Fire in the night

Last night at about 4 a.m. we were awoken by the sound of sirens much closer than we were used to (you always hear sirens in the background when you live in a city). Lifting up our persiana curtains, we could see two fire trucks parked on the street below our window, and firefighters milling about. The thing was, there was no fire to be seen. They were investigating a garage door at a building across the street with black soot marks on it, but we never saw any smoke. After watching them for a few minutes and observing nothing more exciting than our nightrobed neighbors poking their heads out their windows, we went back to bed.

Even though nothing happened, it is a little unnerving to think about a fire when you're live in a high-rise.

NIE and libraries

The continuation of our immigration bureaucratic saga is a rather unimpressive denouement. Surprisingly easy, compared to what we ran up against earlier (which I described in "Evil General Pardiñas" and "More lines in Madrid"). We had our appointment on the 20th back at the Oficina de extranjeros at Plaza Campillo del Mundo. We arrived for our appointment 30 minutes early and were called back immediately after taking a number. We were attended to by the youngest clerk in the room, and she was professional and efficient. When I pointed out two areas of the application I hadn't known how to fill out, she said, "Don't worry. The information is right here in your acceptance letter."

A. was excused to run out and make copies of the visa and entry stamp pages of our passports. I sat quietly as the woman typed our information into her computer until her co-worker piped up to make small talk with me about my position. When it came to checking my acceptance letter against my passport, my clerk asked why my last name didn't match. I explained that I hadn't updated my passport from my maiden name and showed her our apostilled marriage license. Without missing a beat, she made a note in my application to that effect, made a couple of stamps and before we knew it, she was printing out receipts.

What was most revealing about the experience was how the front-room secretary who had given us a hassle the last time we were there interacted with the workers in our room. She came in once every few minutes to ask if someone from such-and-such country could do such-and-such with their passport/visa/whatever. She visibly relished the chance to be given permission to turn someone away or say no. Talk about helpful.

As our cases were wrapped up in brown paper and filed away, our clerk instructed us to pick up our cards at our favorite police station--General Pardiñas--in a month's time. I worriedly asked if we would have to wait in line again, but she said we would only have to show our receipts at the door and supposedly we will be let right in. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

The first thing I set about doing now that I had an NIE (printed on our receipts) was apply for a public library card. Only they didn't care to see my NIE; my passport was sufficient. And to think I'd been missing out on the library all this time! So far we haven't tried to open a resident bank account, but I hope they will accept these receipts if we do try before we get our official "green card" is processed.

As I reflect on the process, yes, it is bureaucratic and frustrating, what with all the physical waiting in line. But having gone through the processing of A's permanent residency and miscellaneous related applications back with U.S. Customs and Immigration, I think I prefer Spain's red tape. Sure, there are no night-long lines to speak of in the U.S. But there is a virtual line that is just as cruel and arbitrary, but even longer, slower, more expensive and laden with forms.

La noche en lluvia

Strange Fruit's The Field performance is at least available as online video

I so looking forward to participate in Madrid's Noche en Blanco this past weekend, to see some of the more than 175 musical and other performances making up what was billed as an all-night cultural extravaganza. Unfortunately, the whole endeavor failed, in my opinion, due to an unseasonal, unusually strong rainstorm and overcrowding. A. and I got up to the Santiago Bernabéu stadium around 9 p.m. Saturday hoping to see "pole" dancers from the Sydney-based company Strange Fruit, but was canceled due to rain.

We took the (very packed) metro back to the Paseo del Prado area but by then it was pouring. At least we had brought ponchos. Most of the other outdoor acts were cut short or canceled, meaning we missed the tightrope-walking "Les Etoiles" among many other interesting acts. A disappointing night for us and many other madrileños (some of whom waited more than 2 hours to enter indoor museum exhibits). More problems are enumerated in the Madrid press articles here and here. Hopefully the organizers will be able to make some precautionary weather-related adjustments for next year.

My fall fashion fetish

Classical beauty.

This will probably sound facetious, but I have been obsessed with fashion this past week. First of all, I have had the (beautiful) song from new Corte Inglés commercials for their "Entra en la magia de la moda" campaign for their fall '07 women's collection stuck in my head. You can watch the spot here.

I searched and searched for the song's lyrics using my mad-awesome detective skills (unfortunately my ear for sung French is not very good, so it took some time) and finally found it: The artist is Jane Birkin and the song, "Baby Alone in Babylone," (the version is from Birkin's live Arabesque album, NOT the earlier album of the same name).

Secondly, Spanish news shows have been covering the Pasarela Cibeles week obsessively, and I happened to see a brief shot of some chiffon concoctions that completely captivated me. After some more careful online detective work, I found that they were designed by Spanish bridal designer Elio Berhanyer. I will let the dresses speak for themselves:

Even better, treat yourself to the first 3 minutes (at least) of this video of the parade. What an elegant presentation, with the divine live flamenco ensemble behind the models, fronted by Spanish soprano Paloma Soria. I sure hope these styles get trickled down into affordable clothing stores in the coming season(s). I would just die to have one (or several) dresses like these in my closet.

