Tomorrow, we fly to Rome.
For the complete Spain photo album, please click below.
https://picasaweb.google.com/isaac.ohel/Spain02
Leaving Spain
Tomorrow, we fly to Rome.
For the complete Spain photo album, please click below.
https://picasaweb.google.com/isaac.ohel/Spain02
Circles
I met Yossi in Barcelona, and he was a Sardana dancer. Yossi, one of the best Israeli folk dancers in the Bay Area, was in the Cathedral square, taking part in the Sunday gathering. (Click here for the Wikipedia description of Sardana). While the other dancers in his circle were serious and concentrated, Yossi smiled as he gracefully performed the intricate steps. He was the 'Capitan'. At appropriate times, he shouted out a command, and the circle switched to a new step sequence. Taller than most, with sunglasses swung over his high forehead, he was aware of everything in his surrounding, especially the admiring women. He saw me, I waved, and he nodded.
The band took a break. He was chatting with friends as I approached.
"Hi Yossi," I said, "I have a question"
"Ola" he replied "What's up?"
Not wishing to exclude his friends, I continued with the Spanish, "Your group dances very well. Is it choreographed?"
"No, no!" he answered with a mischievous, slightly arrogant smile, "We are just having fun."
His Spanish sounded strange. I wondered whether I was hearing the Hebrew accent, or maybe he was speaking in Catalan. I didn't have time to probe this further. The band resumed playing, and Yossi entered the circle and joined hands. They raised their arms in unison, and started dancing.
I wandered between the several circles in the large square. I was impressed by a spandex-wearing young group, who danced high on their toes, their muscular calves, evidence of their training. A beret-wearing catalunian standing next to me, explained that these are the current Sardana champions, and this is their practice session for tomorrow's competition. At the command of their tall and pretty Capitan, their bouncy steps transformed into very high hops. The jumping evoked a memory of Kobi, whose dance skill used to be on par with Yossi's. At that time, he was my mentor as I attempted to learn Israeli folk dance.
"Just jump high", he used to say "and you'll be a good dancer."
I walked back to Yossi's group. I noticed that the circle grew larger and the new members were mostly older. Now they seemed content to repeat the same sequence throughout the dance. Several of them were not even on tip-toes.
"You are an Israeli Folk dancer." I heard Kobi say, "You can handle the Sardana"
I stood behind the circle and watched. The steps were similar to the Israeli dance 'She'avtem ma'im', except that the sequence was longer, and more complicated. I started counting the steps, but when I reached ten, I gave up.
"Stop counting and start moving!", Kobi's voice commanded.
I obeyed. I meekly parted the circle between two ladies, who though surprised at the sight of a foreigner joining this nationalistic event, extended their arms with a smile. At the start, I kept my eyes on my neighbors' feet, but soon, my body grasped what my brain could not, and I just let the rhythm move me.
"You've got it", beamed Kobi.
Before I got too tired, the dance ended with a strong stamp of the foot, and a shout of "Viva". Within a blink of the eye, Yossi was standing at my side.
"Nicely done." He said raising his thumb in approval, then moved on, to demonstrate a fancy step to someone else.
On the next tune, the two sweet ladies, my dance partners, called me. I did not hesitate. With Yossi and Kobi present, it was just like the old days. This time, probably as a challenge, Yossi called out several sequence changes. I was able to follow without disrupting the circle too much. When the sequence involved jumping, I remembered "Jump high!", and it worked. A few more songs, and the event terminated. I was proud and elated. The dancers picked their 'El Corte Ingles' shopping bags from the center of the circle and departed. I waved Goodbye to Yossi, who left in a hurry, accompanied by a pretty woman. I didn't get the chance to ask him what was he was doing in Barcelona.
The band took a break. He was chatting with friends as I approached.
"Hi Yossi," I said, "I have a question"
"Ola" he replied "What's up?"
Not wishing to exclude his friends, I continued with the Spanish, "Your group dances very well. Is it choreographed?"
"No, no!" he answered with a mischievous, slightly arrogant smile, "We are just having fun."
His Spanish sounded strange. I wondered whether I was hearing the Hebrew accent, or maybe he was speaking in Catalan. I didn't have time to probe this further. The band resumed playing, and Yossi entered the circle and joined hands. They raised their arms in unison, and started dancing.
I wandered between the several circles in the large square. I was impressed by a spandex-wearing young group, who danced high on their toes, their muscular calves, evidence of their training. A beret-wearing catalunian standing next to me, explained that these are the current Sardana champions, and this is their practice session for tomorrow's competition. At the command of their tall and pretty Capitan, their bouncy steps transformed into very high hops. The jumping evoked a memory of Kobi, whose dance skill used to be on par with Yossi's. At that time, he was my mentor as I attempted to learn Israeli folk dance.
"Just jump high", he used to say "and you'll be a good dancer."
