Cordoba and Sevilla Day 1: (Spain Part V)

 OkaaaaaaAAY,

If you have read this far, please forgive me for rambling. If you intend to read further, please extend your forgiveness into that furtherness. It's taken me over seven decades to develop my voice, and whether you like it or would rather leave it, it's my voice. I love you either way.

Speaking of love, we felt a lot of it in Spain. As I may have mentioned, we had few to none encounters with crankiness, rudeness, or fear in our three weeks in España. It took until our arrival at the airport in Chicago on our way home to meet admittedly overworked, underpaid, and clearly unhappy service people. We also had our first egregiously overpriced food and beverage there. But that's for later. Now's for now!

The train ride:

We packed up the next morning since we had until 11:00 to meet our driver. Yes, another very nice black-suited man in a new black Mercedez. A note about packing and transitions: my wife is great at the former, and surprisingly great at the latter on our trip. We travel exceedingly well together. I hope to do more of it. Our next trip will be a week in Denver at Christmastime, and both our grown children and both of their partners, their people, will also be there at Jim and Amy's historic home across from University Park. But I digress. Lee Ann had purchased packing bags into which we could separate shirts, shorts, undergarments, etc. for easy packing and unpacking. It works like a charm and I highly recommend it. For our 3 weeks, I carried a backpack and she a carry-on and we had two large zippered pieces of luggage. I also carried a gig bag containing my Kala tenor ukulele, which I did play of an evening once in a while. 

View out our window as we left the vast plains of Spain and neared the south-central hill country 

A final and predictably delicious breakfast in the room off the courtyard, and we headed out to the lobby where we met our driver and headed just a mile or two away from the hotel to the train station. For the uninitiated, we learned by doing. There was no gate number on our travel information and there's a reason for that: gates are not announced until 30-20 minutes before boarding. I don't know exactly how that gate assignment gig works, but I am certain I never want to have to do it! After asking someone in a uniform, we learned that crucial fact and chilled out before a monitor screen until our gate was announced. In Madrid one has to get to the gate with one's luggage, queue up in a line once the destination's gate is announced, then get down a 45 degree escalator with it all and into the assigned train car. We did so, and were seated in our premium seats, ready to go. Here's the text from our travel info:

Note: There is NO luggage assistance to help with your luggage inside or outside the train at Madrid-Puerta de Atocha train station. Your driver cannot access the platform without a valid train ticket.

It was true, but like anything, the second time we would do it, it was much easier. Something about undone experiences and their done "next times," yes? 

Trainfood, eggplant, tasted a little better than it looked and kept me alive

The two hour train ride was largely uneventful but absolutely beautiful. It reminded me a little of the UHaul truck drive my son Colin and I had experienced the previous summer, with the vast plains, agricultural vistas turning hilly and inspirational in scope; and I slept a little, listened to my book (Dragonfly in Amber from the Outlander series--big recommend) with airpods from my phone. It is in fact a high speed train, but caveat: it stops frequently along its route. In relatively short order we were in Cordoba. 

Off the train we were greeted by a porter with a cart and our guide for the day, Carmen. She was in character and professionalism similar to our other wonderful guides, and I doubt if I will ever hear the word "jello" without remembering her. Explanation to come.

First stop, Alcazar de los Reyes Cristianos, "Castle of the Christian Monarchs".

After winding our way through the castle, which contains some reconstructed murals originally created as flooring, on the walls, we toured the garden.

We left the garden and strolled up the street by the river to view the ancient Roman bridge built there. 

Then we made our way past the former gate into Cordoba, where we took a comprehensive tour of the Mosque-Cathedral of Cordoba. There are some great pics in the Wikipedia article, but I want to share this one, snapped by Carmen:

Not on Wikipedia, this little huggy pic hints at the majesty of the architecture, containing substantial stylistic contributions from Visigoths, Romans, and finally, Christians.

We learned that it was one of the first sites of the Spanish Inquisition and that its construction as a fortress for the Goths began in the year 785. It underwent many changes and additions as the various cultures controlled the city. Carmen also took us through the Jewish neighborhood. Cordoba has a long history and it is nothing short of fascinating. 

Oh, Jello: When we were walking up into the city from the river and the famed Roman Bridge, Carmen noted that the walls and streets all had a yellow tint, from the clay by the river that was used to construct them. "I love the jello, everywhere," she said. It made us smile every time she said it that way!

We parted ways with Carmen a few blocks later, and our driver, cordial and pleasant and knowledgeable, hauled us on into Sevilla, where we checked into opulence. A pic of the lobby and the courtyard in our hotel, which we would love, where I took my first picture in Sevilla:

Lobby of the Alfonso XIII, a Luxury Collection Hotel (5*)

I will pick back up next post with our hotel and evening in Sevilla, and continue on into the following day of our trip of a lifetime. Stay well, safe, and spoil yourself. This from a couple who has done it. Cheers.

Madrid Day 4 (Spain: Part IV)

I awakened late, for me, on June 1. It was a beautiful sunny Thursday morning, our fourth day in España.

