if paella were a blog, it would look something like this

¡hola, mi gente! admittedly, my format here is ever-changing. today i bring to you fewer words (or so i thought until i looked at the whole thing and it's probably longer than ever--such is my curse), more photos, a little mish-mashed chronologically but, all in all, relatively legit. i am trying to maintain some communication consistency but, you know, things happen, yada yada yada, and i slack on the posting. bottom line is, i will bring you what i can, when i can. i hope it brings you joy. or pain. as long as i am making a difference in the world. your world.

what follows is a wrap-up of some events of the past few days.

when we left off it was saturday evening and i was headed to el corte ingles (department store/super amazing supermercado). it was starting to cool down, and by cool down i mean it went from 98F to about 89F. but hey, i'll take what i can get.

i walked down a major street that leads me there from neil & chrissy's and it is basically a mellowed out rodeo drive. every bourgie store you can imagine lines the road so it's a pretty glamorous walk--me in my vans and $5 sunglasses passing by the suited-up señoras covered in chanel and class. i get into the store and first check out the ladies' fashion but nothing is cool enough to warrant spending my precious funds or schlepping it on my back for two more months. over it! get me to the food, already.

i go downstairs to the expansive market and i am loving it right away. there are entire sections (consisting of several aisles) dedicated to things as specific as olive oil or chorizo. i decide to pretend i am rachel ray (but less annoying, i hope? please.) and go on a mission to find the most bang for my euro (FYI the exchange rate right now is around 1E = $1.40) first up, a package of fresh green figs for 2E, which is a score compared to how i've seen them priced elsewhere. then i head to the canned fish section (which is massive, obviously) and hunt down a small can of sardines to do homage to my mom who told me she survived on canned sardines and fresh tomatoes when she was here years ago. less than one E. then the meats. ohhh, the meats. i showed you the impressive meatcase the other day (and i know someone is tempted to throw a "that's what (s)he said" in here but i don't think it really works). that stuff can be pricey though. i learned from chrissy & neil that their favorite type of jamon (iberico) is especially expensive because the pigs are fed nothing but acorns. sounds lovely, but i'm looking for a cheaper option and, since my palate is not developed to the point of specific gastronomic preferences, i am down with poor man's ham.

i find what i will refer to as the "dollar bin"--a refrigerated case with nothing but cheap meats and treats. sliced chorizo for 1E, jamon curado for 1E, and then--BINGO--the motherlode. (side note: in confirming my spelling of "motherlode" i came to discover that "the term probably came from a literal translation of the spanish veta madre, a term common in old mexican mining." well, whattayaknow? thanks, wikipedia.) i had been craving cheese as i had not eaten it since arriving here and, apparently, need it for my survival. what i stumbled upon was a mixed nuts package, if you will. mostly non-spanish cheeses but i do not discriminate. as long as it's not americano i am happy as a berberecho (cockle aka salt-water mollusk). manchego to fill the spanish quota (and to make wonger happy, as it it his ultimate favorite), swiss, brie, bleu, and some mysterious orange cheese with a rind that i cannot identify but am pleased with. all of this was 5E. my mind: blown. one more item before my bounty is complete--bread. i walk over to the bakery where this young man stands behind the counter, ready to serve. i ask him all sorts of questions because a) he seems bored so i am doing him a favor and b) i have no idea what the bread names mean. i finally settle on a small baguette and he tells me there are fresh ones coming out of the oven right now. he hooks it up! half a euro and hot hot hot! i take my schwag to the checkout. my total comes to 10E and some change and i am feeling GOOD. and hungry. i get outside, find a bench outside louis vuitton or one of those such places, and have a little snack. my happiness overrides the fact that madrid's upper crust is watching me eat bread like a vagrant. the rest i take back to the house as a small offering for my hosts who, undoubtedly, have been craving cheese too (as any human should, i say). here are the goods (after being picked at, obviously):

that evening, neil took me to the aforementioned and much-hyped "pirates of the caribbean" restaurant. i didn't quite know what he meant by that until we got there. decor was on point--quite the thrown-together, lost-at-sea motif. the place is a pulperia or something to that effect, pulpo being octopus. yes, this is an establishment that puts all their eggs in an eight-tentacled basket. (no, not literally. jeez.) i cant be bothered to know what it's actually called but let me please share a few crucial details of the experience, via photographic evidence. bottom left: pulpo (odd); bottom right: roasted chilies (tasty).

