I promise some interesting Bush stories below, so don't just pass this narrative in haste to get at the pictures. The flights were: Reno, Denver, Philadelphia, Madrid, and returned Madrid, Frankfurt, San Francisco, Reno. Reno Denver shocked me! Northern Colorado has some outstanding sandstone canyons, so much so that I thought it was actually Utah. I must go see them in person soon, before I forget them. Denver Philadelphia was most notable by the inflight movie (reputed chick flick about relationships), and the unfortunate regularity that my fellow passenger had in passing a most noticable gas from digestion of surely some questionably edible food. Philadelphia Madrid we shared 11.5 hours of learning what it is like to be a link sausage, each slunk out in our chairs trying to sleep a bit, not saying much to one another. An older couple of Portuguese or Spanish origin sat to my right and the aisle was to my left. This couple had a certain sweetness about them that was refreshing, maybe more so since I couldn't hear what they were saying to each other. They got out the cards and were playing gin-rummy by rules I enjoyed, and they kept score. I'll save the most interesting flight for later, as it fits in better with the story below than here, but will suffice to say that I did manage to enjoy a look at the massive Canadian Northlands on my return flight. It really is a land of lakes and water just as indicated by my portable World Atlas.
Upon arriving in Madrid, Pat Sheridan, Betsy Andrews (NOAA Boulder) and I began our journey. The first adventure in a foreign land is to get lost, or at least stumble around for awhile to find out what to do next. We finally landed at the information booth and asked a question in English about the subway. The person told us exactly where to go. Other times at information booths we carefully tailored a question in Spanish only to have the response be given so rapidly that we couldn't understand it. Ok, at least try to use a foreign language, but if you need directions, ask in your native tongue, for you are likely to get a good answer; otherwise, you will likely be no better off. Anyway, we found the subway connection at the airport, and then tried to figure out how to use the machines that provide subway tickets. Three of them were out of order as verified by Pat S. and I, only other people were making them work, including Betsy. It's all in the order you push the buttons, and if you can read the native language, you would know this. Spanish isn't that hard or foreign to Americans, so we really don't have any excuses. Anyway, not to belabor the point, the subway system was just great throughout our Madrid time, very clean and orderly and also quite extensive in its coverage of the city. We were dropped off at the University of Madrid and settled in our dorms. Betsy and I ended up sharing a bathroom, perhaps as one of the outcomes of having a cross-gender name, Pat.
Madrid, by day, was conference and discussions with people on technical issues, and nights were spent out on the street visiting outdoor cafes, walking all over, getting lost and found, taking in the sites and smells and people. We went out often with our Northern collegue Jeff Brooks from Canada, and ate like the Spaniards eat - dinner no earlier than 9 pm. Each street had so many shops it was a bit of a blur. We found internet cafes and to our dismay, McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC that gave me such an eerie sense of the US (houses McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC houses McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC houses McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC houses McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC houses McDonaldsBurgerKingStaplesKFC now matter where you go) that I stayed very clear of these beasts! At first we were eager to take photos of the statues of men on horses, but after awhile the topic wore thin. If the Spaniards could mount up all these statues they would have quite an army. We saw lively painted squares and an interesting toilet paper palace after we had viewed the ceremonial King's palace. Somehow the Euros have managed to kill all of their bugs, or maybe they just don't live there, as we saw very few of any sort even though the conditions were relatively good for them. The Spaniards in Madrid like their Smoocherias - parks and places where they go to make out. They lay out and get a good hold upon each other and enjoy the primal aspects of each other's company. One night we went out with our Euro friends (2 Germans, Swiss, Swede, Fin) and had it out a bit. The Swede explained why they were against the Euro - their government had negotiated a bad deal where they would be 'taxed' much more than should be their share, or than other Euro countries are taxed, if they were to take it as their official currency. This guy had a good sense of history, and tried to preach to the choir about the great mistakes the US (Bushicans) were making in their imperial conquests. After I mentioned that the proper training of a Coloradoan in my youth included an indoctrination against the Texans the Euros felt comfortable enough to share their own versions of rivalry. The Fins are said to have a Sauna in every house, while the Swedes have one in only every other house. The Fins were conquered in centuries past and were forced to fight wars for their conquerers. Those of my age were not at all fond of the Soviets, couldn't understand why I took Russian in school. The Germans mentioned the Barbarian Bavarians and the fact of displacement in almost every family history. And everyone tried to figure out the 'neutral' Swiss. We found the gay section of Madrid after a policeman did a hilarious pantomine for lack of language trying to warn us off from that section of town. Then we were done with Madrid and the vacation part of the trip took over, Portugal.
