Tasting New York in Lombardi's Pizza

For Kristen. See? I told you, you general pool of readers, that I would take suggestions on what to do and see so you could vicariously live through me.

Lombardi's - the name inspires interests, piques curiosity. It smacks of an Italian-American heritage, someplace far away from my Midtown abode. A place worth a journey.

Seven of us journeyed from Times Square on Saturday down to Lombardi's to try some of its best-in-New York pizza. Arriving at the corner restaurant, there was a line seven or eight people deep, and I hunkered down for a long wait, I surmised at least 30 minutes. To my surprise, thirty seconds later we were called, and all seven of us sat down at one table to await our Lombardi's delight.

We ordered a large margarita and a large spinach-garlic pizza, and after a short wait we delved right in. The crust was nice and flavorful, and easy to manipulate and fold so you could fit it all into your mouth. I noticed, most of all, that it tasted healthy - it was not too greasy, the cheese on the margarita pizza tasted light and fresh. It was tasty, but my Lombardi's pizza felt like I was eating any other pizza. The taste did not grab me by the taste buds and say "Listen, Lizzle, you are eating a Lombardi's pizza. Pay attention or I'm gonna slap you down to Brooklyn!"

Akshata and me at Lombardi's - stay tuned for "Rice to Riches" to see round 2 of the crazy-happy-I'm-going-to-be-eating-soon mouth gap.

I was impressed, though, with the speed and quality of service: our waitress was prompt but not pushy and very smiley for one of the most lauded pizza joints in town. Almost too impressive was the bussing service: as soon as we had finished the last slice of pizza, the try was gone; as soon as we stood up to leave, someone was clearing our napkins and glasses. And I don't blame them; they wanted to get people in and out, so they economized and made themselves efficient.

Overall, out of five stars, I give Lombardi's 4.1 for food quality, 4.5 for service, and 3.9 for atmosphere. If I had a similar wait time and was in the SoHo-East Village-Nolito area (still getting my bearings), I would probably go again. But as for best pizza in town? Their claim was too big. It was a good deal for this kind of pizza - I ended up paying about $8 for two slices.  Note to self, I need to try that $0.99-a-slice pizza that I walked past earlier this evening and compare it.At "Taste of Times Square" last week, the pizza I had from one of the stalls (possibly John's Pizzeria?) was cheesier, greasier, tastier, kickier. Better. It was good, but I couldn't taste New York in this pizza.

This might not be the final review of Lombardi's pizza; with more pizza under my belt (actually above it), my opinions may change. Not likely, but they may change. Stay tuned for what's around the corner.

Rickshaw Dumplings Obtained!

I was coming home from my internship, and due to this evening's plans, I needed to get dinner to go. Lo and behold, I had something ready and lined up: Rickshaw Dumpling! I eagerly made my way across the streets, a clear destination guiding me from Grand Central Station across Lexington like a beacon of red-and-white striped goodness, the promise of dumplings sweet and heavy in the oppressively humid air.

I arrived, and to my delight, no one was in front of me, and there were five people ready to take my order. I am a fan and budding connoisseur of duck, so I ordered the duck dumplings and some spicy noodles on the side. Five minutes later, I was out the door again with my brown bag filled with my spoils, and another few minutes brought me to the apartment. A few more moments brought the dumplings to my mouth.

I stuffed the first dumpling into my mouth and munched away. Then kept on munching more slowly. The meat wasn't very tender, nor was it very flavorful. Everywhere I read about stars (like Ira Glass) saying how much they love New York's food and how they eat like kings; though I have paid a pretty penny, I was not eating like a king. Disappointed was I in my Rickshaw dumplings. Maybe I shouldn't have the ordered the duck but stuck with a solid classic like their pork. And their spicy noodles were a bit too spicy, but I shouldn't complain about that because I knew what I was getting into.

Despite this disappointment, I'll still go with my co-intern to find the Rickshaw Dumpling truck tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is National Iced Tea Day, and the Dumpling truck (if not all trucks and restaurants) is giving away free Snapple.

First Weekend in the Big Apple

I have arrived! And it's been quite the weekend so far, with a bit more yet to come. Right now I have a moment to myself in order to collect my thoughts and chronicle/share a few of them with all 24 (whoohoo, count 'em!) of you followers.

After an uneventful flight, I arrived at JFK International Airport  Friday evening to start my big summer in the big city. I shuffled off, hit with a wave of humid air, feeling like this was my time and my city. I tried not to get too far ahead of myself, as I still had baggage to collect. I've been to New York before, and each time I've been in JFK, but it didn't feel familiar, and my stomach was still filled with butterflies as to what I was going to be doing this summer, where I was living, whom I would meet. I was at the tip of the iceberg of the unknown, and I was here, no turning back. I grabbed my bags, got a taxi, and told the driver the coordinates for where I'll be staying: Manhattan.

