Terri and I have been frequent travelers since we got together in 1998. I quit counting several years ago at 30 trips, mostly international but with an occasional jaunt inside the U.S. We've gotten good at it: we can pack quickly and lightly, negotiate smoothly through security and customs, decipher transit schedules in several languages, and tell what's chicken and beef and what's organs or horse on foreign menus. But we have our moments, proving once again that being good at something doesn't mean not making mistakes -- we all make mistakes -- but how well and quickly you recover when something goes wrong.
Our first day in Brussels we walked from our hotel through the Grand Place, past the central train station, then to Place Royale, where we could catch a tram to the Horta Museum. Victor Horta was one of the founders of Art Nouveau, a favorite interest of ours, and his home, now a museum, was away from the center. We were eager to use our new transit passes to start getting around town.
Although it was cold I started sweating walking up the steep hill from the train station to Place Royale. When we got there I looked around and did not see any trams, only cars and tour buses. I looked at my map to make sure we were in the right place, then looked at another map, then a guidebook -- they all said there should be trams in this very place.
Not only did I not see any trams, I did not see any tracks where trams could run. Completely perplexed, we decided to walk back down to the train station and see if we could find a tourist information center. We asked someone on the street, but they did not understand the English word 'tram.' The info center was closed. We went across the street to the Le Meridien hotel and asked for help there. The young lady at the desk explained how to get to the tram stop, but her directions pointed us back to where we had already been. I was getting angry now, muttering about unhelpful Belgians and erroneous maps. We walked around the neighborhood, went down several streets that seemed to promise trams or tracks, but had no luck.
Finally we decided to walk back up that very steep hill to Place Royale. Perhaps we just didn't go far enough. Maybe the trams were around a corner. Up, up, up the hill, sweating and peeved, we got back to the square and the first thing we saw was a tram rumbling right through the center of the same plaza where we had been standing an hour before. We asked a Belgian standing next to us if there was a tram stop nearby, and he said, of course, right there at the corner, by the waffle truck.
The maps were all right. The directions we had been given were correct. The tracks were there, right in the middle of the street, where I had not seen them before. We laughed and bought a waffle to eat while we waited for the next tram.
When we got to the museum we went up the door labeled Horta Museum and tried to open it. It was locked. We double-checked the hours posted, looked in the guidebook. It was supposed to be open. Next to the door was a buzzer labeled 'museum' so we pressed it. Nothing. As we were standing there trying to unravel this latest dilemma, I glanced to my right and saw a very large placard not five feet away labeled ENTRANCE with an arrow pointing to the door next to the one we had been trying to open. Terri and I looked at each other and started laughing.
There's more besides. I lost our museum passes, Terri lost a glove, we couldn't get off the tram because I didn't know which button to push to open the door, and we had a silly disagreement over which building was the Hotel de Ville and which the Maison Royale. Every time we lucked or improvised our way out -- we got replacement passes contrary to the terms and conditions, a kind Belgian found and returned Terri's glove, we got off at the next stop, and we eventually agreed on the orientation of our different maps.
In other words, we had our share of Oops! moments but luck and adaptability saved us every time -- all that work for good karma paid off. And no matter what happened, there was usually a waffle cart nearby.
The whole set of Flickr snaps from Belgium is here.
Or if you'd like to sit back with a bowl of popcorn, here's a slideshow of our snaps from Belgium.
P.S. We're off and away for a three-day weekend beginning next Friday. Stand by.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
At last, Brussels
We're in Brussels now, where our advanced waffle research program requires that we continue testing at every available opportunity. To date, no waffle has failed the test; in fact, every waffle has passed with flying colors. These clever Belgians!
Brussels is many things, but it ain't quaint. Ghent and Bruges were charmingly and obviously Belgian, but Brussels is another big city, always in motion, trams and buses and metro and cars and lots of people. Sometimes it reminds me of Paris, sometimes Buenos Aires, sometimes Barcelona, but underlying it all is the common big city atmosphere of jostling, of always having to work one's way through crowds.
Here we've heard mostly French. Unlike our experiences earlier in the trip where I had no idea what language was being spoken, I now know I am hearing French. Since I do not speak or read more than ten words in French, I have no idea what is being said, but at least I know it is French.
