While living in Buenos Aires in 2006, I bought the cheapest guidebook of Argentina imaginable before leaving, not wanting to pay over $20 for those travel books like Fodor's, Rick Steeves, or Let's Go! Yet during my time in Argentina, I soon discovered that my frugality, inherited from my father, should have been a trait to have skipped me in the gene pool, as I was surrounded by peers who owned the latest edition of The Rough Guide to Argentina, a travel book series that truly is one of the best, despite its $24.99 pricetag.
The one thing I have learned since those moments of constant borrowing of my friends' copies of The Rough Guide, is to always invest in a good travel book before jumping on that plane, train, or automobile. So before last year's move to Madrid, I logically bought the latest copy of The Rough Guide to Spain, trusting in its recommendations and insight.
However, on a recent day-trip to Toledo with my family, I became a skeptic to guidebooks in general and opted to follow my own travel instincts throughout the day. The Rough Guide to Spain states that "despite its reputation as one of Spain's greatest cities, a visit to Toledo can, in some ways, be a bit of a disappointment." Au contraire. Not disappointing at all and the best day-trip I have yet to take in my time living here.
Dear Rough Guide,
Toledo is the city of Spanish artist El Greco, as well as the former Spanish capital that preceded Madrid. The city itself contains curvy streets, historic military walls, steep walkways and lots of stairs, the gorge of the Río Tajo, churches, synagogues, mosques, and houses. It's also the city in Spain known for its damascening of jewelry - you name it, they'll have it. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, or rings made from iron or steel that have had gold or silver decorative threads applied to the objects fine, narrow grooves. Its desolate landscape brings to mind Cervantes and his Don Quijote and Sancho Panza, the land of windmills and the Visigothic, Moorish, Jewish and Christian cultures.
Certainly not disappointed.
Sincerely,
A very content visitor to Toledo
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Gang's All Here
Grandpa, brother David, and cousin Emily are in Spain! How wonderful it is to have them here. Seriously, I could not be happier. To see them, spend time with them, and show them my life in Madrid is wonderful. David and Emily both said to me, "This is like a movie, Katie. Your apartment, your life here. It's so cool." Just feeling so incredibly fortunate to have them around.
Today is Father's Day here, which Spain has purposely made fall on St. Joseph’s day since the Catholic Church holds a significant influence on its culture. So today, I'd like to just thank my grandpa (gramps), almost eighty years old, who is here, walking from Retiro Park to the Puerta del Sol sin problema. And to think that in the past two years, we have traveled together through three continents - Europe, South America, and Africa. He truly shows his grandchildren how to live. How blessed are we to have him as a role model and friend.
Today is Father's Day here, which Spain has purposely made fall on St. Joseph’s day since the Catholic Church holds a significant influence on its culture. So today, I'd like to just thank my grandpa (gramps), almost eighty years old, who is here, walking from Retiro Park to the Puerta del Sol sin problema. And to think that in the past two years, we have traveled together through three continents - Europe, South America, and Africa. He truly shows his grandchildren how to live. How blessed are we to have him as a role model and friend.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Omnivore´s Dilemma
Since January 4th, 2008 I have been a vegetarian. Perhaps it´s strange that I remember that specific day so vividly, but it remains a day (and an experience) that is hard to forget.
On this cold wintry Wisconsin night, I ended up in the Madison Meriter Hospital´s Emergency Room due to major stomach pains. There was a blockage in my intestines that left me with intense pain and the inability to force myself out of the fetal position. I was fortunate enough to have my parents take me to the hospital after finding me on the floor of my college apartment. $698 in hospital bills, countless bloodwork and stomach tests later, I was out of the ER, thinking about what I had eaten that day (sausage pizza) and proclaimed henceforth to fill my life with legumes, leafy greens, garbanzos, peanut butter and Very Vanilla soy milk.