Driving onto the island, I couldn't help but thinking of Madrid. Touching down, I thought of my first few minutes in that fine Spanish city: how sparse and desert-like the surrounding area was (think the interior of California). I was struck by how all the buildings seemed to be of the same red-and-tan brick design. Indeed, I saw some apartment buildings which looked like those in Spain, but they were several among dozens and dozens of buildings. And of course, touching down, we flew over the bay and some beach and green trees. Nothing like Madrid whatsoever.

The traffic into the city reminded me a bit of Los Angeles, and a specific trip to L.A. I took with my volleyball team when I was 15 - a lot of slow traffic traveling beneath what I assumed to be an Air-link train. I was suddenly homesick for the familiarity of Los Angeles, and the tree-lined streets of my suburban College Town (really, the rest of L.A. isn't that great...), and the people and places I knew back there. As quickly as it had come, the homesickness settled down, to be replaced by excitement as I saw the buildings of Manhattan rising up.

I got to my living arrangements and was greeted by my wonderful sister (I'll be staying with her the rest of the summer) as I ungainfully tried to open the apartment door. I threw down my stuff, we made a lovely little dinner together and dined on her balcony, surrounded by several of her little shrubs. There is no better antidote to fear and trepidation than food and family, I thought as I nestled back into the patio chair I was sitting in. I had all the opportunities of the city open before my feet. Needless to say, I was suddenly very happy and all my cares were wiped away, safe and sound as I was with my sister.

Me in Grand Central Terminal! I feel like I'm part of a greater history of New York and America every time I go inside that hall. Which has only been once so far, but that will change.

After dinner and a little unpacking, we took a little walk around so I could get my bearings. Walking near the UN and into Grand Central Station were included! (Note: still have not gotten my bearings yet. Figured out that the bigger the numbers on your cross streets are, the more north and west you are. Mostly I walk around an area until I figure out which way I want to go - took a lot of time getting out of Grand Central today because I ended up on the opposite side of where I wanted to go. Still like mountains to tell me my cardinal directions.)

In the morning, I met my sister at the Lexington and 51st subway stop in order to meet up with some of her friends and take the tram over to see Roosevelt Island. If you've never heard of this island, do not worry: there is a reason you haven't. It's mostly residential, and (according to the people I was with) oddly suburban for Manhattan. There were plenty of parks where small children were playing a rousing game of baseball late on a Saturday morning, people gathering for picnics, and people gardening. Indeed, gardening. We stumbled upon the Octagon Garden of Roosevelt Island, and it was quite magical because it not only contained a Rose Garden, but members of the Garden Club tended their own plots. That took me by surprise in such an urban city like New York.

Octagon's Rose Garden 

Lighthouse on Roosevelt Island

A little more walking took us to the lighthouse in memory of Vicki Holland (who apparently had polio, moved to Roosevelt Island, and helped make apartments more user-friendly to people who had disabilities due in particular to polio, according to this writeup). By this time, we reached the northern tip of the island, and so decided to head back, stopping for some ice cream on the way back.

I went back to the apartment and did some grocery shopping, took a nap, and made myself dinner before receiving a text from my sister to go see the new Woody Allen movie, Midnight in Paris. I met up with her and several of her friends, saw the movie, and at about 1 a.m. decided to go karaoke-ing with one of the friends who had seen the movie. Karaoke at 1 a.m.? Good choice, especially since it was a block and a half from the apartment.

In the morning, I baked a cake for a dinner party I was attending later that evening. I went to church, where again I met up with my sister, met more people, and in general had a nice, fulfilling time. We went to our dinner group, where I got to meet more people in-depth, have good food, and see a bit more of the city.

Sigh, now I'm going to go and see where my office is so that I don't freak out and miss it and be late tomorrow - eep. My status right now is nervous restlessness, and I am hopeful that being somewhat nervous and wishing to do well will lead to good results; but I've been trying not to think about it too much or too long, because then I will start freaking out, and freaking out is not conducive to producing good work. Wish me luck!

I'm looking forward to Monday and Tuesday, to say the least - aside from actually getting started in my internship, I'm planning on going to "A Taste of Times Square" (cheap food in the big tourist attraction!) and Yo-Yo Ma in Central Park (free world-class classical music? Yes, please!).

Seriously, I feel very blessed by the people and opportunities in my life right now :)

Wasn't That Fun? Let's Do It Again

The wheel of time has come full circle. It has been a year since I started my adventures in Spain then Scotland, and now, my adventures are starting up again! The "being stateside" prognostication for what would be happening to me in the vaguely looming future came true: this summer, adventures will be had in New York City. It's not being abroad, this is true, but it will still be a new experience, and one I'm very much looking forward to having in the comfort of my own country this time.

This summer is going to be a fantastic one for multiple reasons. Let me enumerate them below with a lovely list of bullet points.