and now, bottom left: an empty bowl; bottom right: a flaming bowl of alcohol and fruit being scooped by a woman with a ladle and a deathwish.

neil and i were sitting adjacent to the table on which they "perform" this ritual (whilst the sounds of a spanish witch are played through the speakers) and considering all the many ways this could go wrong. neil's favorite: a loon could grab the bowl and throw it on the seated patrons and we'd all be covered in third-degree burns. let me tell you this: it is almost worth a visit for the insanity of the whole spectacle, but not so sure if it's worth the pulpo. too bad i don't know the name so you can't go anyway.

on sunday, as i mentioned, madrid is a ghost town, even more so than the other days during august. i suppose some people are out worshipping their lord, but i took advantage of this excuse to be completely lazy, which i rarely do. but before i could become a sloth i had one voyage to take. i started off the morning rather early (after another night of quasinsomnia) with chrissy and we took the metro to the rastro which is an open air flea market of cheapo new goods and antiques alike that covers several curvy cobbly streets. we walked around and scoped out the wares, but didnt buy anything. here are a few examples of the antiques up for grabs and the surroundings:

then, in trend-spotting news, thanks to chrissy (aka vanna white in the photo below), i got a couple photo ops of what we are still seeking the ideal name for. i am thinking "poopy pants", "diaper jumper", or "saggy booty overalls". not a fan. take a look and feel free to make suggestions:

additional trending news: white is white hot. women are loca for white pants and dresses. i wonder if the prevalence of such has a positive impact on the the sales of detergent and bleach (and tampons? too far?)
a few snapshots to prove i have what it takes to be a paparazzo (if it ever comes to that):

also spotted: men with mullets and rat-tails. or a combo, which is pretty much business in the front, party in the back all night long until the break of dawn. i have not yet been able to snap a pic of this but i am working on it. patience, child.

once we returned from the rastro, we spent the rest of the day lounging since the whole city is laying low. we made a great lunch (duh, right?) of whole trouts cooked in rock salt, roasted asparagus & eggplant, papaya, and a fun little cocktail we created with vodka, fresh OJ, gaseosa, and grand marnier. oh, i also prepared some of my figs and bleu cheese with walnuts and honey for a little appeteaser. do this--it will make you happy.

take a peek at neil preparing the fish:

to pass the day, i watched the remainder of the first (and only) season of "party down", with which i am completely obsessed and distraught there is no more to watch. it aired on the starz network but i believe it is available on netflix ("watch instantly" option) for any of you interested. word on the street is that some of the "freaks and geeks" people are behind this show. it is genius. i love.

yesterday i spent much of the day walking through a new area of the neighborhood shopping for food and a few clothing items. some discoveries along the way:

supermarkets have an entire flan section:

proof of the absurdly cheap wine prices:

a leather jacket for 59E!? yes, real:

some scenery i like:

and lastly i'll leave you with some stained glass behind a bar that neil recognized as bearing a striking resemblance to larry david. agreed?

thanks for checking in, my friends. there is always more coming your way. if you can deal. ciao.

this should buy us some time

ok, ok. neil is giving me endless amounts of mierda for not posting today so i am throwing this out there to appease him and likewise tell my loyal readership--all 1.75 of you--that i intend to be back but have been distracted by other things such as canned mussels, 2.99E clothing sales, and bailey's on ice (a beverage that i never anticipated developing such a fondness for after having grown so old & comfortable with good ol' jameson rocks).


