Thursday, 5 August 2010 12:55 am
Up late, in more than one sense
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deckardcanineBack since Friday, so why didn’t I say anything here until now? Because I wanted time to illustrate my vacation report with my avatar, like ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kinkyturtle does, only with fewer drawings and more typed text.
My parents and I took an overnight flight on the 18th. I can never sleep on a plane, tho I try. My tiredness the next day seemed worse than it had been the last three times I went to Europe. Perhaps it’s just as well that siestas are customary to get thru the lapse between lunch and a late dinner (few restaurants open before 8:30 pm).
Barcelona was about as hot as D.C. outside, but our hotel rooms had a hard time getting below 25 C (77 F). No real opportunity to do laundry, either. Good thing Dad and I found a couple good pairs of shorts to supplement what we brought. They were on a generous sale, like about half of all merchandise in the city.
Our first several days saw plenty of time with Paul, Nurit, and their other friends and relatives. Some remembered me from my early childhood; I remembered only Paul and Nurit. At big group meals, I sat with the few young adults. Conversation was good, but some of those menu limitations compounded my eagerness to get away from the crowds.
The wedding itself on Wednesday was the second I’ve attended. The first was also Jewish, but this one a bit more traditional, since the only rabbi Paul and Nurit could find in Barcelona was an Orthodox one from Mexico who’d never ministered a wedding before. The ceremony was outdoors next to a tennis court, which suits Paul, tho he hadn’t planned it that way. (Insert "love" pun here.) My dad had a uniquely privileged role in the proceedings, but no one told him he would have to remember how to write his name in Hebrew!
The after party had an eclectic mix of music. One of the young adults on Nurit’s side put on quite a hammy dance show; too bad I missed his Lady Gaga impression. I danced a little as well—something I would’ve been mortified to do a decade ago without choreography. The glass of wine must have loosened me up.
Remember me relaying an account of Nurit’s father? I was sorry to learn that he was rather senile and thus didn’t have much presence. But some traditional Jewish music perked him up, so he took to the dance floor. He even continued with the non-Jewish music, most notably "Single Ladies." The next day, he didn’t remember. Good thing they had photos.
Speaking of photos, might I pass on my folks’ recommendation against hiring a pro photographer for your wedding. They can be uncomfortably controlling and take far more pictures than you need—upwards of 3,000 in this case! Just let your friends do the work.
My sister Sarah and her boyfriend Terry arrived on Friday with just enough time to meet many of the wedding guests. We’d been worried by reports of a strike that would affect Air France (it was a two-plane trip), but they weren’t delayed. They must be very close to each other now, because they’ve gotten good at nonverbal communication. But Terry has yet to find our family’s "rhythm": He was frequently about 50 feet away, susceptible to distraction by vistas, merchandise, and caffeine.
When my family and I weren’t with the others, we often visited parks, cathedrals, and museums. This time they weren’t just art museums; we learned some history as well—a welcome break from El Greco overdose. One special exhibit on combating poverty ought to be exported to the States, if not made compulsory for people in power.
I remembered almost none of the Catalan I picked up before, but I made a point to read whole paragraphs in Catalan when there were enough cognates to do so. Spanish was my next choice, and I rarely resorted to English unless we were in a hurry. I quickly figured out a Catalan Nike billboard showing rejoicing athletes: "It’s our year. It will be our era."
Being a copy editor, I actually found a few bona fide errors in written Spanish. Yes, I’m sure: The four elements would not have a second "fuego" in place of "aire." Of course, errors were far more common in English. My favorite finds were "could soap" (cold soup) and "sadwich."
It was interesting to see how titles of foreign works were handled. Some stayed English, like Toy Story 3. Those that didn’t often took liberties in the translation. I can see why The Princess and the Frog would be Tiana y la rana and Spongebob Squarepants would be just Bob Esponja, but why did Inception become the seemingly plain Origen?
Probably every nation likes something American better than America does. For Spain, that’s Betty Boop. Saw her at least five times. Whatever; I’m not judging. Also, you can buy official Duff Beer and associated tees. Now I’m judging: Who wants to be like Homer?
I’ve been to Barcelona before, but only this time did I realize it reminded me of New York City, which would explain its appeal to Paul and Nurit. Maybe that’s just my D.C. perspective. It has taller buildings, a denser population, smaller dogs as a result, and an older metro system than D.C.—but near superior on the last part, especially with response times.