• I'm going to be staying with my sister!!! It will be the first time in a good ten years since we lived together. I've grown up in that time, so this will be an opportunity for us really to get to know each other as adults.
• I have a really phenomenal internship opportunity, doing interesting work with interesting people. Because this is meant to be a personal blog, I will refer to the company only occasionally and as "Company X." But take my word for it, this is pretty amazing. I might revise the statement I just made and drop as many annoying hints as I can to what it is without actually revealing what I'm doing.
• I'm looking forward to the contacts and community which I will make in the City. One of the things I have loved about being LDS (I'm LDS, also known as Mormon, by the way) is the instant community which is available no matter where I go. It has been incredibly important to me over the past year because my life has been a picture of change. Three new cities and two familiar ones in fifteen months means I have practically been a nomad. And in every new geographical place, I've found a social place at Church. Apart from Mormons, I'll have a community of people from my high school and College there, so lots will keep me occupied.
• And lastly, and the majority of what I'll be writing about, is the activities I'll do while living in the City! From watching Shakespeare in the Park to going to the Lincoln Center for Shakespeare, seeing the odd Broadway Play (read: "Book of Mormon Musical"), going to Restaurant week, going to the Botanical Gardens, Coney Island, concerts in Central Park, the Metropolitan, cannellonis (yes, it should count under "food" and/or "restaurant week," but they're so good they deserve their own category. May be expanded to include "Italian food" because I want to make my second home in Little Italy), to perhaps a Mets game and even some Scottish dancing.

Now, I'm still at home in a transitional, incubatory state, prepping for my time in the City, avoiding prepping for next year and thesis, and recuperating from saying my goodbyes to College people. 

If you've just joined 'les aventures' here at spoony driftwood, welcome aboard! To all those who are returning, glad to have you back and also glad to know that I didn't scare you away with poor writing or random thoughts. Thanks for reading! If anyone has any suggestions for things to do in New York, don't hesitate to tell me, or tell me what to check out in the city so I may be your proxy.

<3

The Montague

This is a post that got lost in publishing. It was supposed to have gone up on September 25, 2010. Well, here it goes now!

On Thursday night, after two and a half hours of Scottish dancing, two friends of mine from Butler and I went out for a drink and to find food. Our original plan was to go to McEwan's Pub to meet up with the rest of the Scottish dance club and meet them a little bit, since at least one of my friends is joining the club, and I might join, too. However, I didn't have I.D. with me, and I am under the impression that I need to prove that I am over 18 to order something from the counter, even if it is non-alcoholic. Anyway, I'd rather not get into any kind of trouble or mess, so I asked my two buddies if they would mind popping over to my flat - only two blocks from the dance hall - so that I could grab some I.D., and then we'd be on our merry way to McEwan's.

They were very obliging, and we were on our way, I got my stuff, and then we were back on the street, looking for the pub. I thought I knew the way, but we ended up at McEwan's Brewery, not "McEwan's Pub." My flat wasn't too far away, so we went back, double-checked the name and the location (it was literally just a block away), and then we were off again, this time into the darkening night and soft rain.

We walked up and down the street, passed several pubs, and couldn't find it, little knowing that the full name of the Ale House on South Clerk Street is "McEwan's Ale House." In the end, we went to the pub on the corner called The Montague. I'd been there once before on my building's pub crawl, but it was crowded, and I couldn't absorb the atmosphere of the place. However, the three of us sat at a little table, complete with a candle, under the gaze of Sean-Connery-as-James-Bond on a movie poster. There were other vintage movie posters, bookshelves, high ceilings with molded pieces where the wall met the ceiling, even wainscoting and a few boardgames scattered across the bookshelves. Contemporary design adequately re-imagined the Victorian era architecture and style to make The Montague: every little boy's and girl's Victorian dream without actually having to live in Victorian times (with what passed for indoor plumbing, no temperature control, cholera, typhoid, corsets that made the wearers faint, refrigeration?, etc).

Not only was it a place for gatherings and a refuge for students, it felt like a place for students - and anyone else who wanted to pass an hour or two there. The Montague has couches and tables, friendly staff, really good music - nothing can beat New Order for aptly fitting the atmosphere. It was youthful, mature without being overbearing, and trendy without the shallow vicissitudes of trendiness, like it had caught and preserved a millennial feel.

I had my carrot cake and my Appletiser, good friends, and contentment. Life was, as it always is and forever will be, on the whole good.

On Becoming Legal in Scotland

Like most of my fellow juniors who are abroad, this is the year when we turn 21, thus becoming legal adults (who still cannot rent a car from many major agencies). It's my birthday, and aside from doing fun things like wandering around Greyfriars' kirkyard and the city center with some friends, and then having cupcakes with a fellow birthday-child, and tea and cake with another friend, I went out to dinner.