Lee Ann lay buried in the luxurious zillion count sheets of our king-sized bed. Well, it was actually two doubles pushed together with a bigger-than-king-size mattress pad. I spent some time at the little balcony enjoying the street sounds and watching folks across the tiny street awakening and opening their own balconies to the glory of their city. Stretching, breathing the air thousands of miles away from my native Tennessee. 

The balconies in Spanish cities are small affairs, perhaps 18 inches deep and a little wider than the doors and their windows. I don't recall who mentioned it first, it was likely our Pablo, but some structures have rounded bottom railings to accommodate the puffy dresses of the aristocracy. The other thing I learned is that if you look up, they recede every so slightly in from the street from the second floor to the top. This is to let in the light, as streets in the city centers, the oldest parts of the city, are very narrow. It was also interesting that the lower floors were the most prestigious, as they afforded more visibility on their balconies during pageants or  other events that brought city dwellers into the streets. This is particularly evident in the many squares peppering the city centers.

We took our time freshening up and enjoying the luxurious bathroom design, which featured a luxurious (there's that word again) bathtub with a shower encased in a glass chamber through which one could see the opulent bathroom. 

Bathroom bliss at Palacio de los Duques Gran Melia in Madrid

We had nowhere we had to be until 7:45, when we would meet up with Beltran in the lobby for a tapas hop around the city. So our second breakfast it was, and we took it in a different room, which bordered a lovely inner courtyard garden which later would be filled with conference attendees in socializing mode. This morning we couldn't help but notice that the crisply uniformed servers all very pretty women, wore their hair in uniform tight buns; and all of them, to a one, carried an air reminiscent of the pretties in the classic Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video. This would be magnified when what looked like outside talent hostesses appeared when the Fortune 500 conference moved in that night, and those women, uniformly tall and brunette, all wore tight black uniforms and deep red lipstick. That song was in my head for the rest of the week, until it was erased by the beauty of San Sebastian. WARNING: Don't click the link in that title or it will be in yours all day.

Back up at the room, we made a plan for the day. We had purposely made this day a "day of leisure" to explore on our own and get a nap after an early snack dinner to shake off our jet lag and prep for our tapas adventure. It was in the low 80s and sunny, and explore we did. Pablo had told us that though the marketplace in the Old City was inarguably historic and interesting, there was one in another part of the city that the nannies and mothers shopped which was worth exploring for its lush wares, so we took a cab to Mercado de la Paz, walked around there, marveling at the fresh food, and then walked back to to hotel through the park, where a huge book fair was taking place, with hundreds of publisher stalls and hundreds of people. All the books were, of course, en Español. 

From Mercado de la Paz. Beautiful stuff.

"once a fish"

At the hotel, down we went for another little nap after playing the only games of Bananagrams we would play on the trip. I, of course, lost every game.

Up from our nap, we dressed, got presentable, and headed downstairs to meet our guide for our next scheduled event, "Evening Tapas Tasting with a Local Insider." Beltran Caruncho is another charming human--gracious, well spoken, and knowledgeable to a tee. He took us to four places for four very different dining experiences. He had planned to pass through the open market but decided to pass since we had already been through it on our own. That would allow us more time at the other destinations. They were: 1) Sala De Espiece, 2) XXXXXXXX  3) Restaurante La Castela, and 3) Taberna & Media.

Briefly now, Scotty me boyo, briefly:

Beltran, our guide par excellence!

Sala De Despiece was so brilliantly alive that if it had not been for Beltran we may have been completely overwhelmed. He described the restaurant, the clientele (apparently completely local excepting ourselves ) as we drank our beverages and could not stop smiling. We sipped a class of wine or two while we were pampered as celebrities down at the far interior by a tapas creation station. It all shows in the Google album I made just of the Beltran tapas hop because we had a great deal of pic and some interesting video from that night. 

Our second tasting was at the vibrant hot spot El Doble. It was casual, bustling, bright, loud, and jovial, and the garlic butter sauteed shrimp was to die for. Beltran told us that locals called the torn fresh bread we called (in Tennessee parlance) a "soppy," a "Spanish submarine." Hilarious, and omg delicious. Here's a good time for you to open that google album, if you have not thus far. You'll see that shrimp I mentioned and hear the din yourself! FUN. 

Lee Ann opined that the owner looked a little grumpy, and Beltran agreed, adding that he only smiles when posing for pictures with customers/admirers. I'm not sure because I see he smiles a bit in the video and he was immensely gracious when asked for a pic. Here's that admirers food groupies photo with us and Jesus! :)

Big smiles at El Doble

From there we walked to Restaurante La Castela, Beltran telling us about the Michelle Obama visit in 2016. She wanted local tapas and refused to allow Security to clear the place out for her visit. She wanted to dine with the people and feel that oh so comfy vibe that the place is famous for. There are pics from our dining there, and a couple good videos, at the Google album of the Beltran tapas hop, but here's one memorable snap behind the bar just before we departed. I recall we had oxtail for the first time; but, for sure, not the last!

The crew at La Castela!

