tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-160877422024-03-23T18:51:54.550+01:00The Spanish CockpitTwo Americans and a dog, trying to make a life in Spain.Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.comBlogger176125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-19415351309052033972007-07-23T09:43:00.002+02:002007-07-23T09:59:13.225+02:00Living DangerouslySpaniards may be gradually adopting safer habits, but they're not going easily. Helmets on motorbikes: yes. Banning cellphone use while driving: yes. Giving up cigarettes: not so much. To wit: the strange behavior of cab drivers when it comes to seat belts. I have never seen a cab driver wear a seatbelt while he is driving in the city. Maybe they think it would impede their ability to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-38727680915205371922007-06-22T11:38:00.001+02:002007-06-22T11:40:39.216+02:00Why it's the best restaurant in the worldI hope the few of you who get in to El Bulli this summer appreciate what you’re eating. I was in the kitchen at Adria’s famed restaurant on Saturday, and saw many fantastic things: cakes made without flour or eggs; mushroom broth turned into semi-solid spheres; snails escaping up the rim of the pot meant to cook them. But perhaps the most impressive sight was the first: right after the staff Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-28866073147340004842007-06-10T17:07:00.000+02:002007-06-10T17:21:22.142+02:00Open SundaysLeaving aside the convenience stores unfortunately known as "chinos," (which are roundly disparaged by Spaniards because their expanded hours tend to put the old fashioned mom-and-pops out of business. Roundly disparaged, that is, until said Spaniard needs a liter or beer or a box of cereal on Sunday. Then they're great. Viva yo.), there are only three kinds of shops open in Madrid on Sunday. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-50488335066904187902007-06-07T22:40:00.001+02:002007-06-07T22:51:31.049+02:00Two steps forward...After years of dispute over whether the extension of the metro to the new terminal at Barajas should be paid for by the national government or the regional government, after months of construction that indeed extended well beyond the opening of said new terminal, the new stations opened, as I learned when I recently flew back to Madrid. No longer is it necessary to take a surprisingly long Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-43276328488771381682007-05-23T18:07:00.001+02:002007-05-23T18:22:32.619+02:00Politically Correct in AndalusiaSo I'm standing at the bar at Juan Peña in Córdoba, eating the best fried eggplant in the world and a delicious asparagus salmorejo, because all the tables are taken. And I'm surrounded by caballeros--those utterly recognizable Spanish men whose bellies stick out over the pants their wives pressed for them that morning and who are given to walking in the street with their hands clutched behind Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-68028778484871570102007-05-15T11:46:00.000+02:002007-05-15T11:56:12.496+02:00Eating seasonallyI pulled up to the cemetery on my way back to the molino the other day, and ran into José María, our contractor, with one of his Romanian assistants. At first I thought he had come to collect the bill for the tiling, but then I saw the bulging plastic bags he and Vlad were carrying. This being spring, I had of course noticed that the cemetery walls were, well, crawling with snails. But I hadn't Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-4730775387706933792007-05-11T07:08:00.000+02:002007-05-11T07:17:07.148+02:00Why I Won't Be Voting for the IUNot that I can vote here. But if I could, the fact that crews began setting up a stage for the IU (United Left party) campaign kickoff in the plaza outside our apartment at 4am, with much pounding and hammering, would make me think twice. And the fact that they hired what can only be described as a Spanish hair band—one whose guitars were screeching well into the night—to attract the youth vote Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-90231600527005345912007-05-06T16:50:00.000+02:002007-05-06T16:59:17.531+02:00Stand by your womanBack when the government decided to convert ETA member Iñaki de Juana's sentence to house arrest in order to save his life after a 4-month hunger strike, the PP claimed that the decision would lead to hundreds of other nefarious prisoners going on hunger strikes in order to get the same treatment. And what do you know, they were right. On Friday, one day after his beloved was arrested, Julián Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-70751122344335160842007-05-03T10:29:00.000+02:002007-05-03T10:45:29.556+02:00Stand by your manOnce, she was known as the widow of Spain. Isabel Pantoja, singer, (yes, of cancion española, how could you tell?) was married to Paquirri and pregnant with his child when the famous bullfighter died in the ring at Pozoblanco. She grieved, oh how she grieved. And then, many years later, her son grown into an overweight, balding teenager with no job, La Pantoja fell in love again.So what if herUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-43954342865636677172007-04-26T11:27:00.000+02:002007-04-26T11:34:49.606+02:00Today is the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Gernika. In remembrance, a piece that didn't make it into today's story:Josefina Odriozola was 14 when the bombs rained down on her hometown. It was market day in Guernica, and she and her mother were selling cabbages. As the German planes released their cargo, devastating the Spanish Basque town and killing hundreds, the two ran home for safety, Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-30411402139792323682007-04-25T13:41:00.000+02:002007-04-25T13:43:11.080+02:00Old dog, new trickOn a hill not far from the Almudena, Levon has learned that if he lets the ball fall after I throw it to him, it rolls back to my feet. Thereby saving him the trouble of bringing it to me, and evening up the power dynamics in this game of catch we have.