a tisket, a tasket, watch me as i basque-it

it's been a minute since i saw you last, but i always say this. so thanks for coming back around. i understand that we both have our own lives to navigate and govern, but knowing that we can reconvene to touch base (too business-vernacular-y for this venue?) is something that brings me a great deal of comfort. like discount birkenstocks. (heyo!)

almost two weeks ago saturday (yes, it's taken me a long time to finally write this), i packed up my life once again, bid adieu to "petit blaumari" (the barca barco, aka my former abode by the sea), and hurriedly schlepped and sweat my way to the train station with my eyes on the prize to the north. i made it on the train with no more than about three minutes to spare (my late grandfather, connoisseur of trains, travel, and all things punctual, would have cursed me--in the way only he could, which was both frightening and charmingly humorous--a thousand times for this indiscretion) and i schlumped (i am going to squeeze in as many quasi-yiddish words in here as i can) into my seat, patted my brow with the train schmata they call paper towels, and b r e a t h e d. i had with me a bag of food (my standard: crackers, cheese, jamon serrano, apple) and an ipod to help the six-hour journey along. much to my surprise, they decided to show a movie. i got lucky (do i have to tell you when i am slathering the sarcasm or can you pick up on it?) with their selection of "confessions of a shopaholic" or rather "loco por las compras" because, oh yes, it was in spanish. somehow, a movie i had less than zero interest in watching became a challenge i was definitely up for. the movie was not my style, but getting the gist of it was. the six hours passed so quickly; nothing like the equivalent time on a plane. i am such a fan of the traversing the tracks.

i arrived in san sebastian at around 10:30 in the evening and awaited my next couchsurfing host. asier retrieved me from the station and took me to drop off my things at his very clean, comfortable, and modern apartment. we then went out to the parte vieja (old town) to have a drink and walk around. a few standard basque beverages are kalimotxo (red wine mixed with coke--a drink beloved by the youths), txakoli (a dry white wine typical of the region), and sidra (a local cider). the clubs are all packed with people of all ages and walks. asier informs me that there was a french rugby match during the day and thus many drunk frenchmen would be roaming the streets in the aftermath. at one bar we visited, we had the pleasure of seeing a middle-aged frenchy drop his pants in the middle of the bar--a reminder that alcohol is a true equalizer across cultures. amen. as we roamed the packed and chaotic streets, we popped into the occasional bar for one drink to check the people, the music, the scene. when i noted that one guy was exceptionally tall, asier informed me that he plays for the basque team. but i wouldn't know him, they're not very good. after a bit of this, we headed back to the house to get a little sleep in and gear up for tomorrow, which was gonna be a big one.

sunday morning in san sebastian. for a town so quaint and seemingly perfect, this was the beginning of absolute mayhem that would be matched only a couple other times during the calendar year. asier and i got up and out, met his friends who took the train in from pamplona, and we all went to a packed bar for a heavy breakfast to line the stomach (fried eggs, fried ham, fried potatoes, bread) and sipped some txakoli. drinking wine with breakfast at 11:00 am was a new one for me, but hey, i'm trying to be authentic here. from our table, we stretched out necks to see the regatta (boat race) on tv--each region had their own team competing, and thus their own color, and the bar clientele were segregated and delineated by the color of their shirts. each blob of color would be cheering for their team and, after the races were done, we head out to run amok in the chaos. it seemed that all inhabitants of the area, of all ages, were lining the old town streets. all bars were open, packed with drunkards or soon-to-be's, music was playing loudly, people were scarfing calamari sandwiches like a wolf devours its prey. i had fun hanging with the pack of boys; speaking nothing but spanish all day propelled me into a new bracket of conversation and comprehension. within the first 30 minutes, i gave them all nicknames too: asier was besucon for always making a kissy face, the super tall guy was alto (i know, not very creative), another was fantasma because i thought the image on his shirt resembled a ghost, one was rosita because of his pinkish abercrombie polo (FAIL!), one was joven meaning "young", because he was always drinking kalimotxo, and lastly i called ruben criminal because he snagged a cocktail and glass from one bar and took it to the next. the rest of the day needs no explanation, but it was long and draining. at around 5:00 pm i was ready to be done, and the streets looked like the receptacle of a port-a-potty. i was looking forward to seeing how much clean-up could be done overnight. the night was pure lounging at the pad with asier, watching spanish tv shows such as "sin tetas no hay paraiso" aka "without tits there is no paradise". really, this is the name of it. i kid you not.

