Sunday, February 27, 2011

"I HAVE ALWAYS DEPENDED ON THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS..."

I think Tennessee got it right---sometimes, regardless of the planning and contingencies, we have to depend on strangers.  And, mostly, if we're lucky, they're kind.

Sooooo, we're in Fez, Morocco, Stangers in a Strange Land (lots of lilterary references this morning), and Gary is sick as a dog.  A miserable, miserable cold---the stuffy head, nose-blowing (continual nose blowing), coughing, sneezing...and it's a stubborn one, hanging on and on and on.  Remember, we're travelling, in Morocco, lugging bags on and off the train, into the taxi,  on the street to the hotel ----which is on a narrow street no wider than a person--down hill.  Gary, all the while, hacking and blowing and sniffling and....you got the picture.

We settle into a lovely Riad, guest house, Dar El Menia, and things begin to look up.  We like Fez better than Marrakech, and are beginning to feel more comfortable with the environment when it strikes....intestinal distress.  Poor Gary has eaten something and he's even more miserable than before.  We're in a third world country, public restrooms are...well, unpleasant, and he has visited many of them.  I'm checking for fever, which he does not have----but he sure has visited a lot of restrooms---you know, the foot-pad-type, often without, um, the necessities.  Have I drawn enough of a picture for ya?  Things were not happy in Fez for this household.

Gary did not feel better, in fact began to feel worse---how is that possible?  I'm thinkin' it might be time for a doctor---in Fez.  We asked Graham, the proprietor of Dar El Menia for a pharmacy, hoping to pick up some Pepto Bismo...maybe that would work??  and he sent us up the street.

IT'S SUNDAY...all the pharmacies are CLOSED...So we asked a policeman if he knew of an open one....in French, which we don't speak, he said he could send us to an open pharmacy, by taxi, which would then return us to this very spot, if we were willing.  We had nothing to lose, and hoping a restroom wouldn't be necessary in the interim, we climbed into the taxi with fingers crossed.

Here's my favorite part---when we pulled up outside the pharmacy, the pharmacist came outside to wave down the taxi driver--THE POLICEMAN HAD CALLED AHEAD TO TELL HIM TO EXPECT US--I almost wept on the spot.

In Morocco, pharmacists don't need prescriptions to sell what we call prescription drugs--he said, as a poor country, the people couldn't afford doctors, so the pharmacists acted as doctors.  We received 3 medications all geared to eliminating intestinal distress and possible parasite problems.  Oh boy! 

Here's my second favorite part, the meds cost 91 dirham, 8 dirham to the dollar, equals ELEVEN DOLLARS....we would have spent 91 dollars in a heartbeat and not thought twice about it.

So my husband has been medicated, his trips to the restroom have diminished, he's not got a temperature, and he's sleeping and sleeping and sleeping.

It's hard to be sick away from home;  all we want is our own bed and hot tea and comfort.  It's scary to be sick away from home if you don't speak the language or know the medical system.  We do what we know, we ask for help, and hope for the best.  I am ever-thankful to the policeman on the corner (who was gone when we went back to thank him), the pharmacist who flagged down the taxi, Graham who pointed us in the right direction.  We were very dependent on the kindness of strangers, and being so, became less strangers in a land less strange.

Friday, February 25, 2011

I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A PRINCESS


POUSADA PALACIO DO FREIXO, PORTO, PORTUGAL

We walk in and doors, accompanied by harp music, magically open.  Vivaldi plays beneath the hushed tones of the staff (when the harps aren't harping).  Waiters change forks every time I finish a bite (that's what it felt like!), people bow every time I walk by (I think it's an age thing), and the bed has a foam memory mattress.  Ahhh, the luxurious life in a 5 Star Palace... with a formal garden and an infinity pool in the heart of the Duoro wine country in Porto, Portugal.

Portugal has these lovely Pousadas, palaces, monastaries, wineries, manors---beautiful buildings that have been renovated into luxury hotels---that provided us with a gorgeous respite from the difficult life we're now living.  We just HAD to get away from the hustle and bustle of Italy, ya know.  Sidenote:  the State owns 50% of each hotel (the land and building), but the hotels are managed privately.  That way the buildings are preserved and the public is served!  The Pousadas are known for their restaurants and service..we ate well and all I had to do was think about wanting something and it appeared!  We were truly treated like royalty.
However, this Princess had trouble communcating with her subjects...omg, Portugese is oh-so-very difficult to speak and understand--I must change the official language!  Most of the businesses and museums we visited had English-speaking employees, which was a life saver.  Those that didn.t speak English were willing to play Charades with me.
The Portugese people are courteous and kind, especially to me, their Princess, and to my husband, the commoner.        
 