Gernika--70 years later

We began our last day in Basque Country by checking out of our lovely casa rural and thanking our hosts, and then walking all the way down the mountain for breakfast. I was better able to appreciate the view of the river and the surrounding meadows on the way downhill.

Our destination that morning was Gernika, a small town accessible by a bus that leaves Bilbao every half hour. Historically, it was the seat of Basque government, but it entered popular consciousness when Franco (with Hitler and Mussolini in cahoots) bombed the civilian population there in 1937. The incident inspired Picasso to paint his famous Guernica, which didn't enter Spain for more than 40 years until Franco's despotic rule was over.

We learned a lot about the history of the painting itself at a special exhibit (related to the 70th anniversary) at the Museo de la Paz in Gernika. We watched at least an hour of an art history documentary related to the painting and its politics. Of course, the painting itself remains safe at the Reina Sofia museum in Madrid. Read up on what this piece of art has gone through and you'll understand why it's not likely to be transported any time soon.

I love the Peace Museum in Gernika. The permanent museum space is dedicated half to the bombing of Gernika and half to the process of peacemaking, with reconciliation between survivors of the bombing and descendents of the German fighter pilots responsible for the deaths as an example. Gernika stands as such a powerful, universal symbol against totalitarian violence, due largely to Picasso's influence, and yet it was also a concrete experience for Basques who lived through the Spanish Civil War. I picked up an informative map of the town that indicates which few buildings survived the bombing unscathed (perhaps 20 percent of the town) and which have had to be totally reconstructed.

I was sobered to read a plaque stating the estimated civilian loss of life in Dresden, Germany (at 30,000) when experts place the Gernika numbers at around 250. I shall have to visit historical sites in Dresden when I visit Germany. Despite all the good intention of the Peace Museum, I get angry and frustrated to think of the genocide and injustice that continues today in other lands. But I won't drift into my international politics now, since the focus here is on a war that is tucked safely into Spain's past.

Our next stop was the Casa de Juntas, where a Basque parliament met historically (the autonomous government currently meets in Vitoria-Gasteiz). I proudly spoke my limited Basque with one of the grounds curators as A. tried to capture the grandeur of the stained glass ceiling through photography. Outside the building is the famous Oak of Gernika, or at least part of the 300-year-old trunk of the previous tree, beside which a new tree grows.

We returned to Bilbao and needed to eat something, but because of the hour, the only thing we could find was an American-Western-themed grill called "Boys" with John Wayne photos on one wall and Latino music videos blaring on another. The meal wasn't bad, but it certainly lacked Basque authenticity. The best part of it was our dessert: the great Alacant brand of ice cream.

Later, we enjoyed wandering through the old casco viejo of the city and observing everyday Bilbao citizens (and their pet dogs) going about. Bilbao would be a very nice place to live, we concluded. We reflected on how kind the Basque people had been to us during our travels (from metro behavior to store clerks). Not to demean madrileños or any other Spaniards, but the Basques are so nice. Eskerrik asko.

We departed from the main train station, with its awesome stained glass window, weary from carrying our packs around all day (remember: no consignas in Basque Country). I can't say that I slept well on the train ride home, since there weren't any couchettes. But over the next two days I had ample time to rest at home as A. took care of me, and I soon recovered from whatever was ailing me.

We hope we can return to Basque country in the future months. If you have any suggestions for us for things we should do or see or if you know someone who lives there that we could meet up with, we'd be happy to hear from you.

Inside the Bilbao train station

Bilbao/Bilbo (Baggins?)

I woke up in San Sebastián feeling sore but I passed it off as stemming from the walking and sun from the day before. But after a serpentine hour-long bus trip to Bilbao, I lost my cookies. I don't know if I picked up a bug somewhere or ate something off, but I am pretty sure I didn't contract meningitis or any other serious disease. Still, I felt weak and sick to my stomach enough that it put a damper on Bilbao, or Bilbo, as it is called in Basque. (Speaking of good food under other circumstances, though, there's an excellent bakery inside a gourmet grocery store called Don Serapio, which is at Calle Sancho el Sabio 22, near the bus station in San Sebastián).

We had reserved a double room for 35€ at an agroturismo casa rural in Bilbao, curious about how these accommodations would be compared to the windowless hostel rooms we had been paying 40€ for. When we called the house managers, they assured us we would have nearby public transportation, since they were only 1 km away from a metro stop. What they neglected to mention is that it was a kilometer straight uphill.
Now, the accommodations were lovely, and the views remarkable (see picture above), but I was not in the best shape to be chugging up the mountain with my backpack. We took a few wrong turns on the way up, which complicated matters, so I was very grateful to see our quaint room. I would recommend the casa rural experience to everyone. Obviously it's easier if you have your own car to get around, but it is still possible to stay in a casa rural in various Spanish provinces that is located within a metropolitan zone that has fairly good public transportation. In our case, we found that a bus to central Bilbao passed by within a block of the house.