the next day, i set out into town to see how the clean-up had gone down. the walk from asier's neighborhood into old town requires a stroll along the river and then the crossing of a bridge. whether it's sunny or raining, this is a beautiful place to be. the hotel maria cristina, which sits on the river, is the poshest hotel where all the celebs stay, and was currently anticipating the arrival of brad pitt, among others, for the film festival approaching that weekend. i arrived in old town and decided to take a walk along the beach to the other side. while walking i overheard some english and asked two girls where they were from. i discovered they were new zealanders and we walked and talked for about 15 minutes, then parted ways. i went to the end of the walkway along the beach and to a funicular which takes you to the top of this mountain. the view from above is nothing unlike a postcard. seeing it for even a moment is enough to convince you you want to see this view every morning of your life in order to achieve nirvana. or something. i soaked it up, took a few photos (they're on facebook, people), and head back to old town to eat some pintxos.

the way of eating in this town is unlike most experiences i've had. you walk down a street and can pop into any number of places that have little bites of food on platters across the bar. you take what you want, tell them what you had, and they tell you what you owe. some places have a few tables to provide the option to sit, but they seemed to only be utilized by tourist families. as far as i was concerned, it was standing room only. the best part about this experience is you are not committed; you walk in, have one pintxo (bread with jamon, membrillo [quince paste], and cheese, for example, or piquillo peppers stuffed with tuna, and the list goes on) pay the 1.80 or 2.50 euro and keep moving. it's a pub crawl, but instead of taking you from sober to drunk, it takes you from hungry to full. all the while exercising!

i head back to the apt to chill for a bit and in the evening i met up with alex, a chef and fellow san franciscan, who was in the midst of a bit of a culinary tour. we went to the local supermarket to buy some food for dinner. he was staying in a hostel with a couple drunk irishmen, a girl from canada, and a girl from ohio. i invited asier over to join as well, and we all went to town on a roasted chicken (that alex had the pleasure of decapitating) and rice with white beans, chistorra (basque chorizo), peppers, onions, tomatoes, and chicken stock (that alex made from the excess parts of the pollo). after hanging out, eating, and drinking some wine, we all took a stroll down the street to get some gelato and i met some more young irish surfers who were passing through and had a chat.

ok, so i don't really intend to bog you down with the daily play-by-play so i will say that most of my days were similar, with a few variations. one day i met up with the exchange student that came to stay with my family last year, and then javi, another guy from couchsurfing, picked me up and took me for a day trip to his town of hondarribia, about 20 km to the north, near france. it's an amazing little fishing town with lots of history and old streets. he took me to a historic castle/hotel where we had a coffee and then we walked to the harbor where the big fishing boats are and you can see across the water where france's boats sit. i could almost throw a paper airplane over to another country! too bad i'm not very good at making them. after a few traditional pintxos, i hopped a bus back to san sebastian and was greeted by a crazy downpour. i, of course, had no umbrella (ella, ella, ay), so i ran into a chinese store (apparently this nis totally acceptable to say) and bought one, then journeyed to alex's hostel to meet him and asier for some dinner.

the next day the weather was a bit cold, but i walked around, and then later arrived another couchsurfer with whom i would share asier. she was from a maltese family in australia, spoke no spanish, and was travelling all over, a different country every couple days it seemed. within a few days, i felt like i knew the place pretty well, so between me (with the visitor's perspective and the fluent english) and asier (with the local's perspective and the gradually improving english), we took her for a walk around and then started hitting up a few pintxo spots. we saved the best for last, and thankfully, because to cap off the night, asier took us to a place called cuchara (spoon), where we had foie, beef cheek, and some kind of gland. all were so rich and prety-ty, pret-ty good. it was a good note on which to end my basque stay.