We closed our night out around midnight, at the bar at another popular tapas foodery nearby. Amazingly, it was full at midnight. Not amazing to Beltran, since a portion of the culinary-loving Madrid population is just midway through their own tapas hops around that time. I honestly have no memory of what we ate there. We may have just had a cocktail, a night-hat, a closer. There was a full restaurant, cozy as can be, around the corner from the bar, but we sat at the bar and debriefed with our new best friend Beltran. It had been lovely. 

We parted ways, grabbed a cab back to the land of the giant Velasqueses, maybe watched some of The Diplomat on Lee Ann's laptop (an aside: most of the hotels we stayed in had clunky interfaces for streaming media on the room displays. Be sure to have several electrical convertors if you venture to Spain (and a you-friendly laptop for media). We snuggled together and slipped into dreamland.

Tomorrow we would be Leaving on a Jet Train. JK, but listen, just for fun. No: we would be leaving on a high-speed train ride to Cordoba, then to Seville via automobile. Yes: another black Mercedes, another driver, two new guides, and another glorious couple of stops on that trip of our dreams.

Catch ya later.

Tim Buell (Creator Spotlight)

HEY! This is my son-in-law who is extraordinarily talented in myriad ways! You're welcome!

If you find it of value to your knowledge system, there's more at YouTube and of course at Tim's website!

If you are a musician and want to play with a free online collaboration app: Grab it!

Madrid Day 2 (Spain: Part III)

What the...

It's 12 August, 2023 and I haven't even gotten started, not really, with our second day of our 17 day journey across Spain. Hmmmmm.

I'm gonna drop it, I think. 

Well.

Okay. No. Here goes...

View from our Palacio balcony

We awakened in our lovely hotel and made our way to the hotel bar where we filled our plates with lovely food and sat at a lovely table. It took another day before we realized we could get breakfast to order, but honestly the buffet was quite, well, lovely.

We enjoyed a delicious breakfast, then met our first guide in the hotel lobby. Pablo was gracious, funny, and smart, and he immediately said he'd flipped our day (we had two tours with him that day) so that we were going to the Prado in the morning, not in the afternoon as our schedule predicted. The lines at the National Palace were overflowing with tourists and school groups and his experience told him this was the thing to do. I loved him already. I'm a fan of flexibility, and the wonders of the day proved him right. The Palace was only a few blocks from our hotel, and we passed it by for later, heading instead to the Prado. Indicative of Pablo's teacher mind-set (he has a masters degree in Art History), here is my first picture taken on our first guided tour in Spain:

Pablo's first pop quiz: "What kind of tree is this?"
Answer: 

If you will notice the severely trimmed older growth, it's the result of Storm Filomena, the disastrous snow storm at the break of 2021 which crippled the city with the biggest snowfall in over 50 years, resulting in over 150,000 trees being destroyed or severely damaged. Estimates were that over 450,000 more trees were damaged or killed in the surrounding woodlands, including the National Forest that snuggles up to the western boundaries of the city. Once Pablo had focused our attention to that, we saw evidences of it throughout the city. We continued to walk and chat, briefly and only briefly to discuss American politics and Spanish political divide, strikingly similar to ours with its ultra-conservatives and liberals/leftists. The players change but it really is all about money and power wherever you go, isn't it? The story of the current King Filipe VI, a powerful cultural icon but politically not so, and his dethroned father the former king, is just fascinating. Here's a good related article from BBC. Consider it a teaser. You're welcome.

Let's see. We wended our way through Madrid's streets, making our way to the Prado. Along the way we stopped at a hilltop park to view a panorama of the city to the west. Of course I had to try to capture it but the pano does not do justice to the vista of city and not-too-distant National Park.

I've already blogged about the Prado visit, but if you missed it, here. The time we spent there was focused and immersive and couldn't have been better. I can't imagine just buying a ticket and being overwhelmed by it all. Thank you, again, Pablo. 

Then there was that little happy accident where Velazquez's "Los Meninas" completely stole my focus and then again in the roomful of derivative paintings in the Picasso museum the next day, all inspired by that Velazquez. An epiphanous series of events.

One thing I neglected to mention in the earlier post was the final stop within the Prado. We had walked the museum in a focused way, and I really enjoyed watching the painters copying the masterpieces. Pablo told us they got a museum pass for something like two months and could store their work within in between visits to paint/study/copy. Here's one artist working on a reproduction of a big Rubens:

Now that's a fearless artist! Copying Rubens' "The Judgement of Paris" in the Prado. 

Finally we descended stairs to visit the Goya "Black Paintings" exhibit. I have no photos but this was another intensely moving experience for me, and the story behind them is another fantastic learning experience. I suggest you click on over to Wikipedia for that. Pablo related the story of Francisco Goya's embittered isolation in a country house and his use of the walls in the house for canvases upon which the near-deaf painter expressed just that: despair and embitterment. The story of the reclamation of these works of art is in itself a fascinating read. All 14 of them are available for viewing online at the above-mentioned Wikipedia article.  Here's the one that brought tears to my own eyes, but you may have a dark favorite of your own.

Goya: Dog

I know it's a dog. But there in the company of the other thirteen despairing images, it hurt in context.

We parted company with our guide and lunched in the square of a nearby neighborhood and had some good grub.