It has been over a year now since that hospital visit. And yet I have faithfully remained a vegetarian, through thick and thin, through trips to Mexico and Africa, and living in Spain, the jamón serrano capital of the world. Although I constantly face ridicule from my pork eating Cuban boyfriend and misunderstanding from the older women teachers at work who every day at lunch sound like the Greek mother in ¨My Big Fat Greek Wedding¨ ... WHAT?!? Chu don´t eat no meat?? But jamón serrano is different. Hay que probarlo hija.
Yet this past weekend while in Lisbon, I managed to end up in an emergency room again with more stomach problems. Only this time my parents weren´t around to take care of me. Did I mention I don´t speak portugese? 5 hours, 9.40 euros, and many rocky conversations in both English and Spanish with kind and helpful Portugese doctors, later I was back at our hostel, completely exhausted, dehydrated and worn out from the past 18 hours of being in and out of Lisbon bathrooms. What was ¨supposed¨to be a crazy, party weekend with my 5 best girlfriends ended up, at least for the first 2 days, to be a painful trip. I was, quite literally, the party pooper.
All of these stomach problems and hospital visits in the past year (had another episode in Barcelona back in December) lead me to question whether my stomach issues are at all connected to the food I eat. Or perhaps I just have a sensitive stomach, or something even more serious. Before Lisbon´s incident, I had only eaten pasta, the bland noodles and olive oil kind. It leaves me in an ¨omnivore´s dilemma¨... do I continue to exclude meat from my diet? The reason I did so in the first place was to prevent another ER visit, but this clearly hasn´t mattered. However, I enjoy being a vegetarian, more health conscious and more aware.
Perhaps a Spanish digestivo (gastroenterologist) can help me begin to resolve all of this next week. Ya veremos.
On this cold wintry Wisconsin night, I ended up in the Madison Meriter Hospital´s Emergency Room due to major stomach pains. There was a blockage in my intestines that left me with intense pain and the inability to force myself out of the fetal position. I was fortunate enough to have my parents take me to the hospital after finding me on the floor of my college apartment. $698 in hospital bills, countless bloodwork and stomach tests later, I was out of the ER, thinking about what I had eaten that day (sausage pizza) and proclaimed henceforth to fill my life with legumes, leafy greens, garbanzos, peanut butter and Very Vanilla soy milk.
It has been over a year now since that hospital visit. And yet I have faithfully remained a vegetarian, through thick and thin, through trips to Mexico and Africa, and living in Spain, the jamón serrano capital of the world. Although I constantly face ridicule from my pork eating Cuban boyfriend and misunderstanding from the older women teachers at work who every day at lunch sound like the Greek mother in ¨My Big Fat Greek Wedding¨ ... WHAT?!? Chu don´t eat no meat?? But jamón serrano is different. Hay que probarlo hija.
Yet this past weekend while in Lisbon, I managed to end up in an emergency room again with more stomach problems. Only this time my parents weren´t around to take care of me. Did I mention I don´t speak portugese? 5 hours, 9.40 euros, and many rocky conversations in both English and Spanish with kind and helpful Portugese doctors, later I was back at our hostel, completely exhausted, dehydrated and worn out from the past 18 hours of being in and out of Lisbon bathrooms. What was ¨supposed¨to be a crazy, party weekend with my 5 best girlfriends ended up, at least for the first 2 days, to be a painful trip. I was, quite literally, the party pooper.
All of these stomach problems and hospital visits in the past year (had another episode in Barcelona back in December) lead me to question whether my stomach issues are at all connected to the food I eat. Or perhaps I just have a sensitive stomach, or something even more serious. Before Lisbon´s incident, I had only eaten pasta, the bland noodles and olive oil kind. It leaves me in an ¨omnivore´s dilemma¨... do I continue to exclude meat from my diet? The reason I did so in the first place was to prevent another ER visit, but this clearly hasn´t mattered. However, I enjoy being a vegetarian, more health conscious and more aware.
Perhaps a Spanish digestivo (gastroenterologist) can help me begin to resolve all of this next week. Ya veremos.
I Should Have Known
What should have been a 30 minute appointment ended up taking me the whole morning. 2 1/2 hours to be exact. I should have known.
