NY Street Meat An Overwhelming Disappointment
New York City lived up to every preconception I had of the city thanks in part to old gangster movies and Seinfeld reruns. In a way then, NYC was like visiting an old friend that I'd never met, complete with bright, flashing, neon, car horns blaring, steam rising from the sewers and the smell of roasted peanuts and car exhaust perfuming the air.
Laura and I actually covered a fair bit of ground in only a couple of hours, heading first to Times Square where we were bombarded by American consumerist propaganda, and then down to the WTO site, where we were bombarded by American patriotic propaganda. I'm really looking forward to the day "Freedom Tower" is finally built. We made our way to Chinatown (which felt like a slice of home), and then to Little Italy, where I enjoyed some quality stuffed olives from a neighbourhood straight out of Scorsese's Mean Streets.
We ended our Manhattan journey at Battery Park, where I experienced my biggest let down, and which almost ruined my entire experience of the city. You see, I was really looking forward to a big, juicy, greasy smokie smeared in chili and cheese served to me by some fat, middle-aged cart jockey from Brooklyn chompin' on a stogie and sporting a grease-soaked apron that hadn't been cleaned since his grandfather came from Italy. What I got instead made Hot Dog Day in elementary school seem like fine dining. Instead of a nicely barbecued dog, similar to the quality street meat I've come to expect from cities such as Vancouver or Toronto, I was served a very thin, gangly tube steak that looked as if it could have used a few more hooves and snouts. Added to the horror of the experience was the fact that the dog wasn't even barbecued, rather boiled in a large pot, hence removing the unique taste and texture that so pleases the refined palette. Frankly, I'm surprised city officials haven't stepped in to regulate what should be considered a cornerstone of New York's cultural identity.
Granada
When we finally arrived in Barcelona after nearly 48 hours of travelling, we learned quite quickly that nothing in Spain is particularly efficient, and it's rather pointless to be in a rush for anything. While this is an aspect of Spanish culture I thoroughly enjoy and admire, when you've been travelling for 48 hours straight and you really need to pass some of that quality airline food through your body, you don't necessarily have the time to wait and take your time. That being the case, every single men's washroom in the Barcelona airport was closed for cleaning when we arrived. This is not an exaggeration. With my heart pounding, my hands getting clammy, and a 30 pound backpack over my shoulders, I covered every square foot of the airport searching for some glimmer of hope, each time encountering the same plastic sandwich board crudely shaped in the form of an airport security guard that blocked my entrance at every turn and quickly became, in my eyes, a symbol of scorn and hatred.
Another fine example of Spanish inefficiency was during our visit to the Alhambra in Granada. Situated in the south of Spain, Granada is the final resting place of the famed Spanish king and queen Ferdinand and Isabella, best known for their tolerance of Jews and Muslims. Before the "liberation" of Granada, the city had long been a moorish stronghold, leaving behind several remnants of Islamic architecture and fine city planning. Built in the 14th century, the Alhambra rests high above the rest of the city, with a clear view of the snow-tipped Sierra Nevada mountains in the near distance. The Alhambra is an impressive fortress which served both a military function and for making use of slave labour to construct grandiose and elaborate gardens and palaces.
The procedure for visiting the Alhambra is straightforward: (1) line up; (2) wait; (3) buy tickets; (4) line up; (5) wait. It is advisable to reserve tickets to the Alhambra well in advance, since a set number of visitors are granted admission to the grounds each day. We'd missed the window of opportunity to do this online, therefore, we had to bank on arriving early enough in order to secure tickets. The inherent problem with this plan, however, was that every single tourist in Granada had thought of the same thing. Since it was Semana Santa, the Holy Week leading up to Easter, it was, subsequently, the busiest and most visited spot in Andalucia, which required the Tourist Bureau in Granada to step up their operations and manpower in order to cope with the demand. Luckily, instead of just opening one ticket booth, they opened two, resulting in an average wait time of 3 hours in order to purchase a ticket.