The high-speed train delivered us in Seville, south Spain, for a night. We found a hostal with a triple, on the very top floor, shared with the clothesline. Sheets and one pair of boxer shorts greeted us on opening the door of our crib, and the raw edge of the building provided good views to the river and local area. Betsy and I walked to the closed cathedral and enjoyed the narrow streets. Some of the night photos are from this part of the trip. Morning found us on the bus to Tavira, Portugal. We were greeted by a little old lady with remarkably dark hair (maybe not so old, or maybe relaxed by life) who wanted to take us around to get a hotel. We were of course untrusting of her advice so struck out to the information booth in the center of town (1/4 mile walk perhaps). The lady at information spoke English (getting that eerie feeling again), and displayed on the map about 4 choices for hotels. Once we came out, there was that little lady again, this time riding what looks to be a travel bike, perhaps left behind by someone? Anyway, we reasoned that ok, we would go see what she would offer us for rooms. We walked a few steps down the road (Pat S and I) when the lady stopped and pounded on a door. After a lot of yelling and pounding 'LaDonna' came out, and showed us the rooms in her house. It was sort of a bed and breakfast arrangement, hold the breakfast. The rooms were very adequate and we arranged for a double and one single. The house was well built, almost like out of adobe, and had a nice roof top for sitting at night. The furnishings were crisp and genuine, and I found a really good book on an entry table, obviously left behind by a previous traveler. I replaced the book with one bought in town, and took it with me. In town we saw tourists, a castle, the river and its ebbings as the ocean tide came in, good grafitti, a church, a hot bit of classical music at an ornate cathedral, a folk festival with dancing and song, an african vegetarian dinner, a nice dinner on a roof top cafe under the stars, total relaxation, the ocean where I ran for hours to see something new but found only more of the same relaxing beach front, topless and bottomless men and women strolling about, cool evenings, warm days, fish and dogs, a good Aussie harmonica - guitar player, and interesting looking people. Coffee in the morning was small and powerful, cafe e letchay is all you have to say before someone brings you one in exchange for a Euro. Pat S. and I had some good arguments about who said the most stupid things every day and who was the most inconsiderate of the other's air time, the sort of arguments that might arise from extended close quarters and middle aged men. Pat and Betsy paid 'LaDonna' when we left, and I think she was really mad at us, possibly because we didn't pay her more than she asked for the rooms, though we couldn't tell. When we first arrived, 'LaDonna' went to our window and yelled 'Manilla' about 10 times, until a large woman came out from one of the doors below. She asked us in English what we wanted, and 'LaDonna' basically told her and us that if we needed to communicate, Manilla would broker the deal.
We hopped a bus back to the Seville and then a train to the Spanish city of Cordoba for a night before returning to Madrid. Cordoba is interesting as it was held by the Romans, Moroccons, and Spaniards. It seems to have flourished the most after 700 AD when the tolerant Arabs from Morocco were in charge, and this lasted for about 500 years. The city streets were particularly narrow and maze like. Most of the museums and the synagogue were closed by the time we arrived, though we saw plenty in our walking tour of the city. We again had a triple in a hostel, though this one had more amenities (one or two) than the previous one in Seville. It didn't matter, we were'nt in the room very long, with the late dinner on the square and our walking tour. It was amazing that the people actually drive their little Euro cars around these streets. The city had that reverent feel of a bonafide interesting place where untold many had stepped on each cobblestone we ourselves were enjoying in our tour.
Betsy and I sat next to each other on the train from Seville to Cordoba. An elegant lady sat across from us, reading newspapers in about 3 languages. Betsy later remarked that this lady might have been giving her the look of disapproval, as we were a bit on the bohemian side by now. I thought she might be a diplomat or such, though she stayed on the train at Cordoba. After our night in Cordoba, we took the train back to Madrid, and the subway to the airport. After a farewell lunch we said our goodby's (Pat S. home, Betsy on to Paris, me to Frankfurt). Who should I meet but the elegant lady. She said, hey I recognize you from the other day. I asked her if she was from Texas and she said yes. She and I had adjacent seats on the plane to Frankfurt, and we got to talking. She now lives in Ho Chi Min City, Vietnam, where her husband is in the oil and gas industry. Her father had been with a civilian company that built bases in Europe, especially the one in Spain, and she had spent some years there in her youth. She was in Madrid to see her son off into the language school, and was going to Frankfurt to look over her daughter that had been commissioned while in Ho City to come to Frankie and model for an Italian sports car company during the 2003 car show. She gave me her cell phone number and email address for later conversations. I roundaboutly brought up the topic of politics to this urbane literate lady with the anticipation of regretting it, as she was from Houston originally. Turns out she was very opposed to the war in Iraq for very sound reasons. Most interestingly, she had gone to 8th or 9th grade with W ( G Bush junior, also previously known as shrub, but now known as weed). She said he was interested in politics back then, and was already unbearably arrogant. She said, though I don't know if I believe it, that not all Texans are a monolithic block that viscerally supports the maniacally arrogant, corrupt president. I did have a sense of relief. She said Laura Bush is a fanatic crusader now because she ran over someone, and I don't remember if she said anything about her state of drunkeness.
I met my friend Otmar at the airport and rode along the Autobahn to Guttenberg University (from the inventor of the printing press, a place also known as the University of Mainz). By the way, the Frankfurt airport is a large airport with underground connections to parking and trains. I stayed at a guest house (dormitory) at the U. By day I did work on my photoacoustic instrument I had sold the group at the Max Planck Institute for Chemistry some years ago, and by night walked the streets. Several streets gave me a comfortable feeling; Martin Luther King drive, John F. Kennedy Drive, and Ben Franklin Strasse. I ran over the Rhine river one night by way of the same train bridge I would be on several days later when returning to the airport. I met a man at the cafeteria that now sells American machinery in Germany, but had previously sold German machinery in Florida. We had a nice discussion. His daughter was registering for med school at the U. He said the French were most ahead in their efforts to clean up the diesel engines. I gave a talk at the institute, and was awarded with a rapping of the knuckles on the tables by the attendees afterwards rather than the common applause. I learned a lot about the institute in my short visit and also about the nature of the TTL control of signals. Once I figured out how to get coffee from the machines (operated by a credit card of sorts) my comfort level rose quickly. Otmar and I shared two nice dinners and discussed many things, as he had done a grad degree at the Univ. of Missouri.
Now 1 week back in the US, I marvel at how much this trip has done for me. My vision has even improved, as I'm not so stressed that my eyeballs bulge out anymore (see how long that lasts). I'm not even using reading glasses anymore. The rest of the world is not at all happy with Bush except for the few rulers he has bought off. And even I am getting tired of hearing me waste so much energy on the weed. Until next time...