La Rambla, Barcelona’s famous wide street, continues to have numerous performers, all new acts to us this time. Several portrayed movie characters: Captain Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands, Jack Skellington, and a Xenomorph. Others posed as statues. Our favorites were a pair of stylish gargoyles who let tourists stand between them for photos, but the one I admired the most was a slightly stooping miner: Between the paint job and the stillness, he could have fooled me in another context. I just fear for his back.
Seemingly more prominent this time were the Rambla vendors. I guess the pet shops were geared toward European visitors who would drive home. Many vendors called attention to themselves with a concealed mouth instrument that could convincingly imitate birds with practice but would otherwise squeakily annoy people. Terry considered buying one, but Sarah was adamant. He did buy a toy called a tira, which involves slingshooting a glowing blue dart higher than the trees and watching it flutter down copter-style.
In one historic area—a school damaged in the Spanish Civil War—I found a plaque on a fountain. I translated it as, "On April 21, 2006, eleven people happened to meet here and spent an unforgettable night." That’s it. If I ever run a creative writing class, I’m going to assign students to write the story behind that plaque. Maybe one will become a movie.
One thing I envy Spain is the extensive, speedy train system. I’m versed enough in the metric system to know that I’d never traveled 300 km/h on land before.
Our next stop was Madrid, which felt more like home to me, perhaps partly because it’s a national capital. It was a little farther south, but also further from the water, so not too sweaty. Maybe I was just looking harder, but I think there was more ethnic diversity than in Barcelona.
We visited the royal palace-turned-museum. Lots of old-timey lavishness, with specialized rooms larger than my entire living space at home, tho sometimes questionably arranged. How often did they invite 70+ people to dinner, anyway? The palace also had life-size models of knights and horses decked in authentic armor, some of which didn’t look as uncomfortable as you’d think, styles ranging from badass to dorky. Most intimidating was the prospect of handling the longer weapons without collapsing, especially lances.
In keeping with Spain’s flag, there were many lion statues. Most lions had one paw on a fairly large ball. I clumsily noted that they were jealously guarding their balls. (Incidentally, the statues are anatomically correct.)
Toledo was the most distinctive city in my mind. For one thing, it’s the most old-fashioned-looking, with some streets so narrow you could reach buildings on both sides at once. I should return someday when I’m good at parkour.
It must be a relatively content place, because we encountered no beggars and many shops hung some wares outside where they could easily be stolen. A ridiculous number of stores sold medieval memorabilia like real swords and armor, as well as many Don Quixote-themed knickknacks. I’d like to see a tourist buy a five-foot halberd and take it with him.
Our last evening in Toledo involved standing on the hotel roof to watch the city lights gradually come on. The sun didn’t finish setting until after 10 pm, but the bats came out early, almost blending in with the many birds. Both species were out in force for only a few minutes. Aside from them, the most interesting view from up there was the Alcázar, a ginormous fortress that complements the city wall in making Toledo look extra old.
Our visit to Spain as a whole was pretty dry, with one brief shower late in the game. Madrid had a lot of parched plants, and Toledo was downright cloudless. Guess they’re not on the plain. (Appropriate that I’d watched Pygmalion a week before the trip.)
We often spent long afternoon hours chilling in our rooms. I mostly did pencil puzzles and classic sci-fi reading: I, Robot; Out of the Silent Planet; and Rendezvous with Rama, the last of which I haven’t finished. When I channel-surfed, our Toledo hotel had the best options for English speakers on TV, including two music video networks that made me nostalgic.
There are some things you may want to know about eating out in any part of Spain, besides the late conventional times. One, they’re not big on condiments, sometimes serving bread with nothing to spread on it or dip it in. Maybe that’s part of how Spaniards stay fitter than Americans. Two, almost all paper napkins are dinky, apparently designed for resource-efficient cleanup rather than protecting one’s lap. Three, according to my family, the coffee is quite strong, which explains the high cream ratios. Four, it’s not always obvious from signs or prices whether the meals are tapas. While the food was hit-and-miss, I’m pretty sure I gained weight on the trip.
When I got home, less tired than I should have been, somehow I correctly predicted that my clocks would be flashing the wrong time. (Funny, it doesn’t happen every two weeks like, well, clockwork.) The real surprise was how long the power was out according to my landlady: from 3:30 pm Sunday to 3:30 pm Tuesday. She advised me to be careful about my refrigerated food. Thankfully, even the refrozen fish hasn’t made me sick, so I didn’t have to resort to a sadwich.
kinkyturtle does, only with fewer drawings and more typed text.My parents and I took an overnight flight on the 18th. I can never sleep on a plane, tho I try. My tiredness the next day seemed worse than it had been the last three times I went to Europe. Perhaps it’s just as well that siestas are customary to get thru the lapse between lunch and a late dinner (few restaurants open before 8:30 pm).