The grandest part of Brussels is Grand Place, the central plaza of the city. The old city hall faces the old king's house, and the rest of the square is ringed by guild halls mostly rebuilt after a French bombardment in the late 17th century. It's physically smaller than I expected but it is nonetheless very grand and imposing. The Wiki link above and a Google search will give more information and images about Grand Place, but it cannot compare with standing there and taking it all in.
Last night's dinner was Italian, at a little restaurant run by a family from Portugal. Terri had pizza, I had spaghetti carbonara, we drank a bottle of Bardolino, and through it all we listened to the same salsa song over and over and over. I kid you not: they were playing a Latin American dance number when we walked in and ninety minutes later the same song was still playing as we walked out.
We've stayed busy, leaving our hotel in mid-morning and not making it back until dinner time: the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Ancient), the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Modern), a James Ensor exhibition at the ING Cultural Center, the Museum of Musical Instruments, the Beer Museum (free samples), the Atomium, the Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Coeur, all punctuated by tram/bus/subway rides, extemporaneous walks through new neighborhoods, visits to chocolate shops, and the occasional waffle.
We only went to the Museum of Musical Instruments because it was included in our museum pass and was on the way to someplace else, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. The museum is housed in a fabulous Art Nouveau building that was a department store 100 years ago, and their audioguide is the first that I really like: no talking! At selected spots in front of the exhibits, you hear music from the types of instruments you're looking at.
I could write more but I am tired. We've been freezing (daytime temps seldom above the mid-30s), I am full of waffles and beer, and today I am another year older. I'll write one more blog post about our Belgium trip after we get back to Texas.
The growing set of Flickr snaps is here.
Brussels is many things, but it ain't quaint. Ghent and Bruges were charmingly and obviously Belgian, but Brussels is another big city, always in motion, trams and buses and metro and cars and lots of people. Sometimes it reminds me of Paris, sometimes Buenos Aires, sometimes Barcelona, but underlying it all is the common big city atmosphere of jostling, of always having to work one's way through crowds.
Here we've heard mostly French. Unlike our experiences earlier in the trip where I had no idea what language was being spoken, I now know I am hearing French. Since I do not speak or read more than ten words in French, I have no idea what is being said, but at least I know it is French.
The grandest part of Brussels is Grand Place, the central plaza of the city. The old city hall faces the old king's house, and the rest of the square is ringed by guild halls mostly rebuilt after a French bombardment in the late 17th century. It's physically smaller than I expected but it is nonetheless very grand and imposing. The Wiki link above and a Google search will give more information and images about Grand Place, but it cannot compare with standing there and taking it all in.
Last night's dinner was Italian, at a little restaurant run by a family from Portugal. Terri had pizza, I had spaghetti carbonara, we drank a bottle of Bardolino, and through it all we listened to the same salsa song over and over and over. I kid you not: they were playing a Latin American dance number when we walked in and ninety minutes later the same song was still playing as we walked out.
We've stayed busy, leaving our hotel in mid-morning and not making it back until dinner time: the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Ancient), the Royal Museum of Fine Arts (Modern), a James Ensor exhibition at the ING Cultural Center, the Museum of Musical Instruments, the Beer Museum (free samples), the Atomium, the Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Coeur, all punctuated by tram/bus/subway rides, extemporaneous walks through new neighborhoods, visits to chocolate shops, and the occasional waffle.
We only went to the Museum of Musical Instruments because it was included in our museum pass and was on the way to someplace else, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. The museum is housed in a fabulous Art Nouveau building that was a department store 100 years ago, and their audioguide is the first that I really like: no talking! At selected spots in front of the exhibits, you hear music from the types of instruments you're looking at.
I could write more but I am tired. We've been freezing (daytime temps seldom above the mid-30s), I am full of waffles and beer, and today I am another year older. I'll write one more blog post about our Belgium trip after we get back to Texas.
The growing set of Flickr snaps is here.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Goodbye Ghent, Hello Bruges, Goodbye Bruges
Ghent was a pleasant surprise. We weren't expecting much, as the city is so often overlooked in favor of Brussels and Bruges, but we really liked it. The largest car-free pedestrian zone in Belgium, lots of restaurants and shops, enough people out and about to feel pleasantly energetic without being overcrowded, some interesting museums, and cool trams to get you around -- just the sort of things we like, and to top it off, it's a pretty place.