the next day was my last. i went adventuring with the aussie while asier was at work, and then he took me to the train station to depart. there was some trouble with the train (a fire on the track, perhaps? clearly i need to beef up on my "transportation emergency" vocab) so we stalled at the station, awaiting an update. while standing there, i met a young guy, fellow english-speaker--another aussie on a long journey around europe. we became buds and, when the bus arrived (with no explanation of how far it was taking us), we got on with forty senior citizens, passed notes to pass the time, and struggled to maintain composure as we both badly had to "hang a piss". two hours later we arrived at a train station that was to take us straight to barcelona. and so was the end of my san sebastime.

overall, a few reflections after the fact:
how does one attempt to explain san sebastian as a whole? it's quite possibly not a real entity. it is an idyllic illusion that has been created out of holograms and wine. it's a dichotomy of the trust sort: extremely complex and conflicted while also intensely and effortlessly like paradise. the basque people consider themselves autonomous and unique--not french, and not quite spanish. sort of the anti-venn diagram, as the overlap of the countries has created something that doesnt quite belong to or relate to either. walking through parte vieja, you'll stroll one street where ETA (euskadi ta askatasuna or basque homeland and freedom) prisoners' headshots dress the building walls, and then turn the corner and see an inviting pasteleria and a distant view of the peaceful coastline and thirst-quenching ocean. jux-ta-pose.

unrelated but also noteworthy was my observation that the older women of san sebastian are perhaps some of the most fashionable over-fifty that i have ever encountered. always to the nines with their chic attire, hair and makeup, but not in the beverly hills sort of way. here they take pride in their look, and they rock it well. since i was out walking during the weekdays when most in my demographic are learning, teaching, or hustling, i saw a great deal of-- what seemed to be--retirees. the way i saw the these people (women and men alike) walking along the beach with their style and apparent contentment restored my faith in aging just a bit. granted, this is most likely the lifestyle made possible by a great deal of funding, but to know it is possible, at age 78, to be savoring the day, sporting a bikini, strolling in a pack with your friends of forty years, took the slightest edge off my typical cynicism.

lastly, a few trends that persist: lip piercings (1 in 5 under 30!), the extreme mullet (military in the front, guns n' roses/tina turner/bob marley in the back), and, i must note, the gladiator sandals over pants because, i was the only one to rock this in the states and people thought i was weird. it is everywhere here, and doesn't mean i'm not weird. but, ya know, i'm just sayin.

and with that, if i still have your attention after what has possibly been the longest-awaited and lengthiest image-free update, i will bid you farewell from barcelona, where i feel like i live now, know the city so well, and will be weeping tears of sangria when i leave on tuesday for marrakesh. i shall now embark on day two of the catalonian festival of festivals, la merce!

H A S T A

yes, i'm still breathing (smoke)

hello, readers of the lost blog.

i am now back in barcelona, crafting an update from san sebastian. it is my sincere hope that, upon its completion, you will not be disappointed. but hey, there is only so much i can do. and admit it--sometimes you are so hard to please.

promise me this: once in a while you will eat, drink, and live--wherever you are--like you're on vacation.

be well and stay tuned...

b is for bocadillo

oh-la.

as you know, i am in barcelona. land of los lisps and las ramblas. i am trying to sort out my travel plans--no shortage of curve balls being thrown but i will always prevail. i am currently staying with new-friend-shannon (whom i know through a mutual friend in SF) but moving myself to a couchsurfer's BOAT today, where i will stay for the next night or two. sounds crazy, no? hey, this is what i do.

i have concluded that, for the time being, i'm going to omit photos from the blog because it has become a huge dolor en mi culo, if you know what i mean. photos are being hand-picked and posted to facebook. and if you are reading this and not yet on facebook, i'm not sure what you're waiting for. how has my dad not convinced you to join by now?

