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Thursday, January 23, 2003 Must ignore the news. Must ignore the news. Want to enjoy this beautiful day, not piss it away getting upset and distracted over bullshit I can't control. And it is a beautiful day. Sky empty of clouds, brilliant sunlight raining down. Temperature well up into the 50s, maybe even flirting with 60. (Yesterday I checked the weather for Montpelier, VT -- at 2 p.m. EST the temperature there was 1 F.(!!!) I'msogladI'mhereI'msogladI'mhere.) Got up at a decent hour, whatever that expression means, dragged my sorry butt to the gym. For whatever reason -- maybe because I'm not sitting in Spanish class every day -- I'm having a bit more trouble picking up Spanish, at least out on the street where it gets spoken by real people, not by newscasters or language instructors. I need lots more Spaniards in my life so that I'm hearing and stumbling my way through the real item on a regular basis. (Note to Universe: make it so, please.) Have been doing research re: taking a trip to Rome/Florence at the end of February. Thought I had it pretty well worked out. HAH!! Went to a travel agency, found out I barely know my ass from a large, professionally-excavated hole in the ground. Came home from the agency with a bunch of reference magazines and catalogues that the woman kindly dumped on me (sending me off with the admonition to read them "tranquilamente" at home). Which I've done. Tranquilamente. I now have a slightly better idea of what I may be doing, or at least where I'll be staying. Having grown up in a family where cheapo-cheapo was the general rule when it came to spending money in big (and small) ticket ways, it's interesting to watch me learning to relax around that, do it so it's more enjoyable and easier on the spirit. An additional wrinkle: I have a real aversion to being and/or appearing like a tourist. Which could be a source of problems in a situation where I actually am, you know, a tourist. One of those people who stays in a hotel, doesn't speak the language, blahblahblah. Not that there's anything wrong with being a tourist, he reminded himself. Tourists widen their horizons, exposing themselves (so to speak) to other cultures, other ways of life and potentially to other ways of being, to other perspectives. Tourism brings $$$$$ to places and people that might otherwise not have much $$$$$. There are loads of positive aspects, tangible and intangible, to tourism and tourists. Still, I prefer not to fall quite so obviously and visibly into that category. This will be my first time in Italy, a place I've wanted to explore for decades. Five days in Rome, four in Florence. Just the tip of the iceberg, in terms of the kind of roaming around I'd like to do on that particular footwear-shaped land mass. Centuries and centuries (and centuries) of history. A language that sounds like singing to my little ears. And then there's the food. (Brief pause to salivate appreciatively.) I've enjoyed the Italians I've met here -- fun to hang out with, interesting to observe, with a fine, active sense of humor. And the women (like Spanish women) are lovely -- intelligent, interesting, a pleasure to be around. This will be an interesting jaunt. And speaking of salivating appreciatively (I refer to food with that intro, not women), one of the things I enjoy doing here in Madrid is going out to lunch. To begin with, I love being cooked for. I mean, seriously, I do. I am so genuinely, deeply, grovellingly appreciative when someone prepares a meal for me. And Spanish food is so much fun, with such rich tradition. This city is lousy with restaurants, both big and small, and bars/taverns which prepare menú del día lunches -- two course affairs (three if you count dessert) with anywhere from three to ten or more options for each course, including bread, something to drink and dessert/café. The price generally ranges from 6.50 to 8.50 (euros), the quality of the food is usually good to excellent. I go out, someone brings me a delicious, nicely prepared meal, I get to people-watch and listen in on the chatter, both favorite activities of mine, and even if I leave a generous tip, I still get away having laid out 8 or 9 euros, feeling satisfied and happy. For the money, a steal. Twice in the last month when it came to the end of the meal, I discovered that an item had been left out of the bill – an extra bottle of water, an extra something to eat. Both times I've brought it to the attention of the wait staff, and the appreciation and good will that's resulted has been so much fun. It's almost as if they simply can't believe someone was honest (or, er, dim?) enough to remind them they need to charge more. They're great people, the Spaniards. Quirky, with their own goofy eccentricities, like every other nationality on this planet of ours. And great people. ******************** By the way, for any who might enjoy further musings about food/food prep. blended very nicely with reflections of a more personal nature, take a look at Struggle In A Bungalow Kitchen, a blog I have come to appreciate more and more with continued reading. rws 12:15 PM [+]
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