After lunch, we met back up with him outside our hotel for round two of the day. The Royal Palace:

The official website has this to say by way of introduction:

"The Royal Palace of Madrid is the largest in Western Europe and one of the largest in the world. With over 135,000 square metres and 3,418 rooms, it has witnessed centuries of Spanish history. It is one of the few official seat of a Head of State that is open to the public. Almost 2 million visitors come every year to discover its rooms, works of art and treasures that are unique in the world."

You know, I don't think I'll go into great detail about that tour, but it was, as expected, liberally described by Pablo as we toured, from the multitude of clocks, to the reappearance of Hercules statuary and other art featuring him in many of the rooms, to the giant painting of current King Felipe VI and the story behind his marriage to his wife, formerly a national news anchor. The official website is maybe a little clunky to navigate but it has very detailed information and images of the vast collection of historical objects in the building. Well worth the time for us. 

We bid farewell to Pablo, hit the hotel for a quick nap, arose and cabbed to our dinner reservation at Lobito De Mar, an upscale but casual fine dining experience and a project of famed chef Dani Garcia. I'll admit we may have been too tired to really enjoy that first epicurean stop, but it was fine, and I loved the foodery's commitment to the oceans of the world. We had some awesome shrimp on tableside-prepared guacamole, hake, a fish new to me, and I believe that's sea bass in the last shot. Here's a menu for your perusal.

And here's a quote from me, jotted down online while I was still attempting to keep up with notes on places visited on Google Maps: "Interesting small place with reservations, sat at a small 2-top, had hake for the first time. Good service, but I don't know, a little fussy and maybe I was not really caught up from flying. Sort of a fuzzy memory of not having enjoyed it as much as I perhaps should have."

Taking a pass on dessert, we caught another cab home. There are ~60,000 cabs in Madrid and it's really the way to go if you don't have to go far. Every single cab driver was nice and hospitable. Only once or twice in our cabbing experience did we feel we were taken circuitous routs to inflate the cost, but that may have been a reach since we didn't know the traffic in Madrid, which seems active pretty much all the time and is riddled with tiny tiny streets. 

I'll stop here, as my lovely daughter and her lovely husband are coming over in a few minutes so my lovely wife can join us out somewhere for a lovely dinner after her lovely day of work. Stay lovely and morrrrrrre later!

Madrid (Spain, Part II)

Before we get to Day 2, we should comment on the rest of our first day in Spain, dontcha think?

It was quite fine. 

Checking into the Palacio went well. We sat in chairs in the lobby of the Palacio de los Duques Gran Melia underneath an imposing mural of the aforementioned Marguerite and checked in. We were, of course, tired from our transatlantic flight and, maybe partly influenced by the freely flowing Cava during the process, we simply said yes when asked if we wanted the upgrade to access for a "private room" lounge on the lobby floor with tapas and an open bar. Breakfast was also included but we went for that upgrade. I think it was a good thing but Lee Ann thinks we should not have done it. We did use it several times and it was relaxing and mostly very private. It also hosted our one and only Bananagrams games on the trip.

We were led to our room and it was beautiful. Pretty spacious, a beautiful 3rd floor balcony view of Madrid, and a huge portrait of just the Marguerite. We spent some time in the room unpacking and, adhering to advice we had been given about jet lag, fiddled about the room before walking down the street to a music store suggested by our hotel baggage handler on seeing my uke, then on through charming graffitied streets lined with small cafes and shops to the Royal Palace (which we would tour on day 2), awash with tourists but not in a crowded way, on down the hill past the Senado de Espanol, classical buildings, a square where a group of Asian dancers were being filmed in front of a fountain. Finally, maybe an hour after leaving the hotel, very very tired, we made our way through narrow streets and alleys back to hotel, on the way to the room checking out the hotel's rooftop:

Back in the room, we ordered room service food, a roasted avocado with rice and a club sandwich on naan with unripe red tomato and something like cheese wiz (fries were good but how can you screw up fries?) and a beer from the mini-bar (I could not find opener in the room so I pried it open with a table knife). It was the only truly disappointing meal we were served on our trip. We slept for 2 hours, per jet lag advice, arose and walked again, this time after soliciting the direction of Catherine, our concierge on duty (Grace's shift was over). Catherine's advice led us to picturesque and charming streetways thronging with pedestrians, to Marketplace San Miguel, the tourist version of a market, but cred-heavy because it was built on the bones of the first marketplace in Madrid. 

I got an Estrella Damm beer 

"Spain's Beer," Estrella Damm

(my fave Spanish beer so far) and Lee Ann had a glass of a nice white wine. We found it interesting how one would get a glass at one vendor then leave the empty anywhere in the market. We learned later that the vendors sorted all that out at the end of each night. We wended our way through crowds of tourists and (some) locals enjoying tapas at the market, then returned to Daniel's oyster bar booth where we split 8 freakin' delicious oysters.

Marketplace San Miquel, Madrid, ES

Getting tired, but just happy to be out in the world together, we  walked back to hotel in light but steady rain, stopping in at the Royal Church of Saint James and Saint John the Baptist in the Plaza de Santiago (https://bit.ly/churchofjamesandjohn).