it's still hot as pelotas here (can i get away with being profane if it's not in english? yes. i did. and i will.) and it's 3:00 am so i am going to call it a night and try to sleep but will throw a more substantial blog your way at my earliest convenience. and you know why? because you mean the world to me. even though i hate your haircut and you smell like durian, i still dig you. what can i say? darling, you send me.


and before i forget, the last purpose of this post is to tell sisco that he is invited to come over for dinner tomorrow. neil & chrissy would like to test whether or not this method of communication (read: pure chance aka a shot in the dark aka a carrier pigeon--that can't fly) is superior to all others we have available. i will let the rest of you know whether this is effective or not because you will be dying--dying--to know. i can just feel it. MAGIC.


buenas.

revelation 8:22

a couple days have passed since i last updated the new world on my spanish adventures, and now i find myself back in my favorite wifi (wee-fee) spot, very near casa de neil y chrissy. it is called "CheSSCAfe" and for the life of me i cannot figure out the seemingly arbitrary capitalization. maybe it's something i need to be a local to understand but if anyone reading this has insight, i welcome it. i'll even buy you a cafe con hielo (valued at 1.70 E aka $2 something) to thank you, so it's a good deal for you! don't let me down.

i have now been in madrid for four days, yet it feel like weeks, or months. in a good way. i feel comfortable, somewhat oriented, and my spanish is (in my own humblest of opinions) improving by the day. i try to just communicate "normally" and not even tell people i am american, if it is not already evident from my accent, fashion, or bizarre actions (such as opening up the holed-lid of a water-filled ashtray on the restaurant table to find out what was inside--ich, my mistake) that probably make me appear as an alien trying to blend in and failing. remember "mork & mindy"? yeah, like that.



oh, but speaking of fashion, i have been casually observing the local styles. trend-spotting, if you will. yes, a few ladies here and there are trampy, with their melones on parade and their stripper heels (so great for walking on cobblestone streets!), but some are stylish and hot hot hot, and some just strut around in the 100 degree heat in things that make no sense to me, like gladiator sandals up to the knee which end up being like boots with a few holes for ineffective ventilation. how do the (nicely bronzed) calves not become a sticky jungle? no gracias. another thing i'm seeing lots of is women with lip piercings. who knew? i am likewise amused to see spaniards wearing shirts with english writing on them. just like americans wear elusive foreign phrases on their chests and sleeves thinking it appears mysterious and alluring. but here it's like i'm in on the secret and they're not. like this guy sitting across from me at the cafe in the san antonio spurs jersey (u.s. professional basketball, for those of you in need of sports reference cliffs notes). has he been to texas, really? or did he just find this sleeveless garment in some overpriced shop touting prestigious american wares guaranteed to get you laid? no, i'm not going to ask him, so i'll just let you guess and leave it at that.



so what have i done since we last spoke? i realize that the daily diary has the potential to become (or already is) a bit tired after a while, with me recounting everything i ate, where i walked, how hot it was (yeah, yeah, you get it already) so i will attempt to make note of the things that stand out, but forgive me if this becomes self-indulgent redundant rambling. if you are bored or offended, you can tell me off! in the language of your choice! i have google language tools at my finger tips.

to get it out of the way, i will start with the food update, because there are some of you who have a fascination with epicurean details and i care about your needs, i really do. it's all about you. so, naturally, we have made some stellar meals at the house. neil & chrissy dont F around. they eat well and i am thankful for this. one lunch was sushi, but without rice (because it was going to take too long and required some kind of intricate fanning action). delicious, fresh salmon & bonito/tuna (yes, from my main man dah-veed) with mango, avocado, cucumber. neil is sick of me talking about the lacking rice (c'mon, man, i only mentioned it twice!), but something i realized is that i think the body (or mine, at least) needs the starch to balance out all the fish. it's becoming evident that the south beach diet and i will ever have a relationship. not even a one-nighter.

