Ávila es aviliciosa

This past Friday I went to Ávila (in Castilla León) with my literature class as a bit of a day field trip. I never enjoy waking up early, of course, and I had to be up at 7:45 a.m. for this trip, so clearly I wasn't too excited about going there. And yet, I was very surprised with the trip, having enjoyed the city.

Ávila is the birthplace and major residence of Santa Teresa de Jesús (Saint Theresa), who did a whole bunch of crazy stuff in her life like being penetrated by a flaming arrow held by some type of tiny angel representing God. There's a statue in Rome by Bernini commemorating this called "The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa" or better, in Spanish "El Éxtasis de Santa Teresa." I've only seen it in a documentary but it rivals Michelangelo's David. It's that awesome. She was a member of the Renaissance's mystic movement, along with San Juan de la Cruz. Basically the mystics believed it was possible to become one with God before you died. They wrote poems that seem like raunchy love stories and they experienced things that you wouldn't expect to hear about God. The experience of being one with God in this world was so great and indescribable though that they had to make their literature seem sexual in order that the general public would understand what exactly it was they were going through.

Anyways. Ávila. We got there early morning with the sun straight in our eyes as we overlooked the city from some stone cross on the outskirts. This is one of the few cities that was/still is surrounded by defensive walls. They are the coolest parts of the city. That a this one plaza, but I'll get to that later. 

Then we headed to some church, another one, I know. Don't try to ask me to recall the name or whether it was really a church, cathedral or basilica. I have no clue. There were crosses and some Jesus statues. And benches and candles and all that fun stuff you'll find in any of the three. It was still pretty cool though, but we were only there for a few brief moments. We headed to the catacombs below the church where there is now a museum to Santa Teresa and all that goodness. We read the part of her autobiography where she talks about being impaled by the glory of God in the catacombs and a part of her famous poem "Vivo sin vivir en mí" (I live without living in myself) where she says she's living but not really because she'd rather be with God. Another line "muero porque no muero" I'm dying because I'm not dying. Powerful stuff and one of my favorite poems of the era. 

Of all the places to possibly hold a religious relic, one of Santa Teresa's fingers is just through a giftshop in Ávila. It's very decrepit and old and green and brown and hairy (mold?) and has a ring attached. The story goes that Franco had one of her hands and would touch it before he signed any laws or did anything important. That hand is now in Sevilla, I believe. The other, in Rome. No one knows which hand the finger in Ávila belongs to, and I'm not quite sure why not, you'd think whoever has the hand would just check and tell us. My theory is that it's from the right hand because of the ring. In Rome and Spain the marriage ring goes on the right hand -- and although she was a nun and couldn't get married she was a rebel, so it's possible, no?

The walls, as I have said earlier, are probably the coolest part of the city because you can go up and run around on them and survey the area below you. How the city has expanded beyond the walls and all the farms surrounding it. You can peer into the city and see everyone heading about getting ready to eat lunch (if you're up there at about lunch time, that is). Needless to say there will be some cool photos from this section coming up soon. I spotted while up there this plaza, empty with a line of benches like a church on one side, interspersed with barren trees. For no reason whatsoever it made me think of Russia (I have a weird association system in my brain). I was in love and headed down to find lunch around there. Yet, the place was full of banks, yema stores (candy shops, basically) and a Burger King. No restaurants with menú del días, I was very disappointed and ended up eating two dürüm kebabs (they're doner kebabs wrapped in a mexican tortilla instead of a pita -- amazing). 

Had some wine and yemas (yemas are yolks in Spanish, but yemas de Ávila are candies made from yolks covered in sugar. Really sweet, pretty tasty too. Made up for the fact I didn't get any wine nor postre (dessert), as one would if they had a menú del día. We intended to go to some basilica but there were problems with payments or something (they didn't give us receipts and that's what we needed), so we just shrugged our shoulders and headed home, passing out on the bus because I was dead tired. 

Good times.

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving to you imperialist American Indian killers tomorrow!

No, but seriously, I'm going to miss Thanksgiving. Hope you all have fun and drink one for me and eat a biscuit and gravy sammich for me too!

The best way to cheer up when classes, school, and host families suck

A menú del día.

While a healthy (read: not healthy) serving of red wine. Arroz a la cubana (this time with a banana!) and huevos with tomato sauce and chorizo (not so good chorizo though). Sitting back and relaxing, the itis sinking in. Icing on cake, The Simpsons on T.V. How fun. That's how those extremely dull literature classes that convinced me that I really do have ADD were wiped from my mind and I was in a state of bliss (which apparently the closest Spanish word is éxtasis). 

But then I had to teach those kids. No bigs, just had to play a board game I made up with them for an hour, then back to the good life. Headed out to a new favorite café, Café Continental, which is where I'm at still, three hours later. They have WiFi, how cool? Oh, and cheap mojitos--though I see why they're cheap, they taste less than good. Ungood if you will. They use spiced rum instead of the traditional (and in this case, better tasting) white rum. The juice, I am told, is not good here as well, and the margarita is more like a martini than a margarita, which really isn't a problem but it's just false advertising. 

Been spending the afternoon flying through homework so I don't have to do it tomorrow or Thursday (no more homework for the rest of the week and it's only Tuesday)...so tomorrow, no tutoring, no homework--going to hopefully spend the day attempting to write something cool. Perhaps a short story, perhaps the beginning (or middle! or end!) of a book. 

Was spending the rest of the afternoon looking at my possible classes for next semester then for this summer and next year back in Madison. I only have 40 more credits to graduate. Sure, I could just graduate with a Spanish major, but I want to do LACIS too so I don't feel like a complete bum. And I want to take some French but that would just prolong my stay in Madison (not that that would be a bad thing, it's just I don't know when Obama's $4,000 tuition credit is going to be cutting in). If that does happen to happen though, perhaps I'll just ride out a few more years in school just learning stuff I want to. Already planning on taking more creative writing classes when I get back. Every time I look at my schedule and plans I think I know what the heck is going on and get a huge headache then look at it the next day and I feel completely lost again.

But hey. 

Que recordarás las tardes de invierno por Madrid

I spent the majority of the past two afternoons in Madrid, which is quickly becoming a favorite pastime of mine. I went yesterday as an escape and it was definitely needed, and refreshing. To get away from the monotony and occasional annoyance of Alcalá. 