After a quick shower (with the most reliable heated water I've experienced yet in Spain, my apartment included), we were off to the city. Our first stop was the Museo Vasco, which has many ethnographic and archaeological exhibits pertaining to Basque culture and history. There was a lot to digest, but some of the lessons we took home had to do with traditional Basque sports, religion, and fishing techniques.

We were also lucky to catch a special 70th anniversary exhibit on Gernika. It included historical film footage of the bombing and its aftermath and a tapestry version of Picasso's Guernica. Next we checked out the Guggenheim, with all its quirky architecture and modern art...I recommend the documentary Sketches of Frank Gehry if you have the time. Still, this museum is getting more and more expensive, which concerns me.

I have to admit I repented many times for having brought an old edition of my guidebook, LP. It was outdated on many basic points for Bilbao, understandable considering the ever-growing city that it is. It's my fault for not buying at least the guide with 2006-current info. Additionally, one of the city tourist information offices had moved from the address we had and the other was closed when we got there. Luckily, we were able to call a hotline and get information on transportation options to Gernika for the following day.

Souvenirs from the city:

• Kukuxumusu postcards depicting Basque culture
• small flag of Euskal Herria
• t-shirt with four ancient Basque runes
• wooden box with Basque symbol of the four elements
• glass with Guggenheim sketch design
  

San Sebastián--sculpture and sea

The RENFE train ride from Barcelona was infinitely better than our bus experience. For an overnight ride just as long as that between Madrid and Barcelona, the difference between being able to lay down (in a couchette, or litera, as they are called) and being upright is amazing.

San Sebastián (or Donostia, as it's known in Basque) is one of my all-time favorite destinations in Spain. I was especially looking forward to visiting the Basque Country (Euskal Herria in Basque) after having taken a beginning course in the Basque language--Euskara--this past summer. Bai, bai. (Even Viggo Mortensen has learned to speak a little, to the delight of the opening night audience at the San Sebastián film festival...too bad we aren't there now to enjoy it.

Unfortunately, the Basque Country is quite well known for a small group of political extremists and even some incidences of terrorism. This image makes many Spaniards and others afraid to visit the area or to reach out to Basques. My experience, though, is that the people and the country are placid and welcoming. I have never felt unsafe there; in fact, after being anxious the whole two days in Barcelona that I would be a pickpocket target (having had my backpack stolen last time I was there) it was a relief to feel genuinely safe on the streets here in this friendly beach town. [UPDATE: I highly recommend you read this post, written by friends of mine who are temporarily based in Spain who are also responsible for first introducing me to the Basque Country. They explain more about the Basques' history and culture.]

For some reason (probably related more to fear than actual threat), the luggage lockers at all public transportation facilities had been placed out of commission a few months back, in San Sebastián train and bus stations and in Bilbao as well. The security risk could be adequately resolved with X-ray equipment and guards (as in Barcelona's Estació Sants). At any rate, our mobility was severely hampered by this development. We are strong proponents of storing your backpack away during the day while you travel to different sites--good for your back health and good for helping you blend in.

Our first stop...after finding a hostel to drop off our backpacks and eating breakfast by where the sea meets the river...was the Chillida-Leku museum, a leisurely outdoor installation of sculptures by the Basque artist Eduardo Chillida. It's 10 minutes outside the city, but easily accessible by the G2 bus. We took the bus back to the Concha beach, walking past sunbathers to the famous Chillida sculpture El Peine del Viento (Wind Comb), which he installed on an outcrop of rocks by the sea. The artwork's 30th anniversary was celebrated this past month.

It's a piece best appreciated on stormy days when the wind and waves get going, producing a musical howl. On this visit, it was cloudless but still photo-worthy. We walked from there several kilometers along the beach to another outdoor sculpture, this one by Jorge Oteiza. The walk was invigorating and the views of the bay spectacular. On our way, we encountered a blue Serveta scooter. Later, we visited three churches, all very nice. Unfortunately, my favorite museum, San Telmo, is closed for repairs. We did catch a great Gargallo temporary exhibit at the Kursaal performance hall though. His homage to Chagall:

That night we went out for pintxos (as tapas are known in Basque country) in the old part (parte vieja or alde zaharra) of the city. The first stop, Bar Aralar, was one I had read about in my guidebook. It turned out to be yummy but very expensive. Our second stop was a nondescript marisquería where we had mejillones tigres (mussels in marinara sauce) and fried calamari. The third place was by far our favorite, not for the fanciness of the food, but because the proprietress was so inviting. It's a place called Bar Narrica, located on Calle Narrica, and it's known for its sandwiches. If it hadn't been closed for vacations, Casa Alcalde would certainly have been worth a visit for its cuisine and outgoing chef.