Now, a lot of people get excited that it's their 21st and can drink legally; however, since we are in Scotland, people can legally drink when they're 18. Some of my peers have expressed the feeling that it is anticlimactic when they point out to the bartenders that they can legally drink in America. I am not really disappointed, because 21 is just like any other birthday because I don't imbibe alcohol because of religious prerogatives. Thus, I am left with a mild feeling of irony.

However, to celebrate, I did purchase a "Lemon and Lime Bitters," which is sweeter, less carbonated version of Sprite. It was a mixed drink, though! Something that I really appreciate here is the how okay it is to go to a pub and not order something alcoholic. Here in Scotland so far, I haven't felt weird or out of place not wanting to drink (although someone at the bar gave me a strange sidelong glance when I asked for something that was non-alcoholic, but that's his problem).

A Regular Day!

A regular day in Edinburgh is spent at the library. Two, actually. I started my morning off in the New College Library, which indeed looks like a "boy gingerbread version of Denison." Then I went to class, grabbed some lunch, went to the Main Library, read a ton, and was about to squeeze my eyes out of their sockets by the end of the day, and then went to class again. Another girl on the Butler programme is in my later class, and she lives in my block of flats, so we walked home together.

Highlights of the day, though, were running into acquaintances and friends in the street and on campus. Even if it was no more than a quick "hello," it was really nice.

Everything is always and forever nice.

St Andrews in a Day

I went to St Andrews on Saturday, and it was fun! I visited Beth Tracy, who received her Master's at CGU and is now working on her doctorate at the university. We saw the cathedral, the beach, the old castle, Beth's office, and her dorm-like apartment-thing.

Pictures!

You'll never guess where this was taken from.

Big cemetery...

Documented proof that Beth and I were there.

Unfortunately, my camera ran out of battery on this trip, so I only have so many pictures. Beth took these pictures, though. She wanted to show me the Saint Salvatore (pronounced "Sal-VAD-ar," like Darth Vadar), but there was a wedding going on. And there were kilts!

Aww, adorable little kilter...

"Stoic Piper"

He's wearing a family tartan, right there. The other tartans are a hired "Flower of Scotland." I know this because a Scottish woman came and sat on the bench next to us. He is actually dressed improperly - his socks should be dark.

A Day for Myself

Today I had a really nice day - and I'm going to leave it right there. I didn't take pictures because I forgot my camera, so there's nothing to see. Using my lack-o'-pictures as inspiration, I'm going to sign off and go write about my day in my journal instead.

Although I really like posting my adventures for you, Internet and assorted communities, to read, I want a few adventures all to myself.

Ceilidh Dancing

I think I might have found a new hobby: ceilidh dancing (pronounced kay-lee). It's a Scottish social event, and these particular ceilidhs are all about traditional dance. Forgive me if I have already talked about this, but it's so much fun, and it's worth mentioning again and again. You don't have to be good at this kind of dance, you just have to keep up.

I love twirling around and knowing exactly where to put my foot; I love feeling in tune with the music and the other people around me.

Do you see this?! I was there! I didn't make it into any of the photos, but I was doing this! 

I will be a dancer one day.

For more photographs, credits, and information, check out http://newscotland.org.uk/. Points if you can spot Cloud Strife wearing a kilt in at least two of the photographs on the site.

Quotidian Life in Scotland

Although I haven't established much of a routine yet since classes have yet to start, I can still show you where I'm living! My living conditions are rather Spartan, but it's rather refreshing. I feel released from an oppressive amount of stuff.

And here are some gratuitous photos of the hike up Arthur's Seat I did a few days ago with another Butler buddy of mine.

On top of the world! Overlooking the Firth of Forth (say that five times fast).

My Butler buddy, Danielle, is in the blue jacket and the cap.

Oh wow

Wow, there is almost too much to post about (even though I haven't been filling every minute of my time with activities from Fresher's Week). Last night I joined my residence flat in pub crawling, and there were quite a few long and awkward conversations, but I got to know some of the people in my hall, or at least recognize them more easily. I still haven't quite gotten the nerve to hang out with a lot of Scottish people yet, and I seem to make a lot of friends with the other Americans, which isn't one of the main goals of being here. Anyway, in one night I amped up the number of pubs I have been to in my life, and I did there exactly what I did in Madrid - I ordered a Coke.

Today, most of my morning was spent planning for how I was going to get to Church. I had an academic meeting at 12 pm, which is right in the middle of my meetings (and it takes a while to walk to Church, let me tell you, and riding the bus isn't any quicker). I skipped the first part of Church, went to the academic meeting and ordered a taxi to take me to Church, and I had a pleasant ride with the taxi man. He was telling me a bit about the Fringe festival here and the people he gets to meet, who are mostly Japanese or Americans, and about famous people he has driven around. The most famous person he taxied, he said, was Sean Connery, and he had sat right in the seat I was sitting in! Just imagine: my rump rested where Sean Connery's rump once rested.