so neil and his BFF are coming to barcelona tomorrow to hang out and celebrate his bday so i plan to meet up with them for lunch and bebidas. i do enjoy some alone time, but most of my days have been solo missions all along as my hosts are typically working 9-5s or 10-8s or the like. (working? ugh, i forgot it is an obligation of real life that i will need to confront eventually/soon when my well dries up.) having some companionship during the sunlight will be a welcome change, if even if just for one day.

last weekend i got to hang with a few random connections from the states--patrick, erin, dimitra. it's odd but wonderful how many people happen to be here at the same time. i had fun trying to get erin (farm girl from illinois-turned-SFer) to eat varied canned fish products. i am cruel, but all in the name of "adventurousness", and she didn't fare so badly. i also pulled a major macguyver move trying to open a rectangular can of piquillo peppers that had no means of opening. the peppers tasted like sweet, smokey victory.

i have been walking like a maniac. (do maniacs walk or do they just roam, loaf, sway, wait to attack?) i have a metro pass but every time i am about to get on i think, i could just walk it, right? and then i do. it's so much better to see the route in front of you. when you're underground, you have no real sense of where you are and miss out on all the surroundings. down there all you get is hot air, stank, vagrants, and fluorescent lighting.

i am plotting an excursion to san sebastian. i hear the food is delectable, but pricey. what will i give up so that i can eat well? i am already lodging for free so what else is there? i don't smoke so i can't quit that. this is when a long list of vices would really come in handy. it's about a 6 hour train ride there and i seem to have aligned a couple couches/company for a few days. each place i come to, i fantasize about living. i wonder how the basque region will rank. how would i ever choose between all of these desirable spots on the map? it's like showing me filet mignon, a burger, and a carne asada burrito and telling me to choose.

when living in budget mode, most things need to be purchased with the currency of time and experience in place of money. it becomes a challenge to fill an entire day, to feel like i'm fully savoring and soaking the place and its life, but without leaving a trail of euros behind me. window shopping gets old after a while (i do buy things, but they're typically a few euro each--a trend which will be tapering off as the sale season allegedly shuts down until next year), and food and drink come with a high price if you go for the renowned places, the creme de la manchego. i have been buying many meals and snacks at supermarkets but i am tiring of different combinations of bread + meat + cheese. and i end up eating something every couple hours because so much about being in a foreign land are the new and exciting consumables, coupled with the fact that i have nothing else to do and nothing but time to kill. so much centers around food and bev, doesnt it? coffee and pastry, then talk about where to eat lunch, then have a gelato, then a drink, and then talk about where to have dinner. thank dios for spandex, right?

on that note, however, i am going to leave this cafe where i have planted my ass for what i now learn is three hours (!) and walk around, not spending, not eating, until i just can't hold it any longer.

and then i let loose.

too bad i can't nourish all the world's starving child with boxed red wine, because it's 50 cents at the store and i would feel so good about myself. drunk homeless babies--i think that's the answer to all our problems.

until the next time... b e s o s.

it's true, i heart portugal

to catch up my immense following (aka about 3-5 people, most of which are obligated out of familial relation or so bored with reading about the economy that they have no other op-ed entertainment options) on the week i've just spent in portugal is quite a daunting task so i am defaulting to recounting random moments that have transpired since i left madrid for the exotic coast of big butts (cu) and bacalhau (cod).

lisbon, oh, lisbon. what a beautiful city you are. i arrived in the evening, so my first view of the skyline, streets, arches, and cafes was aided by a magnificent illumination. the roofs and the river, reflecting the moon and the modern light bulbs in ancient fixtures. met up with my first couchsurf host, sergio, who you've already heard about, got situated, drank some vinho verde, ate some rice and seafood (aka portuguese paella, more or less), and headed downtown to a couchsurf event in the alfama area. on our way, we grabbed a pastel de nata which portugal is famous for--pastry shell filled with some kind of egg custard that is heavenly. we got to the meet-up and, at first i was just chilling with sergio as an observer, as everyone seemed to know each other, but within minutes i was schmoozing, drinking caipirinhas, dancing with former strangers--some portugese, some imports.

