At the airport in Bologna, they confiscated my hair product. Some of you may be equally dependent on yours. I said, "There's only a little left!" and she said, "We have to go by how many ounces it says on the bottle." Then she gestured toward the big bin in which they throw out all the passenger loot and said, "Is it okay?" I can't say no to an airport security personnel, so I just said, "Okay, but I will not look as good tomorrow."
She nodded. She had long hair so it seemed she got it, even if it wasn't curly (curly people have more dependence on hair products). Then I had a thought. I had a small empty bottle I was bringing back (a good leak-proof one is hard to find) that I showed her. "Is it possible to...." I said the first half in Italian and the second in mime. She actually agreed and walked over to the bin, dove into it, and retrieved my hair product. I squeezed what was left into the small bottle. I think I said "molto" about fifty times when I thanked her.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Rain in Spain
The small guidebook I had bought on Madrid said that one of the great things about it is that no matter the season, it is always sunny. I arrived to a gray sky which opened as the cabbie drove to the city. If I hadn't read that line, I wouldn't have felt cheated, but the writer had given me expectations.
Madrid looks so different than Italy. It still feels like a distant cousin, but visually it is not at all the same. Its buildings are tall and clean-looking, polished and white and ornate, and it seems all the ones on corners are round and not angular. They look grand, as my mother would say. Rich and new, compared to Italy's colorful but dark narrow streets and buildings that have dilapidated facades (which I find beautiful). Like New York, streets in Bologna and Florence and Venice have a gritty, busy, gray feel to them. Spain felt more like DC.
Other differences: Very few places on the street where you can dodge in and grab a panini, pizza, or pastry to eat en route (or even eat there), whereas in Italy they are every block or two. No bidets in the bathrooms. And no laws against smoking inside restaurants.
My hotel is hip, or at least is trying to be. The elevator only has a blue light in it, the kind that illuminates anything white that you are wearing, and nothing else. It is not as cool as they probably thought it would be when they designed it. When you are in an elevator, you want to be able to see things more clearly and it somehow makes it harder to think clearly too. Then you get out and are all blinky because regular lights are so much brighter.
My room has a long entrance hallway with a blue light at the end of it. Turns out it is a blue plastic sliding door to the bathroom, lit from behind. The closets are the same. Inside one closet there is a cardboard storage box I think I have seen at the Container Store. It has snacks in it; their version of the minibar. The bathroom has red accents, a very high tub wall (can't be good if you are very tired in the morning or not limber), and a purple shower curtain. The sink has double faucets over a long rectangular basin. The left one sprays directly upward and backward.
I have a terrace, which was exciting. It was cold and windy out there, but I was standing among the ornate Spanish building facades. I looked up and there were cherubs sculpted above me. Across the street was a stately structure with high ceilings. On the corner, a gorgeous rounded building with an enclosed glass space that looked like a capsule.
The truly cool thing about the hotel is that poetry is etched onto every landing and over every bed. I loved having it there. Unfortunately, it was mostly in Spanish. I asked the front desk if they had translations of them and the guy said I should copy the poems down with the authors' names and I could probably find a translation somewhere. I couldn't have been the first non-Spanish-speaking guest there. I'm sure they spent time choosing the poems. A booklet with translations would be a plus. However, I was on the only floor that had an English quote on the landing, so that was a nice discovery.
I had to keep remembering to say "Hola" and "Adios" instead of "Ciao". Other than that, I could only get by with my limited Italian because no one really knew English.
I know two people who hated the food in Spain and I had prepared myself for the same because it is so meat-heavy there. I decided to go to the supermarket and get things for late night, the plane, and also breakfast, since I would be up too early to eat it elsewhere. The supermarket had a huge cooler with containers of gazpacho in it, the same kind of containers you get with orange juice. Everything was little more than a Euro. I guess it's a staple here. I did think the food options in the supermarket were a lot more appealing in Italy. But the men were striking. As much as Italian men are attractive, Spaniards were surprisingly and extremely good-looking, uniformly. Or maybe just the cute ones go grocery shopping on Monday nights?
I had received two restaurant recommendations from the hotel, and had found about eight others in my guidebook. But I ended up going to a place I walked by that was no frills and had a lot of locals in it, as well as a sign outside that they had vegetarian options. I almost did not order the vegetable paella because the wait for any paella is 20-30 minutes. But I am so glad I did. My first paella, and it was fantastic.