All in all, San Sebastián was a relaxing and rejuvenating stop on the road, and I would recommend any traveler to Spain stop there.

Souvenirs from the city:

• 6 Chillida prints
  

Barcelona (with Spanish, Catalán and Swedish music)

Last week, we got back from a trip to Barcelona and Basque country--fabulous parts of Spain if you ever have to opportunity to travel there. Here's a recap of our experiences:

To begin with, we would strongly warn against taking a cheap long bus ride if you are taller than 5 feet 8 inches. It is a false economy! After a tortuous overnight 7-hour ride from Madrid to Barcelona spent with constant pressue against our knees, we decided we should have taken the train or paid more for the next grade of bus. Measuring in at 6 feet 3 inches, A. had it worse than me, but I (5 feet 11 inches) still felt too cramped to be comfortable.

That, and the two drunk and talkative men on the bus made for a mostly sleepless night. We happily got off at the Estació Sants (one stop earlier than the main bus depot at Estació Nord). From this clean train and bus station, we bought two two-day metro abonos and were emerging at the Liceu stop on the famous Rambla street at around 8 a.m. Spending just 4€ at the bustling Mercat La Boquería, we had ourselves a delicious breakfast of fruit, bread and cheese to start off the day. We ate it in the pleasant Plaça Reial, where, we later learned, Antoni Gaudí designed the lamp posts.We kicked off our sightseeing for the day at the Sagrada Familia cathedral, and boy is it worth getting there as soon as it opens before the place is overrun with group tours! The less people, the more peacefully you can enjoy the innovative edifice. It is certainly worth climbing or taking an elevator to the top of a tower (word to the wise: there are at least two, and the one on the Nativity façade side was clear of lines at 10 a.m. even as the other one had a line about 100 people deep and growing). From up top, you can enjoy views of the city, the current construction efforts and then the dizzying descent done narrow spiral stairs.

Will the Sagrada Familia ever be finished? Hopefully some day it will, and I will be able to say that I contributed through my admission ticket. I learned more on this trip about the building history than I had on my first visit to Barcelona, thanks very much to the worthy documentary video in the museum in the basement of the Sagrada Familia (shown in Spanish and English on a rotating basis). Also, I learned tons about this and other Gaudí works at the Espai Gaudí in La Pedrera (which we visited the following day).

Our next stop was the Museu Picasso, and it was crowded, but still a worthwhile spot. Nearby, we encountered the Museu de la Xocolata. We figured it was a better investment to patronize their café rather than pay tickets to see the chocolate sculptures. Money well spent. I consider their thick hot chocolate the best in all of Spain and recommend sampling it as an imperative part of any Barcelona itinerary. We ended up buying a package of the cocoa to make at home.

After walking around a while, A. stated adamantly that we were mistaken in choosing Madrid as our home--since Barcelona has a far cooler vibe. I maintain that he still hasn't seen enough of Madrid to judge properly, but I admit, Barcelona is a very cool city. As a case in point, we found in Barcelona our first Serveta and several awesome Vespas (see pix). We are vintage scooter aficionados, but until we can afford to actually collect them, we have begun collecting photos of them from our travels. (In Spain, the normal Italian Vespa and Lambretta brands were manufactured as MotoVespa and Serveta).

Walking down the street St. Jaume in Barri Goti, we were approached by a young Spanish tout about a concert that night. Despite his terrible English and our reluctance to trust activities targeted at tourists, we went to the Palau de la Música Catalana to check it out. We had wanted to visit this modernist jewel anyways, and since the cost of a guided building tour was 8€, we felt it was worth paying 12€ for the cheapest tickets to the Spanish guitar concert that night.

After a siesta and shower at our pension, we put on our most respectable clothes and returned for the 9 p.m. concert (I had packed a dress but I had only my bulky black hiking shoes to go with them...not pretty). It turned out to be a great experience--both musically and visually stimulating. We were treated to a performance of excerpts from "Concierto de Aranjuez" by Joaquín Rodrigo, "Recuerdos de La Alhambra," and other Spanish guitar classics by maestro Manuel González. It was a real treat. Besides his expert execution of the music, we enjoyed the gorgeous carousel-like music hall, decorated with colorful mosaics and this incredible art nouveau stained glass ceiling. A truly beautiful night.On our second day in Barcelona, we went to watch local Catalanes dance the circular sardana dance. For it, they gather in the plaza by the cathedral daily and are accompanied by a wind band. Most dancers wear espadrille shoes; the steps aren't fancy but it was still fun to watch the young and old Barcelonans dancing side by side.

We picnicked croissants in Parc Güell, a fantastic park constructed by Gaudí and now a great place to spend the afternoon. The park was initially supposed to be a private residential and commercial area for a few privileged families, but it was never finished. I'm glad the project fell through in the end, because now the public can enjoy this whimsical area. My favorite part is the snaking mosaicked bench (see picture below).

