Air Drop & Al Trapo

Yesterday I supervised a major spring yard clean up while I transfered files, images, songs and audio books from my home Macbook Pro laptop to our little Macbook air. I figured out how Air Drop works – with files it’s straightforward, but audio is a little trickier. I felt triumphant, since I am no IT wizard, and had to do it by guess and by golly. The next time I am complaining about my failing elder brain, Robert is going to remind me that while I may not remember the name of someone I’ve seen around for ages, I master new Apple apps and operating info like a boss.

I reviewed a dozen restaurant suggestions for Madrid and Lisbon, using suggestions from a knowledgeable friend, Madrid blogs, Yelp,  and Trip Advisor. I added several that I could tell, from cross-referencing their locations with my bespoke Madrid Google Map, will be nearby  museums I plan to visit. I made an Saturday afternoon reservation at Al Trapo – online in Spanish!- that’s experimental in service and cuisine. Sure it’s edgy, but you have to try stuff. !http://www.altraporestaurante.com/index.php/en/

I noticed a link to a Facebook page, so when I posted on my FB that I’d made a rez , I linked to it and Al Trapo Liked me back. Modern times. I can’t wait to tell the waitstaff when I sit down to my lunch that we are FB friends.

Today I commence the all important pre-trip grooming (mani pedi is not until Tuesday, since it has to last me for a month)  and getting my hair trimmed and conditioned. This is after I go to the gym.  If my hair looks good, thank the genius below on the right, Kelly Geiger, who has been coaxing it along since 2000.All of Atlanta is blooming, right before a freeze hits tonight. The streets and yards are filled with blossom. I’ve got crabapple, forsythia, redbud, weeping cherry, daffodil, woodland hyacinth, daphne, and camellias all in bloom. Worth the wheeze and sneeze.

 

It's fun to be the queen

I was looking at the pear I’d painted on my main suitcase and it felt a bit sad. Drab really. Something seemed off about the shape too. On a whim I pulled out some acrylic paint and reworked it. I didn’t have a pear to use as a reference, as I always have in the past. I just winged it.

Here’s the results. Old pearNew pear-I made it up. This is not a pear you will find in nature, or in the greengrocers. But I like it.

Put it all on the table

Robert kindly completed his yeoman work on the taxes. This gives me access to the dining room table, my preferred staging area for packing.

There are three luggage components: the main suitcase, the carry-on and my little backpack purse. The carry-on stacks on top of the suitcase, the handle of the suitcase slipping under a strap on the carry-on. This makes it exponentially easier for me to wheel away from baggage claim and into a taxi and down the city streets to my destination.

This year I am trying a new suitcase with the kind of wheels that rotate in all directions (thanks Boatie!)  I’m bringing a couple of things that were either difficult to find or prohibitively expensive in Paris – tea and oatmeal.

I loved the way the space bags – like giant ziplocks you roll up and squeeze the air out of – turned my pillow into a wafer, so I am going to test out packing shirts, my rain jacket, scarves and knickers that way.

Clothes don’t take up the most space  – shoes, toiletries, equipment (flat iron, dryer) and my trip planing folder do that. Electronic have their own place in the carry-on; my Nook, Laptop, iPod, iPhone and camera, plus accompanying cables and chargers, along with a change of clothes. It only took one sloshed vente latte to convince me you alway need a change of clothes on hand. I’ve never had my luggage lost (wait while I knock on wood) but my carry-on could see me through. A comforting thought.

Things I am leaving behind

• A large sketchbook and carrying case – I only used  two small sketchbooks. I can always buy paper there if I am smitten with the urge to sketch a landscape.
• My winter-weight down coat: never left my suitcase in Paris.
• A memory foam neck pillow: again, never left the carry-on. The inflatable neck pillow I’ve used for 15 years is best. Flattens and folds into the size of a paper towel when not in use.
• Clogs: I took two pair of lace up shoes and a pair of clogs to Paris and only wore my black & white Chucks. This trip, two pairs of chucks and a pair of leopard print birkenstock-style sandals will be my de facto slippers and possibly worn on the 80 degree days.

 

 

 

Madrid/Lisbon Workout

I’ve been working out at the gym for months, with Madrid as my motivation. I need all the strength and stamina I can muster. I go four days a week, one of them with a great trainer, Jessica Bowman. She’s got me running stairs, which is brilliant. It makes total sense if you know how much time I spend climbing and descending stairs in museum. I do upper body weights with the goal of being able to heave my carry-on luggage into the overhead bin on the airplanes. True confession: I also play the old lady card. Hey, gray hair and seniority  is good for something. Usually someone offers to give me a hand.