dinner last night was another feast for the books: pan-fried steaks (when i asked the butcher if it was from a cow [vaca] he said yes, but young. to me this means veal [ternera] which is commonly eaten here, but the meat looked too dark to be veal and thus we have concluded it was probably not a baby calf but more like an adolescent. right in the middle of that teen angst. (apologies to any vegetarian readers that may still be hanging around. if i haven't yet, i am bound to offend you with my unabashed carnivorousness. c'est la vie. [et mort.]) with our steaks we had roasted cauliflower, which neil cut thin slices of so that they looked/tasted like caramelized trees of heaven. also some potatoes, salad, gazpacho. to any jewish mother reading, please take comfort in knowing i am not going hungry. and with our meals we are sipping sangria, nice wines, a little nightcap of bailey's on ice. it seems this is a culture that drinks often, but keeps its cool, if you know what i mean.

i walked a lot yesterday, and what would be an easy six miles in SF is a struggle here because i am sweating enough to fill a small pool (that no one would want to swim in). neil and i first went to the corte ingles which, i believe, is spain's largest department store chain. but not only is it the spanish macy's, they also have a huge supermarket below. let me show you the meat case:

later in the day i walked from the house down to retiro park which is pretty massive and filled with fountains, sculptures, much-coveted shade, young lovers making out on the grass, a large pond with rent-able row boats, and a few costumed mickey mouses (mice?), the purpose of which eludes me.

from the park i walked to the nearby prado museum. i timed my visit perfectly so that i could get in for free (the last two hours of each day are this way) and browsed the massive permanent collection of classical jesus paintings by goya, el bosco, botticelli, and the like. no joke, they are nearly all pictures of christ at various stages of life. oh yes, and the cross is a big deal too. lots of those. the few that don't feature J.C. are a "retrato de un caballero/dama" (portrait of a gentleman/lady) and a couple chaotic multi-paneled scenes of ancient people giving in to indulgences (perhaps the woodstock of the 15th century) and/or enjoying the fruits of heaven/pugatory/hell. though i had visited the prado 10 years ago, i felt i should swing back through again with my older eyes and see what popped. a few works i found myself getting into a bit and zoning in on details, like the sun hidden behind the trees, or the way bodies are drawn in odd postures and contortions, but for the most part, i just walked through each room, feeling as though i had seen the same faces in the room before. i became overwhelmed and, also being fatigued from the journey there, was ready to leave. one hour, in and out. and then i came to realize, i don't really like museums. i like art, as a concept. i like knowing it exists and seeing it, but i get more pleasure out of things on the street or in a shop than the classics that are held up to such a high value in our culture for a reason i am still unable to grasp. the museum experience itself is a bit cold to me. all tourists, going through the motions. feels obligatory. i'm sure some (possibly most) people actually enjoy every element of the visit and get something from it that i don't, but i am me, and this is how i feel. i am not big on landmarks and national monuments either. yeah, i've been to the eiffel tower, empire state, vatican, etc. and don't get me wrong, there's a certain satisfaction associated with being able to stand on something that is so iconic worldwide. but traveling, to me, is not for the purpose of checking boxes on a list that is printed in bulk and in the hands of every traveller alike. being seen as a tourist, even by myself, is something i strive to avoid. visiting different places is something i do to experience living. i want to morph into a local and live a typical day. yes, i will whip out my camera, as covertly as possible, and snap photos of door handles and signs and silhouettes that are aesthetically pleasing and uncommon to me, but i try to let that be the extent of the tourist tendencies.


today i went with neil & chrissy into the center of town to a very sleek marketplace filled with deliciousness.

inside this beautiful building with high ceilings and modern details there is a counter for any type of edible: produce, fish, cheese, jam, pastries, meat. we stood at the counter of one place and ate some langostinas which are essentially large whole shrimp (from head to tail) and some pinchos of different fish and cured meats on crostini. we then purchased food to prepare at the house for the next couple days since most things are closed on sunday, probably so that people can stay home and paint portraits of jesus descending from the cross in hopes they'll one day hang in a museum.