Finally, we went to two houses by Gaudí: Casa Battlló and La Pedrera. Unfortunately, we could not afford the entry fee to the interesting-looking Casa Battlló; 16€ each was much too hefty for our budget. Luckily, we more than got our money's worth at La Pedrera. For a reduced student price of 4.50€ each, we toured two floors and the roof of this amazing building, all the while with an informative audioguide (included in the price).

The first floor is outfitted like a residence of the 1920s, including some ergonomic furniture designed by Gaudí. There's an art store there devoted totally to art nouveau--I would buy every book, scarf and poster in it if I could. Loved it. The second floor is the Espai Gaudí, a very well designed multimedia exhibit that goes over all of Gaudí's major works with video of the interiors of even Casa Battlló (take that, moneymongers!) and of at least 10 lesser-visited buildings. Finally, the roof has fantastic sculptures on it that remind me of Roman soldiers.

Our final find in Barcelona were xocolate-covered xurros at a small xurrería at Calle Banys Nous 7. We ate them as we ambled back down La Rambla, passing the ever varying human sculptures one last time before getting on our overnight train to San Sebastián.

I just have to mention a fun musical group that totally captures the spirit of Barcelona: they are called I'm From Barcelona and they are actually...not. They are Swedish and there are 29 of them. Listen here at NPR.

Souvenirs from the city:

• glass with Picasso toro design
• postcards of vintage Spanish adverts
  
• handpainted mosaic box
• magnet of Parc Güell's emblematic dragon
• poster of Las Ramblas

Skype great for toll-free calls from overseas

After burning though all the minutes on my latest international calling card, I discovered the marvelous fact that you can use Skype to call toll-free numbers in the US, UK, France and Poland for free! I already love the service because of how it helps me keep in touch (affordably) with friends and family back home, but this latest discovery sweetens the deal. Here are the prefixes Skype currently supports for free for all users:

• France: +33 800, +33 805, +33 809
• Poland: +48 800
• UK: +44 500, +44 800, +44 808
• USA: +1 800, +1 866, +1 877, +1 888

This greatly simplifies matters, because otherwise if you are outside the US and need to call a customer service hotline (say for banking or making warranty claims, as is the case for me), you have to go through the laborious process of finding out their non-toll-free landline number and then paying to make the call. I'm glad I won't have to waste extra time and money using my calling card anymore. Yet another reason to love VOIP. I'm still not smiling about being on hold, though.

Concussion junction

Tuesday we planned to go to Getafe in the morning and see some sights in Madrid later. We were on our way to catch the interurbano bus that has a stop off the highway, walking at a brisk clip, when I ran smack-dab into a concrete pedestrian walkway and hit the top of my head. Very hard. Maybe it had something to do with avoiding the bright sun. For the first few seconds I was still insisting we continue on our journey. I think A. was crying more than me at first. But then the pain caught up with me and I realized I would listen to A. and go home.

He put prepared some ice for me and I watched Spanish Wheel of Fortune for about an hour. I fared all right on the word puzzles. A. quizzed me periodically about my address and eventually felt confident I wasn't suffering memory loss or other symptoms of a more serious injury. My noggin was awfully tender but it was actually my left index-finger joint that really bothered me (must have hit it on the ground when I fell). I couldn't type comforably for the past two days because it. But the bump on my head has gone down at least.

It's time's like these I wish I weren't tall and easily distracted.

Holy Toledo!

Toledo is a lovely city where medeival Christians, Jews, and Muslims lived in harmony for many years and we are the benficiaries of their shared history. It's also the home of El Greco. A. and I set out to visit it this Saturday.

We took a direct one-hour bus from Madrid at 4.40€ per person each way, arriving at 1 p.m. Our first stop after climbing the hill from the bus depot was the well preserved Puerta del Sol (see picture). We climbed some more and seemingly having arrived at the summit of Toledo, stopped to catch our breath at the Plaza of Zocodóver, anciently a Muslim marketplace, and currently the center of town and tourist activity.

I was anxious to show A. the newly built Army Museum, integrated into the city's Alcázar fortress, but unfortunately the construction hasn't finished. So we went to what is probably the main attraction of the town, the Iglesia de Santo Tomé, which houses El Greco's Burial of Count Orgaz. Afterward, A. breathed, "I don't need to see anything else after that." (By way of trivia, Toledo is the setting for an excellent Spanish film that speaks against domestic violence, Te Doy Mis Ojos. The main protagonist plays a guard at Santo Tomé.)

Next, we decided to hit the Jewish quarter, which is my perennial favorite bunch of city monuments. We meandered through the simulated medieval marketplace, with its Sephardic music, and then entered the Sinagoga del Tránsito. This is a gorgeously restored synagogue with intricate Hebrew and Arabic carving on the walls.