Today was typical – I pedaled for 50 minutes on a recumbent bike, stretched, then did a back/ ab machine for another ten minutes.

I am not kidding myself that this in any way equals what the upcoming Madrid/ Lisbon trip will require of me, but it does keep me limber. I shift into a another gear on the road. The adrenalin and endorphins released when I’m standing in front of great art, the mental agility required to navigate each day in a strange land, plus the complete lack of routine seems to tap into resources I can’t usually access.

Sweet Art Alabama

It was gorgeous, gorgeous work. Not allowed to take photos or sketch, so you’ll have to go see it for yourself.

I did something I’ve never done – I took along a magnifying glass.

The kind that Sherlock Holmes carried. Sturdy, with a handle. What a difference! Especially looking at the etchings under the low light conditions favored by conservators. They had several by Rembrandt, and I could see the individual expressions on each of the faces. I’m definitely packing a magnifying glass in my luggage.

It was in the low 80s in Alabama, the same weather I can expect about midway through my Madrid adventure. We walked fifteen minutes to a restaurant, and I was overheated in my jeans and chucks. Made me think about packing skirts and sandals. But then, back in the museum, it was cool to frosty, as AC in the south often is. So again, layers, but ditching the down jacket, a hoodie is plenty. No heavy socks, no long sleeve shirts. By the time I got home I was motivated to order some leopard print sandals that will go with my black wardrobe. Simple slides that I hope will require minimal breaking in to be sublimely comfortable. If not, it’s an old pair of black Merrell slides. The heat of the day is best served by getting horizontal. Maybe I’ll be taking that siesta and going out at dusk for round two of Madrileños life. Well, probably not, but I’ve made a note to schedule my walking around tours of the city for  early in the mornings and early in the trip. before the city heats up like a griddle.

The drive over to Birmingham was two and a half hours. The drive back was closer to three and a half, thanks to construction on a bridge that funneled three lanes down to one. My daughter did all the driving and was an entertaining companion. She has a great eye and we often find the same work compelling.

They had an excellent Innes and Bierstadt in their permanent collection.  A luscious Bouguereau, Aurora.

A slightly racy Sargent I’d never seen. An interesting terracotta bust of an authoritarian Doge, which, thanks to Terry Pratchett, will always remind me of the Patrician, Havelock Vetinari.

A fabulous portrait of three spinster sisters who ran a local female academy in the 30s. They fairly jumped off the canvas. I can’t find them searching the permanent collection, but trust me, go hunt for them. A second-rate Monet and Canaletto, but a first-rate Bierstadt and Innes. Plus, monkeys.

Monkeys

At the end of this long day of travel and museum reveling, I ached from my toes to my hips. No getting around my age, I’m afraid. But no giving into it, either.

Roadtrip

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day – here’s hoping you don’t have to chase any snakes. Wear green.

I’ll be on the road for five hours today with beloved Art historian daughter – trekking across the southland to the Birmingham, Alabama art museum http://www.artsbma.org/ to feast my eyes on their small treasures exhibit. It is not every day my part of the world hosts the likes of Vermeer, Hals, Steen, Leyster, Rembrandt and van Dyck. http://www.artsbma.org/5-things-to-know-about-girl-with-the-red-hat/

The bulk of my planning for the Madrid/Lisbon trip is done and dusted. I can just plug and play the strategies I used for my month in Paris – like which clothes and electronics to bring. There is some tweaking to be sure. Clothing will be almost identical, though I am eliminating long sleeve shirts, hiking socks and a down coat. Checking the history of the April weather of Madrid, the last ten years have seen most days in the 70s/80s. http://www.wunderground.com/history/airport/LEMD/2014/4/17/MonthlyCalendar.html?req_city=Madrid&req_state=&req_statename=Spain&reqdb.zip=00000&reqdb.magic=1&reqdb.wmo=08221 You have to go back to 2004 to see consistent daily averages in the 50s/60s.

No yoga pants – sure they are cute and comfy, but their lack of pockets trumped that every time. No dress flats or clogs. Instead, two pairs of Chucks, maybe a pair of slides. More additions: Adding bright pinks and reds to the tee shirt mix. I remember craving color last time. In a nod to the warming weather, one pair of thin cotton cargo-esque pants.

Something I am packing since I couldn’t find it in Paris or it was crazy expensive –  Earl Grey, English breakfast, Chai and Peppermint tea, oatmeal and Splenda. I’ll use those every single day.

