Arise

Yesterday left me with little to report.  Mostly, it was a day on the road, trying to sleep and recuperate.  My upper respiratory malady kept on giving, and on reaching our hotel in Bilbao, I looked in the mirror and discovered that I had developed conjunctivitis.  It started out looking monstrous, but, luckily, had improved enough by yesterday morning that I could be fairly certain I wouldn't need emergency intervention.  We stopped in Bordeaux, but I was not yet keen on exploring much and spent most of my two hours there sipping warm mint tea in a cafe where everything was red.   Poitiers provided a hearty dinner and a cozy bed.   

Today, my eyes are roughly the same size again, and I'm determined to finish strong in Paris, where we'll arrive this afternoon.  The stop in Amboise this morning was promising, with bright sun, crisp air, and friendly people(who are refreshing to find, wherever I may be).   Let's hope the trend continues.  🤞

This is getting old

I stayed in all day yesterday in Madrid, resting up and utilizing the hotel's wifi for frivolous pursuits, but the affects on my condition were disappointingly subtle.  I'm not sure what to do.  Throwing together a treatment plan for myself would be fairly simple if I could find a pharmacy, but the chances of anything other than an emergency department being open on Easter Sunday are almost nil.  My current malady certainly doesn't warrant such urgent attention.  Today is a day on the road, with stops at Burgos to eat lunch and visit the grave of El Cid, and then continuing to Bilbao, where we will be taken for sightseeing before going to our hotel.No one can stay in the bus during these stops, and so I must find a place to settle myself outdoors until they're willing to let us back inside.  At Burgos it will probably be about 2 hours.  As much as I'd enjoy the leisure to explore if I were in fighting shape, this is not going to be fun.  They can best give me my money's worth today by getting me to my next bed as soon as possible.

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We were, as predicted, dropped in Burgos for 2 hours.  I inadvertently left my hand sanitizer in the bus, which was completely inaccessible during our visit.  I didn't want any food, really, or any souvenirs, but I needed a lavatory, which meant the public WCs were my only option.  This is normally not a disaster, but today it was bad enough to drive me to tears.   I'll spare the details, but let it suffice to say it was inexcusably filthy and left me with no way to wash myself, then topped that off with trapping me inside for a couple of minutes, fearing that I was about to get sprayed down(maybe I should have let it?).  This is not something I easily tolerate, but I thought surely there would be another place to wash my hands or to buy sanitizer.  After walking the streets for an hour, in and out of shops and even consulting the tourist information center, where I was regarded quizzically and directed to a public fountain, I found no solution.  Finally, I simply walked to the back of a restaurant to find their facilities and use the sink.    I had every intention of patronizing their establishment afterward, but a sign on the bar specifically said not to disturb them because there was no service at the bar.  In an attempt to be compliant, I found an empty table and waited.  This had no apparent result, and so I left and bought bottled water and a bag of walnuts at a candy store instead.  The cathedral in the center of town has a beautiful facade, but I felt no desire to go inside with a mass in progress.   I sincerely feel like I can't think straight today.  It's as though simple problems,  which I should be able to solve easily,  suddenly seem insurmountable.  I know more than enough Spanish to communicate my needs to anyone in town,  but I draw a blank when I start to try to ask a question or explain myself.  I can't figure out why.  I'm not nearly sick enough for my illness to be causing any psychological symptoms, unless they're purely a result of sleep deprivation.  I want to feel normal again so I can write happy and coherent things.

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I'm feeling a little better now, but should definitely be in bed rather than at the center of Bilbao, where we'll be staying for the next hour by popular vote.  I found a nice bench, and it's not so bad out here at the moment.  We'll try this again tomorrow.  For now, guess which installation at the Guggenheim makes me say "NOPE" in multiple languages...

laguia.  

Random questions

 

It's wrong for me to come to Madrid and not see it, and it's wrong for me to go out and make people sick.  So, what's the right thing for me to do in this situation?  Should I take the crowded metro train over to cough on the Prado, or stay in my room looking out at the scenic hotel roof?

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Why was Good Friday good, exactly?  

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Should I be completely honest or just talk about what's awesome and leave the rest out?

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New idea for bullfights:  No one gets to use any weapons, the bull always gets to live if he wins, and if the matador loses he gets butchered and sold to restaurants.  Sound fair?

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Wouldn't it be cool if ferrets really ran the hardware store? 

