Pocket picked...almost

I was the victim of an attempted pickpocket yesterday. It was quite exciting, except that I didn't notice any of it.

On our way from the Royal Palace to the Garden Retiro -- Madrid's public garden -- we crammed into a particularly crowded subway and as we came to one of the station stops, a woman standing in front me started shouting at another woman who was moving down the car and also called out to a security guard standing outside. She then turned and asked me in broken English if I had still I had my wallet. She didn't even bother to check if I spoke Spanish or not. It must have been obvious.

I did have my wallet. But she had watched the pickpocket make the attempt on me. What stopped her from succeeding was a pocket-sized Spanish translation book that was also in my pocket. It was slightly larger and obstructed access to my wallet. She must of grabbed it instead. What's surprising was that the pickpocket was quite cute and well dressed. That would explain why I might be an attractive target...That and the big bulge in my pocket and the look of "stupid American tourist" written all over my face.

It's good to be king

Yesterday we toured the Palacio Real -- the Royal Palace. It's huge...second only to the Louvre. The current king -- Juan Carlos I -- doesn't live there any more. He's slumming it in a smaller Chateau Place. It's good to be king.

Running of the Ninos

I would have loved to the do the Running of Bulls festival while here in Spain, but I experienced the next best thing -- the Running of the Children. While strolling through Toledo a large group of Spanish school kids suddenly appeared at the top of the street and proceeded to run enmasse toward us, screaming all the way. Half of the stampede had already passed by the time I was able to whip out my camera, step out of the way and snap the photo.

I survived...gourged only once or twice.

That which does not kill me...

I haven't blogged in a couple days because, well, we almost died.

Not literally. But death would have been a kind and welcome respite from the bout of food poisoning that Michelle and I have suffered with the past 36 hours. Death by torture like the Spanish Inquistors inflicted in the Plaza Mayor a couple blocks from our hotel would seem merciful by comparison. It was that bad.

We still haven't been able to bring ourselves to eat anything yet. And that's the most disappointing thing -- my Spanish food adventures are over. I've been lucky enough to try a wide variety of local dishes, but no more. Even a whiff of the aromas from the sidewalk cafes makes me wretch.

When we first arrived and I noticed the ubiquitous McDonalds, Wendys and KFC scattered in amongst the many tapas bars and restaurants I said to Michelle how could anyone even consider eating at Macdonalds with all this great food around. But a Big Mac is starting to sound good right now.

Holy Toledo

Thursday was a day trip to Toledo, a fortressed medieval city built atop a mountain about 70 kilometers south of Madrid. If you ever go to Spain, you must visit it. Taking the high-speed train, the trip took less than 30 minutes.

Toledo is a maze of cobblestone streets, many no bigger than a sidewalk. This street next to the bar where I'm enjoying a cervesa would be considered one of wide streets.

What surprised me most was that Toledans drive on these narrow streets. Everyone who owns a car drives a sub-subcompact, or a scooter. How they get around without killing any of the tourists I'll never know. Several times Michelle and I had to jump into a doorway's portico in order to avoid being run over. They squeeze through the tightest of archways and roads. And if the path is a little too tight, they simply take a deep breath and drive through it anyway. A few scapes and scratches to the sides of the car, like the one above, are common.

Michelle taking in the view of the plains from one of the walls. The windmills of these plains were the ones Don Quixote tilted at.

A typical Toledo "street."


But the most amazing thing about Toledo was the cathedral. It was the first European cathedral I have experienced, and it was mind-numblingly wondrous. It's one of the top 3 Gothic cathedrals in Europe. It's the most amazing man-made thing I've ever seen. The photos and words can't do justice to the architectural achievement...the details, scale, ornamentation, artwork and treasures. But when you consider that it took almost 500 years to build it, I guess it's not so implausible. Imagine a building project started around the time of the first European settlers to America just getting it's final coat of paint today. And people bitch about how long the Big Dig is taking.

Chocolate and churros

This is Michelle having one of those Meg Ryan-When Harry Met Sally-in the cafeteria moments. Except she's not faking it. At a friend's suggestion, we ended the night around 2:00 am at a cafe serving hot chocolate and churros. Churros are like fried dough, extruded through a Play-doh-like device through a star-shaped mold into a kettle of hot fat and deep fried on the spot. The hot chocolate is the consistency of liquid pudding. You dip the churros in the chocolate, take a bite, and moan blissfully.