the day that followed (saturday), sergio needed to work so we both left the house early and i had the whole day to kill before meeting back up with him in the evening. i walked around alfama, went in some shops, ate a huge piece of bread stuffed with chorizo and cheese (there are about six pastry shops on each block so it's hard to know which one is most deserving of my business, but i go with my gut) and then took a train out to the beach. i dont know that i've beached solo many times in my life; its an interesting experience. everyone around (adorable children with bellies that stick out, old ladies who wear swim attire much too sexy for their age and shape, etc) is loud and playful, sharing ice cream and laughs, and i am lying there, on my little towel with some uber-american phrase on it, trying not to get sand in my sandwich.

but the beach was stellar. after a week of dry madrid, i needed to see and feel the water. i went to estoril which is just a bit outside of lisbon proper but still within what they call "big lisbon", the equivalent of LA county, i suppose. after a few solid hours of sun, sweat, saltwater, and sunscreen, i headed across the street to walk through a huge park that serves as the front yard for a casino.

though sergio was a gracious host, i felt it was time to switch things up and meet some new people. one guy i had met at the couchsurf event on friday had told me he'd be going to the beach (a different one) on sunday, so i met up with him and a few others there. after some volleyball, sunset, late-night dip in the freezing atlantic, i opted to move my backpack to a new location---ricardo's.

i ended up extending my stay in lisbon to enjoy more of the city and be around for the birthday of a young dutch singer visiting from ibiza. what followed was a lot more of me loving lisbon: train trips, shopping centers too large to comprehend, food and wares so cheap that i couldn't help but consume, a new friend's house in cascais which is essentially part of a resort, live music at night and people standing in the streets with their own booze while a trash truck pushes through the crowd. endless. how about some photos? sure, ok.

after parting ways with lisbon, i took a train ( i love train rides! i do.) up north to porto. i was welcomed by igor, who showed me his huge apartment that he shares with an italian guy and a portuguese girl. we then went for a coffee in a nearby plaza and then went for a quick city tour before he had to go to work.

in the evening, his italian roommate took me along to a dinner party down the road which started around midnight. fun people from all over and delicious food--fried sardines, sauteed mushrooms with bread, cheese and arugula. on our way back to the house it started pouring rain though of course my until-then-unused rain jacket was still at the house as i had not expected such a turn by the two-faced weather. the next day, igor took me for a walk all around town and down to the river, which seems to be the pride of porto, and rightfully so. then i went on a solo mission, found a cute cafe and ordered some lunch (having no idea what the menu items meant, i asked them what was best, they pointed, and i said ok, ill have that). it ended up being rabbit, i think, with a mushroom wine sauce, rice, fries, and salad. all for 3.85E. WTF, score! i cant be too sure, but i think i may have eaten a rabbit penis. this came cheaper than the price of a local (insanely unattractive) street hooker, but not by much. they line the streets in some areas and, the word is, one can be yours (in the biblical sense) for the low, low price of 15E. ill stick with thumper's thumper, thank you.

after that, i did a little quick shopping (a shirt for 2E, a dress for 4E) and then headed to meet nuno, an adorable, young couchsurf connection for a coffee, walk, and a visit to the local supermarket for a 1E bottle of wine. in the evening, the italian cooked up some polenta and meat sauce and we dined with some other international imports, and then went for a walk around town in the drizzle.

all in all, my visit to porto was quick but well worth it. i would certainly go back for more adventures. best to leave me wanting more so, well played, you quaint portuguese town, you.

i am now in the middle of my first full day in barcelona. i am heading to the beach to meet some san francisco friends for some sun before the eventual sporadic rain hits. i am still getting acquainted with this city, but excited to have a lot of time here to do my own exploring before the santa cruz boys invade, though i cant wait for that. because they are crazy. crazy good.

please don't write me off if i don't write soon enough. internet is not a steady resource for me and anyway, if i am inside on the lappy all the time, what will i have to tell you about? i must get out there and run amok.

.love from b a r c e l o n a.