Public Service Announcement

Siesta fail.  I got a little nap and took a pain reliever and decongestant, but my sore throat, fever and general malaise have won the day and I still ended up having to cancel on tonight's dinner and walk in the city. Madrid was a place I'd really looked forward to seeing, and the thought of not being able to get out while I'm here saddens me.  It appears, though, that trying to push through and participate in everything over the past couple of days has made me worse.  I can't get back home feeling this way, because there's too much to do on my return, and work starts again just over 2 weeks from today.  I don't want to let this slow me down, but it looks like my only choices are taking a break from the tour or never healing.

It's hard not to be bitter at the person who brought this to us from Australia, since it's now affected several people and resulted in an older gentleman having to call a doctor to the hotel a couple of days ago.  I'd hoped this blog would be something enjoyable to read, but it's turning out to be more of a hypochondriac's journal than a travel diary.  So, if you've made it this far, at least let me give you a little free medical advice:  If you're going on an international trip, especially with a group that will be in close quarters, please consider that what's simple "crud" for you might be a new and exotic bug for someone from another continent or a result in a severe illness for someone who's older or immunocompromised.   If you feel compelled to follow through with the journey in spite of an infectious illness, take precautions to keep from spreading it until you're completely recovered.  Surgical masks might make you look funny, but it's your choice and your responsibility. 

(The more you know 🌈⭐️).

A familiar desert

I don't feel like a part of this group.  It's not their fault, really.  It's a diverse bunch, and all but one of them seem to be lovely people who've been kind to me.  I don't dislike them.  I'm just not accustomed to spending this much of my time with people.  Between the transfer days in the bus and the planned gatherings, even having my own room or sneaking off alone during free time doesn't give me enough time to charge my batteries. I'm making a focused effort not to be unpleasant, and at the moment that consists of sitting at a table alone, far away from the others, across the nearly empty cafeteria where we've stopped for what the Spanish would call an early lunch.

Central Spain looks a lot like west Texas, only with much older churches and way fewer pickup trucks.  It makes me miss home, if you can believe that.  I miss my friends, my family, my cat, my bed, my computer that lets me format pictures on these posts so they're not huge, and my trusty thermostat.  I miss familiar faces, and others I haven't seen in ages and dare not mention.  I miss being understood, not so much verbally as personally.  As kind as they are, they just don't get it.  They don't understand why this experience takes so much out of me, or that I'm more an exhausted and anxious person than an absolutely terrible one.  Even if I tried to explain, they'd still just think I'm a spoiled, weak-willed, whiny American.  Maybe that's what I am.

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Finally in Madrid, and I'm afraid I'm getting sick again.  It's uncertain whether I'll go out at all while we're here, and it's a shame.  I'll try a siesta on for size.

Will of steal

The assumption is always that almost everyone believes sincerely that she is doing the right thing, however circumvent the process of rationalization might be.  So, of course, I've spent some time since last night pondering the reasoning behind the thefts I've encountered of late.  Why do people steal from one another in first world countries?  Are they just dicks?  

The most obvious reason that comes to mind would be hunger or any other physical need that required theft for survival.  But the people who've tried to fraudulently charge my credit cards in the past(and it's happened on multiple occasions) didn't exactly do it at the supermarket.  You can't eat a smartphone, and hacking someone else's Apple ID can't really provide basic necessities of any kind.  

A thief might believe that he is stealing back something that is rightfully his or to which the victim has no legitimate claim(think Robin Hood), but that would not seem to justify targeting random tourists.  We generally have little to no direct involvement in the political or economic woes of the countries we visit on holiday.  Some tourists are total jerks, of course, but a stealthy cutpurse doesn't usually interact with his marks enough to select for the assholes. 

Picking pockets might appear to be easy money compared to holding down a steady job, but there's always the threat of getting caught, and avoiding that takes more skill than a lot of perfectly legal occupations.  It also requires a time investment with completely uncertain returns.  

How many people are actually afflicted with kleptomania?  It has a lifetime prevalence of about 0.6% or so.  That's a lot, but not enough to explain away most of the robberies that occur.  Maybe some of these folks are in despair, thinking that they'll never earn the life they want by working inside the system, but what standard of living do most professional thieves ever achieve, really?

So is it just a "that person has what I want right now, and I don't want to bother with earning it myself so..." kind of mentality that motivates pickpockets?  Given that most of us find a way to think we're the "good guys" no matter what we're mixed up in, that seems like an oversimplification at best, and as unlikely as any of the other rationales.  It's just not a thought process that I can relate to(as far as I know).  If someone explained it from an insider's point of view, it might make sense to me; but, with my limited perspective, I can't seem to figure it out.  

