Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 06, 2014

Seville or Sevilla

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Yesterday, Ron and I went to Seville. Kat was supposed to join us, but changed her mind in the morning. I have been budgeting €100 for the 2 of us each day. So far, it has been sufficient, therefore, it did not occur to me that the bus would take a real bite from the wallet.

We did get Tarjeta Durado tickets, which gives a discount for those over 60. For Seville, the savings would have been negligible considering the train is a higher cost to begin with as opposed to the bus. The bus also had more flexible scheduling.
 

Shelling out €44.50 for both of our bus tickets, I quickly started to calculate where the rest of the money might part ways during the day. It was too late to return to the apartment to get more cash. Although our ticket had revuelto on it, our seats were assigned. If this were only a one-way ticket, we were screwed.
The ride to Seville was only 1 hour and 40 minutes. As soon as we arrived, we asked if our ticket included a return. It did, but we needed to commit to a return time and get seat assignments for our choice. We were issued new tickets without a fee.


Both of us were in dire need of a bathroom once we had left the station, so we stopped on the edge of the Prado de Sebastián for a coffee and the use of the facilities. Cha-ching, goes the wallet, but only €3 so not too bad.


As we approached the Plaza de Espaῆa, I noticed the architecture was covered with porcelain tile and embellishments. As we walked to the front, we were blow away by the incredible beauty of the place. Covering the territory of about four city blocks, this humungous building was covered with painted tiles, painted plaques representing each city in Spain, each situated in their own alcove with short tiles walls on either side. In the courtyard was a man-made lake large enough for rented row boats to sail around. There were three bridges over the lake and in the center of all of this, horse drawn carriages traversed around with overjoyed tourists. We spent about two hours here just going from one tile selection to another.


Much of our time here in Sevilla was spent walking around, just gawking at the lovely sites. Ron wanted to go into the Catedral y Giralda Museo Catedrallico. This is the cathedral of the region. From the outside it looks like it can compete with any fabulous church. Inside, I cannot tell you. They wanted €8 entry fee, which I refused to pay for two reasons. 1) I hate paying to see a church that has more gold than some small nations and 2) We were on a tight budget.


There was a caveat though. That day and that day only, there was one chapel open to the public that generally is closed except for exalted occasions. I saw the line and joined it not really knowing what it was for, but if it led me to a cashier’s booth, I could always turn around and leave. It led to this special chapel. I could hear chanting before getting an inside view of the chapel. I could tell the singing included petitions to Mary for this, that, and the other followed by hear our prayer. Inhabitants on Pluto could have heard their prayers; they were so loud. Then the chapel came into view. People were walking up to a porcelain statue of Mary. She was overdressed for the heat and her headdress was larger than her body. Had she been alive, she would have needed a neck brace to not cripple her spine and buttresses on both sides to keep her head straight. Then I noticed what was happening. As each person walked by they kissed her hand where immediately thereafter, a volunteer woman wiped the hand clean with a dry cloth. It did not strike me as very sanitary and I didn’t hear any chant that went “Blessed Virgin, keep me safe from disease after I kiss you hand, because only God knows what germs that last person has left. Hear my prayer!”


No! No! No! I did not do any hand kissing. What I wanted to do was a Mary makeover. She obviously didn’t have any gay men getting her ready for this event. We walked behind the hand kissers and left the chapel. Ron continued on to the church where he begged and pleaded for the concession rate for seniors, which at ½ price was still €4 leaking from our waning budget. I waited across the way.


By now it was mid-afternoon, so hunger hit us. We shopped around for a cheap restaurant, but in this area, it is like trying to find a pregnancy test in church. Settling on one place we reasoned that a regular portion of a dish at €9, which we could share, would be more food than two tapas at €3 each. Our choice, though a good one, was still not worthy of the cost. A smallish bowl arrived with creamed spinach, walnuts and pine nuts served with a basket of bread. This and two small beers set us back another €13.