You enter the Museo Sefardí directly from the synagogue, where there are many informative exhibits about Jews in Spain. My favorite part is the garden with gravestones and translations of the inscriptions. The other Toledan synagogue is the Sinagoga María la Blanca (see picture). It is such a serene and transcendent experience to stand among its white columns (just ignore the garish Christian retablo added to the front).

We planned to see the El Greco House-Museum next but it is currently closed for refurbishing through the end of 2007 (another trip, perhaps). We went to the nearby Victorio Macho museum, but it only has a handful of El Grecos on display temporarily during the closure. I was particularly disappointed to not see more of my favorite "caballero" portraits. They are so visceral in real life!

We got a little lost through side streets searching for the Cristo de la Luz Mosque, only to find it right next to the Puerta del Sol by which we had entered. It is undergoing archaeological excavations right now but is open to the public. By the way, the original name was not Christian, but it was changed when the Christians kicked out its former worshipers to transform the edifice into a church. Unfortunately, the second mosque in the city is not open Saturdays.

I dissuaded A. from going into the cathedral, telling him he'd see plenty more (I am not a big fan of cathedrals). But we did poke our heads inside the cloisters area to watch a very frou-frou wedding party (everyone arrived in Audis, BMWs and Givenchy eveningwear). This was only the first wedding we would run into that afternoon.

In our search for the misnamed Plaza Mayor, we encountered a little gem we had been searching for: the Pozo Amargo. According to Toledan legend, the bitter well got its name from a young Jewish woman who supposedly cried out all her tears there over her father's murder of her Christian lover. It is a few meters down a very narrow street that cars still muster the guts to drive through.

From there we followed the stiletto heels to another wedding in another church, this time with a choir! When we were done spying on them, we walked around that area and bumped into the Toledo School of Translators. I would totally go there for my master's (if my language pair were Spanish and Arabic or Hebrew)!

We went in search for a souvenir box (I collect boxes) and found even the smallest gold or silver inlaid box prohibitively expensive. Then we looked at the prices of marzipan and were equally shocked at the prices. So we bought just two pieces. They were delish!
After walking back down the hill toward the bus station, we were thirsty and stopped for some excellent refreshment at one of the summer-operating terrazas within view of the Puerta de Bisagra. Their ice-cold horchata de chufa and limón granizado is to die for!

Back in Madrid, we enjoyed a night of tapas. All the places we hit were standouts:

Casa del Abuelo
Specialty-gambas al ajillo or a la plancha

Las Bravas
Specialty-patatas bravas

La Malaspina
Specialty-"malaspina" (generous portion of toast topped with jamón serrano, melted cheese and oregano, and dressed with olive oil)

It was a wonderful day. Our feet were tired but our tummies full, and we had seen many things in Toledo. Next time, we'll hopefully see what wasn't open today.

Note: We paid reduced student admission that was 1.40€ at each attraction.

More lines in Madrid

(Tuesday, NIE quest, cont'd.) Since none of the phone numbers listed were working, we decided to stop by the Foreigners' Office in person. For whatever reason, the sign on the door says "Ministerio de economía y hacienda" not "Oficina de extranjeros" and I'm pretty sure the latter does not fall under the former hierarchically. When we arrive, we were pleased to find that not only was there no line, but there was actually a worker there to answer our questions.

Turns out, though, this employee must be very low on the totem pole and she has a hefty inferiority complex related to her peers with actual authority. So when I said, "I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to check the box for a resident card or a student card," she responded, meanly, "What do you mean? You don't even know what you're applying for?" Then she chastised me for already having paid the fee for the application. The security guard piped up from her shoulder to say that we would need to pay it anyways eventually.

When we told her we couldn't get through to any of the numbers listed for setting appointments, she just repeated that there were three numbers we could call (these are certifiably disconnected though). She advised us that the only other way to be seen would be to return in the morning, because the first 60 people in line at 9 a.m. would be given appointments for a later date. "But people tend to line up much earlier," she emphasized.

Not having much to go on other than our experience at General Pardiñas, we returned home, napped a little, and at 2 a.m. woke up. We walked around a mile uphill to the plaza and at 3 a.m. found ourselves alone with two (that's right--2) other people. We settled down to finish Harry Potter. By 5 we had finished the book (wonderfully voiced by Jim Dale) and there was nothing to keep me from dozing off...except for the chilly morning air.

People gradually started lining up, and I lost track of the number when the line rounded a corner. I started getting nervous just before they started handing out numbers because there were people crowding up by the entrance (either to read the signs or perhaps with the intention to cut) but me and my camping buddies up at the front defended our positions. Inside someone who gave us forms (for the prórroga de estancia para investigación y estudios) and set an appointment for us to return Sept. 20. Presumably we will receive our coveted NIEs at that time.

I later found both the correct address and the correct form I needed on the Ministry of the Interior. 's web site, although it is not clear whether this is a recent change or not. When I got home, I also saw I had received an e-mail from my bosses at the Ministry of Education indicating they are paving the way for me and my fellow program participants' paperwork processing and will give further instructions at our first meeting in October. (I think I'll keep my appointment for now.)