We stopped at that "private room" and realize we were too zonked to go to Four Seasons Hotel so we cancelled our reservation (our dinner the next night was one of several gourmet restaurants run by Dani Garcia and his first had been at that hotel). Up to the comfy room, we passed out. I am so in love with my honey.

Next, Day 2. Really.

July the Fourth Be With You -- Spain, Part I

 Okay, it doesn't have the same weight as "May the Fourth..." but here we are. Nearly mid-way through a very hot summer and up at dawn on the sofa downstairs where I flopped down around 3 in the morning after walking my neurotic but much loved Watson downstairs. 

He doesn't do it every morning, but enough that Lee Ann and I have a tacit understanding that we will take turns dealing with it. Sometimes that might mean cajoling all nearly 90 pounds of him back up onto the bed with our partner and re-retiring upon said bed; sometimes it means padding down the steps with him because he has just told us, in that psychically conveyed way that dogs have of saying, for example, "Hey Dad, Hey Dad, it's time to move downstairs but I need ya to come with me because just because..."

We're lucky that our leather sectional sofa is very comfy. We slept all night on it twice last week, and come to think of it he didn't once slap his tail against the blinds and say it was time to go upstairs...hmmmm... 

Lots of ellipses in life...

So, I likely won't get this posted today but I did want to begin reflecting on our 17 day trip to Spain. I've posted on Instagerm (sic) the two drawings I did but I'll put 'em in the blog as I come to them in the space/time continuum I'm beginning to travel as I write. This is all for me, by the way, so you don't have to keep reading. But...

Day 1 was a travel day and we had packed up the day before and had our luggage by the door when we arose early. We had done a pretty good job of getting things in the 3 bags and two carry-ons we were taking. I also carried my tenor ukulele. No paints or mediums, just a sketchbook and a little box of pencils. We took a Lyft and boy was that ride "interesting." Gary picked us up in his (I think) Toyota Corolla, a black coupe, which was fitted out for pandemic with a plexi barrier between front and back. Of course he had a full-sized skeleton in the passenger seat up front and a paper fan hanging on the plexi for for passenger air conditioning. Now, some Uber and Lyft drivers are humans of few words. Not Gary. We knew everything about him by the time we unloaded at BNA curbside, including his recent medical history and the fact that he was a production designer who set up shows for Jimmy Buffet and others and was driving Lyft because he had developed chronic back issues. It was the non-stop Gary Show the whole way, and it provided a colorful beginning. Lee Ann has a few pics but we'll just leave Gary to your imagination.

Why were we going to Spain anyway? Well, because it had been oh around two or three decades since we had taken a really serious vacation together, and because I am "retired" and Lee Ann works most of her waking hours feeding Nashville at her grab-and-go gourmet kitchen and store, Tinwings. I am so completely proud of her and thankful that she embraces a calling that so beautifully satisfies her drive to care for others and her creativity in any kitchen. She has been in that historic little building on 51st Avenue North for nearly eight years and she just purchased her portion of it, no longer dependent on a landlord's whims and fortunes for the security of herself and her "other family" of creatives, (David, Anitra, Taylor, Ashley, Daniel, and Loren) the close-knit group of humans who work with her and for her. And hey, whilst we're at it, vote for her in a current competition for recognition as the world-class chef that she is.  (Note: she placed 6th in the top five, which, considering we did not throw any money in it, was a darned good showing. You can click that previous link to see her results and competitor page.)

We wanted time together and neither of us had ever been to España. Did we wing it? No. Absolutely not. A couple Lee Ann knew who had traveled together there had very highly recommended RH Travel Design and we contacted them. They planned it all with several phone call meetings along the way, and they did it marvelously. RH Travel = Very Highly Recommended, I am happy to pass along. We started this whole process, btw, fully a year ago. Planning? Priceless. Shoutout to the immensely capable and helpful Rachel, Brian, and Mia!

At BNA curbside, we checked our bags through to Manilla. Our porter at the curbside was the first person I gave a shiny copper ("gold(en)") dollar coin, explaining that I am a very lucky man and that the coin should be considered a piece of my luck all for them. This was to be a thread for taxi drivers, doormen, servers, and guides during our journey. I began somewhere along the way to believe I was giving out actual good luck. Perhaps I was. I hope so. We also tipped accordingly, with Euros, as perceived appropriate. We'll talk about tipping, which was to be a thing of its own overseas.

We passed through Security easily and found ourselves near the gate, at Tennessee Rickhouse, a bar at the airport, for one celebratory beverage.

We boarded the American Airlines flight without incident an settled into cushy first class seats for the first time. Yes, it was that kind of trip, and I am not mad at that. In fact, if I had my way, that would be all I'd ever fly. Looking forward from that moment, it would be the Chicago airport on the way home from Barcelona before any harsh realities of domestic travel slapped us in the faces again.