MY PORTUGESE-FISHERMAN-COMMONER HUSBAND
 
 The public restrooms are spotless, all of them, even at the train station!  I never pass up an opportunity to visit a public restroom, and I was pleasantly surprised!

We then got a real royal treat when we discovered a small restaurant in Règua, about 100 miles from Porto, called the Gato Preto, or Black Cat.  It has been completely renovated, updated, stylish, and we had a lovely meal there, Portugese fare at very reasonable prices.  We shared a rib eye steak for two with all the trimming and wine and dessert for 25€...excuse me, with prices like that, all my subjects should dine out 3 times a week!  The owner and chef were gracious and welcoming....pictured below!

POUSADA SOLAR DA REDE-MESAO FRIO 
 
OWNER AND CHEF OF THE BLACK CAT,
RèGUA, PORTUGAL


On a personal note, and Princess Pat allows me to speak for her, Portugal and the Portugese people are beautiful and infinitely kind.  It was a pleasure to learn some of the culture and to meet some of the people...the next time we go, I'LL BE
                                                                   QUEEN!!!

Saturday, February 19, 2011

WHAT'S IMPORTANT?...or Pat's Polemic from Portugal

I see them everywhere I go---teeny, tiny ones, bundled up, standing in straight lines, or not-so-teeny-ones sitting attentively in a half circle on the floor, or gaggles of girls sauntering cooly, looking very unimpressed while watchig the boys' every moves, or young women hanging on to every word uttered by the bespeckled, slightly mussed young man, or, my favorite, youngsters sprawled on the floor on their stomachs, paper in front of them, pencils clutched in their hands, seriously focused, trying to duplicate the Rembrandt on the wall.

Groups of school kids visiting museums.  Groups from 5 to 20 years old.  Groups no fewer than 5, no larger than 20.  EVERY SINGLE MUSEUM we've visited has at least one student group--from the British Museum to the Gaudi Museum in Barcelona, to the Port Wine Museum in Porto, Portugal, yep, the PORT WINE MUSEUM....a group of kids seeing art, gleaning a part of their history, getting out of the classroom, putting culture and art in perspective (no pun intended), expanding their worlds.

And, of course, at the helm is the teacher.  Mostly, they're young and energetic, mostly they're women, run a little ragged keeping track of everyone (there is always the counting of bodies; is everybody there?), they have questions and answers, worksheets and information...they love their kids and their kids love them.  I think, basically, they love their jobs. 

My reactions are twofold:  first of all, I'm bereft.   In California we don't have the money in the educational system any more to take kids on field trips, certainly not to museums, not without the kids paying for the buses.  The legal ramifications of taking kids off campus, being sure all the waivers have been signed, exonerating the school district from liable, takes the primary focus--not the experience.  The enrichment and vicarious learning that lie outside the classroom is largely unavailable to our kids. Sometimes this trip is the only exposure a kid will get...isn't this integral to the educational process?  Isn't it incumbent upon educators to expand the experiences of our students??  To open minds with new ideas and take them out of the malls and into concert halls and and dance recitals???  All over Europe kids are doing just that....and in California??

PHEW, polemic indeed....my second reaction is pride.  I am soooo proud of these teachers who bring their expertise and professionalism and dedication to their students.  I wanted to join each and every student group just to bask in the love of learning with a really good teacher.  It's a difficult profession...teach on!


AND ON A DIFFERENT NOTE, MY ATTEMPT AT PHOTO JOURNALISM:



A lovely bas relief on the side of a building...
 
that is abandoned and graffiti-laden



Is this a great face or what??  on a bus in Porto...

I never know how much or how little I have to say...I had a lot today.  thank you for reading!!  

Thursday, February 17, 2011

FOOD AND GAUDI


AND HERE WE ARE IN....BARCELONA!

LOOK AT THIS ARCHITECTURE!


CASA BATLLO HOUSE--GAUDI


YUMMMM, MUSHROOMS!


ALICIA MAKING TOMATO SORBET COCKTAIL


ALICIA, ANGELA, JOANNE PREPPING
CREMA CATALAN


JOHN AND ANGELA EATING RABBIT AND SNAIL PAELLA!

CHECK OUT PACO MAKING COCKTAILS...you have to tilt your head!