i am now going to say goodbye to the CheSSCAfe (before they look over at me again wondering when i will leave already) and take a walk in the heat of the heat to el corte ingles once again to swoop up some meat, cheese, and bread for a little snack to hold me over til our 10:00 dinner at some mysterious place that neil has talked up as a very "pirates of the caribbean" experience. ay dios mio. i can't wait.

i'll leave you with this song by alesha dixon, "the boy does nothing", which is really big here (as is "pokerface"). has it hit the states yet? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xn9lLnVurYI&feature=related

backypacky, boracha, boquerones (backpack, drunk, anchovies)

¡buenos días! today is my second in madrid, but i have still only slept about 10 hours since sunday so i am living in a fog.

oh wait, that's just the guy smoking next to me.

so, the final leg of the flight went nicely. got a couple hours of zzz's and rather enjoyed the meal. no, really. i am impressed with airplane meals, is that so wrong? air canada, way to represent your culinary credentials. i snagged a plastic bottle of red wine for the road and watched "star trek". am i just a trekkie deep down, or was that movie actually good? excuse me while i go do something really cool to make up for that admission. like punch someone in the face or buy a round of drinks for people i don't know, just cuz.

so we finally land in madrid and, man, i could not have been more thrilled to be done with my three-legged-dog of a flight. it's interesting (and great, i suppose) that, no matter how tired you are, you can rally if you need to. i mean, the plane touches down and all of a sudden your mind tells your body to man-up and, just like that, it's game time. pop up out of the seat (i was in an emergency exit row again! sans emergency!), grab the backypacky, and head for the exit. let me out into the hot air so i can see the spanish ladies who dress like tramps! i want to sit on the train and hear them speak so fast that i can only pick up two words out of 40. only because that means i'm actually here. and because it serves as a benchmark for how much more i expect to understand on the train ride back to the airport in october.

my gracious host, neil monnens (shameless plug: http://winebluebook.com/), gave me pretty stellar directions to his place from the airport; i was a woman on a mission and didn't feel like a helpless tourist. my mission is to blend. boom boom boom: the pink train to the brown train to this street, turn, turn, and you're there. too bad at this point i was in the same clothes for an eternity and smelled like a homeless person who had just played streetball for six hours in 100 degree sun (and lost). so i arrive at neil's street and start hunting down the address but, as it turns out, in spain they feel that numbers are arbitrary and can be used multiple times in succession on different buildings. thanks, spanish genius people, for making this so much easier. so i'm on his block and i come to one place with his number on it but it also has some random words under the number that, even with my super advanced command of the language, mean nothing to me. i ring the bell. nada. ok, let's keep walking, then. storefront, storefront, still somehow with the same number on the same street--what? ok, let's not get hung up on logic here. i've never wanted (needed) to bathe so badly. after the stores i come to another building with--yes, you guessed it--the same number. ok! now we're making progress. i can already smell the soap that will change my life. i get to the front door, which has the glass and gold circles, just as he described to me, and i am so fired up to ring the bell and say, "dude, i'm heeeeere!" when i see that there is a long list of apartment numbers, each with a button beside it (no names, mind you), and, oh wait, yet another list of buttons on the other side of the doorway. a total of, i'd say, maybe 30 or so options. i consult my notes again and hunt down the apartment number, but realize i don't have it. i don't yet have a phone yet, so calling him is not really in the cards. (person who invented cellular phone technology, i pine for you!) so i figure i have no choice but to just start trying buttons. methodically, of course. i think, let's start at the top. probably a nice view up there. they seem like they'd be nice view people (neil, chill, it's a compliment). so i ring one. no answer. ok, no problem. then i keep ringing, down the list, and people start answering. "hola?" i then reply, in my best half-baked español , asking if they know where neil & chrissy live. the americans. they say i have the wrong place and i say sorry and thank you. this goes on for another 10 minutes or so. BEEP, silence/brief spanish conversation, BEEP, etc. then this lady walks toward the building. i see her as garth envisions heather locklear in "wayne's world". "dreamweaver" plays in the background, her blonde hair blows in the wind, she is an angel. i snap out of my ridiculous daydream and ask if she lives here. yes. YES! i tell her i am coming to see neil & chrissy, the americans, and ask if she knows where they live. she says she thinks they live right below her, and ushers me in with her. I AM IN. elevator. first floor (oh lord--starting with the top floor buttons was the biggest mistake ever). she points to the door, i ring the bell, i hear footsteps running to open it, and it's neil! at long last, i have found the elusive abode. i say, thank you, heather locklear, i love you. then i go inside.