I had a nice time at Church, and afterwards I walked back towards my flat with two American graduates who live relatively near me. They sent me on my merry way down the street, but I took a wrong turn and got a little lost. However, with the help of one of the other Americans from my program who lives in my block of flats, I was able to get home without too much trouble.

The next major event with the ceilidh, which is like a Scottish folk-dance night. Think of square dancing. Now think of Scotland. If you can imagine, combine the two, throw in a flute, an accordion, and some kilts, and you've got a ceilidh. Okay, the steps are a lot different and involve jumping, twirling, and heel-toe, heel-toe kicks, but the principle is the same. Oh, right, and you make a lot of circles and lines. Anyway. I had some good times.

That's all I've really done, but it's been so nice being here in Scotland and hearing the accents and being with these people, if only somewhat by proximity.

P.S. I've also figured out simple things like how to open my door and which keys to use, how to get to the grocery store, how to turn off the heater in the bathroom, and how to use the shower here. Who knew that you had to press a button for water pressure and then turn the nob? Don't know how to successfully change the water temperature, though, so this is still a work in progress. It's all this day-to-day stuff that's hard to adjust to at first.

P.P.S. Although I love Scotland, I think I'm missing Spain. A lot.

Adventures in Scotland: Edinburgh

After two weeks of journeying throughout the United Kingdom with my parents, and after arriving in Edinburgh four days ago, I have finally begun my program! As everyone else arrived, jet-lagged and disgruntled, I was pretty chipper and wanted to go out and take a few walks around the city, all of which I got a little lost on and had to "wing it" (though I got lost on purpose the third walk I took with my orientation roomie and a friend we met during dinner - whoo making friends).

Although I love my parents very dearly, and I am very grateful they took the time to fly out to the UK and to have the patience to deal with me, it was like a breath of fresh air to be on my own again. The evening I first met my parents in Frankfurt, I couldn't stop talking to them, and I was so happy to see them. The following two weeks were filled with sightseeing and traveling by car with them, after which everyone gets a little cranky. We were with each other all day, and although we had some very good conversations, I readily accepted my regained freedom.

Along with settling down into life in Edinburgh, it has a few striking differences to Madrid and America. For the first time in more than three months, my clothes don't stick to me with sweat. No more cold showers at 12:30 a.m. or leaving most of the water on my body to evaporate. No more waiting until the "hot part" of the day has passed before I can start doing errands on a Saturday.

The "downtown" of the city is actually pretty small. There are very few tall buildings, and there are tons of winding streets which are easy to lose yourself in. However, most of these streets go through, so it's not a problem. All in all, I think I'm going to like Edinburgh, a city which is big enough without being overwhelmingly huge.

I'm tired, so there will have to be more tomorrow.

Also: too much SEO makes me fizzle and fall apart and have haunting memories of Germans with keyboards.

Lizzle is in London!

Written yesterday.

I’m in London! And I have successfully managed to convince my parents to stay here an extra day so we can see some of the London tourist hotspots we missed today. After getting up ridiculously early without any alarms, we started our day by taking a red double-decker hop-on/hop-off tour bus. Whoo, breathe after all those modifiers. While on the bus, we passed by the Marble Arch, Grosvenor Place, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben and Parliament, the Eye of London, London Bridge, Tower Bridge, and the Tower of London.

We got off at the Tower of London and toured it for a while. Our tour guide did not spare us the gory details of several of the notable executions – like William Wallace’s death where he was half-hung, drawn and quartered. We skipped the Bloody Tower where the instruments of torture are kept and went on to something much more family-friendly, like the Crown Jewels. The Light of India and the Star of Africa are inconceivably huge – say three-quarters the size of my fist.

After the Tower of London, my father went back to the hotel to make a conference call, and my mother and I proceeded to Buckingham Palace. We took a tour of the Royal Mews, which unfortunately only houses horses, carriages, and cars – no falcons. However, it was worth spending time at the Mews to see the Carriages of Scotland, and Australia, as well as the Coronation Carriage. It is a gigantic carriage, and makes Cinderella’s shimmery, effervescent fairy carriage look like the pumpkin it is. The Coronation Carriage looks like it is the offspring of an Italian Renaissance fountain and a German rococo church. Bathe it all in gold and you have the Carriage. It weighs about four tons, and it takes eight horses to pull it.

I was disappointed with the Mews for a second reason – I only saw three horses, two of which were the rumps as they were led outside to be exercised. There were more than three dozen stalls that could be occupied by horses. I suppose they must all be on holidays.