At Charlotte our transatlantic flight was delayed over two hours due to "some problem with a jet prop, y'all, I don't know nothing about nfixin' no airplane," as the airline attendant said over the intercom speaker at our first gate. We allowed as how it was good they isolated that on the ground, right?  The debarkation gate was changed to another terminal, requiring a goodly trek to a plane that wasn't there yet. In about another hour we boarded, again in Group A, this time Business Class, and experienced those extraordinary space pods that would encase us in our transatlantic flights. That was the shiz! Although we sat across an aisle from one another, we still could lean up and beam at one another across that aisle, and the completely reclining seats, the pillows, and the blankets took good care of us between the meals and the beverages, the movies, and the extensive music offerings, all of which kept us entertained at will. I watched "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" movie and a couple Austin City Limits, including one featuring James Taylor. I also listened to a Soccer Mommy album, one of the two they offered. I did sleep, but maybe only 3 hours, and I did willfully ignore the common wisdom to refrain from alcohol. They were serving complimentary Woodford Reserve, after all. 

Later, we landed in Madrid. I had a weird moment once the seat belt sign was off where I could not locate my freakin' shoes. I had stowed them in the upper bin before sleeping. But then...

Here's where we knew we had done ourselves a super solid by working with RH. At the 787's exit door--not at baggage, not at the gate, but at the freaking exit door--we were met by a tall handsome man named Javier, wearing a crisp black suit, who opened a stairwell door right off the plane and escorted us down one flight of steps to a parking lot where another man in a crisp black suit awaited with a crisp (lol) black Mercedes-Benz. He introduced himself and took our carry-ons, stowing them in the spotless trunk of the car, and we drove around and around airport roads until we ended up a a building wherein polite ladies greeted us and led us to the VIP waiting room. 

On the way we stopped at a desk and had our passport stamped by a uniformed customs official, and our man Javier took our passports. Inside, we availed ourselves of the plush bathroom facilities and sat on a sofa for I swear not 15 minutes, sipping cold bottles of water, until we were fetched again and led to the car, into the spotless trunk of which were being placed our three bags. Into the car, up the highway, into Madrid with its plethora of cars and scooters and motorbikes, and into the tight winding streets of the Old City to our first of four hotels, the Palacio de los Duques Gran Melia, the Palace of the Dukes. Yes, it was once an actual palace. No lie. 

I can see it will be a while before I get through these next two weeks, but I'm up for it. Right now my lovely human's morning alarm is starting to go off and I need to take her coffee. She's off work for the holiday and for the week and her sister Amy and Jim, my brother-in-law, will be arriving at that trusty old BNA in two hours and change. I'll carry on beginning with the Hotel de Marguerite (my nickname) next post. 

("She's in there somewhere", toward the end of our jet lag nap!)

Stay safe and well, y'all. Oh, yeah, that "y'all" is just "me". I'm writing this to me. Well, okay, Stay well and safe, Scotty me lad. 

We are Soooo Home

 Ah, we are safely back in our tidy little hideaway in the Nations Nashville. Heavy sigh. Deep breath. Lungs full of gratitude for both the gift of travel and the treasure of home.

I don't know if I believe in jet lag. 

It's 5:42 Central Daylight Saving Time. What are we saving? The daylight doesn't care. 

We have been on terra firma in Nashville for around 32 hours and I'm up feeling pretty durned good at right around my usual time to arise. I did my ~40 yoga breaths quietly in bed, stretched, spent some time reflecting on whatever I reflected upon, and quietly arose, slipped on my royal blue cotton tee sleepshirt, and padded into my studio to lay down a poem. I suppose our nearly three weeks in Spain has enriched my connection with words and with whatever it is inside me that shapes my use of them.

Don't get me wrong, I'm usually pretty connected, but...

If I have learned 

anything

it is this:

Every living being 

with whom I have shared love

in any way

has remained,

is with me now 

in my memory,

in my heart, in my...

what is that? My soul?

Those whom I have hated

are nothing,

are gone,

are wisps,

are past

wrong turns,

wrong items

on my life's 

long

list.

If I have learned 

anything

it is this.

Ahem. Well. There's that. This little ditty came to me while I contemplated the old dog who had slowly arisen and made his way to the bedroom rug from his time asleep safely between my love and me. I then (and autonomically) moved closer to her beneath the sheets and she cupped her hand into mine again without willing the touch, just fingers to fingers drawn together like soft flesh and bone magnets. I continued breathing and laid awash with love, just breathing and loving, giving and receiving  precisely like inhaling and exhaling, like love. The word "living" is the only correction I made to it, considering, as I should, of course, that old dog, and other loves not "human".

And yes, I will use as many commas as I would like. They are necessary to indicate the meter. In case you've forgotten, my poetry (and much of my prose) must be read aloud to really work. It's a fault, a limitation, I know.

^^^^^^^^^@@@@@@@@^^^^^^^^^

Stay tuned. I'm thinking the next few posts will summarize our fantastical nearly three weeks in España.