Good Gaudí

I've wondered over the past week, as we've been in and out of so many immense and elaborate cathedrals of centuries gone by, what it would have been like to see one of them under construction during the hundreds of years they took to complete.  This morning, I found out.  The Sagrada Familia was designed primarily by Antoni Gaudí, and construction, which began in the 1880s, continues today.  It was consecrated in 2010 and is an active Basilica, but it is still only about 70% complete.  Even though it's already one of the tallest buildings in Barcelona, the church has yet to reach its full height, as the largest of the 18 planned spires is still a work in progress.  In addition to being tremendous in scale, the Sagrada Familia has multiple ornate facades, which, among many other things, tell the story of the birth, life and passion of Christ in its entirety.  When it is finally complete, the cathedral will be the tallest in the world, and will be in a style entirely unique.  I hope I live to see it finished.

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After our group sightseeing was done this morning, I was still nervous about striking out on my own.  My confidence was bolstered a little by the fact that I still had all my stuff in my pockets after our tour.   It occurred to me, when our bus passed by the beach, that I'd been too sick to get out while we were in Nice, and I'd never really visited the Mediterranean coast.  This would be my last chance to get in the water before we turned inland again tomorrow, and I didn't want to miss it just because I'm a yellow-bellied coward.  So, I packed up my cheap bag and my ninja scrubs and set out to dip my feet in the Mediterranean Sea.  Two trains and two short walks later, I was there(along with hundreds of other people).  The sand at the water's edge was coarse and rough, and the sea was surprisingly cold, but just being there brought me joy.  This, at least, is one regret I'll never have.   I didn't miss out, and my wallet, phone, passport and even my train ticket are all still safe here with me.  Time for a nap.

Los ladrones

Barcelona.  It's brimming with art and with life.  We've already been fed an array of delights--spiced chicken with cooked fruit, paella, Jamón ibérico, pulpo, custard with cinnamon--and treated to a magnificent flamenco show that touched on every emotion.  I wanted so desperately to give an unqualified glowing report about this place.   But then one of our group members got his pocket picked on the Rambla.  Luckily, only his phone was lost, but that's quite enough to throw a wrench in anyone's holiday, especially in a time when our mobile devices have become almost like external organs.  Perhaps it was a fluke, I thought.  He was a little careless, after all, carrying it in the open pocket of a jacket draped over his arm.  Then, as we arrived at the hotel, another victim, this time a tearful woman with luggage still in tow, was overheard just outside our door, reporting her stolen passport to the policía.  So that's two thefts, of which I've directly observed the effects in my immediate vicinity, within a three hour period.  I'm now a little afraid to go outside with my stuff.

No one can say I'm not careful.  There's never anything particularly valuable in my purse, and I've spent most of my days on this trip either wearing pocketed shirts (ninja scrubs, as my sister calls them) covered with a coat or with my hands in my pockets directly clutching my wallet and phone at all times. These thieves, though, seem to be so slick that I don't know how to reliably thwart them.

It would be a waste to be in Barcelona without enjoying what I can of its goodness, but if I lost either my phone or passport right now, it could become a life-ruining caliber of disaster.  I'm not sure whether I have enough pockets for this. 

Carcassonne

Carcassonne has been a resuscitating breath for my enthusiasm during our short stay.  Maybe it was the wonder of the old fortress and it's surrounding legends, sleeping in comfort until well after sunrise for once, or a little of both, but my cough and my anger are healing nicely. Today, we leave for Barcelona, where I may actually be able to speak to people coherently and without abject humiliation.  I have much to make me grateful.  Also, Carcassonne is a great game and you should try it sometime. 

Vive le France! 🇫🇷

A long sleep and soothing dreams improved my condition significantly overnight, and the drive from Nice to Carcassonne was much more pleasant than yesterday's.  We made a long stop in Avignon, a walled medieval city where the pope once resided for a time.  The papal palace made for a couple of lovely photos, and I found a few amusing curiosities around the city here and there.  Nothing pleased me more, however, than finally encountering a normal drug store, where I could browse the shelves and select my own items.   They even had diphenhydramine in stock.  Vive le France!

Carcassonne also looks to be a win so far.  We're going out to the old citadel tonight, which I'm expecting to be one of the highlights of the journey(at least for me).  My hotel room has a balcony with a view of it, and also has a bathtub and an apparently functional air conditioner (fingers crossed).  Aside from the odd placement of the toilet, which had me concerned, initially, that I'd been given the Brady Bunch's key by mistake, everything is lovely.  Can it last?  Stay tuned...