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

GOING VIRAL...or, my days on Facebook

So, my friend, Pam, invited me to be her friend.  I am her friend, so going the next step didn't take genius.  Then my friend, Giovanna, invited me to be her friend.  I am her friend, so commiting to facebook, opening an account, didn't seem beyond the ken.  So I signed up.  And ignored it for a few days.  Then, like a magnet, like the tide, I was pulled in...I had to find the perfect picture for my profile!  (A snapshot?  a recent one?  and not-so-recent one?  who's going to be looking at this?) 

I found a photo I like and wrestled with the computer to get it uploaded, downloaded?, and walked away.  Then, back I went, what other options do I have for my profile?  My home page??  What do other people have?  Work?  Play?  Education?  Favorite Books?  Favorite Movies?  And, of couse, Facebook referred me to  Pam's page and Giovanna's page to see what they did....

and I noticed, they've got lots of friends.  There's a list right there, a bunch of names I know, a bunch I don't, but a bunch of names.  Then...a lot of pictures popped up of people I know...inviting me to invite them to be my friend, I just had to click a button....I couldn't control my fingers, click, click, click...and then I waited for them to confirm they were my friends.  (If they weren't my friends, would I invited them to be my friends??)

There followed an intensive 4 hours whereby I ran to the computer every 10 minutes to see who had confirmed my friendship...I couldn't help myself.  It was a drug.  It was invigorating.  It was validating.  I was popular!!!  By the end of 4 hours or so, I had 20 friends....wowee zowee.  I was thrilled.

Then, I thought this might be a great way to keep in touch with my neice and nephews...so the hunt began.  Found 'em; my neice has over 600 friends.  What does one do with 600 friends?  My friend, Bill, has over 200 friends.  What does one do with 200 friends?...I have trouble managing relationships with 20.

Here is my dilemma:  I am offended to my core having to "invite" people to be my friends.  They're either my friends or they're not.  My friends are people for whom I care, with whom I share something in common, with whom I want to spend time, share a meal, talk about a book, go to a movie.  I don't need to "invite" them into my life, they're already there.

But those nephews and neice...I'm not in daily contact and this might be a way to keep my connections with them....hmmm...and read stuff I don't want or need to know.  And acqaintances, people whom I like, but don't see often, I can connect with them briefly.  Maybe that's worthwhile???

Being on the other side of the world and trying to make a life here while maintaining a semblance of a life there, maybe this is a good way to do it.  Or not.  I don't know.  BUT, I am astounded by the speed with which a network of friends/acquaintances hooked up with me....mine is a minor, minor example, but if my experience in any way parallels Viral movements, this world is indeed shrinking at a very fast pace.  My head spins!

My verdict about Facebook is still out; but can one ever have enough friends???

Sunday, February 6, 2011

DARK DAYS...or, The Pity Party

Thursday, 12:48:  we screeched into the parking lot of the Post Office in Monte San Martino, our Commune, or County Seat, to pay our trash bill (why pay our trash bill at the County Seat???  don't know, just cuz).  Our fingers are crossed because the PO has been known to close its doors early, just cuz...(Once we stood outside the locked door with our water bill to the window begging the woman to open the door--it was 1:03 on a Tuesday and they're closed Tuesday afternoon--she told us to come back tomorrow.)  Luckily, this day we got in and paid our bill.

Then, the real reason for our visit was to ask if it was normal we hadn't received any mail during the last six weeks.  Hmmm, she said, no, not normal, but she couldn't ask the mail carrier today because they don't deliver on Thursday....THEY DON'T DELIVER ON THURSDAY???  EVERY THURSDAY?  OR JUST TODAY?  (We didn't even ask why...just cuz) but, she said she'd check tomorrow. 

*  AND...our friend, Kathy, mailed us an envelope with some important, time-sensitive papers on January 27, Express Mail, guaranteed 3-5 days delivery.  It's now been 10, count 'em, 10 days...we've tracked the envelope to the Italian customs office, where it seems to have been swallowed up.   (We need to receive this envelope within the next 3 days because we will be out of Italy for 3 weeks starting Thursday!)

*  AND...some nefarious being has hacked into our VISA account and made a $500 donation to an arts organization in San Antonio;  I'm all for supporting the arts, but.... (Luckily, we have an arrangement with VISA to let us know if there are any unusual, questionable charges, and they have been spectacular about contacting us!)  However, the best they could do is cancel the old card, issue a new one, but, because we're overseas, they can't mail it here.  Sooooo, they mailed the new card to our home in CA, our dear friend, Kathy, was to mail the new card to us, hopefully arriving BEFORE we leave for Spain....given our history with the Italian Postal System, it didn't seem reasonable.  So we are without a credit card 3 weeks abroad.....we can deal with that, but...