"san sebastian", 2023, pencil on sketch paper, completed after a photo taken from Hotel Londes

And later, in Barcelona, at the Picasso Museum...

 there's this:

from https://uploads3.wikiart.org/images/pablo-picasso/las-meninas-velazquez-1957-4.jpg

There is a room full of paintings by the artist formerly known as P. Ruiz-Picasso that document his absolute obsession with Velazquez's Las Meninas, and later paintings continued to suggest that that did not abate. After my earlier fixation with the Velázquez painting at the Prado, I was charmed and fascinated by the master's consuming one, and perhaps a little smugly justified. Here, the subject and one of scores of interpretations/variations. Did that room demonstrate that the notoriously egotistical master was humbled? Maybe. I feel that perhaps he felt the balances in the paintings were iconic, sort of the Golden Mean, but not.

A story by our guide, Marta Rioge. Some time ago, two of her clients were told that they were to see the Picasso Museum here in Barcelona that day on their walking tour, as we had been. We were all for it, but that couple said, "Oh no, we don't want to see that. We don't like Picasso." It seems that a friend of theirs, an architect, had shown the painter an unearthed clay object that he was immensely proud of having discovered, whereupon Picasso dipped his fingers in paint and dragged them across the clay treasure, remarking, "There. That is now very valuable." Great story, I think. Another that Marta shared is that Picasso famously once remarked that "If I grew up to be a soldier, I would be a general. If I grew to be a clergyman, I would be the Pope. I grew up to be Picasso."

Side by side Las Meninias, the original by Velasquez, and Pablo Picasso's "copy", untitled by the painter, as were all his paintings (from https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f2/21/e9/f221e90671a5245412616446f2debdb2.jpg)

Puerta Barroca en el Día Internacional de los Museos

Our stellar guide for yesterday's exploration of Madrid--which included a perfect visit to the Prado National Art museum--created with his husband and installed with a team of 10 this amazingly beautiful "Baroque Door" piece. How fun that Pablo shared it with us before we entered the incredible repository of Spanish art and then proceeded to blow American minds with his historical knowledge and expertise around the history of the museum and the artists whose masterpieces inhabit it. Watch this awesome celebration of his own work:

Our 2+ hour long tour focused on the works of Goya, El Greco, Velazquez, and Reubens and I'll never look at any pictures of those paintings the same again thanks to Pablo. Here is one of our favorites, the "metapainting" "Las Meninas", by Velazquez. It's experimental nature was a hard fought win by the artist, whose main assignments were primarily traditional (though masterful) portraits for the King. Lee Ann had to come back for me after they proceeded on and I remained standing there, glued to its magic:

By Diego Velázquez - The Prado in Google Earth: Home - 7th level of zoom, JPEG compression quality: Photoshop 8., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22600614

As an aside, our stellar Madrid hotel, the Palacio de los Duques, is a renovated castle which is Velazques themed. That little girl's face is at almost every turn in the beautiful building!  I will probably never perceive a frozen Margarita the same.

(cross-posted from scheduliberated)

 Here's what I'll do here.

I'll post at least every year. 

Okay, it's my 73rd today and I'm going fishing in a bit. Just got led back to this (now understood as an) "annublog" by a post about a teacher friend's retirement from her teaching career and reread the single post here (cross-posted at scottmerrickdotnet); and I'm feeling pretty good about it. I will have completed my first year of "retirement" in a couple days. In a couple days after that, I fly to Spain with my lovely lovely for over two weeks of luxury travel and culinary and culture exploration (shoutout to RH Travel).

NOTE: If you're a web trolling miner for thievery, we have good friends living in our home to take care of our mean old dog, who is trained to take a leg off if need be. My friends are both martial arts experts and armed to the teeth. There. JK of course, but not.

I have to hit the lake but I do want to say here that I have had a wonderful year. I've completed a Peloton class on meditation, and one on yoga, both taken to refresh my dedication to both. The meditation one stuck as I am practicing daily. The yoga was surprisingly painful but I completed it, and I incorporate elements of it in everyday movements and in the care with which I approach them. I'm still cycling on the machine, but the discovery of classes I can take at computer was a good one. The meditation one may be life-changing for you.

I am painting like a madman (chronicled at scottmerrickdotnet), I've written songs, I've taken masterclass.com classes from John Legend, Futura, Santana, and Jake Shimabukuro; and mandolin classes from Sierra Hull at artistworks.com. I've blogged a bunch, and I've read/listened to a number of great podcasts and books, most notably many of Lex Fridman's long-form interview podcasts and my son-in-law's "You're Good Get Better" drumming jewel.

I've camped, I've attended a great concert at The Caverns (focused on my music crush Sierra Ferrell but with other great Americana folks) and several Finally Fridays from WMOT at 3rd and Lindsley. I traveled to visit my dear brother Ed at his home in Montgomery, Texas, camping in Arkansas on the way and staying with a high school friend in Hot Springs on the way home. Just last week my dear son Colin came into town and we fished, saw Caroline Polachek with Edith Cain at the Ryman, and brewery crawled and just spent good time together. I'm going to head up to his territory, Missoula, Montana, in September, for the Montana version of the week. 

In short, and I will be short, because the out of doors is calling and Lee Ann's alarm is going off, repeatedly as is her wont, in the next room--if you are interested in what scheduliberation looks like, keep up with my primary blog, easily found at scottmerrick.net. It's been up for a long time but this new leg of my life is grand, great, godly, and gee-wiz happy and I'm digging chronicling it. 