An unexpected pleasure of our stay in Ghent was seeing a special exhibition of works by the Belgian artist James Ensor. There's a wonderful painting of his, Skeletons Warming Themselves, at the Kimbell back home in Fort Worth, but we had no idea he had done so much so well. His view of the world is unique and often hilarious: skeletons galore, doing such things as fighting over a smoked herring, and cartoonish, colorful drawings of crowds of Belgians swimming at Ostend or welcoming Christ into Brussels. It's unsettling to realize that these pieces are contemporaneous with Monet's water lilies and Renoir's garden portraits.
Late Sunday afternoon we left Ghent and took the train to Bruges, where we're staying at the Crowne Plaza in the historical center. Ghent is quaint but real, while Bruges is so picturesque and storybook as to seem almost like a Disneyish MiddleAgesLand. Everywhere one looks there are charming views, and lots of tourists enjoying them, even now in a drizzly January. Bruges has fewer pedestrian zones and more cars in the city center than Ghent -- several times we've almost been run down on narrow cobblestone streets by speeding Citröens and Volvos.
This quaint storybookness has strange effects: I've got a sudden urge to take lots of snapshots of doors, many with bicycles, a couple of which I've posted on Flickr.
A big surprise of this trip has been how good Belgian food is. I mean, it's really good, with every meal better than the last. I've been trying to think of the best way to describe it but all I've come up with is beef or chicken with some sort of sauce. It's not spicy or elegant or even pretty, but it is delicious and filling, with the quality matched by quantity. (Most every main course comes with a huge bowl of fries.) We've been going to small local places recommended by our hotels and have never been disappointed. (Travel tip: when looking for places to eat, rely on hotel staff and ignore the places that inevitably ring the popular tourist sites.)
We were lucky to catch the last week of a big exhibition, Van Eyck to Dürer, a stunning display of Flemish Primitives at Bruges' Groeninge Museum. The one annoying thing about the show was the large number of people stumbling around with those stupid audioguide thingies stuck to their ears.
Our hotel room in Bruges comes without breakfast so we've been going out for a coffee in the morning. Quite by accident we found a nearby HEMA store, which is somewhat like a small Target with clothes and household goods. They have a café on the top floor that every morning from 9 to 10 offers a cup of coffee, a croissant, and a bacon and egg sandwich for €1. Yes, you read that correctly, one euro for coffee, croissant, and an egg/bacon sandwich. And it's good, too.
The weather has been cold and wet but we're plodding onward. Tomorrow we spend our last morning in Bruges before leaving for five nights in Brussels.
Flickr snaps are here.
P.S. Belgium has windmills.
An unexpected pleasure of our stay in Ghent was seeing a special exhibition of works by the Belgian artist James Ensor. There's a wonderful painting of his, Skeletons Warming Themselves, at the Kimbell back home in Fort Worth, but we had no idea he had done so much so well. His view of the world is unique and often hilarious: skeletons galore, doing such things as fighting over a smoked herring, and cartoonish, colorful drawings of crowds of Belgians swimming at Ostend or welcoming Christ into Brussels. It's unsettling to realize that these pieces are contemporaneous with Monet's water lilies and Renoir's garden portraits.
Late Sunday afternoon we left Ghent and took the train to Bruges, where we're staying at the Crowne Plaza in the historical center. Ghent is quaint but real, while Bruges is so picturesque and storybook as to seem almost like a Disneyish MiddleAgesLand. Everywhere one looks there are charming views, and lots of tourists enjoying them, even now in a drizzly January. Bruges has fewer pedestrian zones and more cars in the city center than Ghent -- several times we've almost been run down on narrow cobblestone streets by speeding Citröens and Volvos.
This quaint storybookness has strange effects: I've got a sudden urge to take lots of snapshots of doors, many with bicycles, a couple of which I've posted on Flickr.
A big surprise of this trip has been how good Belgian food is. I mean, it's really good, with every meal better than the last. I've been trying to think of the best way to describe it but all I've come up with is beef or chicken with some sort of sauce. It's not spicy or elegant or even pretty, but it is delicious and filling, with the quality matched by quantity. (Most every main course comes with a huge bowl of fries.) We've been going to small local places recommended by our hotels and have never been disappointed. (Travel tip: when looking for places to eat, rely on hotel staff and ignore the places that inevitably ring the popular tourist sites.)
We were lucky to catch the last week of a big exhibition, Van Eyck to Dürer, a stunning display of Flemish Primitives at Bruges' Groeninge Museum. The one annoying thing about the show was the large number of people stumbling around with those stupid audioguide thingies stuck to their ears.
