WTF: Winnemucca

What DOES Winnemucca mean? And what do people do to make a living there? Pondering these questions from Reno to Elko on the way to Sun Valley.
One thing we know, it's NOT the place to shop for bridesmaids' dresses.

The Oscars

Perhaps you didn't notice that The New Yorker was revised to include Lauren, her boyfriend and me at the Oscars on Sunday, Feb 24. It was a magical evening - starting at 11:00 in the morning when we lined up-all gussied up, as my grandmother would say- to be "seat fillers' for the LIVE Academy Awards. Since most of the guests haven't eaten since 4;00 and won't eat until the Governor's Ball at 9:30, the Academy provides an open bar and appetizers all evening in the lobby. At the commercial breaks, many stars get up to have a drink (or three) and some food. In addition, if a nominee wins an award, they go backstage for interviews, photo shots and general merriment. So, as they depart, we slip discretely into their seats so the theater is always full of enthusiastic, well-dressed people who LOOK like they might be famous. People with Botox allergies, an obsession with obtaining autographs or tendency towards butt cramps, did not apply for this unique position.

Lauren had been working for the Academy since October for 22 hour days - or 105 hour weeks - whichever is greater, so she got to share the opportunity with two of her favorite people: her boyfriend and mother. It was a hoot, being behind the scenes, seeing the Red Carpet being set up and experiencing all the global buzz. We discovered that Oscar was redesigned, is seriously branded and now wears a thong. Check out Lauren's boyfriend, Brian, sitting next to Jack Nicholson and, if you don't blink, you will see Lauren dashing behind a newsbroadcaster on her way to manage some logistical situation. I spent my time sitting alongside the cast of Les Miserables, but would have been happy sitting with a Hobbit. Everyone was so incredibly congenial, professional and appreciative. Whatever notions I had of Hollywood has been replaced with admiration. I think I have PSSS (Post Start-Struck Syndrome) and have no intention of recovering.

IMG_0100

 

IMG_0098

 

IMG_0101

 

IMG_0107

 

IMG_0104

 

IMG_0140

 

IMG_0148

 

A Special Spanish Tax

We are home and officially recovered from jet-lag. Still basking in the layers of extraordinary art, incomprehensible history and phenomenal food and wine of Spain. We brought home all sorts of memories and left a large chunk of my favourite black traveling skirt - on the lower right of the photo. 

In Madrid (population 3.2 million), the people are extremely well dressed: mostly high leather boots, tight pants or leggings for any woman under forty, full fur coats and stylish hats for the matronly set.  Strolling hand-in-hand it does not appear that they  "shop until they drop. " There is phenomenon not given in any guidebook: after Christmas it appears that everyone emerges from their homes and apartments and comes in from all the villages within a 2 hour bus/train or Metro ride (you would NEVER think of driving in Madrid) to take advantage of the phenomenal after holiday sales. We were overwhelmed with the crowds (major understatement) and seduced (accurate statement) by the major stores staying open until 23:00. In addition to great prices, Spain's largest department store, El Corte Ingles, gives additional discounts to folks like us who show their foreign passports. The only unexpected tax was a VERY HUNGRY ESCALTOR that snatched my skirt. Chuck pushed the emergency stop button and within seconds I was surrounded by an armed guard, two mechanics and six giggling sales girls (not a single one with scissors). They methodically disassembled the escalator and politely handed me the well-digested scraps. Thank heavens it was a mid-length stretchy yoga skirt and not a gloved hand or the stiletto heels I'd just purchased. All is well and I'm off to start a new fashion trend...

 

 

Home and unpacking

After 26 hours of flying and a 9 hour time change, we are home at least. Missing narrow streets, musical chatter and tapas. We learned:
1- eat before you are hungry otherwise looking for a restaurant is a desperate act. Desperate people do desperate things.
2- don't expect shops or sites to be open during the holidays in a catholic country
3-you still have to go thoroughly security checks when you make connects (don't buy anything liquid in duty free if you have to go through security)
4- First Class domestic flying is not the same as international
5-if you spend a lot of time in museums expect to unpack the contents of your bag and arrange it like a still life before putting away
6-come home with enough foreign current to fund the next trip back

Mercado San Miguel

Five hours at The Prado (3,000 paintings) required another meander to find refreshment at Mercado San Miguel a 19th Century confection of glass, lacy steel, gourmet tapas and that effervescent Spanish friendliness. Paper cones of sardines and calamari,grilled whole squid, mozzarella buratta, fluffy croquettes all finished off with espresso and chocolate "salami" cookies. Returned to The Prado to stay until closing. Chuck has purchased 40 pounds of books. Not great shoulder therapy, but so good for the soul.