You fashion your own life, whatever stage it be, and don't let anyone slip you negative vibes. I highly recommend it.

Here's a work in progress, from a photo taken a month ago at Cheatham Lake Campground:

wip, "from the campsite", acrylics on canvas, by Scott Merrick, 2023

See ya,

Scott

Summer, here, and we prep for travel

 Well, well, well (again), here we are once more. Me and my imaginary readers. 

Wait. I know you're real and I know how grateful I am for you. Let me pop over to my online Gratefulness Journal to say that.

Back.

My boy Colin is in town from his hometown of choice, Missoula Montana. I am so happy to be in the same room, car, or Nashville venue with this centered, talented, and kind human being. I miss him every day when I am not, but I am happy with his decision to live in that beautiful place. I remember when I lived in Anchorage lo those many years ago I hardly spoke and never saw either of my parents for over 5 years. Thank god that's not the case with either of my magic children. Here's me and Colin at table in our Nations Nashville home:

scott and colin at Chez Merrique, courtesy of Tim Buell

And a pic of both our children, smooching on their beautiful mom, on our paradisial back porch:

Colin, and Miranda Lee smooching mom on Mothers Day

Why do I blog, still, after so long? It should be obvious: blogging provides a consistent wandering ripple throughout my years and helps me clear my head and honor my thoughts and those of others. Look back on some posts, from 2005 on, and see for yourself. Take a look at a short story, my novel (available on Amazon in both Kindle and paperback), my novella, or a post about the future of education, my bailiwick for nearly 30 years, an original song, or jump around for a poem or two. It's all there. As my dear sis-in-law Amy explains to my cherished wife, "It's his book."

That's a simplification, of course, as the blog contains most of my books, but I like it. Many of my links have gone dead, as platforms used for photo sharing, news sites, and other blogs have crapped out and been nullified; but I likely won't take up the goal of revising anything from 18 years ago to present. I prefer to be here now. It's my thing. But a perusal of past posts will reveal some trends and share some good past, and may be of historical use to the alien researchers who follow us. 

These past couple weeks I've been working on an abstract that I am as of yesterday calling finished. Why do so many of these efforts result in color studies and shapes that are full of motion and energy? I don't know, really, but I'm calling this one "terminal ascension," and it may be whatever it may be to you. I see things and suggestions of events and natural phenomena in this piece. My mentor, Charles Brindley, hasn't seen this, as I completed it at home. There is a lot underneath it, and a concentration on tensions of both texture and color, and I had fun with the palette knives and the brushes. I have promised myself to seek some softness and peace in my next abstract, but here is 

"terminal ascension", photo of 16x20 acrylic painting by scott merrick

On the more realistic side, a study of dusk at Cheatham Lake, my preferred local camping waterside, is underway. Charles has helped with this one with cutting insights on contrast and underpainting, along with color mixing suggestions. It's not finished but it is sneaking up on it, a process that is undercut every time I see something new in the iPhoto I took that delicious evening. I want to express calm here. Maybe that's the thing aforementioned: I work for expressing peace in my landscapes and my left-behind work, like "on the inside" and "rocky's ridge from rocky's ridge." Anyway, definitely a WIP, here is 

"dusk @ cheatham lake", photo of a work in progress, acrylics on 16x20 canvas by scott merrick

I'll end with a little humorousity (sic). My dear love-of-my-life was messing around in my studio closet, rearranging things as she will, and this painting on up-cycled scrap treated lumber (a medium I may well revisit) was maybe precariously propped up on the door trip above the closet door. I'm not sure how, but it decided to drop from its perch right on her noggin, falling to the floor. I'm not sure if it broke on her head or on the floor, but break it did. This one doesn't have a name, as is sometimes my wont, but, anyway, I propped it up on the floor and in between the two halves I placed a curio I purchased in a thrift store years ago, an incense burner just tacky enough to have caught my eye. I sort of like the staging and may do some media work to make it a permanent piece. What should I call it?

"untitled", acrylics on treated scrap lumber, by scott merrick

We are journeying overseas in a couple of weeks, for a couple of weeks. We'll be in Spain excepting for one brief outing into France near San Sebastian, staying in only 4 overnight hotels over a period of 17 days, and hopping from one to the other via train and plain. The trip was planned through consultations with the (highly recommended) RH Travel Design here in Nashville, and we are soooooo looking forward to it. It's all upscale accommodations and travel, and we both are expecting, literally, the trip of a lifetime. There are LOTS of food, wine, cultural, and art experiences built in along the way, along with ample down time to explore or just relax together. I'll be documenting, most likely, but don't hold me to that, and don't expect anything while it's underway. I plan to be here now, there, in my most present ways. Think good thoughts about safe travel for us--we are all in. 

For all the slum bag lurker thieves out there, our good friends Matt and Anitra will be staying here with our killer dog Watson, and the NCA alarm system will be in use. Don't even think about it.

To everyone else, regardless of your politics or any other enlightened or misguided beliefs, I hope your days will be good and that you will remain safe and well and alive as we roll around the center of the planet and circle around the good ol' sun.