Once we obtained our tickets, however, we had to wait another 3 hours before we could enter the grounds, and another hour and a half after that before we could enter the palace proper (only after the security guard had his smoke break).
Our stay in Granada also offered us the opportunity to observe the Semana Santa processions, which occur each year during the week leading up to Easter. Each night during the week, groups of brotherhoods which date back hundreds of years, parade through the narrow, winding streets carrying crosses, flames, and large floats decorated with Catholic icons. Each float was preceeded by a small marching band blasting sombre and depressing tunes, and proceeded by a contingent of women in high heels wearing black. Laura and I agreed that such an event would never occur in North America. For starters, the image of large groups of hooded men carrying crosses simply contains too many bad connotations, and the rickety floats piled high with lit candles and carried on the backs of a few men would present far too many safety hazards and potential litigation. The processions themeslves were quite long and drawn out, due in part to the fact that the floats could not be carried for too long. This gave the appearance that the procession itself was at times disorganized and its participants unsure of what to do next. It would seem that for most, the real highlight of the eveing was not the image of the crucified Christ, but rather the opportunity to collect the drips from the melting candles held by the men and women in the procession into large balls of wax.
Madrid
For the casual traveler, adjusting to Spain’s clock may take some getting used to. For one, nothing is really open before 10:00 AM, and you’ll be hard pressed to find any store open during siesta (apart from the big chains; God bless big corporations!). It is fairly important, therefore, to plan your day accordingly so that you capitalize on the small windows of opportunity to visit certain sights or pick up some groceries.
Since most Madridians are recovering from intense hangovers and only a few hours of sleep, the early morning is a great time of day for strolling through the city streets, as it is quite calm and peaceful. You would almost think that Madrid was a deserted city during these hours. If it were not for the occasional hum of a vespa scooting down a nearby street, or the clinking of dishes in a nearby apartment, this might be the case. In short, if you are looking for a place to keep warm, have a bite to eat and maybe a coffee, your only real choice is Starbucks, which I certainly do not condone (unless it’s really, really cold out), which is what prompted us to seek shelter there.
It actually amazes me the number of people I see going into Starbucks stores in Europe, considering that there are an infinite number of cafes lining every insignificant street, corner and alleyway in any major (or minor for that matter) European city. Not only do these cafes invariably offer better quality coffee, but are usually quite cheaper and offer a unique sense of flavour and ambience, all of which Starbucks sadly lacks. It’s interesting that as a concept, Starbucks was to be an importer of European café sensibilities to North America, but has instead become an exporter of North American corporate values and sensibilities to the rest of the world.
I enjoyed Madrid a lot more than I thought I would. I imagined it as being a somewhat generic cosmopolitan European city, however, Madrid oozes a sense of “Spanishness.” While it lacks the kind of close familiarity one might feel with smaller cities such as Granada, there is an almost electric vibe one feels while being in the city. This could be that we were there during the holidays, however, I got the feeling that the kind of organized chaos that we became apart of was a regular occurrence. One aspect of Spanish culture I came to really enjoy was the “tapas” concept. In Granada, tapas came free with every drink you purchased, which meant that you could stagger from one bar to the next getting drunk whilst getting fed for a relatively cheap sum. In most other parts of Spain, tapas aren’t free, but relatively cheap (and really good!). While the concept has been attempted here in North America, for some reason it hasn’t really taken off. The few places that do offer tapas on their menu are really offering overpriced appetizers that cost roughly the same as an entrée. I think part of this has to do with the differences between Spanish and North American social attitudes. Tapas bars in Spain are packed with people of various ages out to socialize (and God forbid, sometimes with a stranger standing next to them at the bar) late into the evening, long past the time when most bars in Vancouver have closed up and people gone to bed (sometime between 8 and 9 PM). The process of actually ordering drinks and tapas can require a little getting used to, especially if you do not speak the language and you are completely unaware of the process involved. I think this was best expressed in the words of a beleaguered middle-aged British woman whom we saw coming out of a tapas bar telling her husband that she “just wanted to go someplace where she could have a nice, comfortable meal.” As with many other parts of Spain, it’s amazing that anything gets accomplished, and for people to give their order, or to receive their drinks and food for that matter, since everything seems to be in some kind of chaotic flux. All I can say is to be persistent and assertive, or go to McDonald’s for a nice, comfortable meal.