The real wallet test was going to the Real Alcázares, the oldest royal palace in Europe that is still used. Originating from the XI century, it expanded over the years. Because every culture that conquered the Iberian Peninsula used this as their capital’s kingdom, the architecture reflects the changes in styles. Many parts of the outside reminded me of buildings in Morocco. The kicker was that they charge €9.50 entry fee. Ron was able to pull off his “I am so old, look at me” routine at the cathedral and it worked, but here not so much. They wanted real ID, which we did not think of bringing. We were there and our train was not leaving until 7pm, so we had to suck it up and pay the €19 for the two of us. In the end, I guess it was worth it, but it really hurt to part with that money. 


We did do a great deal of walking around the city. It is lovely and we could easily have spent more time here. Actually, Ron wanted to spend an overnighter here, but I made him realize that the purpose of a home exchange is not to spend money on accommodations.


Before we left, we had another drink and little snack, bringing us down to €7. When we returned to Cadiz, this was just enough to buy some dinner things at the supermarket across the street from the apartment. Food here is very cheap!

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Saturday, December 31, 2011

Making It Through a Day

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All night long, I had dreams of the dangers lurking on every corner. It didn’t help that I had read an online article from the San Francisco Chronicle describing the violence in this city right before going to bed. I had sworn that I would not take my camera out today, nor would I even carry my bag. Certain that I am on some international radar for being a victim of crime, I am playing it safe. It is not paranoia, but true life experiences. Alternatively, we did survive Cape Town twice and the heart of Kenya without incident, but why push the luck?

While we were at breakfast, there was a couple from Boston who also arrived yesterday. We chatted for a while and I mentioned my concerns for safety. One of the guys remarked with a truth that I often think about when people are concerned about the safety of Budapest. His comment was “it is funny how people get overly concerned about the potential violence when they travel, yet they ignore the violence at home. I was mugged four times in Cambridge and Boston, Massachusetts where I live within 2 years time.” It got me t thinking that he was right, but I am still leaving my camera behind. 

Yesterday when I mentioned my concerns to Ron, I shared my mental fantasy of filling my empty cola bottle with bleach. If anyone dared to attack me, I would splash them with it. His retort was “Will that make you one of the Bleach Boys?” (Beach Boys)

Leaving this city alive and with all our things is a grave concern, if you will forgive the pun. We thought of leaving a day early, but we are prepaid here and changing the reservation at Rio Dulce would be another headache. We can hunker down here, but to be sure, we wanted to get our bus ticket. Though the bus station is only a few blocks from the hotel, we will take a taxi there. I can imagine us going down the street when some car pulls up to collect all of our luggage, when we know this isn’t a service offered by the bus companies.

Within a block of our hotel on the way to the bus station, the atmosphere started feeling dark and foreboding like those Batman movies where there is never any evidence of a primary color. Strange that the sun was shining, yet there was an obscure nature as we inched our way closer to the station. Men surrounded buses with rifles of various types, but it was unclear if they were guards, customers, or category C. For one moment, I wasn’t certain whether to continue trying to find the ticket office or break into a run. Our tickets are booked: January 2, 2012 at 11:30 am.

Not leaving anything to the Fates, we brought our tickets back to the hotel before wandering off. Our hotel has closed circuit TV at the door, so they monitor from the office. There are so many layers of security gates that you have to stretch your arm through to get to the bell to ring to be let in. They as none of the other hotels, give you a key to get in on your own. I am guessing it is a simple precaution in case you are mugged and tortured, you won’t spill the beans as to where you are staying, so they can use your keys to break in. The problem here is, if you are short or you have short arms, you will need an extender to reach the bell. I have long arms and even I get bar marks in my cheek as I stretch in to reach the buzzer.

Now that the tickets were secured, we intended to visit three museums. Museum 1 – closed. There were those metal door knockers so thinking this was a security precaution, we tried the knocker and the bell and our fists. Nada! Museum 2 – closed. Museum 3 looked like it had potential as four of the employees had just walked out and were standing on the sidewalk talking. The museum is scheduled for 10am to 12 noon and 2 – 5pm. It was not yet noon, but they said it would be closed until Tuesday for the holiday, but then again, maybe they wouldn’t open on Tuesday either. Doesn’t matter, we won’t be around then anyway. What to do, what to do?