Armani and I went yesterday during the afternoon for such an escape, with no particular plans in mind, which is really the way to go when heading to Madrid -- no expectations, just wandering around, trying to get lost and discover something new, something hidden away -- a treasure of the city. And we did just that. 

For the first time in exactly two months I had a bagel. We were told of an international deli/market in Madrid by Fausto our cultural director that not only had bagels but also plenty of international foods. This was our first stop, our main mission of heading to Madrid.

I searched the relatively bare shelves encountering quite a few American goodies -- Betty Crocker cake mixes, Hersey's chocolate syrup, Southern Comfort -- and other foreign goods like Grey Goose (which is impossible to find elsewhere) and my favorite oddity, corned beef in a can from Brazil. So to answer my own question from long ago, yes, they do have corned beef in Spain and Madrid was the place to find it. Unfortunately it's canned and from Brazil, which might effect the taste of a reuben if I ever attempt to make one here. They had New York cheesecake and apple crumble pie or something and plenty of good old America foods. 

Anyways-- the bagels. Plain toasted with cream cheese. It didn't really have a hole in the middle but no matter the shape a bagel is a bagel if it's cooked right, and it was. Delicious, though it has nothing on Bagels Forever, of course. The guy behind the counter was incredibly nice. We got to talking and told him we were studying in Alcalá and all that jazz. He's from Kenya and moved to Madrid just four years ago, he started out studying then decided to stay. Says his favorite place to go in Spain is San Sebastian, so of course I got along with him. He didn't even charge us for the bagels, it was so cool. 

We headed onward to the giant Corte Inglés by Puerta del Sol in order to search out Moleskin notebooks (as I've almost finished one and only have one left, which will be filled quite quickly I believe, I needed backup). The bookstore didn't have any, which it odd for us Americans seeing as every Barnes and Noble and Borders are full of them, you'd think books and notebooks go hand in hand, those that read tend to like to write too. But no, there were no notebooks at all. They did have the smallest English language section I've seen, weird considering the very tiny book stores in Alcalá have a larger selection of English language books. Mostly it was full of American trash novels, Stephen King and the like, but they did have nearly every Hemingway about Spain and even the ones that weren't. I picked up "The Old Man and the Sea" as I've been dying to read it and it's a short breather before I get back into a Spanish book. 

At regular, migraine-inducing Corte Inglés (I actually took Excedrine in the store due to the sensory overload), they had a huge pile of Moleskin books but not a single normal sized, hard back, book style lined notebook. They had every possible variety of a 2009 planner--daily, weekly, big, small, soft cover and hard. They even had lined regular journals...but reporter style, which just doesn't fly with this kid over here. So I gave up and headed onwards to find some food. 

Walking around Puerta del Sol searching for a doner kebab I saw an alimentación with a wall of tiny one shot bottles of booze, and I immediately thought "Hey maybe they have a tiny bottle of absinthe as a cute little gift," so I searched the wall. Nothing. I walked around the corner, looked in the window and my heart skipped a few beats. There it was, or there they were. Four bottles of absinthe, a 70%, the 80% that we had in Asturias, another 80% called "Yellow Absinthe" and finally one labeled "Cannabis flavored Absinthe" with a weed leaf on it. They were reasonably priced, being about $22 a 750ml bottle, which is awesome considering the fake stuff in America costs about $75. You can guarantee I'll be picking one up shortly--but I decided to hold off yesterday.

From there to Starbucks at la Plaza de Neptuno and an odd thing that has been known to occur to us study abroad folks: forgetting we're in Spain for the briefest of moments. It seems hard when you're sitting en terraza right off a large plaza with a statue of Neptune and fountain and corrals of cars circling around at rapid speeds. The weather was perfectly cold and a bit windy. I looked up into the sky and remembered, wow, I'm in Spain, what is everyone in America doing right now? It's a crazy feeling to lose sense of yourself like that, even for a brief moment.

Sunday brought Maya, Monica, and myself to Madrid to see Guernica and la Reina Sofia. It's free admission to la Reina Sofia (the modern art museum) on Sundays so aprovechamos la oportunidad as did nearly everyone else. The place was packed, especially around Guernica, Picasso's immortal painting of the Spanish Civil War. The rest of the rooms paled in comparison, obviously, but there were plenty of paintings that caught my eye. One in particular was un mundo by Ángeles Santos . Such detail and imagination in that work. I could stare at it for a very long time. Another wasn't a painting but an installation by Nancy Spero, who has a temporary collection there. It was called "May Pole" and it was a room with a maypole and attached to the strings were severed heads of humans (not real ones of course), it was horrifying and humbling at the same time. I felt as if the heads were real. It was eerie.

Like the lunch at Llanes, the lunch I had Sunday in Madrid was perhaps one of the best lunches I've ever had. We went to Kaixo a very stylish and gourmety restaurant. The food was out of this world and a complete surprise from what we could have expected. I got croquetas, a pretty standard Spanish delish food. They came, five of them, on a small flat and black plate with a cut up tiny tomate in a flower shape and stacked like a pyramid. They contained jamón ibérico, and they were the best croquetas I've ever had. I knew these wouldn't suffice, so I got a toasted bread half sandwich thing. Brie cheese and caramelized onions. It was bliss in every bite. Oh, and a fine (if a bit small) glass of red wine on the side. 

Did I mention dessert? Tarta de higos. Fig deliciousness. It beats out apple pie. It beats out any type of pie/cake thing I've ever had. At first it was alright, but as I dug into it-- the sweet, sweety honeyness of figs overcame me. Add a café con leche and I am done.

What do you do after a lunch like that? How do you go on? Well, head to a historic café that was founded in 1888 and was frequented by artists and writers and poets during the Franco era. It's expensive, it's ritzy, but it's awesome and full of historic atmosphere. There were reserved tables when we came in. We sat in a corner and observed the people. An old, white haired, man came in and sat at the reserved table. The waiter brought his drink before he could even order. We immediately began speculating who he could be. We decided he is a famous artist as he was sketching away in a journal he had, and was showing it off to different waiters, and a lot of his friends came in probably had extremely intelligent and important conversations. [Side note: sorry if I'm not making much sense but I'm watching the live feed from MSNBC right now as I am far too anxious right now for the election (YOU BEST HAVE VOTED!) and am planning on staying up until we find out who won this thing (which might be til 6am or so here in Spain)]

From there we headed home, as it was the only sensible option. A dish of four flavors of ice cream from the café and the energy you get from sitting in such a monumental environment, you have no choice but to head home. One of the best lunches I've ever had then this enlightening café. What was next?