Looking for Picasso T-shirts

Someday, I may look like this lady, but for now, I will keep looking for a striped Picasso T-shirt.  

One more day to find it in Madrid...They exist in Barcelona, but the challenge is to find it here.

 

A Day without Poetry...

IMG_9330

 

IMG_9346

 

IMG_9400

 

IMG_9424

 In Madrid, we were astonished to see on the METRO that there are no advertisements for products, multinational companies or the newest fashions, perfumes, and  electronic "gotta haves" - only notices about art exhibits, cultural events or invitations to observe objects of beauty. We saw poster from a campaign " Never a day without Poetry" so we took their advice and made a somewhat poetic adventure out of getting lost (again) on our way to seeing the Museo Sorolla and the National Modern Art Museum. Chuck was catatonic in the morning and in the afternoon, the surrealists made his skin crawl. Too much juxaposition in one day, but he said that it was definitely worth the 14 hour flight to see the brilliance of Sorolla up close, personal and in Sorolla's home/studio. Tomorrow, our last day in Spain, we tackle the 3,000 paintings of THE PRADO - with a tapas break at the astonishing mercado San Miguel that we accidentally discovered today - after a horrid lunch at an Octoptus Restaurant. Getting lost, while difficult on the nerves, has it's benefits.

Inspiration in many forms

We found one of these in our room last night (after a mild shreek, it went to meet it's maker). I never thought to make them into a necklace, but perhaps YOU might think about it. Probably won't return to Nerja on the Costa del Sol ever again (waaaay too touristy and suffering from the invasion of winter birds), but now that we're in Madrid, we're off to visit some of Chuck's favourite friends: Sorolla, Zurburan, Goya and the ever-ubiquitous, Picasso. He bought a hat, scarf, I bought some very special shoes and while the folks at the the department store gave us a discount, the store itself extracted a most unusual tax: the escalator grabbed my skirt and ate a significant part of the hem. Releasing me (lest it eat more) required two workmen and three twittering shopgirls  - all watched by baffled customers and a fully armed security guard. Chuck is not sure who was better fed tonight - the escalator or us. I'm not sure that "shredded witch hem" couldn't become a new fashion, but I will tell you, I now know that no one should wear a skirt near an escalator or in an airport - especially if you have no scissors and a plane to catch.

 

Twelve chimes,Twelve grapes, one bottle of CAVA

On New Year's Eve throughout Spain, as the bell chimes 12 times, you are supposed to eat 12 grapes - symbolizing each month of the year, each disciple or perhaps a dozen eggs...we carefully counted out ours, avoiding the seeds and popped them down. And the fireworks over El Balcon de Europa went on and on. Give these folks ANY reason to celebrate, eat, drink or rest and you can eliminate about 180 working days a year. Trying it's a challenge to find establishments open (souvenir shops NEVER close but museums, restaurants, grocery stores, banks and even churches do) during the holidays but we've managed to get delightfully lost in many a white-washed hill town (Casas Blancas), found extraordinary dining and watched light and clouds change dramatically.

Feliz Año!

Cordoba

While Paris had a population of 30,000, Cordoba (accent on the first syllable) was a thriving city of over 100,000 Muslims, Jews and Christians living harmoniously. They had over 70 libraries and on the streets you could hear Greek, Latin, Arabic and Hebrew. In its time, Cordoba was comparable to Baghdad and Constantinople. I loved learning that "Al-gebra" was their system of mathematics. The ghosts of such scholarship and "patrimonia de humanity's" are still wandering the narrow streets. Probably not getting quite as lost as we did.

The caves of Nerja

They say Gaudi's Familia Sagrada was inspired by the caves in Nerja, the largest in Europe. Tomorrow we'll find out. Now we are getting ready here on Bar Le Cueva, part of the El Capistrano "urbanismo" complex, highly populated by UK visitors. Note the Christmas lights running through our heads. Photo compliments of our new Welsh friends, Nigel and Angela.