I´ve lived in Spain long enough to realize that things here, especially when it comes to bureacracy, take forever. Yet today, for whatever reason, I was very much in an ¨American¨ frame of mind. I left promptly from my apartment at 7.30 to arrive exactly on time at the U.S. Embassy of Madrid for my 8 o´clock appointment. What was supposed to be a half an hour visit for adding additional pages to my passport took the U.S. Embassy until 10.30.
I ended up missing two of my morning classes and feeling angry at myself that 1) I had traveled so much and needed more pages to get me through these next few months of travels while I´m still living here, and 2) for thinking that I would be done with my appointment by 8.30, getting to work on time. Obviously I was expecting that the U.S. Embassy would have American employees that would actually be ... punctual. A word I haven´t said in months, a word that has, for the moment at least, left my own vocabulary.
But, al final, all worked out. I have my passport with extra pages, school understood, and no pasa nada.
I´ve lived in Spain long enough to realize that things here, especially when it comes to bureacracy, take forever. Yet today, for whatever reason, I was very much in an ¨American¨ frame of mind. I left promptly from my apartment at 7.30 to arrive exactly on time at the U.S. Embassy of Madrid for my 8 o´clock appointment. What was supposed to be a half an hour visit for adding additional pages to my passport took the U.S. Embassy until 10.30.
I ended up missing two of my morning classes and feeling angry at myself that 1) I had traveled so much and needed more pages to get me through these next few months of travels while I´m still living here, and 2) for thinking that I would be done with my appointment by 8.30, getting to work on time. Obviously I was expecting that the U.S. Embassy would have American employees that would actually be ... punctual. A word I haven´t said in months, a word that has, for the moment at least, left my own vocabulary.
But, al final, all worked out. I have my passport with extra pages, school understood, and no pasa nada.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Brilliant
I should really think a name for him. Or better yet, simply ask, ¿cómo te llamas? He might be one of my favorite persons in this city, that keeps feeling smaller and smaller each day. Yet I don´t even know his name. But he makes me smile and brightens up these never-ending rainy mornings.
And for all of you back home thinking, but you have a boyfriend, no os preocupeis. Don´t worry. I am in love with his music, as my favorite nameless stranger is a violinist. A brilliant one at that, always playing Mozart, Vivaldi, and Handel. So talented. He stands and plays for thousands of people busily passing by him on their commutes to work, right before the Cercanias (notice my favorite word again) entrance at Nuevos Ministerios. It´s like that story about the famous violinist, Joshua Bell, discovered on the streets of New York and who now is a world renowned musician.
I should really find out his name.
And for all of you back home thinking, but you have a boyfriend, no os preocupeis. Don´t worry. I am in love with his music, as my favorite nameless stranger is a violinist. A brilliant one at that, always playing Mozart, Vivaldi, and Handel. So talented. He stands and plays for thousands of people busily passing by him on their commutes to work, right before the Cercanias (notice my favorite word again) entrance at Nuevos Ministerios. It´s like that story about the famous violinist, Joshua Bell, discovered on the streets of New York and who now is a world renowned musician.
I should really find out his name.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
My Best Discovery Yet
For the first two months of my commute to work from the city centre of Madrid, I took the metro, the subway system that, in my opinion, the Spanish have done so right in comparison with other subways in Europe's biggest cities. Despite the metro's convenience, it would take me an hour and a half to get to work morning. And logically, I'd make the same 90-minute trek on my way home at night. I'm not sure what made more exhausted - my students or the commute.
It wasn't until I started my private English lessons after school that I discovered Madrid's best-kept secret. The train. Cercanías has become my favorite word in Spanish.
My commute is now cut in half. I can sleep in, have that extra cup of café con leche in the morning, and it's always guaranteed that I can find a place to sit and read on the train, something that was unheard of when taking the metro. I can enjoy sunlight, the views of the mountains as the train heads northward and, if I'm tired enough, even take a little siesta, knowing exactly what time I will arrive at my destination.
Perhaps it's my best discovery yet ...