Don Juan en Alcalá. A once a year outdoor theatre spectacular. Rotating stages. Crowds of people running from stage to stage as the scenes changed. Thousands of alcalaínos huddled in the freezing cold watching this one of a kind celebration.

Then home, and sleep.

Final note. Vote. VOTE. VOOOOOTE. 

La aventura extremeña :: 1º parte :: Cáceres

Since it's still fresh in my mind I'll forgo the Día de Cervantes post and write about this past weekend in Extremadura. 

I remember way back in Mrs. Goecke's Surprising Spain class how, when we were learning about all of the comunidades autonomas, we more or less just skipped over Extremadura because even the people living there don't like it, or at least we were told. After all, extremadura means "extremely hard." It's a very dry and flat region, not lush and green like Asturias. There's not much for agriculture there save for ganadería (the English word is escaping me...but basically cows and pigs and animal farming). So on the very short bus ride there from Alcalá, most of the time spent looking out the window, instead of Los Picos as we saw in Asturias, our eyes were met with flat, flat lands, lots of dirt, sparse trees, and plenty of sheep, pigs, cows, and horses. And the occasional vineyard (Badajoz, a region of Extremadura, has a bit of wine fame too, though not quite like La Rioja or Ribera del Duero).

It was like driving through the American West. But I was entertained. I loved seeing fields of cows just sitting there with vultures circling overhead and the gorgeous clouds covering the sky. Oh, and lots of ganadería does mean one important thing for the Epicurean such as myself: some of the best meat in the world. The highest quality and most expensive jamón ibérico in Spain (which is the only place there is jamón ibérico produced) is from Extremadura. So score one for my meals, which consisted of anything that contained jamón. Cheese is also pretty famous around there, so considering the two trips we took this semester with CIEE, I got pretty lucky in going to regions famous for delicious foods (next semester, not so promising: Sevilla/Cordoba and León). 

So Friday we headed out to Extremadura and the bus ride was only about three and a half hours, much shorter than the Asturian adventure. We arrived in Cáceres about noon thirty to our formerly-a-palace-now-probably-haunted Hotel Ibería, right off of Plaza Mayor. We toured the old, walled-in section of town. I was very pleased-- I always love the old European towns where it's nearly impossible to drive a car anywhere and half the roads no one even bothers trying, so it's just pedestrians walking between all these historic and beautiful buildings (occasionally containing anti-Nazi or anti-government graffiti--how fun!). 

I don't know if I'm dumb or what, but it just took me til this past Friday to come upon a realization that I believe you'll all go "no shit Kyle" when I explain this. I was sitting there in what used to be a synagogue now turned church in the old Jewish quarter of Cáceres when it dawned on me -- how much of history, how much of humanity has been shaped by religion. Fausto (our guide) was talking about how the Muslims controlled Cáceres for a while, then the Jews were there in their own little quarter, then the Christians came in and kicked everyone else out. How there's these huge churches and cathedrals and what used to be mosques and synagogues now turned churches everywhere in Spain and throughout Europe. It's very intriguing to me how much religion has impacted every facet of the evolution of these cities in Europe. By looking at these buildings with their escudos (again, lacking the English word--it's like an emblem engraved on the side of a house) and the visible marks where this used to be Jewish, you can tell, but now there's a big cross there--religion has had a huge impact. Peoples were kicked out of town in the name of one god, they made others their slaves basically in the name of another, they killed and tortured, they built and built and built. Bishops created universities and built towns around them (like Alcalá de Henares) -- so much has been done out of belief in a god. And I never really noticed that until just this past weekend. It's crazy to think about it, how some of these towns might never have been built nor prospered without the church, mosque, or synagogue in the center. I know for sure they'd be completely different if those places didn't exist, but in what way, I wonder.

So the old town was pretty cool, I came upon a revelation that I still don't have an answer to, and got to see and touch things built 2,000 years ago --and of course take plenty of photos for all of you to see, later. We went back to the hotel, headed to the balcony in one of the girls' rooms, cracked open a bottle of wine as we watched the city get ready for the evening and the start of a music festival in Plaza Mayor. Maya pointed out something to me on the balcony that I suppose I had only thought of in passing before, as I was mentioning how much I loved that cars couldn't drive down a lot of the streets, especially by Plaza Mayor, and so there was foot traffic everywhere. She mentioned how cool it was to see everyone, of every age out around town -- young kids, high schoolers, college kids, couples in their 30's, 40's, 50's, and grandparents, old couples walking around, hand-in-hand, slowly creeping down the street with canes in hand. Dads wearing faded pink pants and navy blue sweaters walking with his two young daughters in hand. Teenagers with shopping bags full of cheap wine and Coke -- older men carrying plastic liter cups of beer. Twenty-something women, decked out in their oh-so-European leggings, scarves, boots, purses, hats, and coats. The streets were full of life -- full of something you don't really see in America -- people, together, of all ages and lifestyles enjoying the night air and atmosphere, chilling in the plaza -- not cooped up in their respective houses, enclosing themselves in, hiding from the rest of the world.

Dinner was a pleasant surprise to me. We found a menú del día and I went against my paella rule, instead opting for arroz a la cubana. Because as we all know by now, I need to try and later love anything Cuban. It is white rice, with a fried egg on top, surrounded by cold, ketchup-like tomato sauce. I mixed it all together and devoured it all in a matter of minutes. It was delicious, it was amazing, and I could not get enough of it. I am anticipating next semester when this can be my cheap and easy meal that I have everyday for lunch or dinner, or hell, even breakfast. The wine was alright but I was disappointed that it didn't include much more than a glass--something that just shouldn't happen with a menú del día.

Afterwards was a mini-botellón in the girls' room. We picked up some Fanta Limón and ice from a nearby alimentación and headed to our hotel. We were stopped by police who were guarding any street heading towards the plaza, because at this time the music was starting. They said the ice could be used as rocks to throw at the stage or something. Perhaps this was a common problem. We told them we were going to our hotel that was right off the plaza and one of them escorted us there. 

I ended up going out to the concert later briefly. Listened for about a minute, then Rebeca decided to head back in so I joined her, was pretty tired myself. First day in Extremadura -- count it as a success.

