglesias (Enrique or Julio) but the song list was up by the deejay, completely across the dance floor, which was empty since nobody dances to karaoke, and neither of us felt like making a spectacle of ourselves.

Of course, we were bound to make spectacles of ourselves anyway. That’s just how it goes.

We had paid our 1000 colones to get in the door, and our hands were stamped with a parrot in blue ink. We were calmly sitting there, sipping cervezas, when Luis came and dragged us out on the dance floor. It was some sort of dance that everyone knew the moves to but us, to music hailing from Columbia. Luis danced with me for maybe ten minutes, gave up, and went back to his wife. Bri and I braved it out for another five or ten, then sat back down.

We were up and down several times, and the music ranged from Columbian to merengue to salsa to contemporary Latin American pop music. It was getting close to midnight and we were getting ready to leave when Lidieth arrived. I was whisked away to merengue with Enrique (whom I had just met) and Bri partnered with Lidieth, who first tried to dance with him, then tried to lead him around by the hands so he was at least moving in the right directions, then gave up and sort of vaguely danced in the vicinity of him.

I, on the other hand, was being whisked hither and yon, and twirled around the floor until my eyes rolled around in my head. I had no idea what I was doing, but thanks to an evening of swing-dancing with Steve in Tampa, I had learned the art of Letting The Man Lead while dancing, and was able to follow Enrique’s lead for a good half hour or so.

However, I think it’s safe to say that the *funniest* moment in the evening was when the deejay, in an attempt to liven up the crowd at the very beginning of the dance, shouted into his microphone something to the equivalent of, “Get this party started! All the ladies in the house now SCREAM!!” and Brian, not speaking a word of Spanish, immediately threw his hands in the air, waved his arms around, and screamed on cue. Hilarious.

When we finally made it back to the house, tired but happy, we were greeted by a special visitor. This visitor was black, spotty, eight-legged, and about the size of a peach. That’s right, a massive spider. It was actually the second such to come visit us (the first one surprised me on the futon when I was reading a novel) and this time, I had the foresight to run and grab my camera before calling Brian. (Once involving Bri in anything having to do with bugs of any type, a situation tends to quickly border on the hysterical.)

Animal-equality sort that I am, I didn’t want the spider to die by Reebok, but I also didn’t want to cozy up to it in the bed or the shower (or on the futon again. Once was plenty.) So I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a tupperware container and a lid, and sprinted back to Bri and the spider. Why did I give Bri the tupperware rather than just take care of the spider myself? That’s right, because I had to man the video camera (*somebody* had to do it) and besides, Bri takes everything to the next level and is vastly more entertaining.

So, tupperware in hand, Bri sneaks up to the spider (who, incidentally, has not moved from the spot in the hallway where it was when we first walked through the door) and captures the spider with the plastic bowl. He slides the blue lid underneath and then half-juggles the two in order to get them out the door. The juggling bit isn’t because Bri fancies himself a circus clown (although entirely possible) but because the lid didn’t quite fit the bowl and he was deathly afraid the spider would get out and touch him.

Bri makes it to the entrance, shoulders his way out the door, and tosses everything – spider, lid, bowl and all – out into the bushes.

I blink, then crack up laughing. He scowls at me, but doesn’t go rescue the bowl for a good thirty minutes, after which he gave the tupperware a washing and sanitizing the likes of which rival any hospital ICU. Then he put it in the dishwasher. (I suppose there’s no such thing as too clean, after all.)

Tags: animals, festivals & fiestas, food, music & concerts