Casas Blancas

The white washed hill towns of Costa del Sol are unforgettable. It is nearly impossible to take an anti-picturesque photo. Every angle, crooked alley, mosaic street and iron balcony covered with blooming pink and orange bougenville flowers is right out of a painting. I'd love to be the white exterior paint distributor here.

Gummi Planes

On our flight from Frankfurt to Barcelona we were served Gummi Planes. Did not inspired confidence or respect.

Hora Feliz

So Happy Hour is actually two and a half hours -for good reason: we stood in line for 30 minutes to get Tapas at Tapas 24 in Barcelona, having spent all day inhaling art all over the city. The Picasso Museum is five mansions, our hotel posts snippets about artists on their walls and there is always the ubiquitous Gaudi. What a feast for the eyes!!!

Arrival in Spain

After a 10 hour flight to Frankfurt, it's just a 2 hour hop to Barcelona. We are staying at the Denit - a haven of simplicity, edgy decor and friendliness right in the heart of the old quarter. We were welcomed with a bottle of wine, plate of jambon and assoirted meats (they remembered we'd stayed there before). Immediately upon arrival, I put a ring thru Chuck's nose and dragged him down to the cloisters by the cathedral, past a shop that sells more than 1000 hats, over to Las Ramblas to the Boccaria market, up through the crowds to get into Gaudi's Casa Batilo (it's open until 9:00) then back down to the alleys of the Gotic for tapas, wine and sadad made with duck confit, berries and "fruits of the forest.". I have a photo of Chuck eating a rather large bowl of baby eels (rather like a pile of short spaghetti). Off to see the Picasso Museum and find a comics store today.

It's a Wonderful Life circa 2012

>

Contemporary Norman Conquest

After returning from Turkey, Chuck got to have his own pilgrimage - his version of Mecca is Stockbridge, MA - home of the Norman Rockwell Museum. However, the "Mountain came to Mohammed" on November 9. The"American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell" is at the Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento through Feb 3, 2013 and well worth seeing, seeing and seeing again. ALL of his Saturday Evening Post covers, self-portraits and many controversial works that did not meet the editorial guidelines of the then ultra-conservative art directors. Chuck has had the opportunity to do two SEP covers this year and it's definitely a different publication than Ben Franklin and Norman Rockwell created.

Bed, Roman Baths and Beyond

Before we left people raved about Turkish cuisine and our last lunch was the acropolis of Culinary arts. A family owned restaurant, far off the tourist path was nestled in a lush garden surrounded by an orchard of olives, pomegranates, oranges and vegetables. From the kitchen came a laughter that produced a groaning table of piping hot stews, mint and cucumber yogurts, three kinds of fried peppers, four eggplant, stuffed dolmas of cabbages or grape leaves, cheeses, fresh squeezed sherbet (orange and pomegranate) and home made dessert of semolina and pistachio. Of course, I bought her cookbook.
We fly out tomorrow as the sun rises on the Agean Ocean. We'll go to sleep tonight, wake up in Turkey, fly and then go to bed in California. What a marvelous, but confusing, magic carpet!!

Our lives in ruins

We arrived in Ephesus (Efes in Turkish -just like the ubiquitous beer) along with four 4,000 passenger cruise ships. We managed an early morning walk in amongst the ruins before the tourists were overwhelming. We'd been observing that everything (sights, people, food) here is a combination of hot, dry or old. In the case of this largest archeological site in the Mediterranean, we added the word WOW!!
And then the unexpected: millions of friendly, healthy cats. Linda was in heaven.

Turkey's Magical Hideaways

We were four nights on a 90 foot gullet cruising the Turquoise Coast: stopping at Cleopatra's Baths, hiking to a "ghost town" abandoned by the Turks in 1920 when they exchanged populations with Greece, swimming in the Mediterranean and trekking through nomads pastures or up river to see ancient burial sites. Fabulous fresh food, rough open water, bees and good company all round.

Turkey needs some Rybos

Here we are on the Turkish Riviera and only small motor craft, fishing boats, traditional gulets and fake pirate boats to be seen. (I didn't know that Barbarossa was Turkish).
I think anyone with a Rybovich would be a celebrity. We're getting on our little gulet tomorrow night. Expecting fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next three days.