Moral of the story: Don't trust the mir.es website if you're unfamiliar with its organization. Don't trust the lady at the bank who may not know your immigration situation. And look for small signs posted outside of public buildings (they may have just the updated information you need). Trust me, because I have experienced it, if every future North American Language and Culture Assistant assigned to Madrid read my blog, they would save themselves a lot of time and headaches. (Then again, the processing procedures may change in a a few months' time, so take my advice with a grain of salt...it's conditional on so many capricious factors.)

I would recommend if you need to wait in line at this Oficina de extranjeros, 5 a.m. is plenty early enough, and based on my experience, if you arrive even until 6:30 you'll probably still number among the first 60. (This is based on when their office hours were 9-2 M-F and they should be 9-5 M-Th, 9-2 F starting September. Then again, there will be many more students trying to get an appointment in September when the semester starts.)

At the end of these two days, we were, understandably, pooped. Spent a couple days recovering, reading...watching episodes of Flight of the Conchords our friends had recorded for us before we left (love love love it!) Listen to the genius duo perform at NPR here. Better yet, watch their trademark deadpan delivery in their show when the first season comes out on DVD.

To be continued....

Evil General Pardiñas

I don't know who General Pardiñas was in real life but it would seem fitting that he was an exceptionally and arbitrarily cruel man. That is because on the street named after him there is an eternal line of immigrants waiting to be attended to by the police station that has been entrusted with the sublime bureaucratic privilege of reviewing applications for immigrant identification cards (as well as naturalization applications from Romanians and Bulgarians).

We thought we were supposed to be among the numberless throngs (truthfully there were upwards of 1,000 people) stationed outside the police station last Tuesday morning. After all, the Spanish consulate that processed our student visas told us it was important for us to take our visa application paperwork to the local police office to get it extended beyond the 3 months they could grant us. And the interior ministry's site lists the General Pardiñas address as the Madrid location for processing tarjetas de residencia and NIEs and that's where the lady at the bank directed us too. What follows is the bumbling heroes' quest to stand in that line.

The line that stretches into infinity. (Photo credit: Jorge París)

We had heard the crowds were bad but we didn't know how bad until Monday when we passed by at around 10:30 a.m. to survey the situation. There were hundreds of people frozen in line back to Bar Dickens. We decided to get up the next day at 5 and catch the metro when it opened at 6, hoping we could thereby improve our position in line. I guessed we would probably be among the first 50.

How naïve. When we arrived at 6:30 a.m., there were already as many people in line as there had been the day before at 10:30. We lined up a little behind Bar Dickens. There was a remarkable number of police officers outside in the dark morning, and for the next three hours they busied themselves commanding the line to stretch out and then allowing it to condense back up (I am convinced the line never actually advanced, only morphed forward and backwards).

Throughout all this, we were fairly unfazed, transported, as we were, to the world of Harry Potter as we listened to the 7th installment on audiobook together on our ipod. But around 10 a.m. we had luck enough to flag down a police officer handing out forms (though he refused to answer any questions). We snagged two copies what we presumed to be the correct form, figuring if we could fill it out and have everything ready by our turn, we might not have to return a second time. We had planned to wait in line that first day only to get the necessary paperwork, and then return later to turn it back in, because that is what we were told to expect by a policewoman we asked on Monday.

A. left to get all of our documents from home (letters from the university, doctors' letters, forms ascertaining that we had no criminal records in Provo, UT). He also made the payment indicated (6.70€ for each form) at a bank while he was out.

I, meanwhile, stood patiently in line, and since I was no longer listening to the audiobook, I was uncomfortably aware of how much smoke was being inhaled and exhaled around me. I also realized everyone was speaking Romanian, and that 3 people in front of me since 6:30 had magically transformed into 20 (the appearance of other family members reminded me of a not-so-different situation waiting in line the night before Black Friday back home).

If chain-smoking was the sole requirement to be a true Spaniard, these people should have gotten their naturalization approved on the spot. I was super uncomfortable and thinking of just how I would phrase my letter to the Guardía Civil about how asthmatics shouldn't be obliged to endure so much second-hand smoke when A. came back.

By this point, it was around 1:30 p.m. and we had been waiting around seven hours. In the three hours A. was gone, I had not seen the first 10 people at the head of the line move at all. I had "advanced" (or squished forward) far enough to be very close distance-wise, though not position-wise (the line continued to switchback) to the front entrance to the police station. I could, for the first time, make out a sign the size of a single piece of paper. AVISO, it read, "EU citizens, with the exception of Romanians and Bulgarians, and their family members, and students will be attended at Plaza Campillo del Mundo Nuevo, 3."