Our hotel room in Bruges comes without breakfast so we've been going out for a coffee in the morning. Quite by accident we found a nearby HEMA store, which is somewhat like a small Target with clothes and household goods. They have a café on the top floor that every morning from 9 to 10 offers a cup of coffee, a croissant, and a bacon and egg sandwich for €1. Yes, you read that correctly, one euro for coffee, croissant, and an egg/bacon sandwich. And it's good, too.
The weather has been cold and wet but we're plodding onward. Tomorrow we spend our last morning in Bruges before leaving for five nights in Brussels.
Flickr snaps are here.
P.S. Belgium has windmills.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Suddenly, it is Belgium
Terri and I are suckers for travel deals, so if there are any airline marketing people reading this, let me tell you, your special offers work. We got an email from American Airlines that trumpeted "Double Miles to Fly to Brussels!" -- we looked at each other and thought, hhmmm, Brussels. We've heard the food is good (mussels, fries, beer, chocolate, and waffles), they have some paintings worth seeing, plus we've never been there before, so why not?
We came for ten days, arriving on Friday, January 21 and are in Ghent for two nights. Then Bruges for three nights, and we'll finish up with five nights in Brussels before heading home on Monday, January 31.
I had quite a jolly trip over here: an upgrade to first class for the DFW to JFK segment (champagne!) and the Admirals Club (free wine!) in New York. We landed on time, breezed through Belgium customs, took a train to Ghent, then hopped on a tram to get to the city center. Confused by untranslatable and conflicting directions from locals along the way, we got a bit flustered looking for our hotel but did our own spontaneous walking mini-tour of the old town before finding it right where it was supposed to be.
I had no idea Belgium was so, well, quaint. The architecture is all of a distinctive style, charming and harmonious, often staid but with occasional flourishes of color and flair.
In Ghent we had our first encounters with Belgian food. Having worked up an appetite walking around, we stopped for hot waffles from a street vendor. As you can see from a snap of my reaction on Flickr, I had no idea plain waffles could be so good! Then in the evening, following a recommendation of the hotel, we had dinner at a nearby restaurant, Du Progres. Terri had chicken breast in pepper cream sauce, I had a beef filet with 'James Bond' sauce (pepper, whiskey, and tarragon), and with every meal they bring a huge metal bowl of hot fries. We had the waiter give us whatever beers he thought we would like. It may not sound like much, but it was one of the best dinners we've had, and all for under €50.
We love our hotel in Ghent, the NH Gent Belfort. Terri recently joined the rewards program for the European NH hotel chain, and they upgraded us to a large executive suite. The complimentary breakfast buffet is mouth-wateringly wonderful: a half-dozen coffee machines that produce any brew you can imagine, delicacies such as prosciutto and smoked salmon, crepes with real maple syrup, fresh-squeezed orange juice, fifteen different kinds of breads and rolls, all provided by an attentive staff.
The highlight of our first day was viewing Van Eyck's "Adoration of the Mystic Lamb." I am not sure I can add anything to what has already been said about this set of paintings, but I will say that it is almost too much. There are many small stunning masterpieces within this one huge work and putting them all together in one presentation can be overwhelming.
Our limited foreign language skills, in Spanish and Italian, are completely useless here. Not only are we baffled by almost anything written or spoken, we often don't even know what languages are being used. For example, in the elevator, level 0 is marked as 'RECEPTIE' or reception, in French -- I can deal with this. But that is followed by three alternative translations: VERGADERZALEN, DE DRAKE, and VAN ARTEVELDE. I am completely mystified by all three and am only saved by the fact that so many people here speak English.
Language problems aside, I can sum up my initial response to Belgium with a question: why did it take me so long to get here?
Flickr snaps are here.
We came for ten days, arriving on Friday, January 21 and are in Ghent for two nights. Then Bruges for three nights, and we'll finish up with five nights in Brussels before heading home on Monday, January 31.
I had quite a jolly trip over here: an upgrade to first class for the DFW to JFK segment (champagne!) and the Admirals Club (free wine!) in New York. We landed on time, breezed through Belgium customs, took a train to Ghent, then hopped on a tram to get to the city center. Confused by untranslatable and conflicting directions from locals along the way, we got a bit flustered looking for our hotel but did our own spontaneous walking mini-tour of the old town before finding it right where it was supposed to be.
I had no idea Belgium was so, well, quaint. The architecture is all of a distinctive style, charming and harmonious, often staid but with occasional flourishes of color and flair.