Status update

I'm still sick, and had to cancel my excursion to Monaco.  When I paid for a French dinner, two stale complementary croissants from the hotel lobby was not what I'd envisioned.  Maybe I'll save money in the long run by not visiting the casino, but I'm still bummed to miss the overall experience.  The staff here at the hotel has been kind, and I managed to purchase a pack of cookies and a bottle of water with relatively little embarrassment.   At least there's a bathtub, in which I'm now going to soak for about the 4th time this evening, and in which I may decide to sleep.  Bonne nuit.   🛀🏻

We are Devo

(Disclaimer: this is really bitchy, but I feel horrible, and it's honest so I'm posting it. Sorry.). I'm sick today.  After I washed my hair last night I knew it.  My right ear was burning and I developed a severe headache and then began to cough.  I tossed and turned, alternately hot and shivering for most of the night until my headache finally eased enough for me to sleep a couple of hours.  When I came out to the bus this morning, throat sore and body aching, I considered our seat assignment rotation in an attempt to stay away from people, and took the seat in the very back where I could lie down and should have been a couple of rows away from anyone else on board.  How wrong I was.  The couple in front of me for the past 2 days, who should have moved forward, instead ignored the rotation, remaining right in front of me and expanding their territory to fill the seats on both sides.  Then, after the first stop, a douche of an old man who has been haunting my steps(along with those of all the single women on the trip who are too young for him) insisted that he must move to the back seat to take photos, even though the seat he now occupies is on the same side of the bus where he was originally situated.  If the bus was even half full, I could understand that sacrifices might be necessary, but there is plenty of room in here for all these people, who have been duly informed that I am ill, to move away and give me a little comfort without even having to be the slightest bit cramped themselves.  In spite of that, and in spite of the fact that there is only one back seat in the bus, they all choose to remain in my space.  No one cares that I'm in a rolling hell or even that they might also get sick if they don't leave me alone.  It's somehow more important to stand their ground and not give way when someone else needs room.  It's like we've reverted to some primitive territorial state. And this guy who's moved to the back seat must be either stupid or downright cruel. He's certainly not going to get anywhere with me if he thinks that taking blurry photos from a moving bus is more important than letting me rest when I'm sick, and any idiot can see that he would get the same half-assed, reflection-ridden photos from his own seat that he can get back here.  Even taking pictures out the back isn't really an option, and I can't help noticing that I've rarely seen him raise his phone to snap one anyway.  In fact, the asshole is asleep right now.  I don't get to sleep, but he's sleeping like a damned baby after coming back here "to take some photos" 3 hours and 2 stops ago.  I can't begin to imagine why he'd actually get out of the row he had to himself up front and make the effort to move back here to do this to me.  I just wish he'd go away. I wish that any one of the three people who are knowingly and unnecessarily trapping me in this claustrophobic situation would be considerate and give a little for just one leg of the trip.  I have never done anything like this to any of them, and never would if I could help it.  Given the choice, I'd prefer having more space to myself and staying healthy hands down over crowding a contagious stranger for no particular reason.

Arrivederci

There's a massive line to get into the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral this afternoon.  Here in Florence, the number of visitors inside at once is limited to keep the noise to a minimum, a wise intervention which I fully support.  So, for now I'm sitting on a conveniently situated bench and watching.  The line seems to be moving quickly, and if it gets short enough, I'll go inside.  Ok, it's better.  Getting up...

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The cathedral is more austere inside than others I've seen, but obviously sturdy.  The only significant decoration is inside the duomo, and I'm disappointed to say that I didn't get to see it.  The area under the dome was blocked, and the only way to look up at it was to pay 15 euros for a reservation to climb it.  Even though climbing to the top of it was not the first thing on my list today, I'd have considered it cheap at the price just to walk underneath and look.   Sadly, there were no more reservations available until Tuesday.  So I meandered through the streets in confusion until I made my way back to Holy Cross square.  It must be understood that I knew exactly in which direction I wanted to travel, but finding a road that goes the right way here in the historical center is a challenge.    If only they'd followed the example of the original Roman layout a little more closely, but alas no.  Anyway, the folks at Santa Croce were happy to sell me a ticket to go inside, and nearly the entire place was accessible, including the font and some seating.  Photos were allowed as well.  In spite of this, it was relatively quiet and peaceful.  Galileo, Michaelangelo, and multiple noblepersons and clergy are entombed there.  This sort of thing fascinates me, perhaps more than it should.   I find myself looking at the older stones that are worn smooth, and wondering about who the bones they cover belonged to in life.  How did they end up there?  Who thought they were important?  Why were their epitaphs allowed to fade away?  I suppose it doesn't matter to them anymore.