Buckingham Palace itself was fantastic. The rooms were opulent and gorgeous, and if I were an ambassador to Great Britain, I certainly would be impressed. Everywhere I looked, there was white and gold, and the colors of the rooms were so vibrant. Buckingham Palace trumps the Belgian Royal Palace in terms of grandeur, but I still have tender feelings for the Belgian palace because it is small(er) and charming. I liked Buckingham for the same reason I liked the Belgian palace: it felt modern and like it was used.

Not long after leaving Buckingham, my mother and I ventured to Piccadilly Circus, got something to eat, and then meandered through London back to our hotel.

All in all, a good day. Tomorrow: Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and a museum like the Tate or British Museum.

And thus the Whirligig of Time...

It's happening again. I've come to an end of one thing, and now I am at the beginning of an entirely new adventure. I feel like I am fading from Spain; I have one foot out the door already. Life here is already beginning to feel like a passing fancy as I hurry and rush around trying to get everything set in order for my departure on Thursday. All of a sudden, time seems to be moving too quickly and and too slowly at the same time.

I wanted to say "too quickly and not enough," but that doesn't quite make sense. I must have a German homunculus in my head.

"And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges..."

I think the first photo is the only really good one. The others are passable - however, I do not want to taint this post with too much criticism. That can be saved for another day.

I'm Two for Zero

I can now say that I have been to more police stations abroad than I have been in the United States. Last summer I went to my mother with to the Swiss police station when her purse was stolen; last night I went to a Spanish police station to file a report for my own stolen wallet.

What is up with people stealing things Can’t we all respect each other’s property? Meh, I was being stupid and had been lulled into a false sense of security because I’d had no problems thus far. (And I have less than a week to go!) My own fault, I suppose, for not being vigilant.

I had a microscopic glimpse at the bureaucracy rife within Spain last night. The Metro agent at Sainz de Baranda, where my wallet was stolen, said that I needed to go to Nuevos Ministerios to file a report there. Lucky me, Nuevos Ministerios is only five or so stops from Sainz de Baranda. I got off, looked around for a security agent who told me that the Comisaria was just around the corner, and then knocked on the door of the office. There was one officer left who said that they couldn’t file the report there, and that I had to go to Sol. Great. I had to switch trains, but it wasn’t going to be the end of the world to get there from Nuevos Ministerios.

At Sol, I looked around for the Comisaria, and lucky me, it was closed. I asked the guard if he knew where I could file a report for a stolen wallet in the Metro, and he said Calle Leganitos, which you can get to from Plaza de España. So I went on my disgruntled way to the Plaza.

Note that I had come back from a day of hiking and swimming in a river. I still had my bathing suit and swim shorts on, and I was oily with sunscreen. And my water bottle was low. And I was wearing my ugly orange – but comfortable – Keens. Everything from my orange-clad toes to my sun-burned skin and my pulled-back hair screamed that I wasn’t from around here.

I have some good news – my Spanish was good enough to speak with the security personnel at all of the places I stopped. The hardest was first explaining that “alguien robio mi carjeta” at the beginning, because I knew neither the word “robar” nor “carjeta”. Yes, yes, I am stupid. At the front of the Comisaria there was a guard who told me that I could go to the waiting room and they would send someone out who would speak English with me. 


The overall process wasn't too bad, and it involved me getting to speak to my mother for free about canceling our credit cards (thank you, government of Spain), and about an hour after arriving at the police station, I was walking out and going home and counting down the minutes until I could take a shower.

Old People: They Make Me Pensive

I've been thinking about old people. Magi's grandmother is visiting, and she had to go to the hospital. I don't know why, but I started looking at pictures of old people. I think they're beautiful.

I want to be old one day - after plenty of years of living. Then again, that begs the question of what I am really doing right here. Am I living? I've been in Spain almost three months. My 85-odd days of being here are almost up. What have I done? Have I even been to Casa del Campo? No. The Thyussen-Bornemisza Museum? No. How many times have I been to the Prado or the Reina Sofia? Both just once. Then again, how many times have I been to Sol? I don't know, quite a few. How many times have I been walking around my apartment area, off to the park to the south? Once or twice. How many times have I been to Pio XII Alcampo, Lidl, the LDS Church? A lot.

What have I been doing with my time here? I know the answers - working, and unfortunately, blogging. Trying to get to know my Spanish-speaking ward, even though every time I go I'm almost glued to Magi's side because I hate being alone and not understanding what's going on around me. I haven't even learned how to speak Spanish, shame on me.

This was not meant to be a depressing post; none of my posts are. In fact, last night I went out with two of my co-workers for pizza at a real Italian restaurant just near Sol (and talked with the American-Peruvian-Caribbean waiter and the Italian owner), and then afterwards saw La Latina's street fair. The Spanish certainly know how to throw street festivals...

And now for pictures of old people. Yes, I did take them from Flicker without asking permission.

