Adam's Never-ending blog post Vol. 3

“When traveling, in order to avoid confusion and confoundry, plan ahead.” That's the advice my travel guide offers on the first page, advising tourists to make transportation, accommodation, and recreation plans ahead of time in order to ensure maximum return on the dollar (or euro) spent and optimum utilization of time allotted for travel.

That's the counsel one school of travel offers, however another, quite to the contrary, submits that travel should be impulsive, and that the time you tried to get a hostel for 4 in Rio de Janeiro during Carnival without a reservation and ended up sleeping on the beach and getting robbed and a swimsuit full of sand was not a disaster but instead the birth of a hilarious anecdote you'll be able to recount to friends, family, the guy next to you on the bus, the two lovers on the beach, the kid taking your order at Burger King, your deaf grandmother, and the dog in the park. All of whom I can guarantee will listen with great interest (I know from personal experience).

As I've made clear, I'm a subscriber to the second theory, that travel problems are the perfect recipe for endless retrospective enjoyment, because let's face it, even though it sucks while you're in the middle of it, the laughter level a story solicits from others is proportional to the number of hairs you unceremoniously tore from your scalp during the creation of said story.

Thus we come to the story of this weekend in Madrid. First the basics, we left on the 7 AM bus from Granada to Madrid Friday morning, electing Friday over Thursday evening, as leaving Thursday after class would entail a 9:00 PM departure time, and thus a 3 AM arrival time at the hostel in Madrid. On the surface, the only problem that creates is having to pay for an extra night (16 Euro), but our arrival taught us that there are other advantages to showing up during the day light hours.

Disclaimer One: Until further notice, this narrative will contain only minor elements of what some scientists, philosophers, and liars would call “truth”.

Upon arriving at the bus station in Madrid, I convinced my friends that a taxi would be a boring and unadventurous means of arriving at the hostel, and that any true traveler (and one subscribing to the second philosophy of travel) would take the cheapest of all routes available on hand, in this case the subway system. This would turn out to be what some would call a mistake, I on the other hand, call it an unwelcome learning experience. We all elected to purchase the 10 trip passes, for 6 euro per pass, and Carl, Ben, Matt, and I all purchased our passes without a hitch. However, Kelly’s heinous crime (placing her money under the window to purchase her ticket) would result in a logjam in the ticket line the likes of which have not been seen since Paul Bunyan felled the great rain forests of the Sahara, sending his work all-at-once down the Pacific River towards New York, damming the river, and creating what is today known as the Pacific Ocean. Must have been one colossal logjam, right? Well it was, as was ours that fateful day in Madrid.

I myself was off contemplating this human condition with which we are all so cruelly afflicted, as I often do during my free time, so my recollection of the origins of the incident are purely second hand, however authorities have informed me that after the ticket women (hereafter to be known as Tickets Kahn) seized Kelly’s initial sacrifice of 6 euro (multiply by ~1.2 for US Dollars), Tickets Kahn’s thirst for travelers’ money remained unsatiated, and she at once demanded the further sacrifice of 6 additional euro, Kelly’s first born, 75 goats, 25 and a half oxen, and Paris Hilton. Unable to deliver on the baby, the livestock, or (much to my chagrin) the celebrity socialite, Kelly placed her second 6 euro offering on the window altar, only to have it whisked away, still insufficient to warrant the delivery of the sought after metro pass. At this point, Kelly became slightly incensed and appealed to Tickets Kahn’s supervisor, Señor misCalculator, who proceeded to (attempt to) count every single bill and coin in the register, as well as take inventory of the safe in the back. By this time, the line of people behind us had grown to “Star Wars: The Phantom Menace“ opening day length. 20 minutes later, before delivering the results of his quantitative research investigation, and leery of impending retribution, Señor misCalculator checked the thickness of the glass window, secured his bullet proof vest, and called his family to ensure we hadn’t kidnapped them as insurance. He then informed us that he had found no discrepancy between the money collected by the ticket window and the number of tickets bestowed upon the pious masses, and that it was Kelly who needed to purge her heart of impurity before petitioning Tickets Kahn for the Golden Metro Pass of Destiny. Hearing this, Kelly’s eyes turned a deep crimson shade of red, (a hue more commonly seen covering a number of essays I wrote this past semester, post correction) she sprouted thick leathery wings, a fork tail, grew to 12 feet tall, and proceeded to rain down hellfire upon the diminutive ticket window, annihilating Señor misCalculator (bullet proof vest and all), Tickets Kahn, the nearest five divisions of the Roman Legion waiting in line behind us, the precious euros, the metro passes, and leaving the station blanketed in a thick cloud of dust, under which we jumped the turnstiles and boarded our train. Once again, most of this is a second hand account, as I was lost in deep thought, so I can’t confirm or deny the veracity of any part of it. However a highly reliable source (Bugs Bunny) recounted it to me, and if you can’t trust a cartoon bunny, then who can you trust?