the place is magnificent. brand new kitchen.
huge windows looking onto the street and the ¡ay madre! fruit market below. i have my own room! and not only that, but they have taken a picture of me and my friend jenn (pilfered from facebook) and put it in a frame. there's a stack of spanish guide books. plush white five star hotel towels. is this for real? i have my own bathroom, too. the coveted shower will become my best friend, even though it's oh-so-skinny and tall. like tayshaun prince maybe, if any of you know who that is.


so i clean up, though my shower experience is (and will continue to be, i'm sure) clumsy and laughable, as i bend down to pick up the shampoo and hit my head on the soap dish (a move that only someone as graceful as i am is capable of pulling off with such effortless class) and neil and i hit the streets for some lunch. 2:00 pm is when lunch goes down around here. the streets are relatively quiet in this area since most people have taken off to the coast for the month of august to sunbathe at their vacation homes and throw sangria back like daily vitamins. many of the shops are closed through the end of the month, and the ones that are open in august are closed between 2:00-5:00 for siesta. also, is it ignorant of me to be surprised to discover there is an asian population here? (the answer is usually yes.) we see a few little kids, possibly chinese, speaking in spanish and eating ice cream bars. this is amazing to me. but why? why is it any different than people who look chinese but speak perfect english? just one of many cultural differences to get used to. but don't get me wrong--i like it.

so neil and i stumble into a little restaurant that he's never been to. from the prix fixe (yes, i realize that is french) menu i select gazpacho with jamon and egg and then "gallo a la plancha" which, according to my pocket dictionary could mean either "cock" or "john dory".
for some reason this is very amusing to me. i ask the waiter if it is indeed fish and then go for it. after a chicken lunch and dinner on the plane i need a break from beak and not ready to rip into some bloody meat yet. with our meal we also get a basket of bread, a bottle of wine and dessert/coffee. for 11.30 euro. not bad, eh? the gazpacho is delicious and so perfect for a hot day (90 degrees, maybe more). then my fish comes and it is a whole dude, skin off, flattened. eyes, check. bones, check. it's all there. time to go to town while avoiding death by bone-choking. that'd be a sad way to go. pretty good but nothing to write home about (though i suppose that's exactly what i'm doing right now). the red wine they bring is cheap and so-so but, hey, it's cheaper than bottled water so i am game. they also bring, per neil's ingenious request, a bottle of sparkling water (gaseosa) that we mix with the wine. and, like, magic, this drink is amazing. so amazing that we take down the whole bottle in no time, naturally.

after lunch we take a little walk and head back to the casa. i am losing steam, and fast. let's do a little math here. sleepwalking + half bottle of wine + 90 degrees = loopy lolo. for sure. neil (monnens, of http://winerelease.com/ fame) does some work and i fall into a very temporary coma, paranoid the whole time that i am going to pull a rip van winkle and sleep thru my entire two months here. so, 45 minutes later i pop up and resume my challenge to stay awake as late as i can in an attempt to set my clock right.