*  AND...day before yesterday, the flexible tubing that funnels the exhaust out the chimney separated from the pellet stove, potentially spewing all kinds of fumes into the house and into our lungs.  (we've all heard stories of or known people who have succumbed to fumes....I spent the entire night waking up to be sure I was still alive.)  We've, of course, ordered new flexible tubing---but gee, not sure when it's gonna get in.  Certainly not before Thursday when we leave.  (In the meantime, although the weather is spectacular, the nights are close to 0 degrees C,  we've pulled out the propane space heater.)

*  And...my hair was looking like poop, so I got it cut, and it still looks like poop.

I am not used to feeling vulnerable...to anyone, to any situation, to my environment.  We've done everything we can think of to prepare for emergencies, we've created back-up plans, we check and double check our paperwork and dictionaries, and we begin to feel comfortable, able to handle these challenges and life.  Then, BOOM, the tubing breaks, the VISA is hacked, the mail gets cocked up---and I am a quivering mass, unable to function.  I go into freeze mode--can't do a damn thing cuz it doesn't matter anyway.  And then the questioning begins:  WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING???   And I have a Big Bash, a Pity Party from New Orleans with floats and masks and music...then I find my bed and cover my head.

It isn't easy here, but, the flip side to my question is:  WHAT THE HELL ELSE WOULD YOU RATHER BE DOING???  My answer is a resounding, "NOTHING!" 

Soooo, I've allowed myself a PP, I've covered my head, I've found my bed, and I've decided there are worse ways to live.  If we don't do this now, we may never do this, and on my death bed I would regret it!  And...gee, Spain, Portugal, and Morocco await us, with mysteries to discover and cultures to unfold...just cuz!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

WHAT WERE THEY THINKING??

SEE THE SNOW??  AND THE LAUNDRY???  WHAT ARE THEY THINKING????

RHYTHMS AND RIFFS

We're just back from London...Gary attended a Makeup Artist Convention and I negotiated the tube; happily self-sufficient (although, to be honest, I was a little scared at first!)   We saw four plays, delicious London theatre, and visited the National Gallery, British Museum, The Tate Modern, and The Charles Dickens Museum...I fed my soul with words and music and ideas and art and sculpture and paintings--saw a Vuillard that knocked my socks off and some Picasso pieces I hadn't seen before AND we saw THE CHILDREN'S HOUR, a 1930's Lillian Hellman piece with Keira Knightly, Elizabeth Moss, Carol Kane, and Ellen Burnstyn--can you believe??--ahhhh, I'm gorged!!

At the Tate Modern there was a photographic exhibit of the New York Subway system--I was deeply embarrassed.  The subway is filthy, full of graffiti, a refuge for the homeless, unsafe for the tourist or woman alone...it also showed the vitality of life in New York.  However, the London tube is pristine:  it is clean, no trash, no graffiti, lots of light, safe, and always working!  It was an interesting juxtaposition of something that scared me--going on the tube alone--, and something that represents my country.   Hmmmm....of what should I be afraid?

Also, it was interesting to compare the Italians in London to the Brits (is that considered a pejorative?  It is certainly not intended...so "if this writer has offended,/Think but this and all is mended./That you have but slumber'd here/While these ref'ences appear."  --deep apologies Mr. Shakespeare!

Anyway, the rhythm of London, and, I daresay, England, is noteably different from Italy...for example, on the street, the Brits walk quickly, with purpose, with long, definite strides.  On the street, in the Underground, in museums, in restaurants.  The Italians, whether in Italy or in England, saunter, always SAUNTER, even when they're in a hurry or in a group.  In the pubs and bars (we just passed by, never stopped...ha!) the Brits were more frenetic, focussed, driven, while the Italians have a quick drink, but are always laid back, and, dare I say it??  COOL.  Always very, very cool...and comfortable in their environment---lost on the tube?  You'll never see an Italian freaked out about it!  The Brits are efficient, to-the-point, more business-like, oftentimes using the after-work drink as a quick dinner, whereas the Italians don't ever confuse a drink with dinner. 

There were, of course, Americans in London also.  Americans are robust...with deep, vibrant laughs that fill a tube car and voices that carry a block away.  The Italians are vivace, vivacious, and cosmopolitan.  The Brits are intelligent and kind and CHARMING! 

So, for me, the days in London were filled with people-watching, art-gorging, theatre-going, tube-taking, Indian-Turkish-pub-food-eating, and living a different pace and rhythm...exhilarating!