My day-to-day plans are looser too – now that I know whatever I expect it will all change once actually set foot in the Prado. Just in time for Saint Patrick’s Day, the ‘Lettuce’

José de Galaz, Monstrance from the Church of San Ignacio in Bogotá, known as “The Lettuce”. 1700

Mr Peabody & Me

This blog is my own personal Wayback Machine. I re-read the entries from my first week in Paris last April, and it was an eyeopener. I won’t be bringing my down coat or raincoat or black mohair vest. Only one hat (wolfie) and a pair of mittens. No fancy Cole Haan walking shoes, though they are adorable.  Just two pairs of chucks, in B&W and pink.

I pulled out my clothes –  one pair each skinny black, gray, and blue jeans and two hoodies, plus teeshirts. More pattern in the tees this trip, less black. Pops of bright pink and bold socks. I remember getting so thirsty for color last time.
As I pulled my prospective wardrobe out, I tried things on. Wanted to be certain I could squeeze into it all. I’ve been living in yoga pants and loose long sleeve teeshirts.  Painting and exercise are the main reason I get out of pajamas, and neither activities require dressing up.

I might as well admit I’ve been on a diet and exercise binge since January – in training for galloping around Madrid and climbing those notorious hills in Lisbon. Plus, being able to tell whether my bellybutton is an innie or an outie because my teeshirt is so tight is not a good look on a lady of my mature years.

Well, dang if it didn’t pay off. Everything fit. Even shirts that I couldn’t wear last summer because they clung too tightly to my midsection fit just fine.  This means I get to wear my Voodoo Doughnut tee (Worth the Weight) and my Aloha Cowboy tee and red Gunshow tee (Defend Southern Food).  So fun! It boosted my morning mood from pleasant into giddy-with-glee territory.

This afternoon my daughter came by to teach me and her dad how to wrangle the Google Hangout app, so we can text and video chat and not drop a fortune.  I’ll cut off cellular access and restrict myself to wifi at the end of the day. For years. travel meant I basically went off the grid. I’ll kind of miss being utterly unplugged, but the blog is worth it. It’s more like the journals I kept in the 80s and the long emails I used to send to Robert than killing time chasing butterflies on the ‘Net.

What Was I Thinking?

I had a bout of pre-trip anxiety yesterday. I always go through a stretch of moody days where I can’t remember why I wanted to go on a long trip far away. My mind runs like this  I’m not ready. I should study more history. The journey will exhaust me. I need to learn Portuguese. Some calamity – from stolen purse to psychotic landlord to broken leg – will befall me. Grumble grumble. Who wants to eat hot squid sandwiches and look at gloomy Spanish art anyway?

I do. And I will.

This has happened like clockwork, about month before every long-awaited trip. It’s  predictable and look, it’s right on time. My policy is to note my glum mood  and let it pass by, like clouds over the sun. I keep calm and carry on with my lists, in the sure and certain knowledge when I get on the plane I’ll be ready for adventure.  It isn’t important whether or not it’s the adventure I have so carefully planned. In the immortal words of Rick Steves, if something is not to my liking, I can change my liking.

I have lost my passport, been targeted by a team of pickpockets, been spat at by a gypsy in Venice, passed a gallstone in a Paris museum, lost my way on foot in the dark of night, and arrived after a weary journey to find my accommodations uninhabitable. At the time I was too busy figuring out how to deal with the problem to be glum. In retrospect what I took away was confidence in my ability to adapt and thrive under all circumstances. Not a bad souvenir.

Holding Out For A Hero

One of the pleasures of trip anticipation is  reading.  Blogs posts and travel sites for real time, boots on the ground information and insights, but also histories, biographies, and novels.  I came across a bio of Vasco de Gama, who, in my hazy grade school memory, was a bold seafarer and explorer. Turns out he was also a vicious, bloodthirsty bastard. A man of appalling and horrifying acts of torture and vengeance. Take this example:

“After demanding the expulsion of Muslims from Calicut to the Zamorin Hindu, the latter sent the high priest Talappana Namboothiri (the very same person who conducted da Gama to the Zamorin’s chamber during his much celebrated first visit to Calicut in May 1498) for talks. Da Gama called him a spy, ordered the priests’ lips and ears to be cut off and after sewing a pair of dog’s ears to his head, sent him away.”

I thought I’d visit his tomb to pay homage to his nautical prowess. Turns out I’ll be going to make sure he’s still dead.

Ever hopeful, I turned to an audio book biography Isabella, Warrior Queen. More mayhem. I am all for strong female role models,  but when I discover she invented the Inquisition, I’m outta there.

On the whole, I prefer the lives of the painters. Like, say, Diego Velasquez or Sofonisba Anguissola. Not that artists don’t get up to mischief, but it isn’t havoc on the grand scale that royalty and their sanctioned pirates tend to wreak.