after some lounging (which includes a good hour of me tackling my latest internet woes--these seem to know no country bounds, as i have them everywhere i go), neil and i go out to do some errands and grab food for dinner. this place lives like the anti-costco. no bulk-buying. you buy it, you eat it--that same day. we go to a fruit market where you are not to touch the fruit yourself but rather tell the gent which you'd like and how much and he chooses the optimal edibles based on when you want to eat them. figs by the kilo. melons i've never seen before. perfection in the form of pears, cherries, grapes. we go to a fish market where we request salmon for sushi but david (dah-veed) tells us today's salmon would be better suited for cooking but tomorrow he will have sushi-grade on hand. we take the hint. thanks, dave, for keeping it real. so we table sushi for another night and grab a couple salmon steaks to cook up. we head back and lounge again for a bit until about 9:00 when we start cooking in the sleek, sexy kitchen that i have already grown to love.
dinner time here is 10:00. i can dig it. so we get to prepping. meanwhile, neil whips up a little pincho (aka tapas) dish with pickled banana peppers, anchovies, and green olives to eat while we cook. the way he stacks them on the toothpick, they look like weird little animals. but i eat anyway. mmm, mmm, weird little animals. then we pull together pan roasted potatoes w/ shallots, neil's stellar skillet salmon, a greenish-red tomato salad w/ garlic sherry vinegar, and some gazpacho. and of course some wine. this meal is, hands-down, better than lunch, and better than many things i've eaten in my life. we sit and talk about how great it is and other gastronomic tales. i feel like i'm on a food travel show, but there are no cameras. dream job, i'm coming for you! this is where i earn my stripes. (is that even the right expression?)


for dessert, neil freezes up some horchata in a dish. this is not the stuff we're used to in the states--the white liquid made of rice, almonds, and cinnamon, swishing around in a big plastic dispenser at mexican eateries in food courts everywhere. this is a drink made from the chufa (aka tiger) nut and, when half-frozen, can be scooped into a glass and devoured as a refreshing dessert. winner!


and like that, the day winds down. we watch some of anthony bourdain's spain show and, as engrossed as i am, my eyes droop. i have made it to nearly midnight! someone, give me a cookie. so i turn in, more tired than ever, but soon realize that, no matter how tired i may be, sleeping in 85 degree open-window nighttime heat with zero breeze is close to impossible. hours pass and nothing. toss, turn, go to the bathroom, toss, turn. meh. i then get up to wet a washcloth to take back to bed in hopes that this will somehow cool me into slumber. i suppose it eventually worked, around 3:00 am, because all of a sudden my casio says it is 10:00 am and i am truly so excited to realize i have somehow dozed off. welcome to day 2, laurena.

we eat some honey nut cheerios (that have a hint of onion flavor, oddly) and i head out to a cafe to sit and write. i grab an espresso on ice while in the background plays all the hit music videos, spanish and english alike. when the coffee is down and so have the details from my head, i head back to meet neil for another lunch adventure. we walk around looking for something intriguing. today we come upon yet another prix fixe spot and it looks bustling. we sit, order paella, chicken and fries, and sit with our wine for a couple hours as the man next to us, who neil thinks looks like a philosopher, wrangles strangers or friends (we're not sure) to consume with conversation. and all of a sudden there is a group of four men of all ages and walks taking beers down and talking about deep (and shallow) things in their casual spanish tongues.

now we are lounging with our lappytoppys trying not to overheat. later, neil is going to have me "try [my] hand at slicing" the jamon serrano in the kitchen. i hope this doesn't mean i will be slicing my hand. because that is something i am already quite skilled at.

journey to ma(rs)drid

hola, ye faithful readers. today begins my venture into other lands to find something new, and, knowing my luck, probably lose something old. i begin in san francisco and make my way to madrid, but my flight is not as direct as you might think. and by that i mean it is not direct at all. it is as indirect as telling someone to shut up by throwing your sandwich in the trash.

