I arrived in Madrid, looking forward to doing laundry and eating at my new favorite falafel joint. AS I munched on falafel, Gustavo came rushing in, and dragged me out by the hand. Within minutes, I was being led through a crowd of thousands, each of my hands held by sweet yet sturdy Venezuelan men, into the pulsing throngs of people gathered for a free concert by none other than the mania inducing Shakira. I was so delighted to be guided through a comfortable crush, not thinking, just moving. It was lovely.When Shakira finished her songs, hip shakings, and swoon enducing torso wigglings, fireworks were lighting up the boulevards of marble facades and a mulititude of smiling, upturned faces. It was great.
My next epic day will be called the Phallic Day. Barcelona. On a recommendation, I went to the Museum of Erotica. A seven foot wooden penis greeted me at the door, followed by rooms of every assortment of sex and it,s acoutrements. Very interesting.... I then toured the Casa Mila, one of Gaudi's masterpieces. The most enchanting part was the roof, where the chimneys spire toward the heavens in a diverse aray of plaster and mosaic. Of course, I happened to eavesdrop on a Feminist Art historian lecturing a class on the sexuality that is thick in Gaudi's work. Next, I walked up to Guell Park, with a view of lovely city below me verigated with cathedrals, monuments,the modern and the old. One of Barcelona's most iconic buildings is a gleaming, massive sky scraper, the shape of an elongated egg, kind of like...oh, never mind.
All this time in Spain(now in what seems to be very distant retrospect)I was kind of a zombie. Maybe knowing the language kept the "oh my goddness! I am in a foreign country!" syndrome at bay. Sure, I was blessed to see many wonderful things and expand my knowledge of the world immensley, but I realized when I hit Switzerland that I had been absorbing and full of delight, but not really processing with every ounce of my being.A sleepwalking sponge.
So Switzerland kicks ass. I show up, and my first impression is that it was so quiet, so few cars. No MTV blaring and conversations taking the tone of heated arguements. And everything is so full of trust...people do not lock their bikes, train conductors assume that you have a ticket if you are riding a train, people use crosswalks and the cars actually stop! I think an Aquarian designed the Swiss mentality....follow the rules, and everyone will have a good time. But, alas this is all my first impression. Suddenly I realized....the Swiss Franc? A country with 4 official languages? How the hell was I going to order a cup of coffee and pay for it with out making a total ass of myself? Luckily(although quite disturbing)the Swiss LOVE what they call "American English", so I survived quite nicely! Although the culture shock did give me a wake up call.
Let me pause for a moment to get on my knees in gratitude to Richard Levy, who generously sent me tickets to the olympics of contemporary art in Basel! I went to the biggest, fanciest, most prestigious, and most overwhelming art experience this girl could ever concieve of attending. The art fair was huge.Of course I bought a swanky little outfit thinking I could blend in with the buyers, collectors, the swirl and glam and twinkle of the art world. HA! That placed clanged of power and profit,not the saw dust scents and paint splatters that I associate with art. I was there on Preview day, which basically felt like a hurricane of amazing art, money and red dots (signifying SOLD) flinging themselves about. It was great.
Then.....The ALps. THe most amazing few days I have had. I could not stop myself, I was like a hungry dog let loose in a butcher shop. After lugging around my tortoise shell of a backpack and having the bummer of a injured foot and feeling city clogged and smog choked and subway jostled, the alps were like a tall glass of cool water on a hot day.The air smelled of marzipan and under ripe nectarines. The cultivated flower beds in the mountain villages paled in comparison with the wild prismatic blooming of the alpine slopes. Farms cling like house flies to the face of the mountains, like satellites of the viridian valley floor, thousands of feet below. As much as Kansas is about flatness, or any beach is about the ocean, the Alps are about enormity of scale. The bulk of those stone monsters defies perspective or comprehension. I hiked like a madwoman, intoxicated on thin oxygen, expansive views, the crunch of glaciers underfoot, the seductive embrace of clouds, the dizzying heights. I never hiked less than 12 hours in a day. And I recieved the best, albeit sexist, compliment of my life. The burly Swiss man who ran the Grindelwald Hostel helped me plan a few hikes, and I guess he assumed I would hike up, and then take a gondola down(all the summits have gondolas going to them), yet everyday I hiked up and back, leaving at dawn, returning at dusk. Finally he told me I was insane and that I hike like a Swiss MAN! I look better in my short shorts, so my conclusion is that I hike BETTER than a swiss man!
I had to drag myself away from those mountains. What finally did me in was the MAtterhorn....it looked so small,just a big rock, and heck, I didn't want to CLIMB it, just walk the entire way around it. No go, but I am probably in 200 Japanese tourist's photos as I returned to town, sunburnt and glistening with mountain joy. "OOOH! You climb mountain? Me take photo."
Then, into the sweltering land of Italy. In Milan, I pretty much slithered around, like a snail in a pool of my own sweat, contemptuous of all the super-model-look-alikes for their powdery dry faces,bouyant hair-does and snooty composure under the evil opression of the mean sun. Everyone said it was a hot streak, but I thought they were just being sympathetic to my pouting and perspiring.
Highlights of Italy thus far: ***the outdoor opera in Verona at the Colloseum. My ass ached on the same stone steps that have held asses for thousands of years! ***Venice, venice, oh venice. That city charmed me. The 51st Biennial of contemporary art, representing many countries, woven through the city rocked. The canals reflecting buildings the color of sunsets, the gelatto, the whole experience was GREAT! ***And now,I am in the stupendous, incredible, fantastic city of FLorence! It is like taking a walk through an art history book. Every building has some familiar feel to it, every church seems to house a Michelangelo or Donatello. My new favorite trick? Go to the church after tourist hours, and tell the guard that I would like to go to confession.They ALWAYS let me in, and then I have these amazing churches to myself.And I do make confessions, under my breath, in my head. I confess to being awestruck, thankful, humble in the face of such great artistic genius, small in these expanses of marble and stone and frescoed domes that really do resemble heaven (if I believed that heaven was full of bearded old dudes and Baby Jesus' with faces like middles aged men). So I am bending the rules, and having a wonderful time.The irony? That I have done all the most amazing things, the most romentic things, the most inspiring things alone. Next time, I might invite someone, so I can ride a venitian gondola with company, suck up linguini a'la Lady and the Tramp, and all that. Thanks for sticking it out to the end of this epic update. Ciao for now!