Since we weren’t in Madrid on a Sunday, we missed out on seeing a bullfight, something that Laura was particularly broken up about. We did stumble upon a tour at the Plaza de Toros that gave us an opportunity to go behind the scenes and actually walk around the bullring itself (where drops of blood could still be seen in the sand if you looked close enough). The highlight of this tour, of course, was to practice handling an actual cape used in a bullfight, which served to emphasize to both Laura and I that if any one of use were to be alone with an actual bull, we’d both be dead rather quickly.
Barcelona
Laura and I spent a total of three days in Barcelona; one at the beginning of the trip, and two at the end of the trip. Barcelona, unlike Madrid, seemed a lot more “open.” By that, I mean that I never felt particularly closed in, with the exception, perhaps, of the old Gothic quarter of the city.
In Barcelona, there seemed to be a lot of open spaces, from La Rambla, a pedestrian walkway lined with cafes and market stalls that cuts through a large section of the city, to the green spaces of Montjuic, site of the Olympic stadium, which offers a spectacular view of the city below.
What I found to be interesting about Spain was that each of the cities we visited had a definite feel or character that was unique to each city. Of the three cities, Barcelona felt the least “Spanish,” due to the influence of Catalan culture. I’m not sure that I’m qualified to fully comment on the differences between these two cultures, perhaps my only frame of reference being the distinction between English and French Canada. Therefore, we’ll have to content ourselves with the notion that Barcelona is just different.
Take its’ red-light district, for example. As you walk through the labyrinthine streets of old Barcelona, you will notice, seemingly out of nowhere, a dozen or more men, standing alone, in pairs, or in groups, completely motionless. This may cause a certain degree of alarm, however, as long as you continue on your way, it is unlikely you will encounter any problems. At the same intersection, if you turn to your right, you will observe, along the easternmost sidewalk, scantily clad prostitutes lined up from one end of the block to the other. Once you’ve passed this one street, you’ll almost forget that it existed, or that prostitution even exists in the city. Essentially, the red-light district is located in a rather unassuming neighbourhood no different from any other in that part of the city, and you’d be hard-pressed to distinguish it from any other; except for obvious disparities.
Barcelona is also home to the spectacular and dizzying architecture of Antoni Gaudi. Buildings designed by Gaudi can be found throughout the city, as well as the famous Park Guell, which was designed by Gaudi and contains a variety of bizarrely-shaped statues, fountains and buildings.
As the audio tour guides will tell you while visiting the Casa Milla, an apartment building that Gaudi was commissioned to re-design in the Modernista style, Gaudi is a universal architect, whose genius is sure to change the way you view the world around you.
Gaudi’s most famous, and most personal work, was the Sagrada Familia, a grand cathedral of the medieval Gothic variety, with a definite Gaudi twist. The cathedral is one of the most impressive I’ve ever seen, with so much intricate detail and precise artistry that it staggers the imagination. While it may appear at first that certain sections of the cathedral are melting, a closer look reveals intricate sculpture that appears to emerge from the stone itself. Staring at the cathedral is like staring at one of those 3D puzzles that requires you to un-focus and re-focus your eyes until the hidden image appears. Once you stare at it long enough, new details will emerge, revealing detail and unity. Despite having designed the cathedral, Gaudi oversaw only a fraction of its’ construction, which continues to this day. The inside of the cathedral is littered with scaffolding, tools, mortar, and large chunks of rock in varying sizes, and standing guard high above the cathedral’s towers is a battalion of cranes. In fact, despite initial construction beginning over 100 years ago, completion of the cathedral is a long way down the road.
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