SFO: the first few crises seem to have been averted. i made it thru SF security with my nail file (aka weapon!), my semi-huge backypacky (thanks, christina!), and on time. now i sit and await boarding my first appendage of a three-legged flight. yes, it’s as awkward and wobbly as you’d imagine. like a canine war vet, maybe. i’m counting down seconds on my trusty int’l casio (purchased upon landing in rome two years ago and realizing that the previously reliable cell phone clock was not going to tell time at all and a watch [yes, they still make those] would be critical if my cohort and i were ever to make a train on time) until I can board my plane to vegas. yes, nevada. yes, a tiny one and a half hours from here. once i deplane there, i will be able to enjoy some quick slot action (which may even be code for another form of legal entertainment in LV, if you know what i mean) before boarding yet again to make my journey to toronto. i have two hours and forty five to look forward to in the great canadian oasis, so i am already contemplating the likelihood/feasibility of escaping the airport walls for a lightning-quick northeastern adventure. flash forward to 9:25 pm in (brisk and lovely?) toronto,iI am quasi-running, sweating like a retired overweight record exec in a beverly hills sauna and pushing through the airport crowds, digging deep for my best “rude american” attitude (and no, it’s not that much of a stretch, but thank you for that) in a dramatic attempt to make the doors to my final spanish leg (pierna) which leaves at 9:45. and back to now. perhaps it’d be best not to tempt the gods of transportation (as I surely have wronged one of them along the way in my days) and just stay within the confines of the undoubtedly glorious and stimulating airport.

in-flight: as i sit on the plane from sin city to canadia (which i just barely made, thanks to the one hour window between flights and the fact that air canada exists in a terminal miles (i swear) from where united let me out and necessitated a tram ride, rapid schlep, elevator, walk, shuttle all to get to the little “wings”-like facility where the northern north americans congregate to repent for their debauchery (if canadians are capable?) and recover from brutal (ve)gastrointestinal woes), before returning to their homeland, i lounge in my emergency exit window seat with no one next to me, which i choose to believe is merited by some good i once did to/for a transportation god, possibly knowing it would serve me one day. speaking of serving me, where’s my damn sandwich (that i have to pay for, you cheap, sad industry) i will say, however, i am off to a good start with my budget. thanks to the superb generosity of the great wongstradamus, my trip to SFO was cost-free, and thanks to my foresight and resourcefulness, i brought along a PB&J and drank milk on my first leg so breakfast cost me zero dollars. though i will say i felt like i was a rather “developed” kindergartener, spilling milk down my chin, chowing my smushed jammy-nutty bread wonder, sandwiched (no pun intended) between two grown men. awk-ward.

so yeah, sure, i can spring for a $7 mediocre bocadillo. god-willing, my red-eye from TOR to MAD will include some kind of sketchy paella or salisbury steak and green beans (that, by some miracle of the airplane cooking methods, are actually brown) so i can stash the rest of my euros til the morrow, when i touch down in my hot, sexy destination and give day 1 a run for its money. i mean, travel day is really just purgatory dressed up in a flight attendant’s uniform.

TOR: i now sit in the spacious toronto airport, enjoying the fact that everything is in french so i can feel like i am already kind of somewhere. i have stumbled upon a patch of internet that is FREE! FREE! FREE! which, let me tell you, has really saved me from trying to find something to do in a place where the only options seem to be buying perfume at the duty free shop and having a quesadilla at the bacardi rumbar & grill (how canadian, right?) now i am about an hour out from boarding and looking forward to whatever single-serving food items they throw my way. eating gets very discombobulated when you pass through entire 24 hour periods without sleeping. i expect my dinner a la air canada will be served around 11:00 pm EST, though at that point i will be somewhere over the ocean and thus farther into the night, and simultaneously it will be 8:00 pm back home, where i'm sure some prime time talent show is on, making "stars" out of americans who can whistle a country song with their butt. time to chomp some cheese puffs and twiddle my thumbs til i can sherpa my schmata back on the aircraft and call it a night.

tomorrow i shall be on euro soil, sleepwalking, and ready to rock. hasta luego.