It wasn't until I started my private English lessons after school that I discovered Madrid's best-kept secret. The train. Cercanías has become my favorite word in Spanish.
My commute is now cut in half. I can sleep in, have that extra cup of café con leche in the morning, and it's always guaranteed that I can find a place to sit and read on the train, something that was unheard of when taking the metro. I can enjoy sunlight, the views of the mountains as the train heads northward and, if I'm tired enough, even take a little siesta, knowing exactly what time I will arrive at my destination.
Perhaps it's my best discovery yet ...
The Ultimate Identity Crisis
My freshman year of college, I decided to be called Kate. After 18 years of being known as Katie, Kate seemed to be more appropriate, more grown-up, a way of separating myself from my family and friends from childhood. An act of independence, my first step in achieving it. And 5 years later, I have no regrets about this decision. I enjoy how these two names distinguish my family and my college (now young professional) friends. Even my parents and best friend since the sixth grade have gotten in the habit of calling me Kate, after years of being Katie to them. Everyone in my life was fine with the name change, accepted it in a no pasa nada sort of way (though I still have a close friend from middle school who makes it a point to purposefully call me Katie when the rest of her world, especially at UW-Madison, began calling me Kate).
Yet when I arrived in Spain, I had the ultimate identity crisis. Kate was too difficult for my students to pronounce and for the first two days of work, I was known as Kay ... a name I'm not fond of, though I completely adore my Great Aunt Kay. So I made the decision to revert to being 10 years old once again and had students and teachers alike begin to call me Katie. Yet, given that everyone I work with is a native Spanish speaker, my name was always pronounced Kah-tee.
So here I am, known as Profe Kah-tee all throughout Northern Madrid. It has been five months since this name change, but I still cannot accept whether or not I am okay with being called this. This new name presents new challenges here, as I never know how I should introduce myself to people I meet for the first time. I'm now known to many different people as three, sometimes four if you count my birth certificate approved 'Kathryn', names.
To complicate things even further, there is one Spanish teacher at school who speaks English beautifully. She always calls me Katie, pronouncing my name just as my Mom does. My second graders, the best behaved group and the class most eager to learn, are constantly confused, hearing this teacher call me Katie, and not Kah-tee, like the rest of their teachers and peers. Poor things ... I never meant to present them with such confusion. These 8 year-olds are simply trying to keep track of LIFE in two languages. Between memorizing the water cycle in English and remembering which animals have stripes (Profe, what are stripes again? How do you say 'stripes' in Spanish?) versus which ones have spots, they are now even more perplexed as to how to pronounce my name. Who really is our teacher? And how in the world do you say her name? Joder. I'm ready for recreo.
Yet when I arrived in Spain, I had the ultimate identity crisis. Kate was too difficult for my students to pronounce and for the first two days of work, I was known as Kay ... a name I'm not fond of, though I completely adore my Great Aunt Kay. So I made the decision to revert to being 10 years old once again and had students and teachers alike begin to call me Katie. Yet, given that everyone I work with is a native Spanish speaker, my name was always pronounced Kah-tee.
So here I am, known as Profe Kah-tee all throughout Northern Madrid. It has been five months since this name change, but I still cannot accept whether or not I am okay with being called this. This new name presents new challenges here, as I never know how I should introduce myself to people I meet for the first time. I'm now known to many different people as three, sometimes four if you count my birth certificate approved 'Kathryn', names.
To complicate things even further, there is one Spanish teacher at school who speaks English beautifully. She always calls me Katie, pronouncing my name just as my Mom does. My second graders, the best behaved group and the class most eager to learn, are constantly confused, hearing this teacher call me Katie, and not Kah-tee, like the rest of their teachers and peers. Poor things ... I never meant to present them with such confusion. These 8 year-olds are simply trying to keep track of LIFE in two languages. Between memorizing the water cycle in English and remembering which animals have stripes (Profe, what are stripes again? How do you say 'stripes' in Spanish?) versus which ones have spots, they are now even more perplexed as to how to pronounce my name. Who really is our teacher? And how in the world do you say her name? Joder. I'm ready for recreo.
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