La aventura asturiana, parte 2º :: Los Picos de Europa, Llanes, y más de Cangas de Onís

A little late in my update, I do apologize. I have been lazy this week, nothing more than that. I feel I've almost fallen back into my horrible American procrastination habits that for at least a while I thought I had shed. I downloaded season 2 of The Simpsons this week. That, and I started re-reading 1984 (as I recommend everyone does). Let's start this with a panorama.

I really recommend clicking on that to view the full size at Flickr.

That is one of the lakes from the (national? continental?) park Los Picos de Europa, more specifically the area called Los Lagos (since behind the camera in this photo there was another big lake (photos up later on Flickr). 

We woke up early. Very early. Too early. Bad coffee at the hotel (the kind you'd expect at some diner in the northwoods), didn't help any. The bitter cold outside waiting for the bus woke us up, it was refreshing and welcome, I hadn't felt a cold breeze like that in months. Reminded me a bit of autumn in Wisconsin (as it seems everything does nowadays). We traveled in this smaller bus up a long and winding road through Los Picos. For probably a half hour went slowly gained altitude, curving along the narrow mountain roads. Observing run down shacks, farmers tending to their cattle, feral horses and dogs--the typical of Los Picos, yet so new and invigorating for me. Any tiredness I had or bad mood quickly shook off as we rose further and further into the mist. I was in the back seat of the bus, it stretched to both windows. No one sat with me. I was jumping back and forth between the left and right windows, frantically. I was in love with the place, I couldn't soak up enough of it. I tried capturing some videos of the ride up that hopefully will show you all the feelings I had when I was riding up that mountain.

We were told by our bus driver we had 25 minute (--completely unrelated side note: Mitch I hope you're reading. Host mother is listening to talk radio as she's cleaning the house, and "The Final Countdown" just came on and I thought of you). Understandable. There wasn't much to see from the tourist's perspective. Just two lakes. Great, everyone has lakes. For me though, I could have spent half the morning there. I could have just stood there staring at the lakes from a peak, taking in the environment and mountain air for an hour alone. It was majestic there. Energy was everywhere. I'll refrain from describing more because I fear I'll just seem like a fool trying to describe God or something. Photos won't do it justice but I hope they'll help.

From Los Lagos to Llanes, a port town on the northern coast of Spain, on the Bay of Biscay (Mar Cantábrico). By now it was warmer, sunny even. On the main street, hot even. But by the bay, with a strong wind whipping in my face from the ocean, it was exhilarating and welcome. Llanes is a classic port town that derives every part of its atmosphere and life from the sea. A river runs right through the middle of town towards the bay, lining along the river and dozens of terraced bars, cafés, and restaurants. Each with I'm sure equally delicious food straight from the ocean that is but a few hundred meters away. Not only does Llanes have the luck of being on the ocean, providing it a bounty of fresh and delectable seafood--it is also in Asturias, cow capital of Spain (as I've mentioned before, it's like the Wisconsin of Spain). They have the sweetest, most flavorful pastries in Llanes. Think of it like a queen bee in a bee hive. There's your regular honey that the worker bees produce, then there's royal jelly that comes from the queen. The cows in Asturias and the area around Llanes are like queen bees--queen cows, if you will. 

Lunch, at Casa Canene near the river and main street, was easily one of the best lunches I've ever had in my life. Not necessarily because of the food (which itself was amazing) but just the atmosphere--the old wooden table filled with nine great friends conversating and laughing, the decor of the bar (so typically Spanish), the bar itself being packed with dozens upon dozens of Spanish sitting down for lunch. It was crowded, it was loud. It was fantastic. We ate for probably two hours or more. We had the menú del día, where you get a first and second plate, plus a dessert and wine (unlimited house red wine). The majority of us ordered paella for our first plate. 

This was the first real paella I've ever had at a restaurant in Spain.

It came out on a huge platter, overflowing with that beautiful gold saffroned rice, mussels, shrimp, chicken. Then second plate, while it may not sound too spectacular, was a hamburger with a fried egg and fries. Clearly not a typical Spanish plate, but it had been a month since I had a real hamburger. Plus, it came with a fried egg. Eggs! No bun though, as seems to be the norm in Spain. The meat was tougher than your typical American burger, but every bit as good, covered in sauteed onions. I plopped the egg on, added some hot sauce...and I was ready to eat. I ended up eating other peoples' leftovers, a piece of bistec here, some lomo there. I was full. Then dessert. Natillas, flan, and why not, some ice cream too. I was completely and utterly stuffed. I could barely move and I was far too content with just sitting there for the rest of the day. And I probably had a whole bottle of wine myself.

Best. Lunch. Ever.

Enough about food, I'll save that for the Diaries. After lunch we went to the breakwater and walked along it, admiring los cubos de la memoría.

Once again, I could have stayed there for hours. Just sitting on the breakwater looking out into el Mar Cantábrico. It was so calming, so tranquil, even with the waves crashing up again the cubes. I was in my own world. I was sitting right next to Monica and Amelia, who were having a conversation, and all I could hear was the waves, the wind, and the mere muffles of words. I stared into the sea as if I was expecting it to respond with an answer, a solution. To what, I don't know. The sea remained silent, and I wasn't disappointed in the least.

To the beach, which I didn't care too much about (but then again, when have I ever?). So Kristine, Monica, and I headed up the stone steps to a large outcrop of land thrusting into the sea. I won't bother explaining the view, just look at this panorama.

And this one too (more of the beach area and some of the cubes too).

We went back to Cangas de Onís for dinner. We ate at a restaurant that was overtly black and orange. Very Halloween. Very weird. The food was good though. Fabadas with murciella and chorizo for first plate and chorizo for second plate. I couldn't finish, I was ashamed but realized that lunch was gigantic and that no real human being could have had both of those meals in one day. I probably gained ten pounds that day. 

Sam and I went for a walk, peed off a bridge into the river that runs through Cangas de Onís, then headed to a bar. From the outside it was hard to tell it was a bar. Very nondescript. Very hole in the wall feeling. All sorts of characters were there. Mostly men, but off all backgrounds. Younger kids, business men, construction workers. Alcoholics, addicted gamblers. Pool sharks. 

I only wanted water, as I had had far too much wine at dinner (I wasn't in the best mood so obviously I medicated myself with a depressant. Logical choice, no?). Armani, Lindsay, Sam, Amelia, and I. Lindsay was quite drunk and insistent on buying whatever it is that we wanted. Armani headed up for a second round, and I joined her to do what I do in every bar in Spain--admire the selection of liquors behind the bar. And then there it was.

