I Need New Pants

You know your desire to consume delicious food is a teeny bit obsessive when you find yourself purposely exercising (in my case these days, climbing the cobble stone streets of Madrid) simply so you can eat more of the awesome food your host mother has prepared upon your return. Paella, pisto, croquetas, oh my! Then there's all that bread and cheese and those interesting Spanish fruits, too. Whoa, los pantalones are feeling just a tiny bit restrictive these days.

And I cannot forget my favorite Spanish pastry, the napolitana (most typically known as a cream or chocolate croissant). La Mallorquina, a Madrid institution located in the Puerta del Sol, is known for its amazing napolitanas and chocolate truffles (trufas) amongst all sorts of other goodies. (Just look at 'em!) Typically packed to the gills, I am never discouraged from making my way through the crowd at least once each time I visit Madrid. The other day, I tried to get a small trufa but they only sell the big ones singly (about an inch and a half in diameter) so I had to eat the whole darn thing. Such a travesty.

This morning, I made a special trip back to the city center for one more stroll and also for one last visit to La Mallorquina. When I'm in Spain, I make a mental checklist of all the things I must eat. (Is this a clinical disorder??) Even though I never, ever expect my host mother to cook for me, she knows what I love and very sweetly prepares almost everything I secretly have stashed in my brain's "to eat" list. However, one doesn't just whip up a napolitana. Hence, my little trip this morning to La Mallorquina. Did I mention that I used to have a Spanish class just above this place? Guess where Rachael and her crew went every day during their break? While the teacher smoked approximately seven cigarettes during a ten minute break, the rest of us were chowing down on chocolately goodness and cafe solos. Oh, memories!

I am now sitting here, post dinner stuffed with croquetas, cheese, cafe con leche and napolitanas. In a few hours, I will be heading "home" to the land of cake, cheese, and beer. I am now going to write these words so that I will feel responsible to someone: FRUIT and VEGETABLES. And another little reminder: DUDE, YOU HAVE NO MONEY FOR NEW PANTS!

Okay, kids. Make me true to my word.

Yours truly,

Rachael (aka Ms. Hedonism)

How Did I Forget Such a Love?

After getting over the fact that I felt like an idiot, wearing boots in nearly 70 degree weather like some Williamsburg hipster, I took my last full day in Madrid by the horns and said, "Enjoy, damn it!"

I'm quite certain that Madrid cannot be more different than Berlin. While Berlin is still reinventing itself after a devastating war along with the more recent destruction of the wall, Madrid is classic as ever. I adore Berlin with its wide avenues, its green spaces on every block, its impossible to ignore hip, artsy vibe but then there's Madrid with its medieval center, full of narrow, winding streets, plazas, and churches pressed against discotheques. I appreciate the aura of each so much, if someone held a gun to my head and told me I must choose, I'd be a dead woman.

Then there's the weather factor. I cannot tell you how much I needed this sun after six weeks of gloomy weather. Yesterday, I took a little siesta in Retiro Park (the Central Park of Madrid) while listening to quiet chatter and a saxophonist in the distance. Despite the saxophone player working on a loop that consisted of "My Way", "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You," and "Tequila" (???), I found the whole scene amazingly relaxing. Clearly, as my own snoring woke me up a few minutes later.

The rest of the day, I visited my old stomping grounds...cafes, shops, the clubs where my friends and I would dance the night away, the ole' churros and chocolate place we'd hit afterward as the sun was rising. Perhaps I even stopped by a familiar waffle (gofre) stand where one can perhaps buy a gofre smothered in chocolate. And while I wandered the cobble stone streets of the city center, gazing once again at the grand opera house, the breathtaking palacio, and the ridiculously romantic Plaza Mayor, I truly fell in love all over again. Radiating this happiness, I smiled at every dingy tapas bar I passed, filled with old and young alike, drinking Estrella at the bar while chomping on olives and arguing about the upcoming soccer match. I then planted myself on a plaza and drank a few copas of sangria while chatting with a couple of very sweet Spanish guys, who unbeknownst to me had paid my bill before they slipped into the night.