When all else fails there are always churches to visit. There are plenty of those here and even if I don’t partake, they are fun to look at, plus wonderful examples of cultural differences. One corner had a church on each of two corners and another church just 2 blocks away. They were all Catholic too. Talk about obsessive.

We went into one church and my eyes popped out of my head. For the first few moments, I had forgotten I had gone into a church. If it had not been for two dozen Mary statues in different outfits and poses, I would have had to leave, look at the building again and re-enter. The insides looked like someone set off a bomb in a party supply store. The only thing missing was the Mylar balloons that announced “It’s a boy!” Just about every square inch of the ceiling had draped banners, garland, lights, statues, and other paraphernalia that was never covered in my Catholic military training sessions. I think this was God’s way of getting back at me since I didn’t have my camera to document it all. Just trying to take it all in was beginning to put me into epileptic seizures. One interesting thing in this church, I have never seen in my life was a painting of Joseph’s deathbed. I have never heard of Joseph’s death ever referred to anywhere. All attention was first and foremost on Jesus and then Mary was taken up body and soul, but Joseph’s last years are just a blank slate. The poor guy slaved as a carpenter supporting his wife and step-son, only to be forgotten in history or myth. 

After that experience, I walked into the next church with the same caution as walking into your own surprise party after you received wind of its happening. Apparently this congregation subscribes to Better Churches and Gardens magazine; it was less audacious, but still on the ticklish side of gaudy. Life size wooden pelicans hang all over the church with their necks craned picking at their own breast to feed their young. If you want to read the full story, click here. One giant mural over a side door showed Jesus on the cross, but the cross was in a fountain. Jesus’ blood had filled the fountain. They are just consumed with these torturous betrayals of religious faith. One thing is that this church had another interesting Joseph related item which was a first. In all of my years, I have never witnessed this before, but in the crèche, instead of Mary holding the baby or the baby just being in the manger, it was Joseph holding Jesus with a peculiar look on his face. I could see the word bubble over his head showing what he was thinking, “Darn it, he doesn’t look like me at all.” To make matters worse he had a t-shirt on that said “My wife had an angelic visit and all I got was a step-son.” The Catholics here are really crazy!

The third church we visited was so unadorned, I thought we had wandered into a Jehovah’s Witness meeting hall by mistake. The crucifix assured me we were in a Catholic church. As we were wandering around, a mass started. Usually before the priest enters, there are bells jingled warning congregates that the priest is walking in, so everyone stands up. There were no bells, so I was taken by surprise when a very elderly priest was aided to the altar by his home health aide. She had to keep him propped up as he celebrated mass. Vocations must be at an all time low; this poor guy was beyond feeble. It was also during the beginnings of this mass that I realized for certain just how dangerous this city can be. The altar boys, no girls around, are armed with pistols. When they came to take a collection, those holding the basket bore rifles, for those who thought they were passing a grab bag. As we were leaving, I spotted this poster on the wall. It portrayed Jesus in the same position as Rodin’s The Thinker. Next to the poster was the statue itself, which I hadn’t noticed at first. The title is “Jesus in Deep Thought”. As we were leaving, there was a handwritten sign that said “You do not need your mobile phone to call God. Turn yours off when in church.” Someone has a sense of humor.

We walked the pedestrian street so many times looking at the street performers and then stopping to have lunch, we now have every store memorized as well as their merchandise, inventory and prices. Is it January 2nd yet?
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Saturday, December 24, 2011

Christmas Eve-nt In Guatemala

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This is the last day for Posadas as the inn will no longer be needed after today. Posadas originated in Spain in the 1500’s created by a friar, are now mostly popularly celebrated in Guatemala, Mexico, and some parts of the US. They start on December 16th and continue through December 24th, where they recreate the story of Mary and Joseph going from place to place looking for a room to stay. The leaders of the procession carry statures of Mary and Joseph, while all the followers carry lit candles and all are singing a traditional song. When they reach the prearranged last home where there is room at the inn, they all enter for a prayer and then snacks. Different Spanish speaking countries reportedly have similar customs, but with different names and traditions.