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-17304380125410589062007-04-23T19:30:00.000+02:002007-04-23T19:40:49.628+02:00Don't blame usSunday is botellón day in our neighborhood. Botellón: literally "big bottle"; figuratively: hang out in the streets with your friends and drink yourself silly. It must be a sign of my age, but I hate it--the drunken crowds who make it impossible to walk through the square, the ridiculous bongo players, the kids who set up tables to sell junk (okay, buttons and "jewelry") outside our door. So, Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-38728800969772315062007-04-20T19:18:00.000+02:002007-04-20T19:23:53.163+02:00How To Improve Your VocabularyI learned the word for "ferret" this week. I got it by reading a handmade sign taped to a lamppost in the square where Levon likes to do his people-watching. As in: "Lost, hurona, white with black markings. Escaped over the balcony, may be injured."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-64876738630168212832007-04-17T10:02:00.000+02:002007-04-17T10:06:53.185+02:00Progressing, slowlyThe newly-renovated kitchen of the cabaña, which, lacking only a paint job and some cleaning, will soon be available to rent.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-6744538862857793322007-04-11T10:57:00.000+02:002007-04-11T11:00:15.700+02:00Eating in Madrid: SudestadaEven though I had read good things about Sudestada, I was skeptical. For one, because it is the second incarnation of a restaurant in Buenos Aires, and chains—no matter how small or international—make me nervous. For another, because the menu is all over the place, relatively speaking: Malaysian curry puffs, Singaporean dumplings. Kirin beer. But mostly because when it comes to Asian food (or Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-60240715997593065652007-04-07T17:13:00.000+02:002007-04-07T17:16:24.541+02:00Holy Arrivals, Holy ReturnsEven now, Spain is a holy country. Today is Sábado Santo, Saturday of Holy Week. Yesterday was Holy Friday. Tomorrow is Easter, the holiest of the holy days in this holy week. Last Sunday, many Spaniards walked the streets of their cities and towns carrying palms to initiate a week of welcomes for the country’s many saints, penitents, virgins, saviors.Thirty years ago today, Spain gave a Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-48669716209470877552007-04-06T11:59:00.000+02:002007-04-06T12:34:03.592+02:00As I was saying: Last night the news was filled with pictures of grown men sobbing helplessly, their capirotes clutched to their chest. Because of the rain, their processions couldn't go out. In happier Semana Santa-related news, the town of Corleone (yes, that Corleone) has just allowed its nazarenos to once again wear their capirotes during their processions. It seems that not too long ago, Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-65160847759771205772007-04-04T09:37:00.000+02:002007-04-04T09:50:15.079+02:00ElegyIs it my imagination, or do comings and goings happen faster in Madrid than elsewhere? I was walking around Chueca yesterday, and was moderately surprised to find that The Wok, which I'd swear I had eaten at just a couple of months ago, had metamorphasized into Original. No loss there, but still it was a bit of a surprise: white and beige instead of red and black, birch trunks growing from the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-9248083024553937042007-04-03T09:28:00.000+02:002007-04-03T19:18:31.500+02:00Another Reason I Know I'm Not SpanishIt's Semana Santa, and you know what that means: posters of agonizing Virgins and Christs plastered to every shop window. There are a lot of things I've come to appreciate about Semana Santa: the dark, soul-stirring music, the devotion that the men (and women!) who carry the pasos through the crowded night, the solemnity of it all, the 10-day vacation. But the delight and adoration that Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-30736606526867705752007-03-28T12:29:00.000+02:002007-03-28T12:43:46.165+02:00Doh!Not as bad as "Let them eat cake," but right up there. When Zapatero went on tv last night to answer questions live from ordinary Spaniards (a first for Spanish prime ministers), he made only one gaff. It was just an especially bad one. Asked what a cup of coffee costs by an otherwise not-very-coherent man intent on proving that the government was at fault for rising euro prices (note the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-41801504694467995062007-03-21T19:40:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:12.863+01:00From InsideThe view from my room in the beautiful new, Frank Gehry-designed Marques de Riscal hotel. Obscured only occasionally by the sheets of snow that slide down the undulating titanium roof and crash to the ground below.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-86257515499745043162007-03-19T20:27:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:35.621+01:00Happy Father's DayIt's Father's Day in Spain. Pretty much every other place in the world celebrates Father's Day in June (though not all. Estonia: November; Australia: September). But in Spain, the holiday falls on March 19 because, of course, March 19 is St. Joseph's day. As in Joseph, husband of Mary, adoptive father to Jesus. "It used to be a holiday," said our dry cleaner, meaning it used to be a day off. "Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-75986487841141806562007-03-18T11:20:00.000+01:002007-03-18T11:23:33.200+01:00Spring AwakeningThe view outside our window. It's Sunday, it's warm, it's the Plaza San Andrés. What else to do but join the swarm?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-29185004380176240972007-03-09T20:24:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:55.203+01:00Next up: Saltwater Taffy Stands and Jet Ski RentalsGoing in along the road to our little San Pedro beach: a sidewalk. Admittedly, the road is a little precarious for those señoras who can't dart away from moving traffic in the time it takes to round a blind curve at 80 kms an hour. But what's next, umbrella rentals?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-15910576096271161592007-03-01T19:43:00.000+01:002007-03-01T20:02:18.211+01:00More Adventures in the Heart of DarknessSo I return from a month away to find that both our landlines--Madrid and Asturias--have been turned off. It seems that back when I blocked Movistar from continuing to extort from our bank account exhorbitant amounts for Blackberry connections never made, Telefonica got blocked as well. This is because, of course, they are separate companies.In any case, because our January bill hadn't been Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2