Barcelona was about as hot as D.C. outside, but our hotel rooms had a hard time getting below 25 C (77 F). No real opportunity to do laundry, either. Good thing Dad and I found a couple good pairs of shorts to supplement what we brought. They were on a generous sale, like about half of all merchandise in the city.
Our first several days saw plenty of time with Paul, Nurit, and their other friends and relatives. Some remembered me from my early childhood; I remembered only Paul and Nurit. At big group meals, I sat with the few young adults. Conversation was good, but some of those menu limitations compounded my eagerness to get away from the crowds.
The wedding itself on Wednesday was the second I’ve attended. The first was also Jewish, but this one a bit more traditional, since the only rabbi Paul and Nurit could find in Barcelona was an Orthodox one from Mexico who’d never ministered a wedding before. The ceremony was outdoors next to a tennis court, which suits Paul, tho he hadn’t planned it that way. (Insert "love" pun here.) My dad had a uniquely privileged role in the proceedings, but no one told him he would have to remember how to write his name in Hebrew!
The after party had an eclectic mix of music. One of the young adults on Nurit’s side put on quite a hammy dance show; too bad I missed his Lady Gaga impression. I danced a little as well—something I would’ve been mortified to do a decade ago without choreography. The glass of wine must have loosened me up.
Remember me relaying an account of Nurit’s father? I was sorry to learn that he was rather senile and thus didn’t have much presence. But some traditional Jewish music perked him up, so he took to the dance floor. He even continued with the non-Jewish music, most notably "Single Ladies." The next day, he didn’t remember. Good thing they had photos.
Speaking of photos, might I pass on my folks’ recommendation against hiring a pro photographer for your wedding. They can be uncomfortably controlling and take far more pictures than you need—upwards of 3,000 in this case! Just let your friends do the work.
My sister Sarah and her boyfriend Terry arrived on Friday with just enough time to meet many of the wedding guests. We’d been worried by reports of a strike that would affect Air France (it was a two-plane trip), but they weren’t delayed. They must be very close to each other now, because they’ve gotten good at nonverbal communication. But Terry has yet to find our family’s "rhythm": He was frequently about 50 feet away, susceptible to distraction by vistas, merchandise, and caffeine.
When my family and I weren’t with the others, we often visited parks, cathedrals, and museums. This time they weren’t just art museums; we learned some history as well—a welcome break from El Greco overdose. One special exhibit on combating poverty ought to be exported to the States, if not made compulsory for people in power.
I remembered almost none of the Catalan I picked up before, but I made a point to read whole paragraphs in Catalan when there were enough cognates to do so. Spanish was my next choice, and I rarely resorted to English unless we were in a hurry. I quickly figured out a Catalan Nike billboard showing rejoicing athletes: "It’s our year. It will be our era."
Being a copy editor, I actually found a few bona fide errors in written Spanish. Yes, I’m sure: The four elements would not have a second "fuego" in place of "aire." Of course, errors were far more common in English. My favorite finds were "could soap" (cold soup) and "sadwich."
It was interesting to see how titles of foreign works were handled. Some stayed English, like Toy Story 3. Those that didn’t often took liberties in the translation. I can see why The Princess and the Frog would be Tiana y la rana and Spongebob Squarepants would be just Bob Esponja, but why did Inception become the seemingly plain Origen?
Probably every nation likes something American better than America does. For Spain, that’s Betty Boop. Saw her at least five times. Whatever; I’m not judging. Also, you can buy official Duff Beer and associated tees. Now I’m judging: Who wants to be like Homer?
I’ve been to Barcelona before, but only this time did I realize it reminded me of New York City, which would explain its appeal to Paul and Nurit. Maybe that’s just my D.C. perspective. It has taller buildings, a denser population, smaller dogs as a result, and an older metro system than D.C.—but near superior on the last part, especially with response times.
La Rambla, Barcelona’s famous wide street, continues to have numerous performers, all new acts to us this time. Several portrayed movie characters: Captain Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands, Jack Skellington, and a Xenomorph. Others posed as statues. Our favorites were a pair of stylish gargoyles who let tourists stand between them for photos, but the one I admired the most was a slightly stooping miner: Between the paint job and the stillness, he could have fooled me in another context. I just fear for his back.