Madrid looks so different than Italy. It still feels like a distant cousin, but visually it is not at all the same. Its buildings are tall and clean-looking, polished and white and ornate, and it seems all the ones on corners are round and not angular. They look grand, as my mother would say. Rich and new, compared to Italy's colorful but dark narrow streets and buildings that have dilapidated facades (which I find beautiful). Like New York, streets in Bologna and Florence and Venice have a gritty, busy, gray feel to them. Spain felt more like DC.
Other differences: Very few places on the street where you can dodge in and grab a panini, pizza, or pastry to eat en route (or even eat there), whereas in Italy they are every block or two. No bidets in the bathrooms. And no laws against smoking inside restaurants.
My hotel is hip, or at least is trying to be. The elevator only has a blue light in it, the kind that illuminates anything white that you are wearing, and nothing else. It is not as cool as they probably thought it would be when they designed it. When you are in an elevator, you want to be able to see things more clearly and it somehow makes it harder to think clearly too. Then you get out and are all blinky because regular lights are so much brighter.
My room has a long entrance hallway with a blue light at the end of it. Turns out it is a blue plastic sliding door to the bathroom, lit from behind. The closets are the same. Inside one closet there is a cardboard storage box I think I have seen at the Container Store. It has snacks in it; their version of the minibar. The bathroom has red accents, a very high tub wall (can't be good if you are very tired in the morning or not limber), and a purple shower curtain. The sink has double faucets over a long rectangular basin. The left one sprays directly upward and backward.
I have a terrace, which was exciting. It was cold and windy out there, but I was standing among the ornate Spanish building facades. I looked up and there were cherubs sculpted above me. Across the street was a stately structure with high ceilings. On the corner, a gorgeous rounded building with an enclosed glass space that looked like a capsule.
The truly cool thing about the hotel is that poetry is etched onto every landing and over every bed. I loved having it there. Unfortunately, it was mostly in Spanish. I asked the front desk if they had translations of them and the guy said I should copy the poems down with the authors' names and I could probably find a translation somewhere. I couldn't have been the first non-Spanish-speaking guest there. I'm sure they spent time choosing the poems. A booklet with translations would be a plus. However, I was on the only floor that had an English quote on the landing, so that was a nice discovery.
I had to keep remembering to say "Hola" and "Adios" instead of "Ciao". Other than that, I could only get by with my limited Italian because no one really knew English.
I know two people who hated the food in Spain and I had prepared myself for the same because it is so meat-heavy there. I decided to go to the supermarket and get things for late night, the plane, and also breakfast, since I would be up too early to eat it elsewhere. The supermarket had a huge cooler with containers of gazpacho in it, the same kind of containers you get with orange juice. Everything was little more than a Euro. I guess it's a staple here. I did think the food options in the supermarket were a lot more appealing in Italy. But the men were striking. As much as Italian men are attractive, Spaniards were surprisingly and extremely good-looking, uniformly. Or maybe just the cute ones go grocery shopping on Monday nights?
I had received two restaurant recommendations from the hotel, and had found about eight others in my guidebook. But I ended up going to a place I walked by that was no frills and had a lot of locals in it, as well as a sign outside that they had vegetarian options. I almost did not order the vegetable paella because the wait for any paella is 20-30 minutes. But I am so glad I did. My first paella, and it was fantastic.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The magnetic pull of Bologna
Early this morning the taxi came and backed into the driveway to get my bags. He started to pull out to the street, but the gate was stuck in a half-open position, too closed to get through. The housekeeper was yelling instructions from the terrace, none of which helped. The aunt came down in her slippers and curlers and tried. One by one the neighbors all came out on their terraces, and then down to the driveway, in their bathrobes and slippers, and consulted with each other.
Normally, this would be just a delay. But it happened while needing to catch a flight to another country.
Someone was called to come in from outside. I sat inside the cab and watched.
A woman came over to my door. I did not know her. She said something to me in Italian I did not understand. She elaborated on it. It sounded like some kind of idea.