Disclaimer Two: Notice given; reality restored.

We all pitched in another euro, got Kelly her metro pass, and boarded our train without further incident. Our ability to be impulsive had already produced one noteworthy chronicle, an impressive feat considering the relatively short amount of time we’d spent in Madrid, but it was planning ahead that next produced an anecdote of note.

After replicating a tennis ball’s route back and forth, and up and down the Gran Via (main street), we arrived at what we believed to be our hostel. However, mentioning the name of our reservation, Chuck Norris (a bit eccentric, but normally guaranteed to ensure the fidelity of a hostel reservation), returned only quizzical looks from hostel staff, akin to those your dog throws your way when you make high pitched noises and jump around to get its attention (you do that too, right?). It quickly became obvious that through some serendipitous series of completely-out-of-my-hands events, confounding external forces bent on the ruination of our weekend had placed us in the wrong hostel. Or I might have copied down the wrong address. But the former is infinitely more likely. After a quick phone call, we found the correct hostel to be not too far off, so we hoofed it there. The map’s simplicity evidently did not translate to the city it modeled, and once again we found ourselves retracing steps, only to find that we indeed had been headed in the right direction to begin with, and somehow magically popped up in the right place. We checked in, rested for a few minutes, and then headed off to visit our first attraction.

The walking tour that ended at the Reina Sofia modern art museum contained only minor blunders, hardly worth mention in this concise document, so I will condense them into the subsequent sentence. We got there and nobody died. It was close, especially when we followed the walled convex curve of a busy highway, city busses rushing by inches from our faces. Here would be the perfect place to embellish the danger we faced, but I think that would actually trivialize the fact that this was seriously hazardous. Our “fellow” pedestrians led us into this perilous passage, as we followed others when our sidewalk ended due to construction, and the bus drivers didn’t look too surprised to see people walking along the walled curve. But that didn’t make it any less disquieting to be walking along with no where to run if, for instance, one of the bus drivers fell asleep while rounding that curve and came careening into us, or a meteor came streaking out of the sky, headed right for us, or a horde of barbarians suddenly decided that ransacking tourists on a busy highway was a worthwhile use of their time, well we would have had just about no where to run. Needless to say we all survived, and ended up in the museum (this in itself was a feat, as the entrance is hidden Jimmy Hoffa style, that is to say, shrewdly).

The Reina Sofia opened in 1992 and is named after Spain’s Queen Sofia, as reina means queen in Spanish. The museum’s premier piece is Picasso’s Guernica, which depicts the bombing of the city of Guernica during the Spanish Civil War of the mid 1930’s. The painting is over 7 meters long and 3 meters high.

Here’s what it looks like

http://terresdefemmes.blogs.com/photos/uncategorized/guernica.jpg

Experiencing the museum itself was not overwhelming, however I did enjoy Salvador Dali’s whimsical surrealist works, some of which you may also have seen.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:The_Persistence_of_Memory.jpg

I suppose my main problem with the museum was that there were too many times, between certain paintings, and a number of sculptures that I questioned the artistic merit, or value, of the work. Not that I’m any sort of art elitist or critic, but some of the pieces were a bit too “modern” for my tastes. For example, in one room on the fourth floor, there was a flat circle of chain link fencing containing a number of vertical waves that stretched from the origin of the circle to the outside edge. Honestly, it wasn’t much to look at. Granted, I respect the fact that while anyone could create a work like this one, only this artist did. But does it really deserve a permanent place in a national art museum? I say no. That’s why I’m going to carbon copy this email to the proprietors of the museum, in hopes that they will follow my advice and pitch all the schlock. Unfortunately that would leave them about 50 cards short of a deck, in other words, without much. Even so, don’t let me paint the museum in a negative light, in fact, don’t let me paint the museum at all. I don’t have time for that, as it’s quite large. I’d rather just defame their works in the most heinous and diabolical way I know;

Me: Hey did you hear about the Reina Sofia’s collection?