I walked back to Yossi's group. I noticed that the circle grew larger and the new members were mostly older. Now they seemed content to repeat the same sequence throughout the dance. Several of them were not even on tip-toes.
"You are an Israeli Folk dancer." I heard Kobi say, "You can handle the Sardana"
I stood behind the circle and watched. The steps were similar to the Israeli dance 'She'avtem ma'im', except that the sequence was longer, and more complicated. I started counting the steps, but when I reached ten, I gave up.
"Stop counting and start moving!", Kobi's voice commanded.
I obeyed. I meekly parted the circle between two ladies, who though surprised at the sight of a foreigner joining this nationalistic event, extended their arms with a smile. At the start, I kept my eyes on my neighbors' feet, but soon, my body grasped what my brain could not, and I just let the rhythm move me.
"You've got it", beamed Kobi.
Before I got too tired, the dance ended with a strong stamp of the foot, and a shout of "Viva". Within a blink of the eye, Yossi was standing at my side.
"Nicely done." He said raising his thumb in approval, then moved on, to demonstrate a fancy step to someone else.
On the next tune, the two sweet ladies, my dance partners, called me. I did not hesitate. With Yossi and Kobi present, it was just like the old days. This time, probably as a challenge, Yossi called out several sequence changes. I was able to follow without disrupting the circle too much. When the sequence involved jumping, I remembered "Jump high!", and it worked. A few more songs, and the event terminated. I was proud and elated. The dancers picked their 'El Corte Ingles' shopping bags from the center of the circle and departed. I waved Goodbye to Yossi, who left in a hurry, accompanied by a pretty woman. I didn't get the chance to ask him what was he was doing in Barcelona.
Product review 2: Book Vs kindle
I took a kindle on this trip to Europe. I needed several guidebooks to cover the six months of travel, and my obsession for light travel demanded a better solution. This obsession, which may not be common to everyone, tints this review. Note, that I only used the kindle as a travel guidebook, not as a regular reader.
Observations
Plus
Minus
Conclusion
Observations
Plus
- The kindle is much lighter, even after I tear out (gasp), then discard, used pages.
- I can fit a kindle into my pants' cargo pocket. (Though I can't close the flap.)
- Kindle's hyperlinks are an efficient way to provide diverse information.
- Enlarging the font size is a welcome feature. It enables reading, in a dark cathedral.
- Pages are easy to 'bookmark'.
- New books are easily downloaded during travel.
- The kindle opens to the same page it closed.
Minus
- Carrying a kindle is less comfortable than carrying the few pages I tear out of the book, then fold in my shirt pocket.
- Reading maps on the kindle is hard, and sometimes impossible.
- Opening the kindle to a random location is impossibly tedious.
- Opening a 'bookmarked' page is slower than the equivalent action in a book.
- kindle's 'Search' function is primitive and produces duplicate results. A book's index is better.
- If I need only one guidebook on a trip, paper is a clear winner.
- Since I usually require more than one book, I'll keep using the kindle.
Pilgrim
On the date of my Birthday, I completed the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. I must admit, that I did not experience a spiritual release. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I accomplished the 800km journey from Pamplona, in three days, rather than the thirty days it takes most pilgrims. My sins will not be erased.
Nonetheless, the Cathedral here is impressive, and it is interesting and inspiring to watch pilgrims of all ages, as they enter the Cathedral-square. Most of them don't look too bad for wear.
How to tell the tourists from the pilgrims? In this chilly town, the pilgrims are the ones wearing flip-flops.
Nonetheless, the Cathedral here is impressive, and it is interesting and inspiring to watch pilgrims of all ages, as they enter the Cathedral-square. Most of them don't look too bad for wear.
How to tell the tourists from the pilgrims? In this chilly town, the pilgrims are the ones wearing flip-flops.
Hero Vs Bandits 2:1
Round 1: Hero
Hero wins the first round by landing a jab to the head. Detailed description of the round can be found in my blog 'Instant Hero'. http://isaacohel.blogspot.com/2011/05/instant-hero.html
Round 2: Bandits
Hero enters the ring (Plaza Catalunia in Barcelona) slightly dazed from an early morning flight and a bus ride to town. The Hero team stops moving for only a few short moments to consult their coach (Rick Steves). Not finding good advice (for a lunch spot), they descend to the metro station. In the train, I noticed that Adi's backpack is open. Unfortunately, Adi packed all her important skin-care items into a pouch, and put it in the front pocket of her backpack. That pocket was open, and the pouch was gone. Adi was devastated. She cried, she cursed, she called herself all sort of names (some of which I agreed with). With all the pain, and all the shame, we had to admit that the Bandits won this round by a knockout.
The next day, we replaced most of the "irreplaceable" Korean products in 'El Corte Ingles', Spain's incredible department store. However, for days afterward, Adi would remember yet another beloved possession that has gone with the pouch.