Then I started strategizing. If I missed my flight to Madrid, I might be able to get another one tomorrow, but then what about my flight to the States? Not that I would have argued with more time in Italy, but I have a very important Bat Mitzvah on Saturday that I cannot miss.
Somebody was putting major effort into turning something in a metal box on the ground by the gate. Time went by. I started strategizing again. Then it happened. One side of the gate was able to be opened enough to slip through. A cheer went up in the small crowd. The housekeeper turned and gave me the thumbs up sign.
The universe had considered keeping me here longer but decided it was better for me to stay on schedule.
Normally, this would be just a delay. But it happened while needing to catch a flight to another country.
Someone was called to come in from outside. I sat inside the cab and watched.
A woman came over to my door. I did not know her. She said something to me in Italian I did not understand. She elaborated on it. It sounded like some kind of idea.
Then I started strategizing. If I missed my flight to Madrid, I might be able to get another one tomorrow, but then what about my flight to the States? Not that I would have argued with more time in Italy, but I have a very important Bat Mitzvah on Saturday that I cannot miss.
Somebody was putting major effort into turning something in a metal box on the ground by the gate. Time went by. I started strategizing again. Then it happened. One side of the gate was able to be opened enough to slip through. A cheer went up in the small crowd. The housekeeper turned and gave me the thumbs up sign.
The universe had considered keeping me here longer but decided it was better for me to stay on schedule.
Looking for a gypsy
In Florence on Saturday, I bought a pastry while walking. I usually will buy a pastry or pizza slice or panini en route; it's cheap, good, and allows more time to wander. Occasionally I get something that isn't my cup of tea and this was one of those times. But it was large and fresh and probably to many people's likings, and I hate wasting food, so I went looking for a gypsy to give it to, especially a woman. If I give to someone on the street, it's usually a woman because life on the streets is harder for them. But of all the times I have seen them, dropped a coin in their cup, or stepped around them, I did not see any this time.
Eventually I saw a man looking through a garbage bin by the Duomo and I offered it to him, but he said no. Guess he had his mind set on something else.
When I got off the train at Bologna, a guy approached me on the platform and asked if I had 50 cents to give him for food. I have seen someone like him in New York recently, and I don't know what to make of it - young, semi-attractive, not poorly-dressed, but somehow believable by their eyes and stance and request. The guy in New York was sitting on the sidewalk and reading a book, which was unexpected. But these are hard times and the line can be thin between student loan programs or family help and suddenly not having.
I thought, well, if he indeed wants the money for food, as he specified, I have some food. So I reached into my totebag and gave him the pastry.
I watched him walk down the platform and approach someone else. All of a sudden, I realized I had not checked the paper bag before giving it to him. At night, after a long day, and without looking, I could have just as easily given him another bag in there, of some things I had purchased, things I wanted to keep.
I had two choices and went with the kookier one. Fortunately, he was walking back up the platform now. "Excuse me, do you mind if I check to see that I gave you the right bag?" Now I felt like the crazy person. He seemed neutral about it, and handed it to me. Plastic bag, check, inside paper bag, check, pastry; okay, it's the right one.
I handed it back to him and thanked him.
Eventually I saw a man looking through a garbage bin by the Duomo and I offered it to him, but he said no. Guess he had his mind set on something else.
When I got off the train at Bologna, a guy approached me on the platform and asked if I had 50 cents to give him for food. I have seen someone like him in New York recently, and I don't know what to make of it - young, semi-attractive, not poorly-dressed, but somehow believable by their eyes and stance and request. The guy in New York was sitting on the sidewalk and reading a book, which was unexpected. But these are hard times and the line can be thin between student loan programs or family help and suddenly not having.
I thought, well, if he indeed wants the money for food, as he specified, I have some food. So I reached into my totebag and gave him the pastry.
I watched him walk down the platform and approach someone else. All of a sudden, I realized I had not checked the paper bag before giving it to him. At night, after a long day, and without looking, I could have just as easily given him another bag in there, of some things I had purchased, things I wanted to keep.
I had two choices and went with the kookier one. Fortunately, he was walking back up the platform now. "Excuse me, do you mind if I check to see that I gave you the right bag?" Now I felt like the crazy person. He seemed neutral about it, and handed it to me. Plastic bag, check, inside paper bag, check, pastry; okay, it's the right one.