In Ghent we had our first encounters with Belgian food. Having worked up an appetite walking around, we stopped for hot waffles from a street vendor. As you can see from a snap of my reaction on Flickr, I had no idea plain waffles could be so good! Then in the evening, following a recommendation of the hotel, we had dinner at a nearby restaurant, Du Progres. Terri had chicken breast in pepper cream sauce, I had a beef filet with 'James Bond' sauce (pepper, whiskey, and tarragon), and with every meal they bring a huge metal bowl of hot fries. We had the waiter give us whatever beers he thought we would like. It may not sound like much, but it was one of the best dinners we've had, and all for under €50.
We love our hotel in Ghent, the NH Gent Belfort. Terri recently joined the rewards program for the European NH hotel chain, and they upgraded us to a large executive suite. The complimentary breakfast buffet is mouth-wateringly wonderful: a half-dozen coffee machines that produce any brew you can imagine, delicacies such as prosciutto and smoked salmon, crepes with real maple syrup, fresh-squeezed orange juice, fifteen different kinds of breads and rolls, all provided by an attentive staff.
The highlight of our first day was viewing Van Eyck's "Adoration of the Mystic Lamb." I am not sure I can add anything to what has already been said about this set of paintings, but I will say that it is almost too much. There are many small stunning masterpieces within this one huge work and putting them all together in one presentation can be overwhelming.
Our limited foreign language skills, in Spanish and Italian, are completely useless here. Not only are we baffled by almost anything written or spoken, we often don't even know what languages are being used. For example, in the elevator, level 0 is marked as 'RECEPTIE' or reception, in French -- I can deal with this. But that is followed by three alternative translations: VERGADERZALEN, DE DRAKE, and VAN ARTEVELDE. I am completely mystified by all three and am only saved by the fact that so many people here speak English.
Language problems aside, I can sum up my initial response to Belgium with a question: why did it take me so long to get here?
Flickr snaps are here.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
La Dolce Far Niente
We flew to Barbados on January 6, celebrated our anniversary on January 7, continued our celebrations for a few more days, and returned home on January 11. I like to blog while we travel, posting updates as we go along, but this time I could not gather enough will and energy to sit down at my laptop and write. Lethargy and inertia ruled the day, and the night, too.
We were able to use our upgrade credits to get into business class, both going and returning, so instead of paying $10 for a little can of Pringles in the back we had champagne and an elegant meal on real plates, with real silverware, up front. We arrived late, around 9 p.m., and checked in to our third floor room overlooking the pool and restaurant . A few guests were dancing to the loud and lively sounds of a steel drum band but otherwise the place was quiet. We unpacked and went to sleep.
The next morning the sun was up and bright by 6:30 a.m. and a quick glance out the window showed us what we were in for: a white sand beach, swaying palms, and beautiful blue water. We went to the beach soon after breakfast and spent most of each day just, well, sitting there. Every once in a while I'd get up from my lounge chair and walk slowly into the water, going out far enough to let the cool, refreshing surf drench me. I'd stand there for a bit, get drenched a few more times, then walk back up the beach to my lounge chair to rest up for the next go round. La dolce far niente -- the sweetness of doing nothing.
Oh my, what a beach. The water was cool enough to startle you when you first went in, but after a few waves crashed over my head I knew I had never felt anything so relaxing and inviting. The sky was blue, the water was blue, the sand was white, and it was all gorgeous.
The sun set before 6 p.m. and we'd go back to our room for a shower. By 7:30 we'd be out on the street trying to decide where to eat dinner. By 9:30, we'd be walking back up to our room, ready for a nice lie down before starting over again the next day.
We stayed at Southern Palms Beach Club, one of the older Barbados resorts, located in St. Lawrence Gap, on the southern coast about midway between the international airport and Bridgetown, the capital. It is on Dover Beach, undoubtedly one of the nicest in Barbados, and there are many restaurants and shops within easy walking distance. Breakfast was usually bacon and eggs or banana pancakes, and dinner was always seafood. I had fried flying fish, a national dish, every night but one.
We considered a tour of the island but a woman at the hotel recommended hiring a cab for an afternoon. The cost of a taxi for three and a half hours was less than that for two tour tickets, and we got our own guide to take us all the way around the island. (Barbados is about 21 miles long and 14 miles wide, with a population of about 270,000. For more info on Barbados, check Wiki.)