The day of our walking tour, we were passed by a Posada, which is strange since they usually occur in the evening. This one, however, was a group of senior - señors and señoras, where the youngest was most likely around seventy-five if a day. Canes did not stop them; they marched on with one young person in attendance making me think they were from a retirement home. It was fascinating to watch as they processed with candles and singing along their way, basically ignoring all others while concentrating on their mission.

This was the first of different holiday traditions that they have here. Yesterday, I wrote about the Christmas tree and some about mass and the family dinner. Tonight, we were privy to yet other traditions new to us and basically incomprehensible.

However, after going for breakfast, we ventured to this art gallery that was recommended by Elizabeth Bell and then again by a salesman at a Mercado. La Antigua Galeria de Arte is more than an art gallery; it is like an art museum. Having been to a number of galleries in my years, I have never been to one where I wanted to drink in each piece of art while admiring it and then wishing I could have it shipped home. With over 600 works of art, it took us quite some time to make our way through, but the different types of work from paintings to statues, kept us from getting tired of looking, but we did start to feel sensory overload. I mentioned to one of the people working there that they needed to have a rest stop, where they insist people sit, relax and clear their thoughts before continuing on. A kind of mental sorbet is needed. You know how they serve sorbet between courses of a large meal to cleanse the palate, my mental palate needed refreshing. Eighty percent of the work is by Guatemalan artists and the balance are international artists, mostly US American.

This was a day of wonder. We wondered what we would do to occupy the day. We had been to every shop and Mercado at least once. The dastardly luggage rules and regulations of the airlines are really curbing my enthusiasm for shopping. There are so many pieces I would have bought until I lifted them up to feel their weight and finally left them behind feeling abandoned. As it was, it was a relaxing day of reading, doing a few last walks in various parts of the town; we leave tomorrow, Christmas day for the Mayan areas of the country. We were patiently waiting for our Christmas Eve dinner reservation at 6:30 pm. 

Dinner was at a restaurant named Fusion, coincidentally owned by an ex-pat American. With that in mind, the portions looked less ample than at other restaurants. Here it was nouvelle cuisine, where less is better. Looks can be deceiving. Our choices were excellent and sufficient, not leaving us wanting. However, we did choose a different café for our coffee and dessert. After dropping things off at the hotel, we meandered around the corner to the church for the evening mass. I alternate going or not going to Christmas mass depending on the country we are in and what cultural differences may be of interest. A crowd smothered the front of the church watching some performance which was not apparent to us yet. What did stand out from the crowd was an over-sized wagon with the nativity on it. Standing in front of it was a throng of people holding lanterns with burning candles. We assumed they must have processed here from somewhere else since they were not moving from the church yard.

When we were able to make it closer to the church, there were over a dozen giant headed costumed people dancing around to music. I am talking giant heads like the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. One of the heads was the devil, but all of the others were various mens' faces. They danced around until the mass was to start, so we watched for ten minutes and then went in to find a seat.

This is what I would call a high mass. When the celebrants marched in, the incense was so heavy, you would have thought a SWAT team had tear gassed the place. There was never a time I appreciated the homily at a Catholic mass, but this one, which I didn’t understand went on forever. More incense! The room had cleared, so you could actually see, so more incense. Music was provided by a xylophone and guitars. It was really the highlight for me.

Close to midnight, the fireworks and firecrackers start to usher in Christmas. It sounded like a combination of a heavy storm and being bombed at the same time. These celebrations went on for hours and even around three o’clock, you could still hear someone setting off their noise makers.

Tomorrow, we have a shuttle coming to take us to a different part of the country where there are still a number of Mayan villages surrounding a lake. It is questionable what the Internet connections may be there, so I may have to hold my posts until I get a connection.