A half marathon was run here today, and in the course of my convoluted travels I've almost finished one myself.   I still have another hour or so before the group reconvenes for dinner, and so I'm sitting here in Holy Cross square, keeping a determined eye on our meeting place to make sure I don't get lost again.   The piazza is full of weary tourists as well as street vendors, pigeons, and the remains of the marathon starting line.  I wonder if the people who actually live here ever get to use this space, or whether they make a focused effort to stay as far away as possible.

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Florence was a lovely and refreshing end to this leg of our journey.  I'm not going to talk about food again today.  See you in France.  

Time is on my side

The problem with busy days is that they're so full of things to write about, and leave so little time to actually do it.  By the end, I'm scarcely able to stay awake, and everything runs together, however impressive it may have been at the time.  Days like today are the ones I enjoy the most, and also, not surprisingly, the rarest.  When we're given an evening meeting point at 10 AM and set loose in the city, with no particular worries about being lost or left behind, I really have a chance to relax, and explore and think.  I don't have to worry about where anyone is or what anyone else wants to do.  Instead of being a component of a tour group, I'm just me, in Florence.   Me, in Florence, sitting at an Irish pub run by Italians across the square from the Duomo, because why not?  Maybe I'll actually get to write something coherent and non-angry about what I see during the day.

A miracle

The leaning tower of Pisa makes me nervous.  In fact, the tower looks nervous itself, as though it is sheepishly peeking out from behind the cathedral to see whether everyone has gone away yet.  I know it's been (sort of) upright for 700 years, but that only means that some catastrophe is overdue, right?  Our group managed to make it through the day intact, though, and I had a relaxing walk and grabbed a few decent photos in the Miracle Square before we headed to Florence and got stuffed with food again. I've had a real bath tonight for the first time in 5 days, and it's amazing how much better I feel and what a difference it makes to follow my usual bedtime routine.  I'm looking forward to seeing Florence in the daylight tomorrow, but for now, I'm quite content.  

Just huge

I used more memory on photos today in Rome than I have in all the rest of the trip put together. Nothing has fueled my interest in this trip more than the promise of the antiquities of the forum and the mighty artistic achievements within the Vatican City. The colosseum was even more immense and complex than I'd imagined it would be and preservation appears to require a constant effort. Given the numbers of daily visitors walking the floors, chipping off souvenirs, and carving their initials everywhere, I'm surprised it's still standing at all.

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St. Peter's also dwarfed the images I'd formed in my mind, and was so full of art I simply couldn't take it all in during my relatively short visit.  The Sistine Chapel was painted in such fine detail that I could not process it all if I was left there for a whole day in quiet and solitude.  That's a fantasy though, because I'm now quite certain that one doesn't find quiet and solitude within the walls of the Vatican City unless that "one" is the pope.  Pope Francis eschews, at least publicly, much of the luxury and opulence that his predecessors enjoyed, and I can't help wondering what he thinks of the St. Peter Basilica.   It's already there, and it's a masterpiece of masterpieces, but should it, or other similar churches, have been built in the first place?  A non-religious person might look at the place in the context of its time and see a huge waste of resources, and even a religious believer can't deny that these ostentatious constructions are diametrically opposed to Christian values and to the vows of the clergy.  They're amazing.  People made these cathedrals to stand the test of time and they're marvels to behold, but was this an appropriate context for them?  Does it matter?  Would any concerted effort this grand ever have been carried out in the 1500s without religion or the resources of the church as a motivator?  Even the ancient Roman constructions I visited today were intertwined with the religion of the time in some way or other.  Patriotism can be an inspiration, but it's seldom completely divorced from an underlying assumption of divine right.  Being a humanist myself, I would like to see an example of an entirely secular undertaking of such a staggering scale, but I'm drawing a blank.

Random observations #2

If you are starting a tour during rush hour, wait 30 minutes.  This is a win for the group, who can sleep later and still get there at about the same time, and also for the commuters, who don't have a bunch of extra busses in their way.

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Motor vehicle accidents aren't tourist attractions.

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A lot of work goes into maintaining ruins. 

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Caesar's palace in Las Vegas is totally unrealistic.

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St.  Peter's Basilica is an exquisite work of art that probably shouldn't have been built.

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If you make a living by exploiting and punishing the generosity of others, you'll probably keep finding new marks, but you'll make the world a colder place one sucker at a time.  Not that you give a damn.

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Garbage monster wants to eat you.