Random Stranger: No, what about it?

Me: It’s terrible.

Random Stranger: Oh… Thanks…

Or I suppose I could compare their sculptures and paintings, respectively, to a particularly robust mass of muck which I found stuck to my running shoe the other day, and resulting stain I left on the concrete after scraping it off, but I won’t. There was one other piece which I particularly enjoyed, and under the watchful eye of half-asleep museum attendants I managed to snap a flashless picture of it. Say what you will about me, call me a vandal, hooligan, delinquent, I don’t care. It’s like they say, sticks and stones will break my bones, but as soon as I’ve healed up, I’m coming for you. Oh yeah, and names don’t matter or something like that. Anyway here’s the picture, I don’t remember the title but between you and I, let’s call it Sticks and Stones (you’ll see why).

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5022.JPG

Once again, a planned activity ended up on the wrong side of pleasant. In truth I rather enjoyed some parts of the museum, but a great deal of it was a bit “out there”. Our planned visit to El Museo del Prado turned out quite differently. Forming the tandem of World’s Most Prestigious Art Museums alongside Paris’s Louvre, the Prado contains classics from Spanish artists Diego Velazquez and Francisco Goya, along with various works by Raphael, El Greco, Peter Paul Rubens, Memling, El Bosco, and others, as well as a charming set of 2000 year old Greek and Roman marble statues. Seeing a number of famous works with my own eyes was a stirring experience, and as flashless photography is permitted in the Prado, I was able to snap photos of the paintings I appreciated most, to share with all of you. I’ll admit that pre-arrival, the prospect of spending hours on end in a stuffy art museum didn’t exactly light a fire of anticipation in my bosom, but before too long inside, the fire not only been lit, but had grown into a full fledged bosom inferno! I expected to seek out the things I knew, but I ended up seeing every piece in their displayed collection. A rough guess lands the number of exhibit works around 300, although that may be a gross misestimate. Granted, some got more attention than others, but I gave every a work a looking over

My only qualm about the museum-going experience is the fact that the attendants have a somewhat dubious relationship with visitors, in that you don’t know if they’re there to bore holes through you with their experimental invisible eye beams, or crack your skull if you get too close to a piece (the answer: both). I myself was asked to leave for merely tearing priceless portrait off the wall, punching a hole through the head, sticking my own head through that hole, then dancing around the hallways and asking an attendant to take my picture. Talk about unnecessary use of force!

In all seriousness, one can understand why such stringent restrictions exist, especially when certain boneheads reach over the shin-high barriers (the ones that indicate the STOP! DO NOT CROSS! line) and, millimeters from the painting, point out details that can, apparently, only be seen with a finger in close proximity. This is done in a sort of “I’m entitled to get as close as I want, because I know some inane detail about this piece.” and “You can’t get mad at me because I’m not touching you, not touching you, not touching you, not touching you!” way.

A few final thoughts. First, as I detailed earlier, we all purchased metro tickets upon arriving in Madrid, but during the course of our two days there, I only used a total of four rides. This was mostly a function of others in the group prodding us to walk from place to place, but now I understand why. It reminds me of my month in London three summers ago, when I would take the Tube (their metro) from everywhere to get to anywhere. I never walked, and as a result, I have no idea where landmarks are in relation to each other. I know certain areas, to be sure, but I never walked much from place to place, so I never really got to feel like I knew the city. The feeling was quite contrary after only two days in Madrid. Even though the section of the city I now know is still only a small section of the greater metropolitan area, I know some of the important areas, and how to get between them without a wasted step. This is due in large part to us walking from place to place, but also to two other important factors. First, I was primary navigator, which meant that I carried the map, and ordered people left or right, forward or backward. Being the man with the map carries extra responsibility, because whether or not you end up where you want to end up depends solely on your ability to script austere two dimensional blocks and lines onto a variable three dimensional world. But it also gives you a better idea than anyone else how things are connected, because you spend so much time staring at it, scouring it for street names, and spinning it around and around looking for something that looks like the huge plaza in which you’re standing. The second important factor in getting to know the city is simple, and having the map makes it very easy. Explore. If there’s a section on the map you haven’t been to yet, check it out. Often times the places travelers end up are the places all the others travelers end up as well. Sometimes venturing onto a concealed side street yields a unique café or restaurant, or delightful little plaza. Sometimes it yields you walletless and without your shoes, but that’s the exception, not the norm.