If you celebrate this holiday, I wish you a Merry Christmas.
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Sunday, December 18, 2011

Not Quite Ripe for the Picking

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This was quite a day with a bit of everything including almost getting pickpocketed. The day started out without incident, walking around looking for a puppet show that is supposed to be every 15 minutes; it is outside to accommodate the crowds. We found Micky and Minnie Mouse walking the streets like homeless mice. Later we saw Micky with another female mouse. Can male mice also be cads? Finally, we found the area where the puppet show is supposed to held, but nothing was moving regardless of our twenty minute wait in the cold. The temperature was 7 degrees Celsius today.

We returned to the Mercado to see the wares in the daylight. Still on display were mini-Marys, midi-Marys, and maxi-Marys with associated matching sized Josephs. Some Marys were larger than the barnyard animals. She showing off her status?

Walking to the cathedral, we heard music, perking our interest more. than it was. The church is traditional looking from the outside, but inside it is modern with vibrant colors. There was a group of people dressed in indigenous looking clothing, singing and dancing at the church front entrance. They performed for the 20 minutes we watched put started before we arrived, since we heard them. Later they followed us into the church for a service that was about to start disrupting any touristic events; they are stopped during services.
 
On the subway back, I watched this guy who didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. He got on the metro car as we did and it was crowded. There was a short man to the side of us, looking at a map and staring at the route signs on the wall, looking confused. I pointed to the route map for the train we were on, but he didn’t acknowledge my assistance. I noticed that the ‘not quite right’ guy had a coat over his arm, strange since it was cold out. Then I felt the zipper move on my shoulder bag where my camera and extra lens are kept. It also had a smaller sized wallet with our day’s cash and my International Press card. The strap on the bag is not the longest, which I have disliked about it, but at the moment it was a blessing. When I reached to check the zipper, it was half opened and there was a hand there to greet my own. I glared at the man with the coat, but we had just pulled into a station. He said something to me to the effect of am I getting out, but it wasn’t our stop. Regardless, I wouldn’t have gotten off with him anyway. The map guy spoke to my pickpocket du jour, both getting off at a station other than what the map guy originally indicated wanting.

Cursing myself for my latent terrorism actions, after the fact I realized I should have stomped on the guys inner arch of his foot or yelled pickpocket at the top of my lungs, but during my traumas I keep my cool too well under control. Too many years of working the trauma until in hospitals has made me too rational when I am the designated victim. There must be something about me and Spanish speaking countries. I was mugged and then robbed two days in a row in Santiago, Chile, the latter being my birthday. That was a drag. The last time we were in Madrid, these two guys tried pulling a scam around buying currency on the street and then the 2nd fellow was a “police officer” who was going to arrest us for the illegal purchase. It fell through when the cop appeared too early, receiving the ire of his accomplice.

We had lunch at a local place. Two orders of ham, eggs, and fries with two small beers came to 28 Euros. We chose this place because it was so much cheaper than the other restaurants around. This city is expensive.

Returning to the room, we attempted a nap, but the hallway was noisy and I was still belittling myself for being a target. When we returned to go to the Prado, the streets were closed off for a demonstration, but we could not figure out what they were demonstrating. The Prado is free on Sundays, but after going to the tourism office, we were informed that the free time is only from 5-8 pm on Sunday. Three hours was more time than we needed; there is only so much you can take in without sensory overload. We did spend considerable time with Goya, El Greco, Rubens, Velasquez, El Bosco, and Brueghel. At 7:45pm we were done in and headed back to the post office metro station to return to the Mercado at night. Our timing was spectacular. They had started a Christmas laser light show on the post office building. There were thousands of people, the streets were jam packed for blocks. As soon as the fireworks started, we thought we had better work our way to the metro stairs otherwise we will be there for hours trying to get through the crowd. As it was, it was a tighter squeeze than Santa trying to get down a chimney after binging on all those cookies and milk left out for him.

The travel moral is: Even Mickey Mouse can be a louse. Be aware of Greeks bearing gifts, especially horses and Spanish carrying coats. Hold your bag tightly.
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