Three phone numbers were listed on the notice for setting appointments. As I stood there plugging them into my cell phone, a security guard approached me and said, "From the looks of it, I can tell you're a student" ("Por la pinta que tienes" is the phrase he used). Duh! How come nobody realized I didn't look Romanian or Bulgarian earlier (I was practically the only non-smoker among the immigrants and police officers!) How come nobody had pointed out and how come I myself hadn't noticed this tiny poster? Seven hours wasted. Boy did I feel stupid. We left the line wondering if we would have been seen that day or even the next, had we steeled ourselves to spend the night in line.

We have since read news stories related to the Romanians' and Bulgarians' plight. Romania and Bulgaria entered the EU at the beginning of 2007.

Piso Search: Epilogue

To recap, our piso search of the last week was beset with many obstacles and fraught with disappointment but in the end we encountered a great piso with a wonderful landlady named Luisa. To further illustrate Luisa's kindness, here are some of the things that she has done/said in the days since we moved in:

-she apologized for not having a meal ready for us on the day we moved in
-she offered to check out items for us on her library card
-she brought us back fresh watermelon and figs from her parents' house in Extremadura.

Not to begrudge madrileños or anything, but I could tell there was something different about Luisa, and it turns out, although she's lived here for some 30 years, she's actually from the Extremadura province.

On Saturday morning, as we stood outside the apartment building waiting to be buzzed in and get our key from Luisa, we were both wondering if maybe we had been hoodwinked. On Friday, we had given our deposit and while we had retained a handwritten contract from Luisa, we were thinking it had been too good to be true. When the person who answered the bell didn't let us in, A. and I thought we had been hung out to dry.

What really had happened was that it was just a handyman who answered, but soon enough Luisa's mother came out by coincidence and let us in. (The handyman was fixing the broken door frame to our bedroom, which Luisa had promised to get repaired and duly followed through on). We got our keys and left to go get our things from the airport.

We took the metro up to the airport but mistakenly got off at Terminal 4 (which we wished had been our terminal: very nice and brand-new). We took a free airport bus back around until we recognized our terminal (#2). There, the ratty old consigna guards charged us for 5 days of storage, even though we'd already paid one day upfront. After finding an ATM and then hauling the 5 pieces up the stairs, we got rolling on two luggage carts. We were able to take the carts all the way to the metro entrance (a few miles away, it seemed, but still within the airport). Then the fun began.

The metro entrance is accommodating enough for passengers with one piece of wheeled luggage, as it has been designed with the automatic door-type gates rather than the push-through theme-park-type ones. However, they aren't wide enough for two large suitcases pulled side-by-side. The solution is to have someone (like the guard) hold the doors open for you while you awkwardly turn one suitcase around and push it ahead of you while dragging the other behind.

This scene repeated itself with some variation as we mounted and dismounted elevators and metro cars a total of 12 times. I had seen a woman with a suitcase with four multidirectional wheels on our way to the airport and I made a mental note that the next luggage I bought would be like that. These make so much sense: if stroller wheels can be designed that way, why can't luggage wheels too? (I may do a future post on my preference for Spanish-style strollers and the many varieties thereof). It seems the term for this feature is "spinner" and here are two nice-looking bags that have it: one TravelPro and one Samsonite.

Of course, I didn't realize just how soon we would have to be shopping for new luggage. All we really needed at the moment was a pair of functioning in-line wheels on each piece. Suddenly, the large suitcase A. was hauling (which already had been compromised with a tear en route) gave out entirely on one side (see exhibit). This oversized monster was given to us by Delta after we filed a claim for another suitcase that was damaged in transit. Since this one died on its first-ever use, I doubt I will even try to make the effort to file another claim with either Delta or the airline we came to Spain on. Poor A. though. He hobbled along with two suitcases, one of which was now totally un-rollable, cursing it all the way.

After the metro ordeal we caught a taxi to take us the several blocks back to our place and tipped the driver well (still only 5€ total). And thank goodness for our building's elevator, in all its 70s green glory. After another two hours unpacking, we were finally going to take our first Spanish siesta (truth be told, A. zonked out shortly after arriving and I finished up the unpacking, but that was fine after his struggle with the gimpy suitcase). (And his having packed all of the suitcases to begin with, TWICE, he reminds me ever so kindly, pressing an ice-cold water bottle to my skin).

Later that afternoon, we did some grocery and household item shopping and in the evening we took a stroll down our street, peering into bar windows at the television screens broadcasting the first game of the season between Atlético de Madrid and Real Madrid soccer/football teams . We adopted our neighbors' preference and rooted for the Atlético. Finally we felt at home.

Make time for Manda Bala

Nothing says Brazil like frogs, corruption, and extortion. Why do I say this? Watch this movie and you will understand. I saw the film Manda Bala at Sundance and it is everything the poster claims it is.I just saw today that Manda Bala is being released in the US (albeit on a small scale for such a great movie). Watch the trailer, and then see if you can get to one of the screenings. Go see this movie! It is so worth it!