Seemingly more prominent this time were the Rambla vendors. I guess the pet shops were geared toward European visitors who would drive home. Many vendors called attention to themselves with a concealed mouth instrument that could convincingly imitate birds with practice but would otherwise squeakily annoy people. Terry considered buying one, but Sarah was adamant. He did buy a toy called a tira, which involves slingshooting a glowing blue dart higher than the trees and watching it flutter down copter-style.
In one historic area—a school damaged in the Spanish Civil War—I found a plaque on a fountain. I translated it as, "On April 21, 2006, eleven people happened to meet here and spent an unforgettable night." That’s it. If I ever run a creative writing class, I’m going to assign students to write the story behind that plaque. Maybe one will become a movie.
One thing I envy Spain is the extensive, speedy train system. I’m versed enough in the metric system to know that I’d never traveled 300 km/h on land before.
Our next stop was Madrid, which felt more like home to me, perhaps partly because it’s a national capital. It was a little farther south, but also further from the water, so not too sweaty. Maybe I was just looking harder, but I think there was more ethnic diversity than in Barcelona.
We visited the royal palace-turned-museum. Lots of old-timey lavishness, with specialized rooms larger than my entire living space at home, tho sometimes questionably arranged. How often did they invite 70+ people to dinner, anyway? The palace also had life-size models of knights and horses decked in authentic armor, some of which didn’t look as uncomfortable as you’d think, styles ranging from badass to dorky. Most intimidating was the prospect of handling the longer weapons without collapsing, especially lances.
In keeping with Spain’s flag, there were many lion statues. Most lions had one paw on a fairly large ball. I clumsily noted that they were jealously guarding their balls. (Incidentally, the statues are anatomically correct.)
Toledo was the most distinctive city in my mind. For one thing, it’s the most old-fashioned-looking, with some streets so narrow you could reach buildings on both sides at once. I should return someday when I’m good at parkour.
It must be a relatively content place, because we encountered no beggars and many shops hung some wares outside where they could easily be stolen. A ridiculous number of stores sold medieval memorabilia like real swords and armor, as well as many Don Quixote-themed knickknacks. I’d like to see a tourist buy a five-foot halberd and take it with him.
Our last evening in Toledo involved standing on the hotel roof to watch the city lights gradually come on. The sun didn’t finish setting until after 10 pm, but the bats came out early, almost blending in with the many birds. Both species were out in force for only a few minutes. Aside from them, the most interesting view from up there was the Alcázar, a ginormous fortress that complements the city wall in making Toledo look extra old.
Our visit to Spain as a whole was pretty dry, with one brief shower late in the game. Madrid had a lot of parched plants, and Toledo was downright cloudless. Guess they’re not on the plain. (Appropriate that I’d watched Pygmalion a week before the trip.)
We often spent long afternoon hours chilling in our rooms. I mostly did pencil puzzles and classic sci-fi reading: I, Robot; Out of the Silent Planet; and Rendezvous with Rama, the last of which I haven’t finished. When I channel-surfed, our Toledo hotel had the best options for English speakers on TV, including two music video networks that made me nostalgic.
There are some things you may want to know about eating out in any part of Spain, besides the late conventional times. One, they’re not big on condiments, sometimes serving bread with nothing to spread on it or dip it in. Maybe that’s part of how Spaniards stay fitter than Americans. Two, almost all paper napkins are dinky, apparently designed for resource-efficient cleanup rather than protecting one’s lap. Three, according to my family, the coffee is quite strong, which explains the high cream ratios. Four, it’s not always obvious from signs or prices whether the meals are tapas. While the food was hit-and-miss, I’m pretty sure I gained weight on the trip.
When I got home, less tired than I should have been, somehow I correctly predicted that my clocks would be flashing the wrong time. (Funny, it doesn’t happen every two weeks like, well, clockwork.) The real surprise was how long the power was out according to my landlady: from 3:30 pm Sunday to 3:30 pm Tuesday. She advised me to be careful about my refrigerated food. Thankfully, even the refrozen fish hasn’t made me sick, so I didn’t have to resort to a sadwich.
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no subject
What made the poverty exhibit so special? I've heard dozens of different solutions to the poverty problem, none of them are perfect, obviously.
I'm hungry for a sadwich, I've been way too happy recently.
Classic sci-fi is the best kind. "Doomsday Book" was my most recent foray in that territory, well worth reading if you can find a copy.
Did you try paella while in Spain? It's their national dish, and quite delicious when properly prepared.
no subject
I've had paella before, and I did get some vegetarian paella this time. Nothing to write home (or LJ) about.
no subject