Round 3: Hero
The arena (metro station) is packed with spectators. The Bandits are waiting. Hero, wearing a day-pack, tries to board the crowded subway car. His way is blocked by a fat young woman reading the route map which is posted over the door. He senses other passengers crowding behind him. He move right to sidestep the girl; she moves right. He moves left; she moves left. By that time, I realized that this is a set up for one of pickpocket's oldest tricks. I roughly shoved the fat girl out of my way, and climbed inside. The girl, followed by her teammates, calmly walked out of the closing door. The other passengers just shook their head in resignation. Win by points.
Hero wins the first round by landing a jab to the head. Detailed description of the round can be found in my blog 'Instant Hero'. http://isaacohel.blogspot.com/2011/05/instant-hero.html
Round 2: Bandits
Hero enters the ring (Plaza Catalunia in Barcelona) slightly dazed from an early morning flight and a bus ride to town. The Hero team stops moving for only a few short moments to consult their coach (Rick Steves). Not finding good advice (for a lunch spot), they descend to the metro station. In the train, I noticed that Adi's backpack is open. Unfortunately, Adi packed all her important skin-care items into a pouch, and put it in the front pocket of her backpack. That pocket was open, and the pouch was gone. Adi was devastated. She cried, she cursed, she called herself all sort of names (some of which I agreed with). With all the pain, and all the shame, we had to admit that the Bandits won this round by a knockout.
The next day, we replaced most of the "irreplaceable" Korean products in 'El Corte Ingles', Spain's incredible department store. However, for days afterward, Adi would remember yet another beloved possession that has gone with the pouch.
Round 3: Hero
The arena (metro station) is packed with spectators. The Bandits are waiting. Hero, wearing a day-pack, tries to board the crowded subway car. His way is blocked by a fat young woman reading the route map which is posted over the door. He senses other passengers crowding behind him. He move right to sidestep the girl; she moves right. He moves left; she moves left. By that time, I realized that this is a set up for one of pickpocket's oldest tricks. I roughly shoved the fat girl out of my way, and climbed inside. The girl, followed by her teammates, calmly walked out of the closing door. The other passengers just shook their head in resignation. Win by points.
- Rick Steves saves his most emphatic warning about pickpockets, to Barcelona.
- A backpack to a thief is like red cape to a bull.
- Barcelona residents hold their bag, or purse, next to their body, with both arms.
Notes from Sevilla
I like to travel because: 6. Sometimes you learn the weirdest things.
2. A grandfather to two Flamenco dancers, I came to Sevilla to taste this art in the city of its birth. I had to choose among the variety of venues where Flamenco is performed. The big theatrical venues were not presenting at this time, and I decided against "Los Gallos", the highly recommended, but touristy tablao (30 Euro). Instead, I attended a more intimate performance in the patio of "La casa de la memoria", an old house decorated in Jewish and Gypsy motifs (15 Euro). I was spellbound by the passion expressed by the guitar, the singing, and the dance. I wanted more. Away from the city center, I encountered "Pena Torres Macarena" an association devoted to Flamenco (5 Euro). A young man, the first-prize winner of a youth competition, poured his soul in an energetic presentation. The female singer and the guitarist, were also outstanding. The local crowd and me, could not stop their applause. I felt that I was getting closer to the roots of Flamenco, which are described as similar to the street roots of New Orleans Blues. One step further in that direction, brought me to "T de Triana", a bar in our neighborhood (Zero Euros), where I attended several performances. This is a hit and miss affair. Sometime the singer (Israeli) is not so good, or the dancer (Thin and tall African-American) is not so passionate, but with luck, you get a Canadian Flamenco teacher who is just as good and exciting as the local professionals. The crowd, a mix of Sevilla residents and Japanese Flamenco students, is always appreciative.
3. Tucked besides a colorful indoor market, is the Museum of the Inquisition. The complex is situated over the remains of a fort that served as the first operational branch of the Inquisition. The visitor enters a darkened room, walks to a spot on the floor marked with an X, and stands under a bright spotlight. The video screens around the room, project images of solitary men and women. They are dressed in a white hospital-like tunic, and they too stand vulnerable under a bright spotlight. Slowly, their defenseless expression, changes into bewilderment, than apprehension. Their tunic is torn off their body, and the focus turns on one man, who is now stooped and naked. We can sense his fear, which becomes our fear too. Eventually, we see him in a fetal position, slowly tumbling in space. In this shaken, paranoid, state of mind, I entered the museum-proper. The museum is encased in a contemporary structure, whose floor consists of the remains of the original fort. A twisting pathways follows the old walls, through the dimly lit hall, from one display to the next. There are no exhibits of torture in the museum, but the cries of thousands of victims can be heard in the old stones. In this environment, the dry account of the inquisition process becomes highly emotional. The path ends near an opening in the wall overlooking the calm, green, river. The last display, is a numbered list of human rights, and a reminder that honoring these rights is a personal choice.
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