I handed it back to him and thanked him.
Iberia Customer Service Desk
Me: Hi, I just came in on Iberia and I am leaving tomorrow. Do you know if I can leave my bags overnight in that locked luggage area?
Iberia Guy: Are you staying in a hotel?
Me: Yes.
Guy: You can take it to your hotel.
Me: I know, but I am also wondering if I can leave it in that locked area.
Guy: Why don't you take it to your hotel?
Me, gesturing to my cart: Because it is easier to leave it here and get it tomorrow.
Guy: Are you staying at an airport hotel?
Me: No.
Guy: Why aren't you staying at an airport hotel?
Me: Because....(Did I really have to think of a reason for this?) I want to see Madrid.
Guy: You want to see Madrid, okay. Which hotel?
I tell him.
Guy: That is all the way in the center of the city! Why don't you stay closer to the airport?
Me: Umm....
Guy: Have you paid for the hotel yet?
Me: No.
Guy: Well, you should cancel it and stay at an airport hotel.
Me: I like my hotel and I want to see Madrid. Can you tell me if I can leave my bags here?
Guy: Yes, but they will charge you. You should take your bags to your hotel.
Me: That's okay with me.
(The charge was just 3.70 Euros. A great price for sparing the hassle of taking them to and from..And I had a great evening in Madrid. Short and sweet. So there.)
Iberia Guy: Are you staying in a hotel?
Me: Yes.
Guy: You can take it to your hotel.
Me: I know, but I am also wondering if I can leave it in that locked area.
Guy: Why don't you take it to your hotel?
Me, gesturing to my cart: Because it is easier to leave it here and get it tomorrow.
Guy: Are you staying at an airport hotel?
Me: No.
Guy: Why aren't you staying at an airport hotel?
Me: Because....(Did I really have to think of a reason for this?) I want to see Madrid.
Guy: You want to see Madrid, okay. Which hotel?
I tell him.
Guy: That is all the way in the center of the city! Why don't you stay closer to the airport?
Me: Umm....
Guy: Have you paid for the hotel yet?
Me: No.
Guy: Well, you should cancel it and stay at an airport hotel.
Me: I like my hotel and I want to see Madrid. Can you tell me if I can leave my bags here?
Guy: Yes, but they will charge you. You should take your bags to your hotel.
Me: That's okay with me.
(The charge was just 3.70 Euros. A great price for sparing the hassle of taking them to and from..And I had a great evening in Madrid. Short and sweet. So there.)
Keep checking back
because I will be continuing the blog; filling in some more stories, and posting pictures when I am back in the States for a while. Bologna is not over yet!!!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Inside the train
Italians do this thing where they leave their seats, get their bags, and stand in the doorway of the train way earlier than they need to before their stop. Like 15 minutes earlier. Then you feel you have to get there early too, because what if they know something you don't know?
So I'm standing in the little vestibule, and I notice for the first time that there is a map of the bathroom on the door of the bathroom. It has a key and a symbol for everything - the sink, the hand dryer, the garbage - and it is all mapped out. It even has a "you are here" part. It was kind of funny. Then I noticed there was braille under each part. I guess it is for the visually-impaired to get their bearings before they enter it.
There are so many logical things here like that. Like the light switches you turn on when you leave your apartment or enter a building that go off a few minutes later. Italy saves a fortune on electricity this way. And the environment is thanking them.
And escalators usually just go up. It's the same in Israel. Physical effort is really involved in going up stairs, not down them, so why make an escalator just to go down? If you really need it, there is an elevator.
So I'm standing in the little vestibule, and I notice for the first time that there is a map of the bathroom on the door of the bathroom. It has a key and a symbol for everything - the sink, the hand dryer, the garbage - and it is all mapped out. It even has a "you are here" part. It was kind of funny. Then I noticed there was braille under each part. I guess it is for the visually-impaired to get their bearings before they enter it.
There are so many logical things here like that. Like the light switches you turn on when you leave your apartment or enter a building that go off a few minutes later. Italy saves a fortune on electricity this way. And the environment is thanking them.
And escalators usually just go up. It's the same in Israel. Physical effort is really involved in going up stairs, not down them, so why make an escalator just to go down? If you really need it, there is an elevator.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)