While I was too lazy to write while we were there, I did manage to take a few snapshots. There's a set on Flickr or you can sit back and watch a short slideshow.
Terri and I also posted some snaps on Facebook. Here's my Facebook photos. And here's Terri's Facebook photos.
Fortunately we brought along our heavy coats because when we got back it was in the 20s at DFW. We're home and unpacked now, but we can't put away our luggage just yet. In another week we're off again, in a completely different direction.
We were able to use our upgrade credits to get into business class, both going and returning, so instead of paying $10 for a little can of Pringles in the back we had champagne and an elegant meal on real plates, with real silverware, up front. We arrived late, around 9 p.m., and checked in to our third floor room overlooking the pool and restaurant . A few guests were dancing to the loud and lively sounds of a steel drum band but otherwise the place was quiet. We unpacked and went to sleep.
The next morning the sun was up and bright by 6:30 a.m. and a quick glance out the window showed us what we were in for: a white sand beach, swaying palms, and beautiful blue water. We went to the beach soon after breakfast and spent most of each day just, well, sitting there. Every once in a while I'd get up from my lounge chair and walk slowly into the water, going out far enough to let the cool, refreshing surf drench me. I'd stand there for a bit, get drenched a few more times, then walk back up the beach to my lounge chair to rest up for the next go round. La dolce far niente -- the sweetness of doing nothing.
Oh my, what a beach. The water was cool enough to startle you when you first went in, but after a few waves crashed over my head I knew I had never felt anything so relaxing and inviting. The sky was blue, the water was blue, the sand was white, and it was all gorgeous.
The sun set before 6 p.m. and we'd go back to our room for a shower. By 7:30 we'd be out on the street trying to decide where to eat dinner. By 9:30, we'd be walking back up to our room, ready for a nice lie down before starting over again the next day.
We stayed at Southern Palms Beach Club, one of the older Barbados resorts, located in St. Lawrence Gap, on the southern coast about midway between the international airport and Bridgetown, the capital. It is on Dover Beach, undoubtedly one of the nicest in Barbados, and there are many restaurants and shops within easy walking distance. Breakfast was usually bacon and eggs or banana pancakes, and dinner was always seafood. I had fried flying fish, a national dish, every night but one.
We considered a tour of the island but a woman at the hotel recommended hiring a cab for an afternoon. The cost of a taxi for three and a half hours was less than that for two tour tickets, and we got our own guide to take us all the way around the island. (Barbados is about 21 miles long and 14 miles wide, with a population of about 270,000. For more info on Barbados, check Wiki.)
While I was too lazy to write while we were there, I did manage to take a few snapshots. There's a set on Flickr or you can sit back and watch a short slideshow.
Terri and I also posted some snaps on Facebook. Here's my Facebook photos. And here's Terri's Facebook photos.
Fortunately we brought along our heavy coats because when we got back it was in the 20s at DFW. We're home and unpacked now, but we can't put away our luggage just yet. In another week we're off again, in a completely different direction.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A Dance for Space
I am not a sports fan and never watch any of it on TV. Earlier this year, though, I forced myself to watch Argentina play in some World Cup matches. No one can spend any time in Buenos Aires without learning all about Maradona and hearing the names Messi and Tevez, and I wanted to do my part by cheering on the national team.
What started out as a brief distraction became something of a compulsion as I watched more and more games, not just Argentina but Uruguay and Spain, Germany and Italy, every match that came on found me in front of the set ready for more. It didn't matter who was playing or even who won, I wanted to watch fútbol!
Once the World Cup was over, I started flipping through the cable channels, mostly the Spanish language stations, looking for more games. The South American Cup, the Mexican premier league, replays of match-ups from the English league, exhibition matches, some game or another was on almost every day, each one promising 90 minutes of entertainment.
I began to understand why fútbol is called "the beautiful game." (I think the Americanism soccer sounds silly and 'football' in this country means the NFL and NCAA, so fútbol seems the most apt.) It is simple and elegant -- you kick the ball with your foot (football!) -- but it's also much more.
As I watched more and more games, I began to see fútbol not as a sport but as an art form, a kind of extemporaneous modern dance. It's as if Merce Cunningham or Twyla Tharp choreographed a daring piece and every day, all over the world, various dance ensembles reinterpret that creation, each match adding its own subtle variations and flourishes while staying within the strict limitation of twenty-two performers and 90 minutes.