I then took advantage of the evening sky and strolled by the palace, the opera, and the Plaza Mayor one more time to take in their beauty, this time with lights twinkling. Although I was glad to go home and hang with my host family, I'm quite sure I could've walked the whole night. And probably the next day and the next week, just like I used to do. I'm not sure what this "homesickness" means exactly but I'm reminded of what a slutty heart I have, lovin' up cities all over the place.

Tomorrow, it's back to another love. Berlin, I haven't forgotten you but you sure have some tough competition. Time to woo me a bit more.

El domingo in Madrid

It went something like this:

9:30 am - Woke up to the sound of my host mother furiously preparing the first steps of what was to be our paella feast. Proudly refused offer of chocolate croissant and cookies. Instead consumed piece of toast and yogurt like a good little American.

11:30 am - Headed out to the Rastro (huge market near the Plaza Mayor) with host mother. Finally got on the ball with my gift buying. Amid some serious junk and bull stamped T-shirts, I left with some pretty great finds.

3:00 pm - Sunday dinner. Observed my host mother assemble the paella in a gigantic pan: the rice, the spices, the chicken, the salt, the mussels, the peas, more salt, the shrimp, the cauliflower, and a bit more salt. I planned to take a photo of it before we dove in but dudes, I'm still on a German schedule. I was ready to bite my arm off by the time we sat down to eat at 3:30. Hence, no time for photos.

4:30 - 6:00 pm - Siesta (Duh!)

7:00- 8:30 pm - Took part in the usual evening paseo with my host parents. Stopped at a tapas bar for beers and patatas bravas (next to croquetas, my fav in the tapas world).

9:00 - 10:00 pm - Laid around, chatting with the fam.

10:00pm - Despite not being even slightly hungry, I dug in with the rest of the fam for dinner. Ham, cheese, bread, garlicky carrots, alioli and crackers, wine, and chocolate torte. More laying around to follow.

11:50 pm - Currently in pajamas, rubbing tummy.

As my dad would say about a day like this, "Not too shabby." Nope, not at all. Gracias, Spain. You kinda rule.

Te Quiero, Madrid (hack, hack!)

I couldn't help but laugh the moment I arrived at Bajaras Aeropuerto yesterday afternoon. I truly knew that I had arrived in Madrid when upon entering the airport, I heard a "Smoking is Prohibited" announcement while I was simultaneously hit by a cloud of smoke. Even though I was parched from the three hour flight, there was no water fountain in sight. But then I remembered that I was in Spain. Water, shmater. The "Para Fumar" room was clearly of much more importance. The first thing I spotted, I found that it wasn't doing such a great job of containing the smoke. Maybe one hundred square feet, this cube was packed with chain smokers who must have gone through pure hell, cigarette-less on whatever flight they had just endured.

Despite being annoyed that finding water seemed to necessitate some sort of treasure map, I also had to smile. Never had I thought that the stench of cigarettes would make me so sentimental.

Ahhh, Spain. Although I could do without your incessant smoking, I cannot help but tie it to the things I do adore about you...your Rioja, your manchego, your flamenco, your sun drenched plazas, your sangria, your raucous soccer matches, your three o'clock siestas, your Sunday afternoon feasts...If I must endure a little secondhand smoke in the process, I guess I will take it.

Now, pass that sangria, wouldja?

Exchanging my Wurst for Chorizo

Then, again, I really hate chorizo so maybe it should be Exchanging my Pilsner for Rioja.

My head sort of hurts this morning. I've been living a life of English, German, Spanish, and Greek. Obviously we are, umm, rather surrounded by German these days. I also speak my broken Spanish to Jack (my fluency level is about on par with a 16-month-old student), and his mom sometimes speaks Greek to him. Due to a recent burst of ambition, I had been studying my German phrase book but now I have to switch gears and get back into the Spanish mode.

In a few hours, I'm going to board a plane for Madrid and visit my old host family. These are the peeps I lived with seven years ago. In exchange for room and board, I taught English to their 10-year-old daughter and 13-year-old son a few hours a day. The parents truly treated me like another one of their kids, taking me to dance recitals, Christmas dinner, and family celebrations. They even had a Thanksgiving dinner for me so that I wouldn't be too sad about missing out on the festivities back home.

Point is, they are awesome and I cannot wait to see them again.

I've visited them a few times since my original six month stint but it has now been three years. The kids aren't really so much kids anymore. I'm sure, though, that my host parents are exactly the same.