"Hamal" - Vedats

"Navsari" - CrassCadence

"Untitled" - Anatcefne

"Waiting for the Bus" - Rosquillo

It's interesting how photographs can make any life seem almost Romantic. Or enviable, anyway. Enviable for these people's simplicity, their wisdom, their compassion distilled through suffering. Yes, compassion distilled through suffering, not wisdom.

Beethoven in Plaza Mayor

On Thursday I went to a Beethoven concert in Plaza Mayor sponsored by Madrid's "Veranos en la Villa." The concert started at 10 p.m., and due to transportation issues I arrived at Sol right about the time the concert was supposed to start. The now-familiar street, Calle Mayor, was not as crowded as I expected, and there was not as much light as I remembered from earlier nocturnal excursions. I was alone, which made me glance around a little more warily than I would have had I been walking and chatting with a friend of mine.

The sounds of a symphony greeted me as I turned down the alley that leads to the Plaza, and there was a huge crowd of people standing around barriers, beyond which an even larger crowd was sitting. The symphony itself was in a gigantic box, and from my vantage point near one of the barriers, I could only see two of the violinists' right arms. No matter. The music was beautiful.

They played selections from Beethoven's sixth and seventh symphonies (I believe), and as the music played I saw story-scapes from Fantasia flit through my head: a young pegasus testing out its wings, centaurs celebrating summer, Zeus hurling thunderbolts. Then all of a sudden I was taken aback once again by the tones of his seventh symphony. Whenever I hear it, I inevitably think of The Fall, which is one of my favorite movies, and the images that correspond with that movie.

I was a bit disappointed because I saw the same images from the movie in my head, felt the same things I had felt before (admittedly they are pretty fantastic). But they weren't my own. I would rather I had exercised my creativity and supplied my own - which takes a bit more effort. I can make the paltry excuses that I was tired and didn't have the energy, that I had to keep minimal concentration not to fall over.

Truthfully, I kept getting distracted. In the Plaza's buildings, there were some people who were there that evening and opened their French doors to listen to the music: silhouettes leaned against the balconies or sat in chairs while light lit up the room behind them. I thought of how at that very moment, I was in one of the centres of Europe, that word us Americans say in hushed voices as land of sophistication, of history, of our imagined origins. Were I younger than I am now, all the cells in my body would have thrilled to even think of Beethoven, Plaza Mayor, night, lights, Madrid, all together. Nevertheless the music and the evening was very beautiful, but behind it all was the sordidness that comes with knowing how dirty the city can be, with knowing how the magic can fade if you stay in one place too long.

I have lived long enough that I can't imagine new things when I listen to music I've heard before - or I'm so out of practice with my imagination that I must put forth effort to use it.

Plaza Mayor

Think "Ent"

The horizon has suddenly darkened for the three of us living in the Casa. Let me remind you that I am living with a Latter-Day Saint family, or rather a mother and her daughter (Magi). Magi’s grandmother arrived last weekend for a visit, and all throughout the week they have been seeing the greater Madrid area. Friday was a particularly hot day, and a few minutes after they came home, the grandmother almost fainted because of heat stroke. Doctors and an ambulance came (note: healthcare in Spain is rise with its own levels of bureaucracy, just like everything else) to check on her, and right she is in the hospital. Things are not very good, but they are looking better. She has stabilized but will still need a few more days in the hospital to recover.

Mar de Ajo - Cole Rise

Needless to say, this has had quite a shock on the family I’m living with, and as a natural consequence I begin to think of life and death: how fleeting and how quick life is, how death is around us like a blanket. I don’t think about death as a process, a slow fading-out. I think of death as something that happens in a moment – you’re here and then you’re gone, all at once. No wasting away, because your life is snuffed out in one moment.

On the other side of the argument, we are born just to die. We are always dying from the moment we are born, and we are all entrenched in a march towards the inevitable.

Willow ent - Newline Cinema

As I get older and older, I fear death less and less. I belong to a Church that believes existence extends beyond our limited sphere – both pre-Earth life and after it. Because of the nature of our existence, time also becomes less important; I figure that if I don’t do something now, I will be able to do it later. Despite what it sounds like, I am not advocating laziness, but an existence which takes into consideration a longer lifespan. (Think “ent” from Lord of the Rings. They’re trees which live for ages and ages, and they talk and move and act slowly.) Rather, it is my personal philosophy that we will get multiple chances to do things over and over again, and we may be bad at it the first time – but the joyous news is that we can get better.

In a more cosmological vein, I believe existence extends beyond the confines of what we’re given in these seventy, eighty years here. I believe I will be able to continue learning, growing, and improving in the next life. What I don’t learn here, I will have an opportunity to learn at a later point. Note that I don’t want to wait until later, but I only have so much time and energy here. Additionally, my capacity for thinking and understanding may not allow for learning all I want to know. Case in point: the mind of God. I hope to one day understand everything He understands and think the way He does, but I think that there are more planes of thought involved which I do not have access to at this time.