Lastly, eat the street food. It can look a bit peculiar at times, but between the roasted chest nuts, chocolate covered waffles, and sweet sap sticks I discovered over the weekend, I’m seeing street food in a whole new way. A good way, that is. This is another form of impulsivity that can often lead to surprisingly pleasant discoveries. On rare occasions it can lead to food poisoning, but if that happens, at least you were adventurous. Better than catching it in a Spanish T.G.I. Friday’s (yes Madrid has them).

No gold stars or prizes for making it to the end of this novel, only the satisfaction of knowing that today, you learned something. You learned that I talk to cartoon bunnies (and whatever that implies about me), that the Pacific Ocean is not the result of volcanic eruptions spewing steam from the Earth’s chewy insides into the atmosphere that condensed and rained down to form oceans, but instead a logging accident, and finally… that planning ahead is no way to have fun!

It being that finishing this email has taken me the course of an entire week, I have the collected experiences of another full weekend ready to spill onto the page. Fortunately they can be summed up as such: On Friday seven of us went skiing in the Sierra Nevadas, which was incredible (pictures next time), and on Saturday I was out dancing with friends until 6 am. One ¿amusing? addition to the story is that when I got home, the door had been bolted shut by Thomas, an Australian exchange student who had been staying with us for the week, and who was leaving at 8 AM that morning. Obviously he had thought he was the last one in that night, an honest mistake which I understood, so I spent the next two hours walking the streets of Granada and returned at 8 as he prepared to leave. Very kind of me to go to bed that late just to see him off.

This Thursday, Ben, Carl, JT and I are headed to the UK for our first break. We’ll be in London, Edinburgh, and Dublin, and return home on February 18th. Should be a lot of fun, and so my next email will probably go out soon after we return.

And now what you’ve all been waiting for, this edition’s photographs.

First some shots from Granada, then those from Madrid.

My mother Sara, and her fiancé Jose

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4964.JPG



My brother Edi, he’s 15

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4966.JPG



The living room in our apartment

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4968.JPG



My room, complete with FC Barcelona comforter

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4969.JPG



In class at CEGRI

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4973.JPG



Ben, Carl, and Matt (L to R) in the metro station in Madrid.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4985.JPG



The girls, Ashley, Kelly, and Lisa (L to R) along with Señor misCalculator

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4991.JPG



The unmasked avenger

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_4999.JPG



The crazy bird lady (AKA Kelly)

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5000.JPG



At the hostel

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5001.JPG



Warning: This photo contains high meat content, vegetarians need not apply.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5005.JPG



The apex of human evolution

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5008.JPG



The absence of human creativity

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5009.JPG



Curious shape for a tree…

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5036.JPG



The crew, minus Carl, in one of Madrid’s expansive parks.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5042.JPG



Birds on the steps flock together…

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5049.JPG



…and are soon dinner for stray cats

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5055.JPG



The emperor high atop his golden throne

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5057.JPG



The stream on the left is from a fountain. I promise.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5058.JPG



Warning: Only those whose constitution of humor includes an article for baby eating need click here. Goya’s finest, they call them.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5079



Velazquez’s Los Borrachos. Does anything stick out?

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5085.JPG



Maybe you noticed that ever present personification of anachronism; The Old Gold Prospector, Gus Chiggins.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5086.JPG



Velazquez’s Las Meninas, His most famous work, due in large part to the confusing play on perspective. Velazquez placed himself in the photo (he’s the painter) and people who talk and think about this type of thing debate whether he painted while staring into a gigantic mirror, and if he did, then where are the two people in the mirror to the right of his head. There’s much more, tons of political implications and visual tricks, and you can read about it here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Las_Meninas.



Here’s the actual painting in all its glory.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5091.JPG



My favorite piece in the entire museum. Unfortunately, the picture is a little bit blurry, but it’s called El jardin de las delicias (The Garden of Delights) so read from that what you will. What I like the most about it is that it’s a completely insane and senseless world, between the people’s actions and their strange surroundings.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5110.JPG



One of Rafael’s most famous works, Portrait of a Cardinal.

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5119.JPG



A street orchestra. You don’t see that kind of street entertainment back home, do you?

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5123.JPG



Grizzly Adams (Kelly behind and to the right)

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~afive/stuff/pics/spain/IMG_5128.JPG



OK, there is a small reward.



Young Chuck Norris

http://www.youtube.com/w/Young-Chuck-Norris---SNL?v=NBSpNPzVsMM