Absinthe.

Armani got her drinks and we headed back to the table. I casually mentioned they had absinthe. Armani and Lindsay were insistent. I didn't want to try that night. I was convinced otherwise. I ask the bartender, how much. One shot, two euros. We get a shot. He tells me to drink it slowly. Armani, disappointed now that she just got a new round, but delighted that absinthe is only 2 euros, gets three more shots. We drained the bottle, the bartender gave us the last one free. Now, I may have had a bottle of wine or more at dinner, but I was not drunk at this point. It seems that when I have a huge dinner or lunch coupled with wine, I don't really feel it. The green fairy is not as kind. It smells like Yagermister and tastes like puke. You have to choke it down your throat and resist the urge to throw up. Really. You know that horrible scratchiness you get in your throat after you just puked? Absinthe gives you that feeling the second you swallow it. It's strong. Very, very strong. I had to sip it ever so slightly then I chased with water, plenty of water. Which I realize now probably wasn't the best chaser, but hey--it's absinthe!

Lindsay was too drunk, I escorted her back to the hotel early. She passed out right away on the bed. I stayed up trying to write in my journal. My normally horrible handwriting was ten times worse. Where I hadn't been drunk after dinner, I surely was now. I wrote about eight pages by the time Armani, Sam, and Amelia got back 45 minutes later. I was still drunk, and yet I had been drinking water all night. Seriously, I was being fed water at dinner, then had two bottles at the bar, plus plenty when I got back to the hotel. I was still drunk. We stayed up for another two hours. I was still drunk. I woke up the next day. I was not still drunk, but I had quite the headache. I puked. Twice.

People say absinthe gives you hallucinations. Others, more modern, say that's just a bunch of fabricated or exaggerated stories from Oscar Wilde and other late 19th/early 20th century writers. I was skeptical too, like many scientists are today about the hallucinogenic properties. I did not hallucinate. However, I fully believe now that if I had only been drinking absinthe and had more than one shot, I would have been hallucinating. 

Absinthe is a hell of a drug.

La aventura asturiana, parte 1º :: Oviedo & Cangas de Onís

I am back from the Asturian adventure, three days in La España Verde, the most majestic and inspiring and delicious part of Spain. Definitely not the stereotypical flamenco-dancing, bull fighting, sangria-drinking Spain -- it's the place people don't really know too much about but it always a huge surprise when they realize that it is still Spain. I was disappointed when first applying for study abroad that the farthest north program was in Alcalá (which is not northern at all), as I wanted to study in La España Verde (Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria, y País Vasco). I was reminded why I wanted to in the first place this weekend. Asturias and Cantabria...well, you'll see. I'll relate the weekend in four parts (one post for each day and a final Epicurean Diary España Verde edition wherein I recount my amazing meals and run in with absinthe).

This whole trip started Friday morning at 8a.m. sharp in la Plaza de Cervantes, where all twelve of us (Blen was "sick"), along with Fausto and Cristina hopped onto our unnecessarily large autobús with Silva, our driver, and headed out towards the north country, green Spain, the wonderful land of Los Picos y el mar Cantábrico. The seven hour or so trip took us through los Picos as we were heading into Asturias. The typical boring landscape of Castilla transformed into a vibrant, mountainous, and green region filled with plenty of trees, deep valleys, and small lakes. Spotted along the route were tiny villages, sometimes consisting of no more than 30 houses or so. What fascinated me most about these places is how no two houses nor building looked alike nor were there any advertisements on any of the buildings or bars. No recognizable stores, no chains of any kind. I was in love. I couldn't help but think that if this was in the States everyone would have the same model home, painted white with a perfect, tiny square back yard, and down the block would be a Wal-Mart or McDonalds. 

The bus ride consisted mostly of everyone else sleeping except for me and a few other people at random times. We occupied ourselves by eating our bocadillos and staring out the windows in awe. As much as I can't stand bus rides, I actually enjoyed this one since I was with so many good friends. I was almost sad when we had to get off because we arrived in Oviedo...then I remembered that I was in Oviedo and was about to have a much greater time in Asturias.

We didn't spend much time in Oviedo, three hours in the town, and then another hour and a half up on a hillside over looking the town. There was this big cathedral there, which we spent far too much time in. I don't care for places that a) don't allow photographs and b) have pictures of artifacts hanging up on the walls instead of the actual artifacts themselves. Seriously. They had photos of these gilded crosses and shrouds that were allegedly supposed to cover Jesus when they took him off the Cross...but they didn't have the actual shrouds. Just the photos of them, all faded hanging in frames. Very odd. 

The rest of Oviedo was pretty amazing though. It is a very large city but definitely doesn't feel like it. It's modern, full of wonderful architecture and statues everywhere (apparently it's the city with the most statues in the world or something -- and the only one with a statue of an ass...wait for the photos). And I mean statues everywhere. We couldn't walk a city block without seeing a few. There was even one of Woody Allen (which I got pretty excited about). Oviedo has such a small town feel, the people were nice, it smelled normal (for a European town this is rare), and there was an entire section of town where they just had a fish market, a bunch of bakeries, butcher shops, and cheese stores. Pretty sure I was in love and wanted to move upstairs of one of these shops immediately. Asturias and Cantabria are famous throughout Spain and Europe for their cows. It felt like I was back in Wisconsin. All the tourist shops had all these cow paraphernalia, stuffed cows, cow mugs, cow hats, cow t-shirts... I was quite content. 

Even more to remind me of Wisconsin? Yes. In the large park in the center of Oviedo, besides having wild turkeys (already thinking about Thanksgiving, although you don't eat these ones I'm told), they had thousands of chestnuts lining the paths. Unfortunately the leaves hadn't started changing yet or else I would never have left the place. 

We headed up a mountain, up a cow trail, on foot. Passed some old farm houses and also some farmers walking their cattle up the path. We didn't go all the way up but we went pretty far to look at two old churches/temples of which we didn't even go in...not that I would have been too enthused. I can see the complaint people give often about how they hate sighting in Europe because all it is is "Oh, there's another church. And there's a cathedral. And there's a temple." It's true. Now, I wouldn't mind that too much if these places we were visiting were architecturally amazing, and not dilapidated piles of rocks. Anything pre-Roman just doesn't do it for me. Show me gothic or Renaissance, then I'll be paying attention.