Oh, a funny thing that I exposed them to while I was there...the wonder that is the chocolate chip cookie. The first time I made them, the whole fam went absolutely nuts. The entire batch (40ish cookies?) were gone in one day. So last night, amid my frantic packing, I whipped up a batch. They are currently nestled somewhere deep in my suitcase.

Eeeek! Gotta go...not yet ready and must have sufficient coffee in my system. Okay, Berlin...hasta luego. I will see you next week!

Where in the World is Thomas Pynchon?

"Firsts" accomplished in the past six weeks:

- Have consumed a large bottle of beer while walking down the street without fear of ticketing.

- Have been "controlled" (translation: asked for my ticket by undercover type agents on the U-Bahn). Sort of terrifying.

- Have attended art exhibit opening in Berlin.

Prior to the exhibit opening, I attended an open studio night at the Reichsbahnausbesserungswerks, better known as RAW. (I just wanted to see if I could type that whole ridiculous word out). And here's what's super awesome about art galleries in Berlin: they might just make a waffle for you right on the spot. But I digress.

Through a friend back in Brooklyn, I was linked to a German artist named Ralf Tekaat. It was his studio, filled with beautiful landscape drawings that I toured at RAW. However, last month, I went to his exhibit opening at the G.A.S.-Station. In 2002, Tekaat spent some time in New York City, working on the prized piece he currently has on exhibition at this space in Kreuzberg. I had the opportunity to chat with Tekaat at the opening and learned that his fascination with American writer, Thomas Pynchon and specifically the novel Gravity's Rainbow, led to his creation of photos and text strewn across the walls. Although based in New York City, Pynchon has kept such a low profile throughout the years that his identify and very existence have turned into quite a mystery. Tekaat plays with these questions against the gritty backdrop of the Big Apple, inviting the onlooker to join the chase like some chain smoking NYC detective.

I am most definitely no art critic but I found Tekaat's exhibit fascinating. Although NYC is not my real home, it was strangely comforting to see photos of the city, despite all of the accompanying German text. The incongruence between the images and language resulted in a "so close and yet so far " feeling, something I experience so often in my life. Wait, kind of like a certain artist "chasing" a certain author?

Hmmm....job well done.

Sweepin' the Clouds Away...

Damn, I wish someone would sweep these clouds away!

Okay, I'm not going to complain about the weather again. What I really wanted to say was a big "Happy Birthday!" to "Sesame Street." This week, Sesame Workshop began airing its fortieth season! My heart is absolutely warmed, knowing that some people can still identify quality programming.

Notice how I sneakily avoided the classification of "child" programming? That's because it's really not. Although geared toward children, it is a program that the whole family can sit down and enjoy together. In fact, that has always been a huge part of the show's mission. Its earliest creators had done the reasearch. They knew that children took away the most from television programming when their parents were watching it with them. They also knew that irritating characters and grating songs could encourage parents to poke their own eyes out rather than keep them in the room. Hence, the hysterical sketches like "Letter B" sung by the Beetles and the more recent "Special Letters Unit" a la "Law and Order." As an adult, I can now undestand why my parents eagerly reminded me when it was "Sesame Street time!" They needed their fix, too.

Not only was I raised on "Sesame Street" but a few years ago, I tried my darnedest to get a job at the Sesame Workshop. In fact, that's partly why I ended up in New York City. After working in the depressing trenches of social work, I decided that I wanted to work for children in a more creative setting. I wanted to have some fun in the process. And the idea of working for an organization that I felt really good about seemed like a dream come true.

So I knocked on the Workshop's door more than once. Many kind people took time from their busy schedules to talk with me and show me around. They saw that I had skills to contribute to their organization but alas, there just wasn't any room for me. The past year was especially devastating for them with a huge cut in funding which led to massive layoffs. Good, creative, kid lovin' folks without jobs? How does this even happen?

But before I digress into some diatribe about how people need to get their priorities aligned and support educational programming, I will instead say this: Check out Babble.com's "Top 50 'Sesame Street' Moments." I cannot begin to count all of my favorites but number eight is definitely a high ranker.

Anyway, congratulations to you, "Sesame Street"....excuse me, "Sesamstrasse". I toast you with (what else?) a cookie!