Hubble Image - Jet in Carina

As a result, I think of time as more circular rather than linear. I’ve thought about this a lot regarding conversations – a conversation should not be something that you have at one time. Rather, you can talk about something, go away, think about it, experience a bit more life, and then come back and talk about the same thing with new ideas or new perspective. (Gasp – this is the reason why we always talk about the same things in Church! And to remind us of what we should be doing.) My philosophy on life is that it’s more circular than linear, and that I will have many opportunities to do the things I love. Now, my task will be to take advantage of the opportunities at the optimum time, instead of letting them pass and missing the boat as I wait for whatever is better “just around the corner.”

I don’t think that there is much to fear from death – or at least I don’t have much to fear from own. Other people’s deaths, especially people I care about, frighten me deeply. I don’t want to be left behind, I don’t want to figure out how to live without them. Concerning my own death, I’m afraid of the pain that will come with it, but I think it will be one of the most interesting experiences of my life. I look forward to reuniting with people and entities, such as my grandparents and my cat, after death, as well as reuniting with people I did not get to meet on earth. It’ll just be another adventure.

This Week’s Bane of My Existence is Not Contact Solution

When I flew to Spain from the United States, I brought a supply of toiletries with me, such as toothpaste, deodorant, and contact solution. I didn’t bother bringing soap and shampoo here because they’re abundantly available, and the toothpaste I restocked a long time ago. However, my supplies of deodorant and contact solution are running low, and on Thursday I went to the Alcampo (better European version of Target) near my work. I easily found a suitable deodorant in the personal hygiene section – I was tempted to buy one of the oddly-shaped Garnier ones – and then resumed my search for contact solution.

I am amused.

Ten minutes later, after scoping all four of the aisles, I had nothing. I thought it ironic that it was easier to find appropriate protection and body-firming lotions rather than contact solution, but people want easy access to their products.

Finally, I approached one of the sales clerks and tentatively asked “¿Vendes tú el solucion de las lentillas?” I didn’t know if I had the right words, and she certainly didn’t understand me. She replied, “No se, no se.”

I shrugged and proceeded to purchase the other treasures of the day. Later that evening, I went to the local farmacia near my Spanish class, but I saw no contact solution. Admittedly I did not ask – I wasn’t sure how asking for something in the farmacia worked. I think you have to go in and ask them for what you want specifically. (I needed some sunscreen anyway, so I asked for that. I know, I know, I should’ve just asked for the contact solution in the best Spanish I could, but it’s hard and scary asking for things in a foreign language.)

Yesterday (Friday), as half my co-workers and I were going to the local Alcampo to pick up some food for lunch, I asked my Spanish co-worker how to say “contact solution” and where you can purchase it. First of all, he said that the correct word is “liquido de lentillas” ("solucion" means either a solution to a problem or a chemical solution) and that the farmacia should have some. He also told me that there was a farmacia at the other end of Alcampo, and he offered to go pick some up with me. I was a little chagrined at that – I felt that I was perfectly capable of asking “¿Vendes tú el liquido de lentillas?” but I also like company, and he made the decision by saying "Let's go!" So we walked over to the farmacia together, and he helped me purchase more contact solution.

It was almost disappointingly simple. As such, I have been deprived of a four- or five-day quest and more material to write about.

However, yesterday the strap broke on one of my favorite walking sandals. I can still wear it, but it looks like I’ll need to get some other comfy sandals pretty soon – which is a feat in Spain, as Magi and I learned earlier this afternoon while perusing some of the shopping malls in downtown Madrid. No Mephistos, Birkenstocks, or Eccos for me today.

I smell an upcoming post about sandals.

(Also today - an over-tanned American tourist asked me and Magi in a loud American voice, "Do you speak English?" My desire to speak with another American overcame my dislike of tourists from my country, and I said yes. She pointed to the awesome pants I was wearing and asked where she could get a pair. We were on the Calle de Goya and spent a few minutes explaining how to get to the Goya Metro station where only a few hours before we had seen the exact same pants I was wearing. 

I suggested getting there via Metro because it is my fifth love, and the woman said she had been in Madrid three days and hadn't used the Metro yet [or found a pair of awesome pants - they're literally everywhere here]. Seriously? Anyway, after we had given her directions and Magi and I were walking away, Magi told me that I'm no longer a tourist because I gave someone directions. Upon reflection, I guess that's true. Yeah, I'm no longer a tourist.)

From whirling-dervish.com. Not quite the pants that I was wearing at the time, but I hope it gives you an idea of the type of pants I like. Also: my pants are not see-through.

Also, the photo of the Garnier deodorant was taken from Primp and Preen from her blog,  http://sheprimpsandpreens.blogspot.com/. She hasn't approved it yet, which I hope she will soon...