Nevertheless, I had a great time and I believe the crisp mountain air (and the somewhat cooler temperature) rejuvenated everyone's spirits and we were all quite happy and jubilant for Cangas de Onís and our dinner there at a sidrería.

Sidrería: a place where they specialize in sidra. Sidra: a carbonated alcoholic beverage similar to champagne that is produced in la España Verde. Smells like puke, tastes more like beer (with a 6% ABV too), yet really cleans out your teeth, almost like mouthwash. At first I wasn't too enthused about the taste, but it eventually grew on me. More about that during the Epicurean Diaries. And about the dinner, or at least the food served. The ten of us (Tommy and Alix opted instead to go eat pasta and pizza at a pizzaría instead of partake in our gorge-fest that was the dinner at el Conchu (the name of our lovely sidrería). And what a fest it was. We had the sidra in the middle (of course, you know, that you have to pour the sidra into the glass from on high), and nearly everyone got something different (save for me, Maya, and Kristine, who all got croquetas). We ate and laughed and generally were merry. We ended up trying each other's foods, sampling everything from the simple chicken breast to chorizo in sidra sauce to some crazy pork/turkey soup thing that Armani got.

What only added to the experience was the actually restaurant. We came in with a big group and were easily accommodated because they only had huge, long tables meant for big groups. There was only one table open, the place was jam packed with whole extended families and groups of friends eating and drinking. Everything about that place gave off such a cozy vibe. Felt like a north woods bar, plenty of woodwork and down to earth characters inhabited the place. The only thing that was out of place was the fact that the waiters took our orders on iPhones. A bit of modernity in the otherwise authentic Asturian sidrería. 

While others were content after this meal, I, as usual, was up for a night cap, a glass of wine at another local to get more of the flavor of the town. After rejecting the loud Irish pub (my veto), we found a quiet, stone-walled and wood beam-supported tavern for some red wine. We stood around a big wine cask and had a glass of the house wine, which was pretty good (as it always seems to be). It was heading towards midnight and they were closing. We were the last people in there and I loved how was we were heading out the two workers were sitting down to dinner. They had a bottle of wine, a basket of bread, and a large portion of freshly sliced jamón ibérico in front of them. It was cute, I was jealous (though still stuffed from dinner so I was more apathetic), and it made me feel all warm inside...and immediately want to move up to Asturias.

Rain! And Storms! And new pants!

Nothing special these past few days, save for:

El primer botellón. This is where the parents should skip to the next paragraph or two. Or not. So, the Spanish word for bottle is botella. Whenever you take a Spanish word and add -on, it makes it bigger, stronger, better. So think of botellón as a big, strong bottle -- full of booze. Botellones are a tradition and favorite pasttime of Spanish youth. The idea is simple: bars are very expensive, so why not get a bunch of booze cheap at the store and just hang out with friends in a park, drinking and talking all night? Then maybe heading out to a bar for a night cap or food. The laws concerning drinking outside are very, very lax here. I've been told by my Spanish friends that they've been approached by police during botellones, but were simply told to throw away their trash afterwards. Very lax. Think of it as our American house party, yet outside and without beer pong (qué horror!). You see, Spanish youth end up living with their parents until they are married, more or less. You can find some 28 year olds still living in their parents houses, mostly because of the lack of money and strong family ties (plus point--there aren't really part time jobs for college aged Spanish--they just go to school and have fun). However, when living with their parents, Spanish kids aren't really allowed to invite many more people over than just their girlfriend or best friend, much less a whole house full of drunkards. So they go outside to drink. Good idea, no? Just try that in the States anywhere that isn't Las Vegas or a festival.

Thursday night we had our first botellón with our new Spanish friends. It was great. We went to the university's courtyard and were presented with a wide selection of fun things to drink. Rum, black cherry vodka, regular vodka, Don Simón red wine (it's this boxed stuff that would kick Franzia's ass any day), Mahou (eww), plus the standard mixers: Coke and Fanta limón. Be warned: the black vodka and Fanta limón, while delicious, turns your teeth black-- not too attractive, but it was getting dark out so I don't think anyone mattered too much. This was a great opportunity for me and mis compañeros de los Estados Unidos para charlar y conocer mejor los españoles. We chatted, joked, laughed, peed in the alley way: good times. Got to work on our Spanish, which obviously improved as the night went on. Our Spanish hosts say they've been having this botellón every Thursday for the past seven years. We have to leave at 8 am on Friday morning for Asturias this week. You bet we'll be partaking in round two for us Americans.

Pues, Friday and Saturday weren't too exciting. Plenty of chilling around Alcalá. I believe I already spoke of the tapas fair here in Plaza Cervantes, which entertained me for a good portion of the night. Saturday night I spent mostly at home reading Reinaldo Arenas' autobiography "Antes que anochezca." Some of you may have seen the film version starring Javier Bardem (in English "Before Night Falls"). It's a very...interesting book. Very easy read for Spanish students as there aren't too many words you need to be running to the dictionary to look up. You'll definitely learn some new ones, mostly through context. Backstory: Reinaldo Arenas was a homosexual poet/author growing up just in time for the Castro revolution in Cuba. He grew up en el campo and at one point joined the militia to oust Batista. However, once Castro took over, he started persecuting homosexuals--and Arenas started to get in trouble. I'm only about half way through right now, so far, so good -- and strange at times (if you read it, you'll see what I'm talking about). Highly recommend it though (even more so in Spanish, of course). 

I did find a new cool bar Saturday night (after my marathon reading session, of course--study first, drink later). It has a wonderful terrace seating inside it's own courtyard. I'd liken it to Porta Bella in Madison (at least in style of terrace, not food). The drinks, as seems to be typical of the Spanish, were half and halfs -- for only 4.20€ -- just about the cheapest you can find in town without going to a botellón (5€ for a cup -- reminds me of most Madison parties). Still not sure how to properly order a rum and Coke here though. I've ordered it the only three ways I know and each time I'm met with weird stares. Ron y cola...blank stares and "¿Qué?" Cuba libre...same thing, no one understands. I was told by Maya to order by brand name (as once they figure out you want rum, they ask for what kind), so I ordered "Club Habana y cola" which was greeted with a disgruntled "¿QUÉ?" And it's not like I'm stupid and mispronouncing these words. I know how to speak at least enough Spanish to order a drink, and I've been told by multiple teachers my pronunciation is quite good. Maybe it's just that no one drink rum around here -- or else Spanish waitstaff just hate me. 