Simon Kuper summed it up perfectly when he wrote, in an article about the English player Wayne Rooney, "Football is best understood as a dance for space. The team that can open spaces when it attacks, and close down spaces when it defends, generally wins." ("Inside Wayne's World," Financial Times, October 30, 2010.)
We haven't traveled beyond Texas since we got back from Buenos Aires, but that's about to change. In early January we're going to Barbados, then later in January we're off to Brussels. I could say that one trip is for our anniversary and one is for my birthday but really, who needs an excuse to travel?
Have a happy holiday!
What started out as a brief distraction became something of a compulsion as I watched more and more games, not just Argentina but Uruguay and Spain, Germany and Italy, every match that came on found me in front of the set ready for more. It didn't matter who was playing or even who won, I wanted to watch fútbol!
Once the World Cup was over, I started flipping through the cable channels, mostly the Spanish language stations, looking for more games. The South American Cup, the Mexican premier league, replays of match-ups from the English league, exhibition matches, some game or another was on almost every day, each one promising 90 minutes of entertainment.
I began to understand why fútbol is called "the beautiful game." (I think the Americanism soccer sounds silly and 'football' in this country means the NFL and NCAA, so fútbol seems the most apt.) It is simple and elegant -- you kick the ball with your foot (football!) -- but it's also much more.
As I watched more and more games, I began to see fútbol not as a sport but as an art form, a kind of extemporaneous modern dance. It's as if Merce Cunningham or Twyla Tharp choreographed a daring piece and every day, all over the world, various dance ensembles reinterpret that creation, each match adding its own subtle variations and flourishes while staying within the strict limitation of twenty-two performers and 90 minutes.
Simon Kuper summed it up perfectly when he wrote, in an article about the English player Wayne Rooney, "Football is best understood as a dance for space. The team that can open spaces when it attacks, and close down spaces when it defends, generally wins." ("Inside Wayne's World," Financial Times, October 30, 2010.)
We haven't traveled beyond Texas since we got back from Buenos Aires, but that's about to change. In early January we're going to Barbados, then later in January we're off to Brussels. I could say that one trip is for our anniversary and one is for my birthday but really, who needs an excuse to travel?
Have a happy holiday!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
I Lost, or Parting Thoughts about Politics
I never wanted this blog to be about politics, but I'm breaking my own rule, just this once.
Ever since we returned from Buenos Aires a month ago I have avoided political news and blogs. I deleted all political bookmarks from my browsers, and if something about politics pops up online or in the newspaper I quickly avert my eyes and go to another page. If someone tries to talk to me about politics, I say nothing and try to smile beatifically.
I've voted for U.S. president twice: in 1972 for McGovern and in 2008 for Obama. One lost and the other won, but both elections resulted in a feeling of intense disappointment. Simply put, I lost -- basic principles of truth, fairness, and justice that I hold dear were soundly defeated in the marketplace of ideas.
Finally, after almost 40 years, I realize that the Peace Train will not take me and the country home again, and that we are not all joining hands to board the Love Train. The titanic struggle of Evil versus Incompetence leaves no room for sense or reason, and as a result society will forever be on the Eve of Destruction. There's not a damn thing I can do about it and I don't much care.
After a month of leading a politics-less life, I am a happier man. Unimpeded by my protests and outrage, the world continues its descent into the abyss while I pursue more important things in life. Did I tell you that I sold all my SLR gear and bought a new camera?
Ever since we returned from Buenos Aires a month ago I have avoided political news and blogs. I deleted all political bookmarks from my browsers, and if something about politics pops up online or in the newspaper I quickly avert my eyes and go to another page. If someone tries to talk to me about politics, I say nothing and try to smile beatifically.
I've voted for U.S. president twice: in 1972 for McGovern and in 2008 for Obama. One lost and the other won, but both elections resulted in a feeling of intense disappointment. Simply put, I lost -- basic principles of truth, fairness, and justice that I hold dear were soundly defeated in the marketplace of ideas.
Finally, after almost 40 years, I realize that the Peace Train will not take me and the country home again, and that we are not all joining hands to board the Love Train. The titanic struggle of Evil versus Incompetence leaves no room for sense or reason, and as a result society will forever be on the Eve of Destruction. There's not a damn thing I can do about it and I don't much care.
After a month of leading a politics-less life, I am a happier man. Unimpeded by my protests and outrage, the world continues its descent into the abyss while I pursue more important things in life. Did I tell you that I sold all my SLR gear and bought a new camera?
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