Food

Food was a big reason for coming to Madrid. And so far I've had pigeon, wild boar, deer, anchovy-heavy tapas and many other unknown things laden atop slices of bagettes in the tapas bars. But ham is king in Madrid, from what I can tell. Hams are hanging everywhere. And just about every bar we stopped in has a kind of ham beast leg with its hoof mounted in a stirrup device like in the picture above. Paper thin slices are carved from it and draped on bread slices...typically, from what I could tell.

It looks gross, but I wanted some. But didn't know how to order it. So I finally got up the courage to go up the bar tender and pointed and I think I said "I want" in Spanish. He looked at me quizically, but then said "Uno?" I said "No, dos, por favor," since Michelle was hungry too. He was surprised, but called his bar helper over, who proceeded to slice up two very large platters of the ham. It took him about 15 minutes to carved the prociutto-like slices with his hand knife and arrange them nicely on the platter. It was delicious, but we could only eat about half of it before the fat and salt overwhelmed our bodies. It cost us about $50 US. Expensive snack. Live and learn.

Carlos

This is Carlos, a bartender at one of the tapas bars we visited early evening. No one was in the bar because last nigt was the European soccer championship between Liverpool and Madrid. Everyone was either home watching the game, or at bars that had TV. While Carlos no hablo mucho english and we no hablo mucho Spanish, we had a great conversation, I think. He made the greatest mojitos. I think Michelle invited him to stay with us if he ever came to the States. I think he proposed to Michelle.

Museo del Prado

Yesterday our body clocks still hadn't quite adjusted so we ended up sleeping until 11:00 a.m. Consequently, ended up missing our lunch date with Sean the O'Spaniard. So we ended up spending the early part of the day touring the Museo del Prado, an art museum with seemingly thousands of paintings, drawings and sculptures by El Greco, Rubens, Goya, Rembrandt, Raphael and some other hacks. It was amazing. But we couldn't take it all in...it would require at least two days to see the entire collection.

Flamenco guitarist

One of the bars we crawled into was this very small cave below ground that might have been 10 feet wide at most. At the end was a small stage where a flamenco guitarist was playing...amazingly well. Soon joined a women (in the picture) who sang some traditional songs. Michelle made friends with a couple young Spanish men (of course) sitting next to us (one was half-Irish who spoke English with a Spainish/Irish accent) who told us the guitarist is one of Madrid's best classical guitarists who bought the bar so that he could play whenever he felt like it.

For dinner I had lamb ribs; Michelle had a torilla (which is a potato-egg fritta in Spain).

We got lost on the way home last night, but I mastered enough Spanish ask a stranger "Excuse me, sir, are you Puerto del Sol?" He figured out that I meant to say "where is.."

The Irish-Spainard invited us to meet him after work tomorrow for lunch. So that's where we are off to.

Tapas!

We hit a string of tapas bars. Here's the first one, followed by a selection of offerings from the second one. We started out with Squid on a stick, piementos stuffed with shellfish and some tequilla-flavored cream, and something else I can't even venture to guess.

Looking for food

We crashed for few hours upon arrival at the hotel even though it was morning. The full affects of the Xanax and jet lag had not yet worn off. Then we headed out to find some food. First stop - The Plaza Mayor -- which lies in the center of old Madrid. It's a huge open square surrounded by French, Georgian and other architecture. Lots of shops and tapas bars surround it. Not sure who the statue of the horse-straddled dude is in the center of the square. Note the illustrations on the walls of the other building.

Lots of barkers, panhandlers and the such...

...on the streets of Madrid. This is what happens to them if they stay put too long without getting any contributions from the passing crowd: they turn to bronze.

Arrival

Our hotel is smack dab in the middle of old Madrid, near the Puerto de Sol town square. Here are a couple views from our balcony, which sits over one of the pedestrian streats -- the building across the street and a view down the road toward the Puerto del Sol.


I told Michelle we're gonna have to do the wild thing on the balcony at least once while we're here. I explained that all the Spaniards do it. She ain't buying it.

Xanax is my friend

I was dreading the 7 hour flight to Madrid because I go stir crazy even on the shortest 3 flights to Texas I take each year. But Michelle was able to score a prescription for me for a few high-dosage Xanax from one of her doctor clients. So after a couple tablets washed down with beer, the last thing I remember doing was reading a few pages of the Iberia Air in-flight magazine. Next thing I knew I was awoken to the air steward asking me if I wanted breakfast in anticipation of arrival in Madrid. No books, no iPod, no movie, no small conversation with Michelle. It was like one of those time suspension things in long distance space travel movies. Xanax is my friend.