Sunday was Madrid time. Went to El Prado, which contrary to what we thought, was only free from 5pm onwards, not all day Sundays. Shame. Went in anyways. Saw Las Meninas, of course, and a host of others by Velazquez and Goya and those other famous Spanish painters. The painting that really stuck out for me and captured my attention most was by an "Early Netherlandish" painter called Hieronymus Bosch. It was called The Garden of Earthly Delights. Very fascinating, very detailed. I could spend hours looking at this three part painting. There are so many things going on and it seems to crazy that some guy back in the early 16th century dreamed this world up.

Spent some time in Retiro, then wandering around the crazy, convoluted streets of Madrid, hoping I'd get lost. Wanted to just explore and find something new and cool (or old and cool). I didn't, since the coolest thing was this bar at the very beginning of my trying-to-get-lost adventure. Casapueblo. At the beginning of Calle Leones near El Congreso and all those ritzy hotels in Madrid (save for the actual Ritz, which is near Atocha). Inside, old fashioned prohibition era decor. Loud (too loud) piano and jazz music playing. They had an old piano in back, in fact. Theater posters dating back to the early 20th century advertising plays being put on in none other than Alcalá de Henares. Giant wall full of liquor bottles. First time I've seen Kahlúa in Spain. Plenty of other rare stuff, including this one Cuban scotch. Not sure how good that would be. Marisa and I had a glass of red wine while admiring this beautiful wall. Our eyes searched for, and eventually found, the holy grail of I'm-in-Europe-and-it's-cool-to-drink-stuff-illegal-in-America booze: Absinthe. Or in Spanish, absenta. We didn't try as we are going to wait to bring more friends back to disfrutar. It has been encountered though (as numerous searches of grocery stores have returned negatives results). Will let you all know how that adventure ends up going when it happens.

And finally, yesterday I got some new pants. A pair of jeans. Figured my old ones were either too uncomfortable or too worn down. Got new ones, which I now refer to as "ass jeans" because they definitely show off my butt. The ladies love them though, so I'm not going to complain.

Epicurean Diaries Vol. 3

After quite the wait, here is the next installment. Lots of food and drink since the last one.

Chorizo picante

My first experience with chorizo here in Spain wasn't a pleasant one. Host mother pulled out this moldly looking slab of sausage one night for dinner. It was all dark and full of fat. She sliced me off a piece--I did not enjoy it. However, I was talking one night about how much I love spicy food and how there is no spicy food in Spain. She mentioned some spicy chorizo that Jesús likes. So I had some, uncooked, but still delicious. She said it was "muy picante." Not entirely true but I guess for a Spaniard who has never heard of a jalapeño before, that would be true. It was good chorizo though, and it did have a bit of a bite to it (though not quite like Mexican chorizo). I had it a few days later cooked, was much better still. 

Vino tinto

I was going to have separate categories for all these different red wines I've been having, but then I realized that I'm not skilled enough, if you will, at discerning the differences and subtleties of wines. I've ordered house wines (vino tinto de la casa) at a Korean BBQ in Madrid, restaurante Candela, and two others from there, plus house wine from El Espejo (if you remember from la noche en blanco). They were all good to great. And before this I was never a huge fan of wine in general. Either I've grown accustomed to the taste, or the wine really is just better here. And so cheap too. In the stores, as I've said, you can get a bottle from .79€ -- in most restaurants the tinto de la casa is going to be about 10€, and quite good. So..if you come to Spain, get red wine, and you won't be disappointed.

Korean BBQ

My friends Monica and Kristine took me out to a Korean BBQ in Madrid last week since they were missing Korean food and I've never had it before. Started off with fried dumplings, which I could not tell the difference between Korean and Chinese fried dumplings -- nevertheless, they were quite good, if unfortunately in small portions (only four tiny ones! Really need to find a Chinese buffet around here). The girls had this spicy soup called Kim Chi, I had a taste it was very good -- but you know me, I already get enough soup at home here, that I refrained from having any more. Main course was the actual BBQ ribs, called Kalbi. If you've never been to a Korean grill before...the grill is actually in the middle of the table and either you or the server cooks the food right there on the table. Monica and Kristine knew how so they prepared out meal. I'm not quite sure what the sauce was, but it was amazing. Plus, meat! How often do I get that here? I was quite excited. It was fun actually cooking your meat to your liking then just tossing it on your plate -- a kitchen so close is useful, especially since I was starving. So I filled up on white rice and Kalbi and the fine vino tinto de la casa. Quite the good dinner.

La merienda a la terraza de El Espejo

Merienda is usually a snake during midday, after lunch, but before dinner, in order to hold oneself over until dinner. I'm applying it here to our 2am snack and drink in Madrid during la noche en blanco. Or, as Rebeca put it "You know what this is right here? Fourth meal." We ordered a plate of jamón ibérico and manchego, along with bread. I got a glass of the house wine (as I've said, you can't go wrong here in Spain with red wine). Normally I hate manchego, it's so saltly and strong and just plain foul (I'm starting to think that that's just the manchego that host mother gets) -- but this manchego was much more mild and delicious. That, or I'm just getting used to manchego. A slice of bread, a slice of manchego, and the coup de grâce: jamón ibérico. The best ham you can get in the world. The only thing coming from a pig that I like. Familiar faces should know that I do not like ham nor pork chops nor bacon...however, when in Spain, ham is about the greatest thing I can eat. And this jamón ibérico was fantastic. Cut fresh off the (dead and cured) pig's leg, in tiny little strips, perfect for making tiny bocadillos with the cheese. These bocadillitos and the wine were a perfect combination and an excellent mid-night snack to refuel our energy before we continued on for another four hours.

Camembert

For a while, I just referred to this as the "French cheese" because I didn't know how to pronounce it. As noted before, I was having troubles adjusting to manchego and even the Wisconsin cheddar I brought over (I don't like yellow cheddars...I know, from Wisconsin and don't like cheddar!), so I was determined to find an alternative cheese because I was going through cheese withdrawals (unfortunately they don't have pepper jack here...I may die). Searching through Carrefour for a suitable cheese, I found only two saving graces: Brie and Camembert. I wanted to eat it immediately, and only Camembert came in individually wrapped chunks, so I picked that up. While the mold on the outside was a turn off at first, I have quickly adapted and am now in love with Camembert. It is what keeps me alive and not withering away due to lack of cheese. It's so rich, so creamy...I have a chunk for nearly every meal. Goes great on bread but I can just as easily tear into it by itself. Oh the French, saving me once again. 

Common Fig

Or, in Spanish, higo. A friend of the family rang the doorbell one day and Candela opened the door to reveal Juan, a fast talking and very impassioned Spaniard, friend of Candela's kids Estrella and Antonio. He was carrying grocery bags full of food--and shoes-- and started pouring stuff on the kitchen table (where we had just been eating at--Candela was quite quick to clear the table when she found out he was coming up, never have seen her so excited or so fast). He pulled out this green fruit and basically shoved one in my face, peeling the skin down like a banana, to reveal this half strawberry, half sea coral looking interior. I was intrigued, and shoved my face into the fruit. Oh so sweet. He mumbled that it was "yigo" or something, I didn't picked up what it really was called until a few days later, when I was devouring one I asked Candela and she spelled it out for me (wrong, but Google can help with that). Found out it was the common fig. Makes sense, now that I think about it they do kinda taste like Fig Newtons. I think that if el higo was an animal and not a fruit, I wouldn't eat it. The insides would look disgusting coming from an animal. Weird, I know. It's so delicious, so sweet. It's coated in this gooey sweetness that remind me of honey. So, it's like eating a coral strawberry covered in honey. 

That's all for this installment, expect another one next week. I'm going to be heading out tonight to eat for dinner and possibly again Sunday -- in Madrid. I'm thinking either Casa Botín (Hemingway's favorite) or else something Middle Eastern. Weird that now that I'm in Spain I'm eating at non Spanish restaurants that I could just as easily find in Madison or Milwaukee. 

Recuerdos

And I sat there in phonetics class today...drifting off since the material I had already learned and seemed quite easy (how hard is it to separate into syllables and find the accentuation?)...thinking, of Madison. How I miss those Tuesday afternoons, fresh off of Spanish 223 I'd pick up the latest Onion and sit in the Trilling lounge reading over it, amusing myself with a select few others who were just arrive back from class or waking up. Mitch and Ian were usually there, Jake every once in a while. We'd sit and chat and laugh, then head off to lunch. As I said then, and it's still true now, lunch was typically my favorite part of the day, and definitely so on Tuesdays. We'd gorge and sit around the Don's table or else in the atrium for what turned out to be hours on some occasions. I'd get a flavored coffee (and I'd be damned if it was Chocolate Raspberry), trying always to get Mitch to drink it. Then we'd head back up to the lounge after lunch, coffee in hand, and just chill for the afternoon--no one wanted to do homework, or head off to their next class (though luckily for me I was done for the day). Then after some time Jeanne and Kayla and Kyle and Amanda and others would filter in, lunch trays in hand, and plop themselves down and it'd be a blast. 

The lunches are much quieter, here. Usually it's me and abuela. Sometimes her granddaughter. The selection, of course, is not a plentiful. There is no choice, and I end up eating soup most days. There are no reubens, there are no Chicken-Os, no Cuban pork sandwiches, no rare-but-delicious breaded chicken sandwiches, no cheeseburgers, no Brew City fries, no made to order quesadillas nor never-ending pasta buffets nor gigantic burritos covered in far too much guacamole and sour cream, and definitely no dirt cake. There is soup, pinto beans, garbanzo beans, lentils, noodles (not quite what you'd think). And bread. Plenty of baguette style bread, which varies in quality from something quite amazing to what appears to be styrofoam masking itself as something edible. 

There is no lounge to relax and digest the meal in. No Irish Cream nor French Vanilla nor Kahlúa coffees (and I can tell you why there is an accent mark on the "u" now), straight black. There is café con leche, which varies widely depending on the café you frequent. I've found one solid cup of café con leche so far in Alcalá. The rest seem to be imposters, heating milk in the microwave and tossing in instant coffee, as los abuelos do in the morning, a taste so offensive that it could turn me off of café con leche altogether. Café solo (black coffee) is served strong and small. It more resembles espresso (café cortado) than coffee we're used to in the States. If I order a café solo anywhere, I get this tiny shot of Spanish coffee, which I don't mind the taste (remember I love dark and bitter coffees and beers), but it's so small and perks me up so little that I feel like I'm wasting the 1.20€ it costs. At least with leche you get a full cup. And yet there is no Cedarburg Coffee Roastry where the refills are free and you get to choose from 4 differently delicious brews. Only one, and refill is 1.20€. There is a Starbucks in town, I'm far too afraid to go in there though as doing so would feel like I'm giving up, quitting, not embracing the new culture here. Wasting, if you will, the opportunity to have fine Spanish coffees while I'm here. And yet I've still to find that fine Spanish coffee, perhaps there is a café hidden from us foreigners where the delicious coffee flows freely and cheaply. Where there are large cups filled with black coffee of all regions and flavors. Where there is the strong smell of roasted beans and the absence of any TV screen. 

So now when I go to a café, I rarely get coffee. I haven't had a cup in days. Strange, I know, considering my 3+ during the school year and summer. I don't know if I can survive like this, without large quantities of coffee. Sure, I don't need it to stay up (in fact I have trouble sleeping often), but there's definitely something missing. I end up, instead, sharing a bottle of wine with friends, often having upwards of 3 cups in an afternoon. It's enjoyable, and I've grown quite the tongue for red wine (there isn't a bad red wine I've had here yet), but it doesn't give me that kick, that je ne sais quoi (o mejor, en español, yo no sé qué) that a bold cup of coffee does.

I've already planned my first full day back (or at least the meals): 

Breakfast: Fried egg (over hard, of course...something that they don't do in Spain) sandwich, on an egg bagel from Bagels Forever. Coffee.

Lunch: Homemade reubens (as Cedarburg is severely lacking in establishments with quality reubens). Afterwards, hours upon hours of coffee at the Roastry.

Dinner: Gigantic burrito from Chipotle, or an otherwise very spicy meat and cheese combination with plenty of sour cream and guacamole (perhaps my special recipe spicy meatloaf). Afterwards, an evening at Silver Creek, outside on the beer garden, legally drinking quality beer.

Is it bad that I'm already pondering this? It's not like I hate Spain, not by any means, I suppose this is my slow, drawn out "cultural shock" period that everyone usually goes through their first few days. I didn't have that at first, and it's definitely not panic-inducing. It's just gradual, the things I realize that I really miss from time to time. It's my quest this year to find at least one place in Madrid that serves a reuben.